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“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Amabel. “I know Frère Jacques!”

This turned out to be a happy notion. Although the children knew the song, they had never sung it as a round before, and a pleasant half-hour was passed perfecting it. Felix then suggested Gentille Alouette and mimed plucking the bird with great relish as they sang. More songs followed and the morning passed quickly—ostensibly in the learning of the French language—until Meg arrived with morning tea at eleven. This turned out to be tea and biscuits, appropriately langues de chat, as Felix informed Jane—his favourite. Jane, who was used to bread and butter with her morning tea, quietly savoured the little treats.

By the time the plate of biscuits was empty, Felix had taken a decided shine to Jane and he declared: “We like you. You’re Jane too!”

“Is your name really Jane Two?” asked the little girl.

“Don’t be silly, Amabel. Felix merely meant that her Christian name is Jane, like Miss Fairfax,” said Cherise.

“I like Miss Fairfax,” confided Amabel, “but I like you better. You won’t make me stand in the corner, will you?”

“Of course not, Amabel. Have you stood in the corner, before?”

“Yes, because I saw Miss Fairfax kissing Mr Churchill through the gate!” Amabel declared.

“It’s not possible to kiss someone through a pass-through!” declared Felix hotly. “They were probably just holding hands, and you made the rest up!”

“Much you know about kissing!” interjected Cherise before thinking better of it. She primly dipped her biscuit in her tea.

Jane, aware she had let the topic of conversation stray out of the bounds of propriety—nay, even prompted it!—quickly turned the subject to geography for the benefit of Meg, who had stayed to serve them. A quiz of capitals of Europe followed with Jane reserving the easy countries—like France, for Amabel.

When Sally had rejoined Mr Gardiner’s footman, Mick, in the vestibule, she informed him that Miss Jane had got the job and was to start immediately. Despite their hastily revised plans, the servants were clear in their duty once they parted outside the Garths’ gate. Sally headed back to Gracechurch Street to prepare Miss Jane’s trunk while Mick headed to the Gardiner warehouse on the docks.

Mr Gardiner had spent the morning sorting out various issues regarding the newly arrived cargo. It was unpacked, audited, and orders assembled for conveyance on job carts. Mick arrived during this process and whispered the outcome of Jane’s interview in his employer’s ear.

Mr Gardiner had accepted this information with a nod. Mick had gone off to a crib hut, perched high above the goods in a corner of the warehouse, to change from his fine footman’s clothes to garb that was more appropriate for the warehouse. Like all Mr Gardiner’s servants, he was expected to put in a full day’s work doing whatever his employer deemed appropriate. Mick was quite happy to do so. He had first gained employment with Mr Gardiner as a lad on one of his ships before coming to his master’s notice. The easy life he now led as a footman in London was a vast improvement on his previous circumstances. Shucking off his coat and throwing it over his shoulder, Mick swarmed up the ratlines that were used in place of stairs to reach the crib hut. The means of access was a practical one, put in when the crib hut had been first elevated to save space on the floor in the burgeoning warehouse. There had been howls of protest when Mr Gardiner’s increasing profits had led him to offer to replace the ropes with stairs. Any fellow, said the men, who couldn’t shimmy up the ropes wasn’t worthy to have any tea.

After crosschecking the goods against his orders, Mr Gardiner retreated to his office. This occupied a similar triangular ledge like the crib hut in the opposite back corner of the warehouse. Mounting the stairs that he had not disdained to install, he sat down at his desk, planted his elbows on the surface and cupped his chin in his customary pose for thinking.

Edward Gardiner had not really cared if Jane had got the job or not. His purpose in bringing her to London was to pursue a far better avenue for his niece’s future maintenance than a governess’s position. Nevertheless, his wife’s well-meaning attempt to be of use had saved him the trouble of explaining his plans. With a characteristic rub of his forehead, he flipped open the lid on his standish, picked up his quill and drew a piece of paper towards himself.

Chapter 11: A visit to Grosvenor Square

Having written his letter and added it to his pile of business correspondence, Mr Gardiner’s mind returned to the interview he was dreading. He had long been an admirer of Mr Darcy based on their mutual association with the Royal Society. Young though he was, Fitzwilliam Darcy was already a senior fellow. Mr Gardiner had even attended the lecture given by Mr Darcy upon his election although he had not understood a single sentence, not having had the benefit of a university education himself. While Mr Gardiner could tot a column of numbers faster than any man he knew, figuring was the extent of his mathematical knowledge. Mr Darcy’s equations might have been ancient runes to him. Nonetheless, all the Oxonians and Cantabrigians in the audience had nodded sagely throughout Mr Darcy’s lecture and given him resounding applause at the end of it.

As Edward contemplated approaching Mr Darcy on the distasteful subject of that gentleman’s encounter with Lizzy, he shuddered. He had at first dismissed his sister Fanny’s story, being familiar with her grasping ways, but a visit to his brother-in-law Arthur Philips had added weight to his sister’s claims. Meryton was rife with the gossip. Although his subsequent interview with his niece had failed to uncover any lascivious intent on Mr Darcy’s part, Mr Gardiner knew his smart niece was rather naive. As she should be! he added mentally. The crux of the matter was that Lizzy’s reputation had been seriously compromised. As his niece’s champion, it was Edward’s duty to try to make things right. He could only give it his best shot.

After climbing into his carriage, Mr Gardiner sat back uneasily, rehearsing his speech in his mind. When the coach stopped briefly as his driver turner the corner into Mayfair, Edward retrieved his card case from his pocket and took several deep breaths. Pulling out one of his newly printed cards, he stared at it. He had been so chuffed to add the letters “FRS” after his name. He wondered if it would be sufficient to gain entrance to Mr Darcy’s townhouse.

When the carriage entered Grosvenor Square, hemmed in on all sides by imposing townhouses and boasting the expanse of the green square at its centre, he gazed on it in wonder for the first time. It was, he supposed, much as it had been designed—imposing. One might imagine oneself in the courtyard of a palace.

An immaculate but soberly dressed footman opened the door as Mr Gardiner walked up the steps, before he even had a chance to knock.

Tilting his chin up, he presented his card, saying, “Mr Edward Gardiner for Mr Darcy,” in his most confident voice.

The footman surveyed the card before subjecting him to a polite but measured stare. Then he stepped back and ushered Mr Gardiner inside. “If you would take a seat, sir,” he said, indicating a group of fauteuils in the vestibule.

Inside the study, Darcy and his uncle were locked in yet another battle of wills over the townhouse development when the footman knocked on the door.

“A Mr Edward Gardiner to see you, sir,” said the footman handing over the card. “His name was not on the day sheet, so I gather he is not expected? Should I send him away?”

Darcy took the card with the magical FRS letters upon it and frowned. Gardiner… The name was familiar, but he could not place it.

“Did he state his business?” asked Darcy.

“No, sir. Should I enquire, sir?”

“Who is it?” interposed the earl.