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“Walk to Aphrodite’s?” she said bitterly, and then wished she hadn’t.
He did smile now; she saw the gleam of his eyes. “No, I think not. I have had enough of love for profit for one night.”
Her heart lurched a little, but she held it in check. She told herself it did not matter to her. “Then I will say goodnight, Lord Montegomery. Thank Lady Marsh for the chance to see an Italian opera, and I hope she is well again soon.”
He stepped back and bowed. His voice had a grave finality. “Goodbye, Vivianna.”
“Oh, and Oliver…” She managed a smile, though her face hurt with the effort. “I think I will be taking Lord Lawson up on his offer to help.”
Just as she thought, he did not like that. Something in his eyes flickered, but it was gone as quickly. “Drive on!” The coach jolted forward, and her last view of Oliver was of him turning away and walking into the crowd outside the theater—the flower sellers and link boys, the street women, the hungry and the homeless.
This was not as she had envisaged the evening ending. No wonder she felt bereft. Protect your heart. Easier said than done. Would she ever see him again?
Of course she would! There was still the matter of Candlewood, and she must continue to try and save it for the children, and Lord Lawson had offered her his services. But she admitted to herself that inexperience had caused her to make a dreadful mistake. She had thought it was the right moment to speak of Candlewood, but it wasn’t. Maybe it had all been a mistake; maybe she had confused her passion to save the shelter with her passion for Oliver.
Vivianna groaned and put her face in her hands.
When she reached Bloomsbury, Helen was abed and Toby was out. She was glad to climb into her bed and be left alone.
For a time she lay in the candlelight and listened to the stillness. Queen’s Square was not one of the busy areas of London. It was old and out of fashion, but what it lacked in savoir-faire it made up for in quiet. The people who lived here were those, like Helen and Toby, struggling with their finances, or those who were on the fringes of polite society, or seeking to make their ways into it.
Queen’s Square was not like Mayfair, or the Boulevard de la Madeleine.
That was when she remembered the red leather-bound book that Aphrodite had given to her. Her life story, or the beginnings of it.
She had not had a chance to look at it before—she wanted to be certain she would not be interrupted. Now she rose again from her bed and searched in her trunk, finding the book tucked away among her plain woolen Yorkshire gowns.
For a moment Vivianna felt strangely wary of opening it. What if it was dreadful? Maybe she would be better off not knowing? And yet curiosity won her over, and Vivianna finally opened the book and, moving the candle nearer, settled herself to reading at least a part of it.
It is 1806 and I look out of my window and down into the narrow street, piled high with the filth of generations of families, of men and women and children, trapped here, just as I am. And I wish I could escape this life of mine.
My mother works for a milliner on Dudley Street, and brings home barely enough to pay for the ale my father drinks. He works in the stables on George Street, but sometimes he doesn’t come home. There are other children, four brothers and three sisters, and we sleep and live in this small place. Outside the air is full of smoke and dust and dirt, and the smells of so many people packed into one small area of London.
This is the Dials. Seven Dials. And this is what I have to look forward to. Unless I leave in a wooden box, says Jemmy. He makes me laugh. He works in the stables with Da, and he loves it. His dream is to have horses of his own, maybe drive a coach or a cab, or work for some gentleman as a groom.
Jemmy tells me to stick with him and everything will be all right. He says we have love for each other, and that love makes all the difference. But does it? I think even love like that between me and Jemmy would wear out in this place. It might even turn to hate, eventually. I think I’d feel trapped, like a fly in a jam jar, buzzing and buzzing against the sides and never being free.
I don’t want to hate Jemmy.
Vivianna found herself intrigued. The young girl, never named but obviously Aphrodite, observed the lives of those about her with quiet despair. She didn’t want to be one of them. Soon she had turned her eyes, instead, toward the ladies and gents she saw on her way to one of the slop-shops, or sewing rooms, on Monmouth Street, where she now worked. The slop-shops made clothing for some of the top modistes, who then sold them to the wealthy for far more than the girls could imagine.
Elena was there, young and full of hope. But whereas Elena gazed upon the clothing worn by the rich, and dreamed of one day having her own shop, or of being a modiste with a list of aristocratic clientele, Aphrodite looked at the ladies and gentlemen themselves.
And longed to be one of them.
Jemmy wants us to marry soon. He has saved a little from his work, and as he has no family to support—he was left when he was five and has lived by his own wits ever since—he puts it aside. He hides it in a space in the wall, behind the bed, at his lodgings. He says we can use it to rent a room of our own, and to make a start.
He says we can even leave the Dials and go into the country.
I don’t know, though. I see lots of country people here in London, looking for work, looking to better themselves. More of them come every day.
1809—A gentleman spoke to me today. I often see him, outside the slop-shops. They say he preys upon girls, offering them food and a warm bed, and then he sells them into disorderly houses. I would not go with him, but I like to talk with him, just to listen to his voice. Elena pulled me away and swore at him. I told her I didn’t mean any harm, that I just wished I could talk like him, all la-di-dah.
I don’t think she believed me, though.
Soon Aphrodite was carry
ing clothing from the slop-shop to the different modistes. She was pretty and personable, and generally liked. She would stay and chat, and make even the most sour-faced person smile. There were always plenty of ladies and gentlemen about such places. One gentleman, whom she called Henry, was particularly attentive. He had come to pay for some clothes for his mistress.
