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‘Your definition of safe differs from mine, Marcus.’ How easily she had slipped into using his name. But the image of a great house in the country was powerfully seductive. Big, safe, warm, with people all around and strangers immediately obvious.
Nell tried to tell herself that it was only for a few weeks and then she would be back in her old world. But that was not warm, not safe, and she would be all alone again. What harm could it do to escape for just a little while? It could hardly make things worse. Could it?
‘Very well,’ she conceded.
‘Thank you. This afternoon, after Miss Price returns, we will go to your lodgings.’ There were sounds of a bustle from the hall, a young lady’s laughter. ‘In fact, I think that may be her returning now.’
The journey to Dorset Street was enlivened at the beginning by Miss Price sinking into the carriage cushions only to start up with a cry and produce a small pistol from under her skirts. ‘What on earth?’
‘Ah.’ Marcus reached across and took it, slipping it into his pocket. ‘The footpad’s weapon.’
‘A thief with a nice taste in ivory-handled ladies’ pistols,’ Miss Price remarked, settling herself again.
‘No doubt stolen from a previous victim,’ Marcus said. He and the companion chatted easily, with the air of two people who had known each other for a long time and who, even if they had little in common in terms of station or interests, were comfortable together.
It was no doubt a relief to Marcus to know that with his mother so preoccupied with her husband’s health, his sisters were in safe hands. Nell felt a twinge of envy, contemplating Miss Price’s neat apparel and her position in the family.
It had not occurred to her to seek such a post herself as Rosalind had done. She felt a pang, recalling her sister, wondering, yet again, what had become of her. Perhaps she could have followed in her footsteps, but at first her mother had needed her, especially in that nightmare time when they had found themselves utterly alone. Then, in Nell’s grief after her mother’s death, it had seemed so much easier to continue with the familiar and the secure, however humble.
Perhaps, when all this was over, she could talk to Miss Price, ask her advice about securing a similar position. But that assumed that this would all be resolved simply and happily with her reputation and her secrets intact.
‘Here we are.’ Marcus helped the two women out and Nell stood on the pavement looking at the tall, shabby house with new eyes, seeing it as her companions must, contrasting it with the crisp elegance of Albemarle Street.
‘I am fortunate in my neighbours,’ she said as the front door opened and they were greeted by a strong smell of stewing mutton and onions, a squall of crying from the Hutchins’ baby and the powerful voice of Bill Watkins who appeared to have been imbibing rather freely with his Saturday noon meal and was now roaring out one of the latest ballads.
‘Is that you, Miss Latham love?’ Mrs Drewe put her head round her door, chattering on despite the presence of two strangers. ‘Only Mr Westly was round for the rent.’ Her gaze was avid.
‘We called at his offices a few minutes ago,’ Nell said. ‘Thank you, Mrs Drewe. I shall be away for a few weeks, visiting friends. Mr Westly is keeping my room for me,’ she added as she led the way to the stairs. ‘So there’s no need to worry.’
‘They are all very honest,’ she murmured, trying not to sound defensive as they toiled up the stairs.
‘I am sure they are,’ Miss Price said tactfully as they reached the top landing. She sat by the cold hearth while Marcus went to stand at the window. He had his hands clasped behind his back, and was pointedly not staring round at a room that seemed to Nell even smaller, darker and shabbier now his tall, elegant figure was in it. She set about packing.
Her few clothes, her hairbrush and toilet things went into two valises, her gold chain and simple pearl stud earrings she was wearing already, another bag was sufficient to hold her few books. Nell bit her lip in indecision: should she take the other things, the items that were so carefully hidden?
‘My lord, would you be so kind as to move the bed to one side?’ She had, thank goodness, placed the chamber pot in the bedside cupboard, so his lordship would not be edified by a view of that. His servants’ rooms were doubtless infinitely more respectable than this. ‘Thank you.’ The narrow bed shifted easily on the well-waxed boards. She poked out the knothole in the middle of the floor, hooked her finger in and pulled.
‘Cunning,’ Marcus observed, then tactfully looked away whi
le she lifted out the items inside. A bag containing the emergency reserve of money she kept in her room—the rest, her small savings, were in the bank—was tucked into one of the valises. The only other thing in her hidey-hole, a worn writing slope, held her parents’ letters and her mother’s diary.
‘Read them,’ her mother had urged in those last few days after the sudden fever had taken hold of her lungs. ‘Read them and understand, you are old enough now.’ But Nell had never felt strong enough to do so. She knelt on the hard floor, lifted the lid and looked inside, wondering if she would find the name Carlow in those yellowing pages, whether she wanted to know what they held. Finally she turned the key in the lock, hung it on its ribbon round her neck inside her bodice, replaced the floorboard and stood up, the box in her hands.
‘I will take this; it contains my mother’s letters,’ she said, hoping that sentimental reason was sufficient explanation for wanting to take a battered old box with her.
‘You are all alone?’ Miss Price asked, enough sympathy in her voice to bring tears to Nell’s eyes. She nodded, unable to speak for a moment and the other woman turned away under pretext of scolding Marcus for slipping his arm out of the sling.
‘Miss Latham and I are quite capable of managing two valises and a writing slope between us, if you take the other bag,’ she said with some asperity. ‘Why is it, Miss Latham, that gentlemen insist on treating us as though we are weaklings?’
‘Good manners, gallantry—’ Marcus began.
‘A desire to show off your superior muscles?’ Miss Price murmured, shaking her head, and he gave in, thrust his arm back in the sling and picked up just the book bag on his way to the door.
Nell stood for a moment, wondering why she felt such a strong premonition that she would never come back here. Something must have shown on her face, for Miss Price tucked her free hand under her arm. ‘Ready? You must call me Diana. I am sure you are going to be very happy staying at Stanegate Court.’
‘Thank you. And you must call me Nell,’ Nell responded, managing to find a smile from somewhere.
Mrs Drewe was lurking when they reached the front hall again. ‘Did the other gentleman find you, Miss Latham?’ she asked, her eyes darting over every detail of Marcus’s tall figure. ‘Forgot to ask when you came in.’
