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By slow degrees, for Somerwell was almost swooning, Will got him out of the building and down the steps, where two coachmen, two footmen and his valet were waiting to receive him with tender solicitude. When he had been half carried into the carriage, and it had rumbled away down the street, Will found the head steward standing beside him, grinning from ear to ear.
“That was the best amusement we’ve had all year, Mr Fletcher, sir. Tremendous fun.”
“No injuries, I trust?” Will said, handing over a heavy purse.
“Nothing to speak of, sir. Thank you for this,” he said, tossing the purse high and catching it deftly, “although it don’t seem right to be paid for enjoying ourselves.”
“You’ve earned it,” Will said. “See you give Mr Hattersley, Mr Tibbitts and their friends the best dinner of their lives and whatever they want from the cellar, and send me the reckoning, and for the breakages, too.”
“Noted, sir. Did it do the trick, do you think?”
“Oh, I think so. Poor Somerwell! I almost feel sorry for him… almost.”
“Pft,” the steward said, a disgusted look on his face. “No need to feel sorry for cowards, sir. Did you notice? He had five men to protect him from the contamination of Cheapside, armed, too. The bone pickers had cudgels and the jarveys had poppers. He weren’t taking no chances. He dresses so fine, but he’s lily-livered beneath the finery.”
~~~~~
‘To Miss Jupp, St Peter’s Road, Sagborough, West Riding. My dear Belinda, something terrible has happened, so dreadful that I can barely speak of it. Today was the occasion of our outing to Richmond, and I was so looking forward to it, and it was lovely to be out in the countryside. One does not fully appreciate clear air and green environs until one is deprived of them. The drive out was lovely, the weather perfect and the company agreeable, and the picnic was delightful, too, but then—’
~~~~~
Will knocked gingerly on Rosie’s door. No answer. He knocked again, harder.
“Who is it?”
“Will, Rosie. May I come in?”
“Please leave me alone.”
He sighed. “Rosie, you cannot hide away here for ever. If you do not let me in, I shall simply break down the door.”
Silence. Then the door creaked open, and Rosie’s pale face peered round it. “It was not locked, Will.”
There was a half completed letter on the table, no doubt one of the multitude to Belinda Jupp, back in Sagborough. Rosie wiped the pen, put the letter away in a drawer and turned to face Will. She was a little pale, he thought, but quite composed.
“I know what you are going to say,” she said. “Pray apologise to Mama, but I cannot come down for dinner tonight. If she would be so good as to let me have a tray, I shall—”
“Naturally, but—”
“Is she angry with me?” Rosie burst out.
“Angry? Of course not,” he said gently. “No one could possibly be angry with you, Rosie. But she is concerned… we all are. Something must have happened at Richmond, or on the way home, for as soon as we reached Grosvenor Square again you tore straight up here and you will not even let Angie in to see you. You must appreciate how unlike yourself that is, and why that makes everyone worried. Whatever can have happened to distress you so?”
“Must I speak of it?”
“No one can compel you, but you know what Ma always said — a trouble shared is a trouble halved.”
She stared at him, chewing her lip anxiously. Then, taking a deep breath, she said, “It was Mr Crutchley.”
“Oh dear. Whatever did he do?” When she failed to respond, he said teasingly, “Did he try to kiss you? Must I draw his cork?”
“Do not laugh at me, Will!”
“I beg your pardon, but… Mr Crutchley! He is chivalrous to his very bones. It is hard to imagine him doing anything to distress a lady. I take it he did not try to kiss you, then.”
“Worse, far worse.”
“Worse! Oh no! Shall I call him out?”
