Page 33 of The Derbyshire Dance (Kendall House #3)
Chapter twenty-three
London & Lincolnshire
B el slipped out of the house on Half Moon Street to go for an early morning walk.
The sights of London were all foreign to her with the narrow stone streets and the tall white facades, but it was the smells of London that really unsettled her.
After the fresh air of the countryside, it was overpowering to be hemmed in by the wafting stink of the Thames and the ever-present stench of refuse on the streets.
She was used to the scent of manure, of course, but the sweet hay given to the horses of Derbyshire must have made their leavings less loathsome than the stale feed given to horses in London.
And the squalor of so many inhabitants in so small an area could not be completely erased by separating the neighbourhoods of the rich from the alleyways of the poor.
She had left off wearing black in London.
It provoked too many questions among new acquaintances—questions that she did not want to answer.
Aunt Lucy had insisted that her niece visit the modiste and have some new gowns ordered, and Bel had insisted that she would pay for them out of her own pocket so as not to be a burden on Mr. Ferris.
It was the first time she had bought new clothing in years without feeling like she was robbing Charlie’s estate of something that was due to him.
But now, Charlie was gone forever. The money was hers—every pound that her parents had put away and every shilling that she had scrimped and saved since her parents’ death.
Her parents’ bank had always been in London.
When she stopped at Hoare’s to inquire about her account there, she discovered that the interest had compounded even more than she had anticipated.
No one would have expected it, no one who saw her walking down the street in her plain muslin gown and unmodish country bonnet, but Miss Belinda Morrison was the proud possessor of over ten thousand pounds.
Bel rounded the corner onto Piccadilly from Half Moon Street, for the house Mr. Ferris had found for them was quite close to that intersection.
She soon came upon a pathway leading into Green Park.
The name was less than apt. The manicured walks were insipid compared to her wild rambles on the hillsides of Derbyshire, and the “green” of Green Park was a pale imitation of the vibrant emerald of her own countryside.
She had tried Hyde Park the day before and found nothing at all interesting on its curated paths beyond the sight of a little pug dog being chased by a footman, a gentleman sitting on a bench sketching, and a young lady sitting on the same bench watching the gentleman.
Her rambles in Derbyshire, besides being beautiful, had always been useful too.
She had gone walking for a purpose—to find a lost sheep, to examine a crumbling stile, to deliver a basket to Mrs. Hogg—not simply to relieve the ennui of sitting in a stifling drawing room hour after hour.
She supposed that if she were part of the fashionable world, there would be more to do with herself.
She would have afternoon calls, and Almack’s, and card parties, and balls to enjoy.
But she also supposed she would tire of those as well—unless she had someone at her side to keep her laughing at herself and the artificiality of town and the ton.
At least she had Magpie to keep her company in London, although she often doubted the wisdom of bringing the cat with her.
She dared not let the creature outside lest she get lost. And Magpie was as restless as she was.
No doubt she was wishing she had fields and hedgerows to explore and a plate of ham waiting for her at Audeley House.
Bel sighed as she remembered the times she had searched for Magpie at Audeley House.
Was Nigel Lymington still there, continuing to hide from his nefarious creditor in rural Derbyshire?
She would hardly suppose that the newlyweds would enjoy having Louisa’s uncle intrude on their honeymoon.
Perhaps he had finally removed to his failing estate in Lincolnshire, another bout of banishment for him after the lively company of London.
Bel sighed. If there was only some way she could help.
She knew he had to stand on his own power, or he would never respect himself, but what if there was some little assistance she could give?
Some way to ameliorate his exile from London?
Bel walked through Green Park in a fruitless fashion and then changed directions to return to the house. She had satisfied the physical demands of taking exercise, but she was still as restless as when she had gone out. And she was still no closer to satisfying her desire to help Nigel in some way.
As she entered the house, the laughter in the drawing room alerted her that Aunt Lucy was not alone. Jack, James, and a couple unknown to her had come to call .
“Bel, dear,” said Aunt Lucy, standing up from the floral-cushioned sofa to usher her into the cozy gathering. “Jack’s nephew and his wife have come to see us. This is Ned and Clarissa Haverstall.”
Bel made her curtsy.
“Ned is my older sister Nell’s son,” said Jack proudly. “As solid as they come.” That statement seemed to be literal as well as metaphorical, for although the fellow was short, he was as stocky as a prize fighter. He looked a little like Tam, but with a more refined air about him.
Mrs. Haverstall was a kind woman who quickly found common ground with Bel and Aunt Lucy. “Uncle Jack tells me that you are acquainted with the Audeleys. Dear Gyles is my godson. And I understand he is but lately married.”
“Yes, we would have attended the wedding,” said Aunt Lucy, “but Jack whisked us away to London as soon as the betrothal was settled.”
Mrs. Haverstall patted Aunt Lucy’s hand and led her and Bel over to the window seat for a comfortable coze.
“He told me you were starved of proper society and dying to see the metropolis. And now here you are arriving mid-season. We shall have to contrive some invitations to a dinner or card party so you can be properly entertained.”
“You are too kind,” said Aunt Lucy. “Do you go to many parties?”
“Sometimes,” said Mrs. Haverstall. “And this season, more than ever. Ned and I have no children,” she said, leaning in confidentially, “but we have a young lady staying with us at present. My dear friend Lady Kendall—Gyles’ mother, you understand—has gone away to Brighton for her health.
The timing is unfortunate, for her husband’s ward, Penelope Trafford, came out this year and is in the middle of her first season.
Ned and I are well-acquainted with many members of the ton, and we have taken on the responsibility of chaperoning her for the season.
She would have come with us today, but she is still abed after dancing through her slippers last night. ”
“Good heavens!” said Aunt Lucy. “I have been Bel’s chaperone for over five years, but she is the one who stops me from staying out too late.”
“Penelope is certainly very…lively,” said Mrs. Haverstall with a gleam in her eyes. “But Ned and I have come to love her enthusiasm.” She gave her husband a fond look.
Hearing his name, Ned Haverstall looked over from the opposite side of the room where he and his uncles had established themselves. “Are you ladies talking about us?”
“Just like a man to assume that,” replied Mrs. Haverstall merrily.
“Hmm,” said Ned, glaring ferociously until they both fell to laughing. “My dear,” he said, “you must stop monopolising Miss Lucy. I must get to know my new aunt.”
Obligingly, Aunt Lucy rose from her seat at the window to join the gentlemen. Seizing her chance, Bel leaned closer to Mrs. Haverstall as they both looked out the bay window onto the street. “Mrs. Haverstall,” she said in a low voice, “I wonder if you might help me with some information.”
“What sort of information, Miss Morrison?” Mrs. Haverstall also kept her voice low, as if aware that Bel did not want this conversation to go farther than their own four ears.
“A friend of mine has become indebted to a businessman here in London. I have recently come into some money, and I would like to pay my friend’s debts. ”
“How generous of you,” said Mrs. Haverstall. “How can I help?”
“The businessman is named Solomon Digby. Would you happen to know where I can find him?”
Mrs. Haverstall started and put out a hand against the window moulding to steady herself. “Miss Morrison,” she said with an urgent whisper, “you cannot be aware of this, but Solomon Digby is a most unsavoury individual. It would not be seemly—or safe—for you to conduct business with him.”
“Oh, surely a spinster of advanced years such as myself—”
Mrs. Haverstall shook her head vehemently. “Advanced years? Ha! You cannot be more than five and twenty.”
“I am nine and twenty.”
“And a very lovely nine and twenty too,” said Mrs. Haverstall, amending her error. “All the more reason not to enter the orbit of Mr. Digby. Our dear Penelope had a most unfortunate encounter with—but perhaps there are some things better left unsaid.”
Bel looked at Mrs. Haverstall thoughtfully. “I am quite determined, ma’am.”
Mrs. Haverstall wrung her hands. “I can see that you are.”
“If you will not give me his address, I’m sure I can learn it elsewhere.”
Mrs. Haverstall took a deep breath. “No, no, don’t do anything rash. I shall talk it over with Ned and see what he thinks. But mind you, I make no promises. Perhaps Ned can go in your stead. Or perhaps, we can persuade you to forget this whole idea.”
Nigel looked out the window of the carriage. The dramatic peaks of Derbyshire had given way to the flat fields of Lincolnshire. In the distance, the gentle rise of the Lincolnshire Wolds blocked the view of what Nigel knew to be the North Sea.
“Are we almost there, yer grace?” asked Archie.