Page 10 of Trusting Miss Austen (Miss Austen #3)

The carriage skittered sideways in a patch of ice, and I slid across the seat towards the window with a loud gasp. Harry, sitting opposite, clutched my flailing hands and helped me back into the middle.

‘Thank you.’ I let out a breath and adjusted my corset, which was askew, then tugged down my skirt, which had bunched around my calves.

‘Luckily, the window wasn’t open, Fliss. Or you would have flown right out,’ he joked.

I grimaced at him. ‘I know we need to make haste, but is it necessary for your driver to go quite so faaaast?’ I gripped the seat as the carriage wheels skidded again. My bones were so rattled after two days of travel that if I were with child, I probably would have given birth by now.

I thanked my lucky stars yet again that I was not, nor ever would be, pregnant. However, even on our journey to London, I still had to wear the wool padding. It was annoying and itchy, and I was growing increasingly hot and cross. But London was one of those places where you could bump into people you knew without warning, and we were so close to the ‘happy conclusion’ that to fail now would be calamitous. So I had to keep up the pretence for the sake of everyone back at Godmersham.

Harry had done his best to keep me in good spirits. But he was not Max, and we did not know each other that well, even though we had shifted our acquaintance to a first-nickname basis.

He threw me a sympathetic look. ‘It is necessary, but it should not be for much longer. We are on the outskirts of the city, so we should reach my lodgings in an hour or two, depending on how busy it is.’

I glanced out the window and saw the scenery had changed. The swathes of frozen fields and bare-branched trees had given way to neat hedgerows and cottages. It was hard to believe that soon I would be in the heart of bustling London, when, a few days ago, I was happily writing a letter to Max in the parlour at Godmersham while a fire blazed in the hearth.

Harry had called another emergency meeting in Edward’s study the morning after he showed me the letter. He conveyed the news about Dorian and said that he was asking to see us. Maurice’s letter was handed around as proof. Harry had not asked for any opinion or approval (which I thought showed his strength of character) but quietly stated, ‘Mrs Fitzroy and I will be leaving for London immediately. I pray to God we are not too late. ’

As expected, everyone was shocked and horrified. Elizabeth appeared overcome to the point of fainting but quickly rallied as she was the pragmatic type.

‘But of course you must go. How dreadful! Your poor brother, Mr Hart. I will ask Cook to prepare some food for your journey and have our coachman ready your carriage this instant.’ She whisked off in a flurry of rustling skirts to arrange things.

Edward too murmured his condolences. No matter what he really thought about Dorian, he was a polite and compassionate man and did not like to see anyone suffer under such circumstances.

Jane was a little harder to win round. ‘Are you sure about this, Flissy? Is it not better to let Mr Hart go alone? What about Lucy? She is very close to her due date.’

‘I feel I must, Jane. Maurice believes Dorian wishes to ask forgiveness for his sins before he passes. It is a situation that calls for sensitivity and understanding. To turn a blind eye to him feels wrong, and I’m not sure I could live with myself if I did. ’

‘You are a generous soul,’ she said. ‘As is Mr Hart. I do not trust that scoundrel an inch, even if he is incapacitated on his deathbed. But you must act on your own conscience.’

I was glad to have her unwavering support in the matter. But there was one person who had not been pleased to hear of this new development: Lucinda.

She paced backwards and forwards in front of me in the cottage, wringing her hands in a distraught manner, until I grew concerned for her state of mind. Such high anxiety surely was not good for the baby?

‘Please calm yourself, dearest. It is only for a few days, and we will be back in the blink of an eye.’

‘But what if it is a trick to draw you to him?’ she whimpered. ‘You know what Dorian is like—he will say anything to get his way.’

‘Yes, that is true of our dealings with him in the past. But in this case, I am inclined to believe it is not a ploy. Maurice would not have written such a letter to Mr Hart if the circumstances weren’t deadly serious. And I will not be alone with him—Mr Hart and Maurice will be there.’

‘Oh, I do not want you to go, Aunty Fliss,’ she moaned. ‘I need you here with me—and my Harry too! What if the baby comes?’

She burst into tears, and I gazed at her helplessly, feeling terrible for abandoning her. But what could I do? I had to leave at once. The carriage was waiting, and Dorian was dying.

Embracing her tightly, I said, ‘I am sorry, dearest. But I have to do this. Please try to understand. Everything will be well. But you must stay calm and strong for the baby, if not for yourself. Remember we love you and will be back very soon.’

Kissing her wet cheek soundly, I left the cottage with my eyes welling and a pain in my chest. Before I climbed into the carriage, I hugged Jane goodbye and asked her to hasten to the cottage as Lucinda was upset and needed comforting plus some steady counsel.

The moment I settled myself, Harry had knocked on the roof, and we were off!

But as the miles increased between us and Godmersham, I could not help wondering if things were all right. That day Mrs Busby had gone into a trance, why had she not been able to see anything about the baby? It was worrying me a lot. I closed my eyes and tried to think happy thoughts as we raced through the streets of London. I couldn’t let a bad fortune teller get to me. It was not an exact science. And if she was actually good at predicting the future, then why had she not seen that Dorian would be run over by a carriage and there would be ‘an unexpected journey’ on my part? It would have been much more helpful!

***

Harry had not given me any information about his house, only that it was in Holborn and he deemed it ‘suitable for his purposes’. From that description, I had been expecting something clean, but shabby. So I received a pleasant surprise when we alighted from the carriage in Southampton Row outside an elegant Georgian townhouse. It was not too small, with decorative white stucco around the windows and doors. The entranceway had a pediment with classical columns, and the door was painted a dark green.

‘How charming,’ I remarked, admiring the house and the other similar properties on either side. The street was clean and quiet and lined with bare-boughed trees. Some were already tentatively sprouting green leaves, for it was warmer in London than in the country. ‘It must be lovely here in the spring.’

‘Yes, the street does not look its best at present. But in a few months’ time, the outlook from the windows will be quite changed,’ he said. ‘Do you ... do you think Lucy would like living here?’

‘I think she would like it very much indeed,’ I replied, picturing Lucinda and Harry walking arm in arm to the theatre or a nearby park .

‘I am glad to hear that, as the rent is affordable,’ he said, gesturing for me to walk up the path. ‘And it is close to the British Museum, as well as some specialty cake shops.’

Specialty cake shops, I thought. That is most excellent. Now I was imagining myself and Max coming to visit Lucinda and Harry with our child in tow for a London cake break!

But I could not dwell on future holidays where I sat around, eating slices of sponge. Time was of the essence. I quickly freshened up in the guest bedroom (simply furnished with a bed, small wardrobe, and washstand) while Harry paid the driver and saw to his horse at the rear of the property. Then he flagged down a passing hackney, and we were on our way to Saffron Hill.

The last time I had seen Dorian was in a castle playing lord of the manor. But as the streets narrowed and the houses became cramped, I realised that poverty had finally caught up with him.

We alighted in a very different world to Harry’s neighbourhood. There was only one word to describe the sights before me: ‘disgusting’. A persistent and pungent odour floated around, and I hastily drew my scented handkerchief out of my reticule and held it over my nose.

‘We are close to Smithfield Market,’ Harry informed me, his nostrils flaring. ‘The cattle are butchered on-site.’

‘Lovely.’

Keeping my handkerchief firmly pressed, I followed him down a slimy cobblestone alley with buildings tightly packed on either side. Trade workshops lined the lower levels, with leather workers and shoemakers tucked into basements. Butcher’s stalls showcased freshly slaughtered meat. The air vibrated with the shouts of men and the distant shrieks of livestock while the cloying stench of animal skins and offal hung around us like a dirty cloak. Navigating puddles of brown ooze soon became a necessity to avoid stepping in a mess—it was either animal or human. I did not linger long enough to determine which. I had to hurry to keep up with Harry, shouldering his way through the crowds of unwashed.

When we reached number 33 Saffron Hill, my eyes were smarting, my nose was flinching, and my mouth felt polluted. If I had known that Dorian lived in Hades, I may have heeded Lucinda’s plea and stayed in Kent!

‘That was an experience,’ I said, inspecting the hem of my skirt, which had a three-inch muck stain.

‘It’s certainly a vibrant area,’ replied Harry deadpan. ‘Shall we go inside before pickpockets, muggers, and God knows what else descend upon us?’

I stared at the worn grey door with its tongues of peeling paint and wondered if running away would be better.

Harry knocked sharply and then again for longer when no on e answered. I was beginning to think the worst when it opened; and a pair of familiar beady brown eyes, half hidden by a straight fringe, peered out at us. Maurice!

‘Master Harrington, Mrs Fitzroy, thank goodness you’re here! Please come in. Quickly.’

I assumed by the hasty way that Maurice was urgently beckoning us inside that Dorian was nearing his last gasp.

‘Where is he?’ asked Harry.

‘This way. Please excuse the skins. There’s a tanner living in one of these rooms. He’s not supposed to use the hallway to dry them, but he does.’ Maurice shook his head disparagingly .

We followed his shuffling form down a dingy hall and ducked under several dripping cowhides. A droplet of something foul splashed on my glove, and I shuddered. Maurice entered the last door, and we stepped into a sparsely furnished room with an empty easel, a table, and two wooden chairs. A rush mat covered the floor. The room was in fact a ‘parlour’, but it did not deserve the name because it was a squalid space and not one that you would want to spend any amount of time relaxing in. The one consolation to the space was that it had a fire to ward off the chill. There was a pot hanging from an iron bar across the top, which seemed to have soup or stew bubbling it. Maurice was a connoisseur of the one-pot meal, and I had enjoyed his meals at the castle.

I looked around and spied a makeshift bed in the corner of the room, with a mattress, blanket, and pillow. ‘Maurice’, I said, shocked, ‘please tell me you do not sleep there.’

I could not believe that Dorian had sunk so low that he could not even afford two bedrooms.

Maurice hung his head and would not meet my eyes. ‘You get used to it,’ he said .

I made up my mind then and there that he would come back to Godmersham with us after Dorian’s funeral. There was room enough in the carriage, and he could help me with the child when it arrived. Maurice had many skills, and I hoped that calming a squalling baby was one of them.

Harry sighed. ‘I suppose we should see him now?’ He sounded about as enthusiastic as I myself was feeling.

Maurice pointed to the door in the far corner. ‘He’s in there. I’ve done my best for him, but ... Well, you’ll see.’ He shrugged his lopsided shoulders .

I looked at Harry. ‘Perhaps you go in first. I’ll stay out here with Maurice. I want to speak with him.’

Harry’s jaw tightened with resolve. ‘Very well.’ Looking like he was going to the gallows, he crossed the room, knocked on the door softly, and went in. There was no ensuing yell of ‘Oh my god, how ghastly!’ issuing forth, so I relaxed for the time being.

Hospitable as ever, Maurice dragged the chairs from the table over to the fire. ‘Please sit down, Mrs Fitzroy. You must have had a long tiring journey from Derbyshire. ’

‘Thank you,’ I said, taking off my gloves and stretching my hands to the fire. ‘But I’ve actually come from Kent. Do you remember my friend Jane? Well, I have been staying with her relations, the same ones that my niece and I visited in Bath.’

‘Oh,’ said Maurice, considering this. ‘But without your husband?’

‘Yes. Max is at home.’

He stared at my rotund belly, then at the door that Harry had gone through, and seemed to be putting one and one together and making three.

‘It is not what it looks like,’ I said hastily. ‘The child is my husband’s. I am there for my confinement.’

‘I see.’

Blast, how can I explain why I am with Harry? I could not. All I could do was change the subject for now. He would find out the whole story soon enough if he came back with us.

‘Maurice’, I said gently, ‘the offer I gave you at the castle still stands. Afterwards, if you would like to come with me to Kent and then onto Derbyshire ... when the baby is born ... then you would be most welcome.’

He turned his face towards the fire and stared into the flames. I couldn’t fathom what he was thinking. His life had certainly been made ‘difficult’ by living here. Whatever was Dorian holding over Maurice?

‘Thank you, Mrs Fitzroy. I think I would like that,’ he sai d eventually, glancing at me with a rueful smile. ‘If there is an ... afterwards.’

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that but did not have time to press him as the door at the far end of the room creaked open. Harry came out, rubbing his temple and looking exhausted, but content, as if he had done his duty and was glad it was over with. He nodded at me, and my stomach dropped like a stone. It was my turn now.

I was about to face the man who had professed his love for me, then trapped me in a room. The man I had tried to stab with a letter opener and who was now haunting my dreams. But he couldn’t hurt me now, could he?