Elyse Mady (22 page)

The beadle opened the door for them but Hester made one last attempt to dissuade Thomas.

“I have everything I need. I assure you, I am suitably grateful but—” She broke off, aware simultaneously of his displeasure at yet another display of what she knew he considered intransigence. She was aware of the doorman’s thinly veiled interest in their quiet but intense contretemps. She sighed and looked at the door again.

“You think I am being unreasonable, don’t you?’

This time, Thomas actually smiled, although his eyes stayed resolutely serious. “You are. But it gives me some hope for the future to see you admitting it of your own free will.”

His carelessly spoken words stung, burning through her all the more for being so casually dropped.

He’d said it gave him hope for the future.

But Hester knew the truth. It was a commonplace that meant nothing and hurt all the more for it being meaningless.

We do not have a future, Thomas,
she thought with searing bitterness,
we have but a few more weeks, and I would do well to remember it.

She shoved her morose thoughts aside. “You may escort me through the shop,” she offered, keeping her voice light with effort. But she had to swallow the tight lump in her throat before she could continue. “But do not suppose that I will be persuaded to buy any unnecessary fripperies, no matter how you might argue your case. Sightseeing will suffice for me.”

For a moment, she wondered if Thomas suspected something was amiss. He was looking at her with such a peculiar expression on his handsome face, frowning a little, as though over a sum that was not resolving itself to his satisfaction.

But no doubt she was projecting her own troubled feelings on him for his words were light. “I would not wish to doubt the word of a respectable young lady such as yourself,” he teased, “but I will reserve my judgement as to the truth of that statement until after you have seen the haberdashery counter.”

Hester had to admit defeat long before she laid eyes on any of the offerings in the vaunted haberdashery department.

Now, two hours later, Thomas was burdened by their purchases, resembling, as much as a man of his inimitable grace and bearing could, an overburdened porter.

“If I had known our expedition was to be this successful, I believe I would have ordered a larger carriage.” He toted a number of paper-wrapped packages in his arms and laughed. “A distinct possibility of being squashed together presents itself.”

The subtle but heated look he sent towards Hester told her more clearly than words that he would not mind such a fate at all.

Nor would she. “Come, Mr. Ramsay,” she teased. “Do not let your courage flag now. Only the millinery department remains. A man who has crossed oceans would not balk at a little Italian straw, would he?”

She turned towards their destination, laughing at his poor imitation of terror, and froze in perfect symmetry with the young woman facing her.

Wide, stricken eyes met hers, a choked greeting the only acknowledgement her brother’s faithless intended could seem to muster. “M-Miss Aspinall.”

“Miss Stroud.” Hester nodded, unsure of how best to respond. She could see the redoubtable Mrs. Stroud ferrying Charlotte’s three sisters through the throngs of shoppers. She wanted desperately to turn her back and walk away from her former friend but a lifetime of civil behaviour prevented her. Beside her, Thomas laid his packages on the counter and took her arm. The protective gesture reassured her, and she raised her chin, determined not to give way in the coming encounter.

“Charlotte, come away from the counter, you silly girl,” Mrs. Stroud ordered loudly, her attention fixed so entirely on her daughter’s actions that she had not yet registered in whose company she was standing.

In her younger years, Mrs. Stroud must have shared her daughter’s colouring and complexion, but where Charlotte was soft and agreeable, her mother was hard, with complete faith in her own opinions. She was also, Hester knew, an inveterate snob, who considered the advancement of her family’s position in society as her most sacred maternal duty.

“I will not have you dawdling. We must still call in at the warehouse and collect the fabrics I ordered.” She looked up and Hester knew the moment she had spied her out.

That she had been recognized was undoubted. The matron’s face turned an odd shade of puce and her already thin lips disappeared, pressed together in a tight pucker.

“Charlotte. Now.” She snapped the words from between clenched teeth. Charlotte did not move, however, and Hester was surprised. She had never seen the young woman stand her ground in the face of her mother’s demands before. An imp rose up and try as she might Hester couldn’t resist greeting Mrs. Stroud.

“How do you do, Mrs. Stroud?” she said in a clear, carrying voice. “Mr. Stroud continues in health, I hope?”

The challenge was clear. For a moment, Hester thought the older woman might actually strike her. Her hands trembled with rage and her pale blue eyes were dark with undisguised loathing.

“My dear Miss Aspinsall, did you say ‘Stroud’? I do not believe I have had the pleasure of meeting your friends before,” Thomas interjected smoothly. He looked stunningly handsome at that moment, his lineage and his enviable heritage evident from the tip of his glistening boots to the top of his tall hat. “But of course, I have heard you mention them. Any friend of yours must be a friend of mine.” And conversely, his tone threatened, any enemy must be regarded in the same fashion. “Will you do the honours of presenting me?”

Like a Greek chorus, the Misses Strouds’ jaws dropped. Whether it was from the sight of such as Thomas, standing in such close proximity, or the even rarer sight of their mother, rendered speechless, Hester would not fathom a guess. She stifled a tight smile, careful to hide her enjoyment at the angry woman’s comeuppance.

“Of course, Mr. Ramsay,” she said in gracious tones, all but daring her nemesis to interrupt. Mrs. Stroud swallowed audibly, the flush of her cheeks dissipating and leaving her pale. “Miss Stroud was an
acquaintance
of my brother, Robert, some time ago.”

Charlotte flushed as Hester echoed her own parting words so mockingly. Thomas nodded.

“You may have heard me mention her father. Mr. Stroud deals in woollens. My brother did business with him. Her mother, Mrs. Stroud. Miss Penelope Stroud, Miss Lucy Stroud, Miss Sarah Stroud.”

The younger girls’ heads bobbled, feathers and fruits swaying on their bonnets. Their mother stood unmoving, as though she had not heard Hester’s words.

“How do you do, Mrs. Stroud?” Thomas’s greeting was urbane and gracious, the epitome of well-bred behaviour. A casual listener would have no occasion to think him anything but distantly interested. The tension in his body, conveyed by means of his hand beneath her arm, told Hester that Thomas knew full well who this chance-met family was and just what hurts they had done the Aspinalls.

She might be considered as a person invisible, utterly lacking in consequence by virtue of her associations, but the same could not be said for Thomas Ramsay. Standing imposingly in front of the glass counter, he was at least a half head taller than any other man in the shop. His coat of superfine wool was beautifully cut and, despite the healthy tan of his sea-bronzed skin, he looked exactly what he was: a gentleman of impeccable birth and long-standing breeding.

The conflict between maternal avarice and righteous indignation was clearly evident as the woman looked between Hester and Thomas. Acknowledging Thomas Ramsay would be quite a feather in her cap. The fly in the ointment was Hester. A mother of four daughters, all of marriageable age, Mrs. Stroud’s considerations were laughably transparent, but her hesitation still stung. That Thomas would not be bullied into forsaking her by the likes of Mrs. George Stroud made Hester’s heart swell.

It could come as no surprise to anyone professing the least acquaintance with Mrs. Stroud’s character that, after a few moments of conflict, patent self-interest emerged victorious.

“Mr. Ramsay,” she said, inclining her head graciously, as though her husband had not nearly beaten his companion to death. “And…Miss Aspinall.” This last was said in choked tones.

But then Hester had always been told crow had a bitter, unpalatable taste.

This time she did not hide her smile of satisfaction. She let her cheeks stretch wide, baring her teeth in a pointed imitation of the friendly gesture. “The pleasure is all mine, I assure you, ma’am.”

Mrs. Stroud didn’t even pretend to reciprocate the feeling of pleasure. Instead, she went for the jugular, all the while maintaining a gimlet gaze on her foe. “I will admit to being surprised at seeing you here. I would not have thought it a place you normally frequented. The expense of your brother’s trial…” Her voice trailed off but the poison of her charge lingered.

“My brother is well. Thank you for your kind enquiry after his health.”

Everyone responded as etiquette demanded, as if Hester had not just uttered a bald-faced lie to a woman who would gladly consign her to the bottom of the Thames.

A clerk hurried up to the counter. “May I help you with anything, sir?” he asked. “Or you, madam?”

Mrs. Stroud shook her head. “We are leaving. Directly.”

As if sensing the charged atmosphere but uncertain which source it emanated from, the assistant scuttled away.

“Another time, then,” Thomas offered. Mrs. Stroud’s smile looked more like a rictus of pain.

“Another time.” She led the way towards the entrance, her head held at an imperious angle. Her daughters followed, like ducks on a millpond until Charlotte broke away, dashing back to where Hester and Thomas still stood.

“Charlotte!”

She ignored her mother, facing Hester. Her hands were clenched in tight fists and beneath her bonnet, Hester saw that her former friend’s face was drawn, deep circles of bruising purple under her troubled eyes.

“How does he do, Hester? Truly?” Hester wanted to give an answer of biting scorn but Charlotte’s pleading expression stopped her. “Is he well?”

This was the face of a woman who suffered regrets. She recognized it because it was the same face she had seen in her own looking glass until she had reconciled with Robert and they had made their peace.

“It is hard for him,” Hester said instead. “Newgate is not a pleasant place for anyone.”

“Does he speak of me?”

“Briefly,” she admitted, remembering her last visit to Newgate. “But his incarceration has changed him. At the beginning, he was very angry and little inclined to charity. But now he seems resigned and more at peace with his situation. And mine.”

Her revelation seemed a surprise to her brother’s former fiancée. Charlotte looked at Thomas, her face thoughtful, but if she wondered—or even knew—of Hester’s current situation, she did not allude to it, either by word or expression. Her unexpected discretion endeared her to Hester.

“You gave him my letter?”

“Yes.”

Charlotte looked at Hester with real regret. “I am sorry for what has happened,” she said, tears filling her eyes. “I think of it, everyday. Father insisted but—” She broke off, trembling. “I am so ashamed of how I treated Robert. I had no faith in him. I let myself be led and it preys upon me, Hester.”

“Charlotte,” her mother called again, and she whirled around.

“I am speaking to Hester, Mother. I will join you when I am done,” Charlotte snapped. Mrs. Stroud gasped audibly at the public rebuke.

Hester felt a surge of pity and of pride for the girl. “You did what you thought was best.”

“I did what my parents thought best,” Charlotte corrected bitterly. “I overheard Father telling Mama what had passed at the shop. What he had done. You were hurt and I was so worried for you. I couldn’t discover your directions. No one seemed to know where you were or how you did. I knew you would not wish to see me, either, but I want you to believe me when I say that I kept you and Robert in my prayers every day.”

“Thank you.” Hester’s anger at Charlotte’s faithless behaviour had dissipated entirely by this point and all she wanted to do was to take her friend in her arms and embrace her.

“Do you think—if I were to visit him, speak to him, explain my reasons for acting as I did, he might forgive me?”

The view of the prison rose before her. The bleak, soot-blackened walls. The rough, downtrodden inmates. She remembered the revolting stench of the cell that Cook had been housed in, noxious and unwholesome. Even its memory was enough to set her stomach to churning.

“You would not be safe,” she advised. “It is a very loathsome place. Robert understands—”

“I loved him,” Charlotte broke in. “We were to be married.”

The mention of their nuptials gave Hester pause. She wondered if Charlotte, as protected as she was, even understood the nature of the crime her former affianced was facing. The innocent hurt on her face suggested not.

Hester tried to explain as simply as she could. “I know, but Robert’s case is very serious. I cannot—I will not—deny it to you. He may be hung for his crime. Many are, you know.”

A whimper of distress passed Charlotte’s lips. Hester took her friend’s hands and squeezed them reassuringly. “I appreciate the gesture but I do not think your visit would be welcome. Robert has his pride.”

Thomas spoke at last. “Would you consider a letter, Miss Stroud? Miss Aspinall is correct when she says it is not safe for any gently bred woman to visit Newgate. But I give you my word that any correspondence you wished to address to Mr. Aspinall would reach him. I cannot vouch for his reception of it, only its delivery, you understand.”

Charlotte smiled tremulously, looking between them both. “Yes. Yes, I understand. I will write to him directly. No matter what my mother might say.” She hugged Hester, holding her tight. “I miss you, Hester.”

“And I you.”

Charlotte stepped back and glanced towards her waiting family. “I must away now. Good day, Miss Aspinall. Good day, Mr. Ramsay.” She crossed the crowded shop quickly, her shoulders erect, her bearing regal, but did not look back at Hester or Thomas. She led her sisters from the shop, Mrs. Stroud reduced to impotency by the public venue and her eldest daughter’s control.