Fourpenny Flyer (7 page)

Such bluntness took his breath away. ‘This is all – um – rather unorthodox, ma'am, if you will forgive me for saying so,' he protested.

She put back her head and roared with laughter at him. ‘So I should hope,' she said forcefully. ‘Leave orthodoxy to the timid, Mr Randall. 'T en't for the likes of us, I tell 'ee plain. Come now, is it a deal or no?'

So with considerable trepidation he had to agree to put her offer to the vendor. She seemed to have no qualms about the matter at all and no further time to spend upon it. He gathered his papers and bade her good morrow politely, but he noticed as he left her that she was already busy studying the close-packed figures in an account book. An extraordinary woman, he thought, to have so little care where she lives. One square as good as any other! Dear me! What an opinion! They'd have something to say about
that in Berkeley Square or St James's. And he went down the stairs towards the midsummer heat of the Strand shaking his head with amazement.

Actually he was quite wrong about her, although it would probably have made his position even more difficult had he known the true state of her intentions. For Nan Easter meant to own the house she'd chosen, and neither he nor the Barbadian vendor, nor anyone else for that matter, was going to be allowed to stand in her way.

It was the right time for a change. She'd altered the management of her firm, increased her sales tenfold in the last five years and refused to marry her lover after an affair that had gone on for the best part of fifteen, and now, at the energetic age of two-and-forty, she was embarking on a new life of her own.

She read the accounts rapidly, making swift notes in the margins and glancing at the clock from time to time, for she had allowed herself twenty minutes for the task and then she and Mr Teshmaker would be meeting to discuss the London trade. And Cosmo Teshmaker was always scrupulously punctual.

Sure enough he came knocking on her door just as the clock began to strike midday. They smiled at one another like the old friends they were.

‘Did all go well, ma'am?' he asked.

‘'Course,' she said. ‘I shall be in residence by September, depend upon it.'

It didn't surprise him. When had the resourceful Nan Easter ever been baulked of anything she wanted? The idea of anyone opposing her was quite unthinkable.

‘Sales are still poor, I see,' she said, waving her quill at the account book.

‘Except in Mayfair and Bloomsbury.'

‘Um,' she said. ‘Peace may be preferable to war, but it sells fewer newspapers. Should we venture that second shop in Piccadilly, think 'ee?'

‘On balance,' he said gravely, ‘it is my opinion it would be a justified risk.'

‘Then we will risk it,' she said, brushing the palms of her hands against each other, swish swish, the way she always
did when she'd made a decision.

‘What news of Mr John?' the lawyer asked.

‘Still in Cambridge,' his mother said. ‘I had a letter from him this morning. He means to come home to us via Ely, so he says, which seems an uncommon circuitous route to me, but all done to give him two days to inspect his new shop there.'

‘He is thorough,' Mr Teshmaker said. ‘That you cannot deny.'

‘Unlike my harum-scarum Billy,' his mother said, grinning at the thought of her elder son. ‘He spends every spare moment in Bury these days a-courting Miss Honeywood. I tell him I'm beginning to forget what he looks like.'

‘Indeed, yes,' the lawyer said. ‘He does seem much enamoured of the lady.' And he wondered whether a wedding might not just be possible, but forbore to speak of it in case he upset his old friend's feelings, which must be tender, in all conscience, considering how recently she'd parted from her lover. He had the greatest respect for Mrs Easter, and would never willingly do anything to cause her pain.

‘'Twould be a good match,' she said, grinning again. ‘Mr Honeywood is almost as rich as I am and Matilda quite as fond and foolish as my Billy.'

‘So it is rumoured.'

‘Well we shall see,' Nan said, opening her account book as a signal that their business meeting was about to begin. ‘Billy is a loving creature, in all conscience, but he lacks seriousness. 'Twas Johnnie took a double portion of
that
commodity.'

‘And makes good use of it, you will allow,' Mr Teshmaker smiled, gathering his accounts together in a neat pile.

‘'Twon't win him a wife,' his mother said, grimacing. ‘Nor a lover I'm thinking. And that do seem a pity to me. Now that he's a manager of this firm a wife would be timely. Howsomever, I en't seen the slightest sign of any interest in that direction.'

‘Still waters, Mrs Easter?' Mr Teshmaker suggested diplomatically.

‘Lack of inclination, Cosmo. Now as to last week's sales …

*

It was an opinion she shared with Miss Harriet Sowerby, although of course neither of them knew it. All through that summer Harriet had been reminding her Maker of the possibility that He might help her to see Mr Easter again. She said regular and heartfelt prayers about it, tentatively suggesting possible lines of action: that the gentleman might drive up Churchgate Street as she and her family were walking to church, perhaps, or arrive by stagecoach at a time when she'd been sent on an errand that would take her through Angel Square, or meet her when she'd been sent to escort Miss Pettie on her weekly trip to market. But there was no answer. Mr Easter remained elsewhere.

His brother Billy came rollicking into town every Saturday night as regular as clockwork, as Miss Pettie reported to Mr and Mrs Sowerby equally regularly every Sunday after the service.

‘Visiting again, my dears,' she would say. ‘'Twill be a match. Depend on't. Mrs Thistlethwaite tells me they went riding this morning. Down to Rattlesden to visit with his sister, Mrs Hopkins, I shouldn't wonder. The romance of it, my dears!' And Harriet listened to the conversation, hoping that this time he'd brought his brother with him. And was constantly disappointed.

Finally when ten weeks had passed and twenty-one earnest prayers had been ignored, and the wheat was golden-brown in the fields, she decided that she would have to take matters in hand herself.

The next Thursday afternoon, when she was helping Miss Pettie with her sewing, she asked whether
other
members of the Easter family did not visit their house in Bury during the summer.

‘Mrs Easter is uncommon busy this year,' the old lady said, squinting at her tacking and then happily setting it aside for the greater pleasure of a little gentle gossip. ‘We have seen her but rarely, more's the pity of it, for she is a fine woman, my dear, and highly thought of in the town. Howsomever if Mr Billy and Miss Honeywood make a match then I am sure we shall see a great deal more of her. He is invited to her twentieth birthday party next month, which I
do
consider most significant.
I
introduced them, you
know my dear, at the Victory Ball, little
dreaming
what might come of it. There was romance in the very air that night, my dear.'

And she was off into a happy reminiscence that lasted fully fifteen minutes. Harriet endured it quietly and smiled agreement when she thought it appropriate, but it seemed an age before she could rephrase her question and ask it again.

‘And what of Mr John, Miss Pettie? Does he not visit with his brother from time to time.' Even as she heard the words she knew she was being too direct. She sounded forward and unladylike and she knew she was blushing for shame at her presumption, and ducked her head towards the chemise she was sewing, hoping that Miss Pettie wouldn't notice. Oh dear, oh dear.

Miss Pettie ignored the blush, for she was always the soul of discretion where the comfort of her guests was concerned. But although she said nothing she thought much and happily. For had she not introduced this quiet child to young Mr John that very summer? How if she were to further another match in the Easter family? What a triumph that would be!

‘Well now, my dear,' she said, ‘Mr John is busier than his mother, so they do say. He is a
manager
now, you see, with a deal of responsibility. Mr Orton tells me he has opened six new shops just hereabouts and each and every one quite as grand as the shop in the Buttermarket, with fine curtains in the windows and armchairs in the reading-room and the signs all new painted and everything in order. But no more than we should expect, I do assure you. He was always such a diligent young man, even as a child. A scholar.'

This was better, for it sounded more like gossip than unseemly interest. ‘You have known him for a long time, I daresay,' Harriet said, prompting further information in the accepted way.

‘Indeed I have, my dear. A very long time. Why, we've been neighbours for – let me see – it must be eight years at the very least. Mr Billy and Mr John were mere stripling boys when they first came to my door. Billy was just fifteen, I recall, the same age as you, my dear, and so handsome.
Such a fine figure and
so
tall. He could reach any shelf in the house without even stretching his arms. Imagine that! “Pray allow me, Miss Pettie,” he would say to me. So politely. And now he's courting Miss Honeywood. Who'd a' thought it? They went riding again last Sunday. And to think I introduced 'em. Oh there was romance in the air that night …'

Oh, Harriet thought, concentrating on the next button hole, if only some of it had touched my Mr Easter. And while Miss Pettie rambled happily and garrulously on, she allowed herself the luxury of a little romantic daydream, and went riding with Mr John down the leafy lanes towards his sister's house in Rattlesden, where she was lifted, oh so tenderly, from her horse and led through bright sunshine into the welcoming house where Mrs Hopkins came tripping forward to kiss her welcome and to say …

‘I am thinking of taking a little trip to Ipswich in a day or two,' Miss Pettie said. ‘Do you think I could prevail upon your parents to permit you to accompany me, my dear? We could stay overnight at the Crown and Anchor, which is the most respectable establishment and served me a quite excellent dinner the last time I was there. Yes, indeed. Quite excellent. You would like that, would you not?'

‘Yes, Miss Pettie,' Harriet agreed, setting her daydreams aside and reaching for the scissors. A trip to Ipswich would be very pleasant if her parents would allow it.

‘And then if all goes well,' Miss Pettie promised, ‘we could go further afield the next time, to Norwich, perhaps, or Cambridge, which is a trifle old-fashioned, but worth a visit. I should like to go to Bath and take the waters which they say are quite excellent for the rheumatics, howsomever that would have to wait until the spring for I can't abide that city in winter time.'

Harriet said she would be happy to accompany Miss Pettie to any or all of these places, but secretly she would have traded every single one for a chance to see Mr Easter when he came to Bury to attend the Honeywood party.

Unfortunately the Honeywoods, being the most hospitable of parents and mindful of their position in society, had
decided that their daughter's twentieth birthday should be celebrated by a rout, a night-long, fashionable party with dancing and gaming and entertainments of every kind. Their country seat was good enough for a garden party, but there was only one place for the sort of reception they had in mind, and that was their town house in Cavendish Square. So on that warm September evening when the Easter brothers arrived to assist in the celebrations, Harriet was a long way away from their sight and their thoughts.

Billy was in a state of muddled intoxication, which was partly due to the half bottle of British Hollands he'd consumed before he left home and partly to the prospect of an evening being teased and tormented by his bewitching beloved. He was dressed in the very latest style, as befitted a manager of the great firm of A. Easter and Sons, in a pink frock coat, white silk waistcoat and an exuberant purple cravat that wouldn't have looked amiss on the wild Lord Byron himself. His face was already flushed, and his forehead moist and his blue eyes watery, and he was saying secret prayers that this time he would comport himself with style and avoid the usual clumsy accidents that had dogged him all through the summer.

For wherever he went with the delectable Miss Honeywood, and however hard he tried to be adroit and suave in order to impress her, he always ended up making a fool of himself. When they rode together, his horse bucked him off, when they danced he trod on her feet, and when he took tea with her parents he smashed her mother's precious porcelain and, on one fearful occasion, broke the leg of a chair, which turned out to have been made by Mr Chippendale.

In the warehouse his broad shoulders and sturdy legs were useful and admired. He could shift the heavy batches of newspapers as deftly as any of his workmen, and besides that his knowledge of the trade and his ability to make decisions quickly had given him a reputation for dependability and common sense. But in salons and theatres, at parties and dances and routs, it was as if he'd reverted to his childhood again. Some part of his anatomy always seemed to be in somebody's way. People fell over his feet, or
removed chairs just as he was about to sit on them. Or he would be rapt in some ardent conversation and wave an arm and demolish an entire tray of champagne glasses. And the more deeply he fell in love with his dear Matilda, the more clumsy and foolish he appeared before her. It was getting so bad it was beginning to upset him. If only he could be cool and contained like Johnnie. Not all the time, of course, because being cool and contained all the time was really rather a bore, but now and then, when he needed to be. Like this evening, for example, when his nervousness and fussing had made them terribly late.

He glanced at his brother as he stepped delicately down from their carriage, brushing an imaginary fleck from the cloth of his blue coat and surveying the road in his calm contained way.