The Crystal Cage (31 page)

‘So what am I to do?’ She sounded tired and frail.

‘You are to go home and pretend that you are content with your husband’s arrangements. Go willingly wherever he decides to send you and wait for me there. In the meantime you must not visit me—it is too dangerous. The woman who opened the door to you is my landlady and she cannot see you here again. For now I will try to placate her with some story of a sick relative.’

‘I cannot bear to say goodbye.’

Her face wore such a distraught expression that he was almost ready to throw caution out of the window and beg her to stay. Almost, but not quite. That way lay the squandering of all his talents and a penurious life for them both.

‘As soon as you are able, send me news,’ he said urgently.

He was ushering her to the door when an uncomfortable thought struck him. ‘Will your absence this morning be noticed?’

‘Edward had already left for the docks when I slipped out. He has a large shipment coming into the Port of London today. But Martha will know I have been from home and she will probably report it. I am convinced that she spies on me.’

‘I’m sure your fears are unfounded.’ He hoped that his voice held conviction, for Martha had seemed to him just the kind of servant who would spy. ‘But you will have to think of a reason why you were from home so unseasonably early.’

‘I will say that I went to the pharmacist for linctus. Georgina is suffering from a cough.’

‘Would you not have sent Martha?’

‘No. She was busy tending the fires. It is important that Georgina has warmth.’

He smiled at her, his blue eyes intense and loving. ‘Make sure then that you return with a bottle of medicine.’

She turned to clasp his arm for the last time. ‘How will I survive without you?’

‘You are a strong woman, Alessia, you will survive!’

‘But love has made me weak.’

He fervently hoped these last words had not reached the ears of a hovering Mrs Stonehouse and made to escort Alessia down the stairs to the front door, saying in a deliberately loud voice how grateful he was that his cousin had called and how sorry to learn of their uncle’s illness.

When he returned to his room, he washed and dressed for work, hardly aware of what he was doing. The news Alessia had brought was devastating. He was not to see her for weeks, not to know the delights of loving her. The future was hazy. He had no idea what Edward Renville suspected and for all the reassurances he had given, he knew that it would not be easy to arrange Alessia’s departure from the family home. Then there was the Exhibition itself. It was imperative that he appear every inch the successful and promising young architect. The Renville pavilion would display his talents to the widest audience and he had to live up to the occasion. But could he trust Alessia to do as he had asked, to pretend compliance and await his arrival? She was in a highly nervous state. What else would have brought her to his rooms at daybreak, and unescorted? And a highly nervous woman was liable to do something stupid.

Alessia’s news was the last thing he’d wanted to hear at a time when he should be striding towards glory. His design for Renville was certain to be accorded praise, and he believed that offers of work would follow. He was near to winning a private commission with the Earl of Carlyon and through his lordship other aristocratic patrons might beat a pathway to his door. It was all there for the taking. And yet, right at the eleventh hour, after years of study and toil, it was trembling on the brink of dissolution. If Renville’s suspicions became certain, if he cast around for a likely culprit and remembered all the time his wife had spent with the young architect he’d employed, his eyes would fix on him, Lucas. And that would be disaster. He had to get this Exhibition over, lie low for a while and then contact Alessia secretly once he knew her direction. That was the only way out of this mess.

On the brisk walk to Great Russell Street, his mind continued troubled by the early morning interview. The image of his lover, forlorn and broken, gave him no peace, but alongside the pain was a fear that in her distressed state she would say or do something that would ruin all his plans. He could only hope that she would master her emotions by the time she returned to Prospect Place. Anxiety suffused him and might have spiralled beyond control but for an urgent message that arrived within half an hour of sitting down at his desk.

‘You’re a real blue-eyed boy, ain’t you?’ Fontenoy greeted him jauntily. ‘First a plum job at the Hyde Park Exhibition, now there’s an earl asking for you. What have you got that I haven’t, Royde? Apart from the blue eyes, I mean.’

The man had been a constant irritation since the very first day Lucas had joined the practice. This morning there was no bearing him.

‘What is it, Fontenoy?’

He barked out the question and his colleague took a step back. Gingerly he proffered a small sheet of white paper. ‘A message from the Earl of Carlyon, like I said,’ he mumbled.

Lucas grabbed the missive from Fontenoy’s hand, and his own was shaking just a little.

‘Hey!’ Fontenoy exclaimed sharply, ‘Is it that important?’ But he was quick to regain his own desk.

For a moment Lucas thought he’d been discovered, that the earl knew of his illicit love and wanted nothing more to do with him. He was convinced that the message announced his dismissal from any part in the project. But then he steadied himself and read.

Dear Mr Royde,

I know that you are not due at Southerham for some weeks, but I wonder if you would do me the kindness of making an earlier short stay. It will take only a few days of your time, and I feel the visit would prove highly beneficial for us both. Please do not go to the bother of reserving a room at the Royal, as I hope you will consent to be my guest at the Hall.

Sincerely,

Justin Carlyon

Not a dismissal but an invitation. Thank God. And to be asked to stay at Southerham Hall suggested that the earl was ready to approve formally the chapel plans and perhaps even confirm him as sole architect. Another reason to keep away from Alessia, he reasoned, just until his fortunes were settled.

He pushed back his chair in a rapid movement and went to knock at his employer’s door. ‘May I speak with you, Mr de Vere?’

Daniel De Vere looked up from the drawings he was perusing and said encouragingly, ‘Of course, Royde. How can I help?’

‘The Earl of Carlyon has written regarding the chapel plans.’

‘Ah yes, I saw his note,’ de Vere replied calmly. Was he the last to get his own message, Lucas thought?

‘Then you will know, sir, that his lordship has requested my presence at Southerham in the very near future.’

‘Indeed, yes, and I am happy for you to go. You appear to have established an excellent relationship with the earl.’ His employer leaned back expansively, his thumbs puckering either side of his floral waistcoat. ‘May I suggest that you leave for Norfolk tomorrow and return to the office first thing on Monday morning?’

He would at least have a day free. De Vere’s generosity no doubt sprung from his expectation of future commissions from the earl, now that his young employee appeared to be a welcome guest.

Returning to Red Lion Square that evening, Lucas took little time in packing a small valise for the few days he would be away. He carefully folded the reworked chapel plans into his portfolio bag and after a sparse supper decided on an early bedtime. He must be up early to catch the first train from Shoreditch. But once in bed, he tossed and turned into the small hours. Try as he might, Alessia invaded his mind and his body. He saw her lovely face stained by tears, her dark curls tumbling in disarray, felt her soft form cling to him as if to a rock in rapid waters. He would be there for her, he told himself, only a few weeks and he would be there for her for the rest of her life.

* * *

The next morning was foggy and bleak, the weather alternating now between brilliant spring sunshine and the occasional return to winter. He crawled from bed in a daze and shivered awake as he washed in cold water. He must dress with care for the day ahead. Even if the earl chose not to broach the subject of the chapel as soon as he arrived, Lucas needed to look his most professional. An invitation to the Hall imposed constant watchfulness.

He turned out of the square along Eagle Street and into Procter Street. At the intersection with High Holborn he was sure to find a hansom that would take him to Shoreditch and the train. He was feeling less burdened today as though the journey out of London was already casting adrift some of his cares. He had just reached the cab stand when a ragged boy appeared at his elbow and barred his way.

‘What’s this?’ He was puzzled, thinking the child was both too young and too weak to engage in successful robbery.

‘This is for you, mister.’

The note Lucas was handed had been written on expensive vellum but clutched in the child’s grubby claw-like hand, it resembled a crumpled and soiled napkin.

‘For me? Are you sure?’

‘I watched yer,’ the boy said staunchly. ‘Yer come out the ‘ouse in the Square, the one wi’ the yeller door. That’s what she said. Not to go up to the ‘ouse but wait till yer left. She said yer’d be carrying a bag, kinda strange shape—like that ‘un.’ And he pointed an accusing finger at the portfolio case hanging from Lucas’s left hand.

Lucas felt his heart plummet. He knew without looking that the message was from Alessia: the fine notepaper, the delicate handwriting. And what other woman would be writing to him. He unfolded the paper and saw that there was no address. Was that because she had written in such haste? He stood and read her letter with growing alarm.

Lucas broke off his reading and looked blankly into the distance. He was appalled, remembering Florence Renville all too well. After a minute he turned his eyes reluctantly back to the letter.

His first thought was that the anguish she had suffered had caused a temporary insanity. To have left her family and taken a room in a lodging house! A respectable woman did not do such a thing. But was she any longer a respectable woman? Had he turned her into something else? Contrition gnawed at him.

‘You taking this cab, guv’nor?’ the jarvey asked, his chin jutting pugnaciously.

‘Yes, this minute,’ and Lucas threw his bags into the back of the hansom. No matter how dismayed he felt, he could not stay; he had to go to Southerham. The boy had his hand out and he fished in his pocket for a small coin. Then as the driver gathered the reins together, a thought sparked.

‘Can you return to the lady and speak to her privately?’ There was no time to write and it seemed that the boy could be trusted to act discreetly. ‘Wait until she leaves her lodgings and is alone and then follow her for a distance. Only approach her when she is well away from the house. Can you do that?’

‘What’s innit fer me?’

‘You will earn a silver sixpence.’

The boy whistled slowly. ‘What am I to say, guv?’

‘You are to reassure the lady that I have her note, but that I must go away for a few days. And you are to give her these,’ and Lucas pulled from his pocket two of his last three sovereigns. ‘Tell her that she must use this money until I return.’

The boy gave him a cheeky salute and wrapped the coins in a less than clean piece of linen. ‘Right guv’nor. I’ll do that.’

‘Now, this minute.’

‘Promise.’

He was unsure how much worth he could attach to the young boy’s promise, but he had to trust him to deliver his message and his money. The next moment he was in the cab and on a rapid journey to Shoreditch. He shrunk back against the stained swabs of the leather seat. Every instinct had urged him to abandon the journey and find her immediately, but reason had told him otherwise and reason had won. What good would be served by such a course? The earl would be insulted and his employer angry. All his plans would be destroyed in one stupid action. No, this was the better way. He would seek her out immediately he returned, and he would hope to have the very best of news to tell her.

But he had no direction! There had been no address on the letter: she must have been too distraught to discover where she was living. He cursed himself that he hadn’t had the sense to ask the boy from where exactly he’d collected the note. He had no means of contacting her but must wait for her to write again or send the boy to him with a verbal message.

At Norwich station he was met by the earl’s carriage. The luxury of its soft velvet fittings soothed his nerves a little, and he gradually relaxed on the swift drive to Southerham Hall. The sound of gravel beneath the carriage wheels roused him from a reverie. They were sweeping up the imposing driveway and coming to a halt at the pillared entrance. Almost immediately, the huge door of Georgian oak flew open and the butler stood on the threshold bowing Lucas up the front steps. A footman took his hat and gloves, another footman his bag and the housekeeper ushered him to his room. It was a large and airy chamber overlooking undulating lawns sculpted some years previously by Capability Brown. A fountain played in the middle distance and to one side flowed a quiet river. One of the casement windows was open, and he heard its gentle lapping in the distance.