The Crystal Cage (32 page)

A knock on the door heralded a curtseying maid. ‘May I unpack, sir?’

Lucas felt the first of many discomforts. He had only a small valise with him in addition to his drawings, and the thought of the charade he would have to endure while the maid pulled out shirt and trousers, a cravat, his one change of underwear and an assortment of slightly dog-eared brushes, made him blench.

‘That won’t be necessary, er…’

‘Bennett, sir.’

‘Bennett. But thank you.’ And he slipped the girl a sixpence in what he hoped was an accomplished manner. He could only pray that he would not be called upon to dispense too many tips over the next few days, as his funds were already low. He had provided himself with all the money he had to hand but then despatched most of it to Alessia. That at least gave him a warm feeling: it would provide her with comfortable shelter. He looked around, imagining her there beside him. This was a house of distinction and she would revel in it. It was a natural setting for her, and for him, too. This was what he was destined for. Only manage the next few weeks and they would have their reward, to be honoured guests in a distinguished household.

Dressing for dinner was a nervous business. He was forced to wear the same coat he had travelled in but donned a pair of newly purchased evening trousers, stiff white shirt and an expensive white cravat of the finest lace. He blessed Marguerite for the latter.

Drinks were served in the library, and he found the earl waiting for him.

‘Come in, my dear fellow.’ Carlyon exuded good nature and Lucas felt his shoulders loosen their tight grip. He hadn’t realised how tense he was; he was moving in an unfamiliar milieu and desperate to make a good impression.

The earl poured sherry from one of the several crystal decanters that sat in line atop a marquetry console. ‘I am delighted you were able to honour me with your presence, Mr Royde. We have much to talk about.’

‘Indeed, your lordship.’

Lucas was cautious. He was desperate for Lord Carlyon to endorse the informal agreement they had made on his previous visit, but he needed to tread warily. If the earl had changed his mind in the interim, he would be forced to reiterate his loyalty to Daniel de Vere and quickly approve his employer’s vision for the Southerham chapel. At this moment he had no clear idea which way the dice would fall. It was as though he was astride two horses simultaneously, both blinkered but heading in very different directions.

‘I have been studying your revised plans with care,’ the earl went on. ‘We will go through them in detail tomorrow of course, but I wanted you to know that I accept them without reservation. In fact, I am delighted with them, my dear chap.’

Lucas glowed. The earl’s response was better than he could ever have hoped.

‘Yes, you have done an excellent job, Mr Royde. The new design is exactly right for the chapel, respectful of its tradition but innovative, too, and quite beautiful.’

There was a pause while both men sipped delicately from their glasses. Then Lord Carlyon said in a careful tone, ‘You must not mistake me. I respect Daniel de Vere enormously, but in this case I do not feel his suggestions have quite caught the ambience of Southerham.’

Dinner that evening was what the earl described as a cosy affair. They were only two at the table, but despite this Lucas faced a bewildering array of courses: Julienne soup, a turbot in lobster sauce and a red mullet, followed by roast quarter of lamb and Spring Chicken, then by quails and green peas and finally a Charlotte Russe and Neapolitan cakes, washed down with copious glasses of Madeira. He ate doggedly on, allowing the earl to monopolise the conversation. His lordship seemed to like to talk, and Lucas was happy for him to do so. It gave him the chance to think, to turn over and over in his mind the words of praise he’d heard. He hugged them to himself, arranging them and rearranging them in his head, determining the way he would tell Alessia of his success. There was still the matter of signing a private contract, but by the time the port made its appearance, he had decided not to broach the subject until the morrow. Tonight he would simply relax in the knowledge that he was on his way.

The next morning he breakfasted alone. Yet another resplendent choice of dishes lay in wait beneath cavernous silver covers. He satisfied what small appetite he had with a modest plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, leaving untouched the devilled kidneys and smoked haddock in pastry. Then he made his way back to the library and had barely begun a scrutiny of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves when the earl arrived in a flurry of notes and illustrations he thought might prove useful. He seemed as eager as Lucas to discuss the intricacies of rebuilding his family chapel and was soon heavily engaged in deciding with him the number and variety of craft workers, tradesmen and labourers that would be needed.

‘It seems a complex task,’ the earl remarked at one point.

‘It is complex,’ Lucas admitted, ‘but not insurmountable. It would be easier if I were not employed in London.’ He smiled winningly, his blue eyes guileless.

‘We talked a little, did we not, of your contract with de Vere and Partners?’

This was just the opening he needed. ‘In fact, your lordship, I have no precise contractual term. I joined the practice in order to learn new skills and if I am honest, I would have to admit that I have now learnt all I can.’

The earl said no more and Lucas decided he would have to take the plunge and put his cards on the table.

‘Your lordship, may I speak frankly?’ The earl inclined his head slightly. ‘If you would be prepared to confirm me as your private architect, I would be able to give the project my full attention. I could move to lodgings locally and be on hand to supervise the entire construction.’

And I could bring Alessia to live with me where nobody knows her
, he thought.
We could rent together as man and wife, ruralise quietly until any scandal has died down. In time there would be sufficient money to afford divorce proceedings. Then we could be husband and wife in God’s eyes, too
.

Lord Carlyon meanwhile said nothing. He had his eyes fixed on the carpet and Lucas wondered if he’d gone too far. Then a shaft of light.

‘I like your proposal,’ the earl said ruminatively. ‘And I would pay you well.’ He mentioned a fee that made Lucas feel faint with pleasure. ‘But I
am
concerned about de Vere. He’s a good man, and I don’t want to poach his best employee.’

‘He is the best.’ Lucas hoped his enthusiasm was sufficiently hearty. ‘But I know Mr de Vere would not wish to stand in the way of my advancement. And to work exclusively for your lordship would represent a huge step forward for me.’

‘It would be courteous to discuss your change of employment with Mr de Vere as soon as possible.’

‘I agree, your lordship, but it might be helpful if we were to postpone our discussion until after the first of May. Mr de Vere needs my aid in seeing through a contract with a difficult client, and I have promised him all the support I can give.’

‘Your consideration does you credit, Mr Royde.’ Lucas had the grace to colour. ‘You can be sure that I will not contact Mr de Vere until the date has passed. I think I shall go up to London and take the fellow out to luncheon. Easier, you know, to break bad news when you’re eating well.’

Dinner that evening followed much the same pattern as the previous day’s with the exception of an additional guest and even more food. The earl had invited one of his closest neighbours, a Mr Fennimore, to eat with them. Lucas let the two friends talk together but listened with attention. It seemed that Francis Fennimore, though lacking a title, was an extremely wealthy landowner, wealthier even than Lord Carlyon. He had recently bought a semi-derelict mansion ten miles the other side of Norwich with the idea of creating a home for his two unmarried sisters. Since he inherited Dereham Abbey on his father’s death, he had been forced to house the unhappy women, and his wife found their presence a constant irritation. Mr Fennimore himself had grown tired of the continual disputes.

‘Justin tells me that you have genius in your fingers, Mr Royde.’ Lucas modestly denied all claim to genius. ‘Do you think an Elizabethan manor house near to collapse would be too daunting a commission for you to undertake?’

‘It sounds exciting rather than daunting, Mr Fennimore.’

‘In that case I wonder if you’d care to eat your mutton with us tomorrow. My sisters will be present, and it’s them you’ll have to please. You can break the ice, see how you like them and they like you. Come for luncheon, drinks at twelve, and in the afternoon my carriage will take us to the property. You’ll need to see it before you decide.’

‘I can’t have you jumping the queue, Francis,’ the earl joked. ‘Your manor house will have to take second place to my chapel.’

‘I wouldn’t dream of suggesting otherwise. I’ve put up with the caterwauling for the last five years so another will make little difference.’

Lucas retired a very happy man that night. He could hardly believe his luck that a second possible commission—and a prestigious one at that—had come so close on the heels of the first. It seemed that he was ringed by a halo of gold. He had intended leaving early Sunday morning so that he would be back in London by the afternoon and able to set out in search of Alessia immediately. He was sure that by now she would have written to him again, only this time giving her address. But it was certainly worth delaying his departure for a few hours, particularly if Mr Fennimore paid as well as the earl. And why would he not? He was a very rich man; he might even pay better. Warmed by this wondrous vision, Lucas laid his tired head on the goose down pillow and slept the sleep of the contented.

By the time he boarded his train at Norwich station late Sunday evening he was ecstatic. The manor house had proved to be less derelict than his host had forecast, and he could already visualise several solutions for restoring it to a modern and comfortable home without destroying its history. The Misses Fennimore had been amenable, more than amenable. They had taken one look at his slim figure and blue eyes and decided that whatever he said must be right.

Despite his tiredness, the thought of what he’d accomplished kept Lucas’s spirits high and soaring. There was much to tell Alessia and once at Red Lion Square, he bounded up the stairs two at a time to his small attic room, expecting to find her message. But there was none. Why had she not written? A note might have been delivered into the hands of Mrs Stonehouse, he supposed. He quailed at the thought of confronting his landlady, but in any case it was too late to rouse her. He would go there early tomorrow morning before he set off for Great Russell Street. He was sure that he hadn’t mentioned to the boy the day of his return, so Alessia would not worry unduly, and in the meantime she was safe and well and living agreeably on the money he had sent.

Before eight o’clock the next morning, he was knocking at the downstairs apartment.

‘Ah, Mr Royde.’ His landlady, arms folded, looked him up and down. ‘I was wishful of speaking with you.’

‘How can I help, Mrs Stonehouse?’ He hoped his voice didn’t sound as nervous as he felt.

‘You came in very late last night and banged the front door,’ she responded accusingly. ‘You woke me. If you are to continue as my lodger, you will need to show greater consideration—not just for me but for your fellow lodgers.’

Relief pulsed through him. He was not after all to be interrogated over his unwelcome visitor. He was ready to grovel.

‘Please accept my apologies, Mrs Stonehouse. I have been away on business and was unable to catch an earlier train from Norwich last night. I am unlikely to return so late again, but if it should happen, I will be sure to close the front door very quietly and remove my shoes in the hallway.’

She snorted a little impatiently, and he forced himself to annoy her further by asking after a possible message.

‘No messages, Mr Royde. Were you expecting one?’ And she peered intently at him, suspicion written large across her face.

‘My employer said that he might need to contact me over the weekend,’ he lied fluently, ‘but I was detained in Norfolk and am anxious that I might have let him down.’

Another impatient snort and the door closed on him. He set off for de Vere’s in a perplexed state of mind. He longed to tell Alessia his good news, but he had no idea of her direction and thought it strange that she had not again tried to contact him. Perhaps his warning not to visit his lodgings had hit home and she was responding with extreme discretion. She was a blessed creature. She would send a message soon, he was sure. In the meantime he would look for new lodgings in London away from Red Lion Square. He could see now that it would be some weeks before he could make the move to Norfolk, and he could not bear to be away from her a day longer than necessary. He would take lodgings in a false name, making certain that there was no way of tracing either of them. They could dissolve into London’s anonymous millions and surface weeks later in Norfolk, to all intents and purposes a properly married couple.

At Great Russell Street, Fontenoy was as annoying as ever. ‘How did your country weekend go, Royde? Make another conquest?’

The teasing slid harmlessly away. He felt as though he was shrugging off a skin that he had outgrown. Soon he would be saying goodbye to Fontenoy, the cramped desk, the mindless office routine. He would be his own man and a well-paid one at that.

‘It went well,’ he responded cheerfully. ‘Conquests aplenty, but not the kind you have in mind,’ and despite all his colleague’s efforts to probe, he refused to elaborate further. The last thing he wanted was to jeopardise his carefully laid plans by making them public too soon.

The week ticked by and still there was no message from Alessia. He began to feel uneasy and cursed himself that he hadn’t had the forethought to ask the urchin for her direction. He had found lodgings some distance away in Westminster where neither of them was known and hoped she would approve. He felt slightly aggrieved that she had made no attempt to get a note to him, but in the depths of his heart he had to acknowledge there was relief, too. If Alessia had come to his lodgings again or even to de Vere’s… His face paled at the thought. No, it was better to maintain this distance. There were moments when he considered trying to find her, but in the end he decided against making such a search. It might arouse unwelcome curiosity and the last thing he wanted was a scandal. There was just one week left before the opening ceremony of the Great Exhibition and nothing must overshadow his day of triumph.