A Rational Proposal (Furze House Irregulars Book 1)(14)
“You are dangerous, Verity,” he said, steering her with no little effort towards his building when she would have strayed to observe the water jets in Fountains Court. “Perhaps I should approve Furze House and pack you off back to Newmarket immediately, before you compromise my working life any further.”
“Thank you, Charles. As soon as I have found Kitty, I will go with pleasure. I will send you regular reports on the progress of the work so if my grandmother and uncle ever dispute the bequest, you will have proof of how diligent I am being.”
Which meant, he realised with disbelief as he finally got her indoors and ascending to the clerks’ room, that he had agreed once again to one of her suggestions. How did she do this? How could a professional clause-wrangler like himself give in without argument so easily, and on so little evidence of a successful outcome?
Though it would be successful, he admitted, grudgingly fair, because everything Verity turned her attention to enjoyed some measure of success. The key question lay in determining the price for that success.
Mr Scrivener was waiting in the clerks’ room. He followed them into Charles’s office and sat, pencil in hand, waiting for instructions.
“Eastwick, Captain,” he murmured. “1810 or thereabouts. Catherine Margaret Bowman, known as Kitty. Brown hair, grey eyes, slight frame. I will call next week to report progress. The usual terms, Mr Congreve?”
“Certainly, Mr Scrivener. Make the accounts to my office, if you please.”
Charles saw the man out and returned to find Verity looking a little blank.
She met his eyes ruefully. “A week? I had hoped it would be sooner.”
“It may be. We cannot tell at this stage. Come, we will put your name down for the Royal Society lectures, and then I will escort you to Grosvenor Street.”
“Oh, but I am to stay with you the whole day, am I not? The others will have driven out by now.”
Charles felt a rush of exasperation, mixed with just a tinge of uncertainty as to what he had promised her yesterday. “Verity, I have work to do. I have to go to Bow Street to meet a client.”
“Is that the magistrate’s court? I have never been there. It sounds as if it would be a rational place to visit.”
“Rational possibly, but it is not a place for a lady. I will be at least an hour inside.”
“I may watch the proceedings, may I not?”
Charles’s patience snapped. Perhaps a shock, such as observing the sessions would give her, would convince her of the absurdity of going about with him during working hours. “You may. Very well, but on your own head be it.”
He gathered the papers he would need and swept her out. Striding up Middle Lane, he felt her hand creep under his arm and slowed his pace.
“I fear I am being a great trial to you, Charles,” she said in a small voice.
Her head was downbent, her bonnet shaded her face. He slowed his pace further and laid his hand over hers, already ashamed of his show of temper. “It is your uncle I am wishing to damnation, not you,” he said, not entirely accurately. “I beg pardon for my incivility. We will have a rational morning, Verity, and perhaps one or two more, but it cannot be every day.”
“No, I see that. You need not worry, Charles, I will go with Julia and Lilith to the exhibitions at other times. Lilith knows a great many sensible, improving places for me to visit.”
Charles stopped. “Lilith Fitzgilbert?” he asked.
Verity looked up at him enquiringly. “Yes. Do you know her?”
“I have been introduced. It is an unusual name. I remember she impressed me as being a very well-educated young lady.” He started walking again, one part of his mind wondering if Verity going about with Fitz’s sister would make things awkward for them, or whether they could turn it to account.
CHAPTER SIX
How very curious, thought Verity. Something she had said had stopped Charles mid-stride, and that was not a thing that often happened. Something about Lilith. She tucked the circumstance away to think about later, and instead looked around her with curiosity as they walked. There was a good deal of busyness about this part of London, with gentlemen of many professions hurrying to and fro as well as the street children who seemed to be everywhere.
In Bow Street itself, Charles had a word with the impressive personage behind the desk, then returned to her.
“I have to go to the cells to talk to my gentleman. The sessions are in progress, so you must wait for a break before you can enter. I do not like to leave you without an escort, but if you sit on this bench here, where you are in sight of the clerk, you will be quite safe. Another time, we must bring your maid or a footman with us. I will be as quick as I can.”
“Dear Charles, I think we are both learning as we go along today. Do not hurry back if haste means you cannot help your client properly. I shall be most prudent, I assure you.”
“That,” said Charles, “would be a miracle I am not sure I deserve.”
He disappeared though a passage leading to the rear of the building. Verity chuckled, exchanged a smile with the clerk at the desk and prepared to be amused. An enormous variety of people seemed to proceed through the entrance hall, some blustery with importance, some timid, some loud and some simply weary.
Verity watched as a skinny clerk was brought in by his employer and charged with fraud. Next, several urchins were dragged through the door by the scruff of their necks having been cried as thieves, a stout, painted matron with a great many bracelets was accused of running a brothel and a very elegant gentleman supervised the deposit of a couple of ruffians, both of who had their hands efficiently tied and were in the care of the gentleman’s groom. All the charges were written down and the parties directed to either a waiting area or the cells. All apart from the elegant gentleman who got a respectful murmur of “Thank you, Sir Philip,” and an assurance that a messenger would be sent when it was his turn to give evidence.