A Rational Proposal (Furze House Irregulars Book 1)(22)
“Nothing easier. I will see you at dinner.” She kissed her friend and left.
Mrs Bowman however, when asked how she would like to spend the morning, was found to have a headache and unequal to any exertion. Verity suspected Charles would be unimpressed by a second unheralded descent on his chambers, so resigned herself to a day devoted to correspondence and the mending of her old gloves. She had just completed this depressing task when the footman brought a short note from Charles himself.
“Scrivener has discovered a Captain Eastwick living in Henrietta Street. I am able to escort you there on Friday, if you wish.”
Verity immediately penned a reply accepting the offer, wishing that the underlying feeling of satisfaction emanating from Charles’s neat lines was because they were making progress, not because he saw a possibility of sending her back to Newmarket post-haste once Kitty was found. She had by no means achieved all her objectives in coming to the capital yet.
It occurred to her that Henrietta Street contained Bedford House, where linens and cottons could be got remarkably cheaply from Messrs Layton & Shears. It also occurred to her that if she and Mama did take Furze House, it would require a deal of new curtaining. There would be no harm, surely, in taking a preliminary look at what might be available?
After conscientiously asking her mother whether she wished to come with her to reconnoitre the wares and receiving a faint shudder in reply, Verity set forth.
It was gloomy outside, with a stuffy feeling to the air. The smell of smoke from earlier increased the further they progressed. Her maid was quiet and Verity remembered with a stab of remorse that she had said she did not feel well that morning. She kept a wary eye on her and sure enough, they had no sooner reached their destination than the generally stoical Bridget turned green and mumbled that she was sorry, miss, but she really felt very ill. Verity immediately sent her back in the hackney with instructions to go to bed, assuring her that she herself would be perfectly all right in the warehouse on her own.
She was not intending to buy fabric today, merely to form an idea of what was available and reckon up the likely cost. This exercise would have the dual effect of proving to Charles both her rationality of purpose and the seriousness of her intention in moving their establishment away from the dower house.
Buoyed up by these righteous thoughts, Verity entered the establishment of Layton and Shears where the bolts of material were so tempting that, without at all meaning to, she bought a length of Italian silk in lilac and another of deep pink sarsenet faster even than Julia would have managed. She could hear her friend’s voice in her head saying the pink would be perfect for when she came out of mourning and indeed she need not wait the full period before wearing it, for hadn’t Verity’s Uncle James always been uncomplimentary about sombre colours on young ladies?
Uncle James. The legacy. Recollecting herself with a guilty start, she hurriedly immersed herself in the rival merits of brocade and damask with only stray, longing glances at the satins and gauzes. Eventually, with all her sums done and a length of figured cotton added as a reward, she gathered up her parcels and samples and left the shop.
The street was now quite misty. Feeling conscience-stricken about how long she had spent in Bedford House, Verity walked down the road a little way to hail a hackney. She looked keenly at the houses as she passed, wondering which one might be Captain Eastwick’s address. There was quite a press of people towards the corner of the road. She edged through them, wishing she was tall enough to see over the heads. A phaeton bowled past at far too fast a lick in the poor light. The crowd swayed, grumbling. To her horror, Verity saw a small girl lose her footing and fall towards the road where a second phaeton was galloping after the first, evidently with the aim of overtaking it. Without thinking, she lunged forward to catch the child. As she pulled her to safety, the girl looked up, bewildered and scared. Her elfin face, dark hair and grey eyes were so familiar that Verity gasped.
“Kitty?” she said. “But how can you be?”
“Ann,” shouted a frantic voice behind them. “Ann, where are you?”
“Ma...” called the child, a quaver to her voice.
A woman pushed through to Verity’s side and scooped the little girl up. “Oh thank you. I saw the phaeton and... Verity! Oh my... Verity, is it really you?”
Joy broke in Verity’s chest and spilled out in a torrent of words as she embraced her sister. “Kitty. I’ve been looking for you. Oh, this is too ridiculous. To find you here! I cannot believe it. How long has it been?”
“Too long. Much too long. Verity, I... oh, there are no words...” Kitty - older, more fine-drawn, but undoubtedly her own beloved sister - cast a distracted look at the crowded street. “We cannot talk here. We shall be trampled ourselves. Will you step along to my house? It is not far, and we will be quite undisturbed.”
“How can you even ask? I should like it above all things. Kitty, I don’t know what I am saying or doing. I’m so happy.”
It seemed to take no time at all before they had hurried back up Henrietta Street and were two flights above the street in Kitty’s small, neat set of rooms, side by side on a sofa with Ann clutched against her mother next to them.
Still half-dazed with wonder and happiness, Verity could not get enough of Kitty’s face. “Have you been in London all this time?” she asked. “I could have come to see you so often when I was visiting Julia. Oh, Mama will be happier even than me. I must tell her as soon as I return. She was ill with worry for you when you left, though she hoped, of course, that you would be happy. We have both missed you so. Will you come with me to see her now? We are staying in Grosvenor Street with the Congreves. You remember Julia, I am sure.”