by Georgie Lee
Philip folded the papers and slid them inside his redingote pocket. At the unspoken signal, Mr Connor opened his eyes.
‘You’re quite serious today, Mr Connor,’ Laura teased, trying to lighten the oppressive mood in the coach.
‘I’m always serious when we’re about to seize collateral. Men in desperate situations can prove unpredictable.’ He slid his friend a chiding glance.
‘I wouldn’t have brought Miss Townsend if I thought it was going to be dangerous,’ Philip interjected, his words comforting despite their firm delivery.
In the past few days she’d learned to gauge his moods, to see something of the man behind the sturdy moneylender. He wouldn’t hold her in his arms and coo reassuring words, but she could always trust that he meant what he said. Her comfort was short lived as the carriage slowed to turn into a small side street, passing a man standing on the corner preaching universal suffrage. The landau rocked to a halt where the street widened a touch in front of a small bookstore. The store was wedged between a tobacconist shop and a print maker displaying a scathing cartoon of a fat Prince Regent extolling the virtues of the hated Gag Acts. Laura peered through the window at the dark and dirty street. The windows of the shops with eaves were dulled by the grime of London air or streaked with a half-hearted attempt to clean them. The more exposed windows were pocked with brown spots from where last night’s raindrops had struck them. The only things each shop had in common were the shabby goods filling their shallow display spaces or overflowing on the rickety carts outside.
Mr Connor hopped out, but stayed near the door, his back to the carriage. Philip stepped down next, waiting by the kerb for Laura to alight. She had to shift to one side as she did to avoid a dead rat. Behind the carriage, the cart driven by Philip’s men halted. The burly gentlemen slid down off the sides, disturbing the small puddles dotting the pavement. The sky was clear now and the stench of the street, previously dampened by the rain, was beginning to rise with the heat of the spring sun.
Mr Connor made for the door, Philip following behind him, but Laura paused. A bow-front window with painted green trim marked the shop. The box affixed to the outside of the building spilled over with geraniums glittering with raindrops still clinging to their petals. Behind the flowers, the square panes of leaded glass sparkled with the faint sun reaching down this depressing lane.
‘What’s wrong?’ Philip asked, pausing at the door as she joined him and Mr Connor.
‘There’s something too genteel about this place for a man in love with the faro tables.’ She cupped one of the large geranium flowers drooping towards the door. ‘There’s a woman’s touch here.’
Philip’s scrutiny jumped from one point to another, noting the details. He pulled on the top of his glove, stretching the leather tighter over his hand before letting it snap back into place.
‘I investigated the man myself. There was no evidence of a woman,’ Mr Connor added. ‘At least not three months ago.’
‘The man’s situation has changed.’ Laura could sense Philip’s fury, yet no one watching them would have caught the subtle shift in him.
They exchanged a look, understanding whispering between them. Despite the change, they must continue, no matter what or who they met inside.
Her heart sank, but with his men waiting by the cart and the neighbours coming out of their shops or pulling back curtains to watch, there was no halting what was about to happen. Even the man preaching suffrage had stopped to watch.
Laura pulled her pelisse closer around her. The gathering shopkeepers’ sneers and curious whispers reminded her too much of the morning they’d left the draper shop in Wood Street.
‘Come along.’ Philip lowered his walking stick, pressing the tip against the ground. ‘Let’s be done with this.’
Philip opened the shop door, disturbing the bell hanging over it, and Laura and Mr Connor followed behind.
The tinkling noise brought a young woman out from the back room. She didn’t have the look of London. The sense of the country was too strong in the cut of her dress and the fullness of her hips. If she wasn’t standing behind the counter, Laura might have mistaken her for one of the many milkmaids who walked the streets each morning with jugs of milk hanging off the yokes balanced across their shoulders. Whatever her origins, the freshness of the country had faded from her pale cheeks. The fullness of her body would soon fade, too, Laura predicted, as it had from her when the meals had become sparse.
‘May I help you, sir?’ The woman’s voice was bright and inviting, but there was a strain to it Laura recognised. It was the same tense hope she’d once greeted each customer with when the business had begun to falter and every sale was desperately needed.
The breeze from outside ruffled the pages of an open book on a stand as Philip’s men filed in behind them.
The woman’s bottom lip began to tremble as Philip approached the counter.
‘Madam, my name is Mr Rathbone. I’m here to see Mr Hammond.’
‘No, you’re not. I know why you’re really here.’ She twisted her hands in front of her. ‘Please do me the courtesy of locking the door so none of the neighbours come barging in to see my shame.’
Philip nodded to Mr Connor, who slid the bolt on the door. ‘Where is Mr Hammond? My business is with him.’
‘He isn’t here. Up and took the King’s shilling. Sent me a letter telling me he wasn’t coming back. Didn’t even say where he was.’ Mrs Hammond went white beneath her freckles. The poor woman must have known as little about her husband’s failed dealings as Laura had about her uncle’s. ‘That’s what you’ve come for, isn’t it, the money he owes?’
‘It is.’ Philip’s voice softened, but it didn’t ease the woman’s worry or Laura’s discomfort.
‘Well, there isn’t any to give you.’ Mrs Hammond huffed. ‘When he wed me, he said he had a good business, a fine shop. It was all lies. He had his fun with me, then left me to deal with his troubles. The coward. I thought I could keep it going, save myself from the streets, but I was sinking before he even left. I don’t know anything about running a shop, or keeping accounts. I don’t want to end up on the streets.’ Mrs Hammond shoved her fist in her mouth to hold back a sob.
Laura rushed to her, recognising herself in the despairing woman and wanting to relieve even a small measure of her pain. ‘I’m so sorry.’
The woman dropped her fist to her side, a hard look replacing her tears. ‘Are ya?’
‘I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like to lose everything.’
‘You haven’t lost nothing, not if you’re with him.’ She waved a finger at Philip, her tone blunt, not cutting. She didn’t want Laura’s pity any more than Laura had wanted anyone else’s. ‘I don’t have a man like that to save me. Mine’s run off, the coward. I hope he gets shot.’
‘Mrs Hammond, are there children?’ Philip asked.
She shook her head, her dingy blonde hair waving over her forehead. ‘No, thank goodness.’
‘Do you have family you can go to?’
Again she shook her head, large tears welling in her wide eyes.
‘Philip, can’t we extend the contract, give Mrs Hammond more time to pay, or loan her more money?’ Laura pleaded, hating to see the woman suffer or to think what fate waited for her once she, Philip and his men left with her possessions. ‘She’s running the shop, she might make good of it yet.’
Philip came to stand in front of her, his body so close she could see the fine needlework around the buttonhole of his redingote. Laura tensed, expecting him to pull her from the room like her uncle used to do whenever she’d question him in front of customers or the more dubious creditors. Philip didn’t pull her outside. Instead, he leaned in close to Laura’s ear, the heat from his cheek singeing hers. Her heart began to race with more than just the panicked memories brought about by this si
tuation. She stared straight ahead, focusing on the stacks of books just visible behind the counter and the narrow opening between the shop and the storeroom at the back. She was afraid to look at him, not because of what she might see, but because of the primal reaction setting low inside her, a feeling she couldn’t explain.
‘Making a scene will not make this any easier for Mrs Hammond,’ he said in a low voice. It wasn’t a warning or a reprimand, but as straight a statement as any he’d ever made. ‘I understand your concern, but Mrs Hammond does not possess the skills or experience to make a success of a business which is already floundering. If I fail to seize her goods, one of her many other creditors will do it. They may not treat her as kindly when they do.’
Laura blinked slowly, trying not to let the heat of his firm body so close to hers add to the faint feeling already gripping her. At last she dared to meet his eyes, turning her head just enough to catch his gaze from beneath her lashes. The muscles along his cheekbones tightened, his breath caressing her face in a steady, even cadence to match the rise and fall of his chest. If there weren’t all these people watching, she thought he might kiss the fight out of her.
Over Philip’s shoulder, Laura caught Mrs Hammond’s eye. The woman watched the exchange intensely, hope returning to her tired face. It crushed Laura to think it was about to be extinguished. She was no expert on books, but from here she could see the frayed edges of covers and the dust covering many of the tomes. Philip was correct. Mrs Hammond couldn’t revive the business with such sad offerings. ‘Yes, you’re right. She can’t carry on.’
Philip didn’t gloat at her acquiescence, but studied her face. That unsettling spark jumped between them again, hidden from the others in the room by his wide back. As she held his stare, part of Laura willed him to step away, to lessen the intensity between them so she could breathe again. As if hearing her plea, he turned and strode to Mrs Hammond.
‘Mrs Hammond, if you would please show me where you keep the rest of the inventory, then we may conclude this business and leave you in peace.’ The deep tones of his voice were almost soothing.
With a resigned nod, Mrs Hammond led Philip behind the counter and through the small door at the back. Mr Connor went about instructing the men to pack up the books and they began loading them in the cart.
While the men worked, Laura stood in the middle of the store, watching through the sagging storeroom lintel as Philip quietly spoke to Mrs Hammond. The cadence and tone of Philip’s voice was audible, but not the words. Mrs Hammond nodded as she listened, her despair seeming to lift, especially when Philip removed something from the pocket of his redingote and handed it to her. Laura thought it must be a pound or two. It seemed Laura’s plea had prompted him to do more than enforce his rights. Mrs Hammond took the item and Philip’s hand, showing what Laura thought a touch too much gratitude for such small charity. There was no kindness in extending a few pounds. If the woman didn’t have the knowledge to manage accounts, she’d soon spend the money and be no better off tomorrow than she was today.
Laura tugged at her gloves again, wanting to be free of the store and this dirty business, to sit in the dark of the coach and quiet her mind.
She made for the door. ‘Mr Connor, I’ll be in the carriage.’
‘Allow me to escort you.’
‘No, I can go alone.’
She slipped outside before he could object, stopping to take a breath.
‘Excuse us, Miss Townsend,’ one of Philip’s men said as he carried a crate of books from the store.
She moved aside, noting the crowd watching, their eyes narrowed with hate and disgust, all of it directed at her. They despised her and Philip just as she’d once despised the creditors, too.
She hurried to the carriage, waving the rising driver back into his seat. She twisted the brass handle and climbed inside, pulling the door closed with a slam. The horse rocked back and forth, startled by the noise and the driver’s voice rumbled as he calmed the animal.
The settling of the carriage didn’t calm her, it couldn’t, not with the steady clap of footsteps moving back and forth, the clunk of boxes falling into the cart and the loud whispers of all the watchers.
Laura leaned back as far as she could into the darkness of the landau, trying to brace herself against the fear of the strangers in the street and the memories awakened by Mrs Hammond’s situation. Today wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was Mr Hammond who was meant to suffer for his mistakes, not his wife. Helplessness filled her, just as it had when she’d overheard her uncle Robert downstairs bargaining away the business while her mother had struggled to sleep in the next room. Tears stung her eyes and fell in fat drops of frustration down her cheeks. She hadn’t been at the new shop the morning Philip’s men had come to claim the inventory, but she’d shaken with anger when Robert had callously told her it was all gone. Despite Laura’s engagement to the man who had lent the money, she could no more prevent the end of Mrs Hammond’s livelihood any more than she could have saved her own.
She stared out the opposite window, unable to watch Philip’s men, eager for this awful morning and her part in it to end. Then, over the shoulder of an old woman whispering fiercely to the thin one beside her, Laura thought she saw a face she recognised. Her heart thumped hard in her chest as she jerked up and pressed her hands to the glass, trying to get a better look, but the man turned and hurried away. His shoulders were wide, his chest thick as a barrel. A shock of salt-and-pepper hair sat below his worn cap as he lumbered down the street.
Uncle Robert.
The day she’d left Seven Dials, he’d promised she’d see him again. The memory of his scowl glaring from the rookery window sent a chill racing through her. With shaking hands, Laura reached down and slid the bolt on the carriage door in front of her, then leaned over to lock the other one.
She returned to the window and caught sight of the man’s cap in the distance. She willed him to look back, to confirm or ease her suspicions, but he turned the corner, the profile of his face obscured by the bright light reflecting off the building behind him.
The carriage door on the far side rattled and Laura whirled around to see Philip and Mr Connor outside. She fought to calm herself as she reached over and slid back the bolt.
‘Why did you lock the door?’ Philip demanded, as he stepped inside and settled himself across from her.
Philip had warned her to tell him if her uncle ever approached her. His intense stare almost demanded it. Out of spite, Laura refused to tell him, though part of her wanted him to know, wanted his protection.
‘Mrs Hammond will not have the luxury of a bolt soon,’ Laura shot at him, her anger fuelled by the fear threatening to escape from her control.
Mr Connor paused, halfway into the carriage. He looked back and forth between them, then stepped back out. ‘I’ll ride with the men.’
Once he was gone and the door closed, the vehicle rocked into motion.
‘I’m sorry this morning didn’t go as planned,’ Philip offered, but she was in no mood for his apology.
‘It went exactly as you planned. Mr Hammond failed to pay and you seized his goods. Now Mrs Hammond will starve, or worse.’
‘Remember, Laura, Mr Hammond applied to me for help and I gave it. It was his choice to throw the opportunity aside and squander my money.’ He settled his walking stick beside him. ‘Why did you lock the bolt?’
His return to this subject startled her and she stammered as she answered. ‘I was afraid of the crowd. Their hate was obvious.’
‘If they understood the amount of good I’ve done, they wouldn’t be so eager for our demise. Neither would you.’
‘I have no desire to see us fail,’ Laura insisted, wishing he could understand how watching the end of Mrs Hammond’s hope had been like reliving the end of hers. ‘I only question the good you seem to find in seizing a man’s
livelihood.’
‘I assume your father was forced to collect debts.’
‘He was.’ Laura shifted in her seat, wishing to be left alone to deal with this tumble of emotions instead of enduring his questions and explanations.
‘Then you understand the need to collect mine.’
‘No, I don’t understand. If my father had seen such a situation, he would have given Mrs Hammond more time, found a way to allow her to make payments, anything but snatch away her things. You see such a situation and it does nothing to alter your course. How can you be so callous?’
The atmosphere in the coach grew as tight as a thread about to break.
‘You think me callous?’ His question was sharp, slicing away her anger.
She’d pushed him too far.
The carriage rocked to a stop in front of the house. Philip flipped open the latch and stepped down. She expected him to storm inside. Instead he turned, facing her as he had Mr Williams before he’d ordered the man out of his house.
‘Join me in the study.’ He strode into the house, not waiting for her.
She reached for the open carriage door to steady herself as she stepped down, waving away the footman’s offer of assistance. The heels of her half-boots clicked with each step she took up the path. He was going to end their engagement. He was going to throw her and her mother out to join Mrs Hammond on the street. She was going to have to face her mother and tell her they were now going to starve, or worse, because she’d spat on everything Philip was, just because he’d made her face her fears at Mrs Hammond’s and that had terrified her.
