A Week in Brighton

by Moore, Jennifer

  “What’s that?” Durham asked, jutting his chin toward the object.

  “My pocket watch. You keep it—hidden, mind you, until this is all over.”

  “Why would I want that?”

  “For assurance,” Mr. Hayward said. “If you take it, each of us has a way to betray the other. No one would listen to you if you were to accuse a gentleman with the so-called crimes some may think we’re committing. But with it, you’d have some basis for your claims. You won’t need to use it, because as I said, our business will be over before you know it. You will be paid handsomely—more than the watch is worth—so there’s no use in running off and selling it.”

  Durham reached out tentatively, then snatched the watch and peered at it. “More than this is worth?” he said in awe. His chin trembled, and then he coughed as if trying to speak while holding back tears. “I’ll be able to pay off my debts and return to my family.”

  “Yes,” Hayward said. He knelt on one knee and placed a hand on Durham’s shoulder. “This whole venture will be good for both of us. Good for England. Good for your family.”

  In reply, Durham nodded but at first said nothing. He cleared his throat again, then, with a wobbling voice, said, “Thank you, sir. I won’t let you down.”

  “I know you won’t.” Mr. Hayward stood and wiped his palms together, as if removing sand. “Now go hire that wagon to transport the crates. I’ll meet you here on Friday eve, one hour before the ball, with further instructions.”

  “Yes, sir.” Durham scrambled to his feet—several seconds’ worth of work, as the gravel and sand did not provide much purchase—and then bowed and scurried off down the shore trail away from Julia.

  Hayward watched him go, and Julia watched Hayward. He stood tall—a hand taller than Andrew, if she guessed correctly. He had broad shoulders. Dark hair that would need to be cut soon and a jawline that hadn’t seen a razor yet today; the shadow made him look mysterious and powerful, like a hero from a Gothic novel.

  In a manner of speaking, she already thought of him as a hero of sorts. He was helping a man who had fallen on hard times. Even if the same deed lined his own pockets a bit, she couldn’t help but admire him. Technically he was breaking a law, but he was right; the entire upper class drank French wine despite the blockade. He seemed to be doing something good, or at least, nothing particularly bad.

  With each second, she felt drawn to him, and while she imagined what it would be like to talk to him, she would never have been so foolish as to attempt such a thing. Even if they’d had a proper introduction, she couldn’t very well reveal herself after overhearing the scene with Durham.

  Mr. Hayward gazed out toward the ocean, and the morning breeze sent his coat alight and ruffled his hair. Goodness, he was handsome.

  Mr. Silas Hayward, she thought, cementing the name in her memory.

  Who knew that she’d find something on the cliff path that would interest her more than fossils?

  Fortunately, Julia came to her senses the moment Silas Hayward began to turn. Just as his coattails shifted with his weight, she pulled back, out of sight, breathless at nearly being spotted.

  Now what? Would he come her way, walk the path along the cliffside, and find that she’d been eavesdropping? With her mouth suddenly dry and her frame trembling with panic and excitement, she tiptoed carefully through the stones as quietly as she could manage, trying to get as much distance between herself and Mr. Hayward as possible before he rounded the corner and saw her.

  Wait a moment, she thought, suddenly realizing her error. If he came around the bend and saw her withdrawing, he’d know for certain that she’d been witness to his encounter with Durham.

  She looked about frantically, then realized a solution. She quickly left the path and ran toward the shore. Her steps would make some sound, but she walked purposefully and deliberately—and slowly—doing her utmost to appear as if she’d been admiring the ocean view and the sun as it reflected off the water, sending streaks of gold and orange and red across the surface. Julia set her face into what she prayed looked like an enamored, dreamy expression, and lifted her face to the sky as if relishing the breeze, even though the salty tang was mixed with fishy smells, which weren’t so enjoyable.

  Andrew, Caroline, and Mrs. Fields were far enough away that she’d have to call loudly for them to note her, but near enough for Mr. Hayward to assume—rightly—that she was part of their group and—wrongly—that she’d only just wandered ahead of them.

  Julia arranged her wrap about her shoulders a bit more, noting the morning chill and hoping to catch a glimpse of Silas out of the corner of her eye. He wasn’t there. She turned toward the stones on which Andrew still sat, waiting for her return as Caroline stood and chattered, gesticulating as she told him another story of who knew what about whom.

  With the water on her left and the path on her right, Julia had a good view of Andrew. She could tell the moment he’d spotted her, as his posture straightened in expectation, and then he stood and smiled in the way that could always light up a room.

  “Sit down, Andrew,” Caroline said, tugging on his coat. “I wasn’t finished.”

  “Of course. My apologies,” he said, resuming his position. “What were you saying about the ball?”

  Once more, Caroline continued her chatter, but Andrew continued to look at Julia. He unobtrusively held out his fist thumb up, put his other hand palm up beneath it, and made the sign help.

  Julia had to hold in a laugh. Dear Andrew. Even now he lightened her mood and eased her anxiety, even when he didn’t know about her worry: whether Silas would figure out that she’d seen him and knew things she should not. She began walking toward him, the water on one side of her and the cliffside path on the other.

  Out of her peripheral vision, she noted movement by the cliffs and instinctively turned. There was Mr. Hayward walking along with a purposeful gait, as if on the way to an important meeting. She gulped, then quickly schooled her face, hoping to seem as casual and unaffected as a stranger would, but he noted her and slowed his step. For a heartbeat or two, they stared into each other’s eyes—his cobalt-blue ones held her gaze fast. They seemed to bore into her mind, reading her very soul. He looked as if he had a deep and complicated past that demanded someone—some woman—learn of and love him for it. He nodded and touched the brim of his top hat in acknowledgment, an action that stunned her into clumsiness.

  She didn’t realize that she’d been staring at him for several seconds until her slipper caught on a large rock and she stumbled, nearly falling onto the stony ground. After she caught herself, she smoothed her skirts and wiped off any dirt, blushing furiously. By the time she looked back up at the path, Mr. Hayward was gone, still visible but much farther along the path.

  Either he knew she’d witnessed his encounter with Durham and didn’t care, or he had no idea about it, and her ruse had worked. At the moment, she wasn’t sure which to hope for most; she was merely grateful that he hadn’t confronted her with the angry tone he’d used with Durham. She felt quite certain that she wouldn’t withstand two seconds’ interrogation from him. Though he was quickly growing smaller in the distance, Julia kept looking his way, curious about him, though now sure to check her footsteps to ensure that she wouldn’t trip again.

  When she’d crossed about half of the distance to Andrew, he jogged along the stony ground to reach her. “You’re back,” he said, taking a spot beside Julia as she walked the rest of the way. He held out his arm, and she slipped her hand into the crook.

  She eyed him mischievously. “Do I detect a hint of relief in that statement?”

  Andrew laughed aloud, throwing his head back, which, with a gust of wind, sent his hat flying and mussed his reddish-brown hair. “Oh, you sensed far more than a hint of relief,” he said, reaching for his hat on the ground. He smoothed his hair back and replaced his hat in its place. “She is a like a sister to me, truly, and yet . . .”

  When his voice trailed off, Julia offered, “
Yet younger sisters do have a tendency to wear on one’s nerves . . . only on occasion, of course.”

  “Precisely. Only on occasion,” Andrew said, still smiling, though he faced forward. Julia could see him in profile now and was glad to see the dimple in his cheek.

  “I believe I can make a relatively accurate prediction about our dear younger sister—though she’s your sister in name only, of course—”

  “Of course,” he said with a mock-solemn nod.

  “I think it is quite safe to suppose that Caroline will be insufferable for the entire time we are at Brighton, and that she will not stop talking nonsense until we’ve returned to London and a full fortnight has passed.”

  “God save us all.” Andrew sounded almost as if he meant it as a genuine prayer, something Julia could appreciate entirely, though his response was so unexpected that she laughed aloud and nearly lost her balance on an uneven portion of the beach.

  She stumbled a few steps, making her grasp Andrew’s arm with both of hers. He, too, stopped and bent over, holding on so she wouldn’t fall. When the downward momentum had halted, Julia found herself staring at the ground and awfully near Andrew. His boots were right there, below her eyes, and his arm felt warm and secure around her—waist. The latter realization sent a thrill through her, though Mrs. Fields would be shocked and appalled by such a forward gesture, even though it was instinctual and entirely for Julia’s safety. Andrew wouldn’t be able to act untoward even if his future livelihood depended on it.

  All the more reason that Julia, for the briefest of moments, didn’t want to straighten and keep walking. She let herself enjoy the moment of feeling his hand about her waist, the warmth of his body near hers, the scent of sandalwood from his skin.

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Hughes?” he asked, reverting to her proper name.

  Mrs. Fields must have drawn near. Sure enough, when Julia looked up, there she was, standing at a distance with her hands upon her hips, looking for all the world as if Julia and Andrew were misbehaving children or outright scoundrels. The governess’s disdain would have looked the same for either situation, Julia was quite certain.

  “I’m fine,” she said, straightening. “Thank you so much for your help, Mr. Gillingham,” she added, reverting to his proper name.

  Mrs. Fields and others did not approve of using Christian names with those one was not intimately familiar with. Yet that was precisely the thing that Mrs. Fields did not understand: Andrew had been part of Julia’s and Caroline’s lives for literally as long as they could remember. They’d grown up together, their mothers having been good friends and their families having settled in the same area. Their fathers were partners at a thriving bank, and since his father’s passing a year ago, Andrew had moved in with the Hughes family as he studied under their father in preparation to take his own father’s position at the bank. In many respects they were very much like siblings.

  Though truth be told, Julia was grateful for the fact that they weren’t related, for they could interact in other ways that such a relation would have made difficult. She dreaded the day that Andrew found a wife, for marriage would inevitably change their long-standing friendship. No longer would Andrew be able to be her confidante. No longer could they take walks together without society papers whispering about it. A wife—or husband, in her case—would be highly unlikely to view their friendship as something worthy of continuing.

  Julia herself could scarcely bear the thought of marrying, because that would almost certainly mean moving away from London to some estate, possibly in the country, to be the mistress far from where she had always called home.

  Until either of them married, all could continue as they had for years and years. But seeing as Andrew was four and twenty, he’d almost surely marry within the year. Society—and his family—would demand he settle down soon.

  As for herself, Julia was already two and twenty, which meant she was nearing spinsterhood. If she was lucky, perhaps she’d escape the need to marry. Her father’s estate could provide for her in her later years, and beautiful Caroline would almost surely make a good match.

  Perhaps I can live with Caroline in my elderly years.

  She smiled a bit at that thought right as they reached Mrs. Fields and Caroline, who now put a hand on her hip, much like the old woman. “Why are you grinning like an imp?”

  Julia thought quickly. She had a plethora of reasons to be smiling right then—escaping Mr. Hayward, seeing the handsome Mr. Hayward at all, enjoying and appreciating Andrew’s friendship, his saving of her when she tripped, and, yes, the thought of living with Caroline as she grew old and gray and got to spoil Caroline’s children beyond measure.

  In that moment, however, she smiled most at the memory of the dashing and exciting Mr. Hayward, who had an aura of mystery and danger about him.

  “I’m thinking of this week’s ball at the Royal Pavilion with much anticipation, that’s all,” she told Caroline—likely the first flagrant lie she’d ever told her sister, and hopefully, it was the last.

  Julia had fully expected to find her patience tried exceedingly by her younger sister as they got ready for the ball, but instead, she found Caroline’s excitement contagious. As they walked down Old Steine on their way to the Royal Pavilion, it lay ahead of them, stunning in its white glory. Lit by candles and lamps so it glowed against the darkness of the night, the radiance reflected back from the water, making an even more awe-inspiring scene. Julia could not help but feel slightly giddy at the prospect of going inside.

  Andrew walked between the sisters, each of them on one of his arms. Unsurprisingly, Caroline was abuzz with anticipation, to the point that Julia doubted the Prince Regent himself would be able to get in a word edgewise if he tried to.

  Would they meet the Prince Regent? The thought was thrilling to Julia, though until yesterday, she hadn’t any desire whatsoever to meet him or any other royalty. Something had changed, and she knew what it was: the scene she’d witnessed the other day between Mr. Silas Hayward and Durham.

  Caroline did a little hop as they walked. “I cannot wait to see for myself how the inside is decorated. I wonder if there are many halls and rooms or one large open area. Oh, I hope there really are dozens of dragons. I’ve looked forward to finding as many as I can. That had better not be a rumor, or I’ll be so disappointed.”

  “I’ve heard about the dragons from several sources,” Andrew said encouragingly. “You shouldn’t be disappointed on that count, at least.”

  “Oh, I’m so glad to hear it!” Caroline tossed some dangling hat ribbons over her shoulder. “I cannot wait to return to London and tell the James sisters all about the Royal Pavilion and the ball. They’ll be sick with envy, I tell you!” With a start, she released Andrew’s arm and spun around to face the sisters’ parents, Mr. and Mrs. Hughes, who were following from the rear. “Mother,” Caroline cried. “I forgot my brooch!”

  Mrs. Hughes waved a hand in an attempt to console her daughter. “The Prince Regent will never know the difference, my dear. You look stunning.”

  Caroline ran to her mother’s side, which made the entire party stop right there on the cobbled street. “Please, Mama. May we return to the flat to get it? My night will be absolutely ruined if I don’t have my brooch. I’ve dreamt of this night for weeks, and always with my brooch. It simply won’t be the same without.”

  Mr. Hughes and his wife exchanged knowing looks. “Very well. I’ll continue on with Julia and Andrew, while you two ladies return for the brooch.”

  “Oh, thank you, Papa!” Caroline went on tiptoe and gave his cheek a peck before taking her mother’s hand and trotting back up the street as fast as her mother could go.

  Mr. Hughes waved Andrew and Julia along. “We might as well continue on our way.”

  They walked along, the pavilion growing larger and larger in the distance, and the sounds of music and the milling, growing throng reaching them like a murmuring wave from the sea. They stepped onto the long pier, at
the end of which the pavilion awaited them. Neither Julia nor Andrew spoke for some time, each in their own thoughts.

  Julia would never have admitted that her mind was fixated upon a single thought: Will I see Mr. Hayward tonight?

  At last, Andrew broke the silence. “Did you find any fossils at the shore yesterday? You weren’t gone for long, but I didn’t know if that was because no fossils were to be had, there were so many that you found more than you needed, or something else.”

  She’d forgotten that she hadn’t reported on her solo excursion—not a word about fossils or chalk or flint or anything else she’d been vocal about wanting to study. Until now, no one had asked about her silence, and she’d begun to think she’d be able to maintain it.

  “I simply decided to turn back before I began looking for any.”

  She prayed the few street lamps dim and far apart enough that he wouldn’t note how her face had paled out of guilt. She’d never lied to Andrew before, and now she’d lied to both Caroline and Andrew on successive days.

  That wasn’t a lie to Andrew, she argued with herself. She did decide to turn back before looking for fossils. That was true, if not the entire truth.

  Still, guilt swept over her like sudden seasickness, a feeling she pushed away as hard as possible, and then she tried to lock a mental door so the thought could not return. For this magical evening to not be spoiled by such a mental intrusion, however, she needed to redirect Andrew’s line of query.

  A man her father knew from past business appeared from a side street and greeted them. She and Andrew were introduced to Mr. Lambert, and then they returned to their walk, her father and his associate lagging behind, involved in their own conversation. This left Julia and Andrew a modicum of privacy, which she wasn’t sure whether to welcome or wish away.