Chapter 2
They arrived on Orchard Street,just off Portman Square, a great deal sooner than Dorothy wished. Her heart thudded in her chest at the site of the tall brick building. Only sheer self-control kept her from gasping in shallow breaths. Even her light corset seemed too tight. She pressed a cold hand against her stomach as she glanced at her sister.
Grace looked pale in the flickering light cast by the street lamp at the corner. While there were far too many lamps and lights in London to keep the encroaching night truly dark, the air felt heavy with gloomy shadows and tainted with unaccustomed and undeniably unpleasant odors. After living in the country for so long, the Staintons were used to the usual earthy scents of farm animals and dung, mixed with the more pleasing fragrance of wood fires. But in London, there seemed to be more acrid smells layered over the odors of horse manure from the streets.
Coal fires, perhaps. And the musty odor of damp bricks, laced with the infrequent but sickening smell of something very like rotting fish. She held her handkerchief over her nose and mouth and tried not to breathe too deeply until she could accustom herself to the unique fragrance of London.
She would get used to it—she would! Gritting her teeth, she lowered her handkerchief and smiled at Grace. At least the two of them were together and could encourage each other, no matter what happened.
Shoulders slumped and glancing around with a forlorn look on her face, Grace finally shook her head and grimaced.
“Here we are then, ladies,” Mr. Cavell announced as the wagon rattled to a stop in front of the imposing brick townhouse.
Dorothy glanced up at the towering building. Four stories, complete with a sweltering attic, as she knew only too well. Most of the windows on the upper floors were dark, making the top of the building blend into the deep blue of the evening sky in a way that struck her as ominous.
She sighed. “Thank you, Mr. Cavell. It was so good of you to bring us here.”
“No trouble—no trouble at all,” he said over his shoulder as he hooked the reins around the lever that acted as the wagon’s brake. “Coming here anyway. I’d have been a fool to pass up such lovely company.” He clambered down and moved to the side of the wagon to help the sisters climb down. “I will wait, shall I? Until your uncle and aunt greet you?” he asked as he unloaded their paltry belongings. “Wouldn’t do to leave you stranded in the middle of London, now, would it?”
The two sisters glanced at each other. They might be better off if they were stranded. Dorothy’s lips twisted, and she bit the corner of her mouth to keep from laughing, fearing that her nervous amusement might easily turn into full-blown hysteria. She was tired and anxious—no, terrified—and wanted desperately to cry for some reason.
Or climb back into Farmer Cavell’s wagon to jolt her way back to Kendle. Martha would take them in, wouldn’t she? She was their sister, after all, and had to.
Glancing up at the tall, forbidding townhouse again, Dorothy tried to repress the thought that she truly didn’t want to be here. The notion made her swallow quickly to keep from being sick right on her aunt’s stoop.
“No, that wouldn’t do at all,” Grace murmured before smiling tremulously at the old farmer. “Though I can see from the lamplight in that window on the first floor that there is someone home.” She looked at Dorothy. “They are expecting us, I suppose.”
“Of course!” Dorothy replied brightly and forced a smile as she looped her arm through the crook of her sister’s elbow. “I’m sure they will be pleased to see us at last.” She looked at Mr. Cavell. “Thank you again—it was very kind of you.”
“My pleasure, Miss Stainton.”
Taking another deep breath, Dorothy went up the shallow stairs to the glossy black front door. Shoulders straight, she used the bronze knocker to rap sharply.
A few seconds later, the door creaked open. A shadowy face, topped by a white cap, peered around the edge of the door. “Who is it?”
“Miss Stainton,” Dorothy replied firmly, dragging her sister up a step to stand beside her. “And Miss Grace Stainton.” When the girl didn’t reply, Dorothy added, “We are expected.”
“Who is it, Elsa?” a sharp voice called from the dim interior of the townhouse.
“Ladies. One of ‘em says she’s Miss Stainton,” Elsa said over her shoulder.
“Don’t be a fool, Elsa, let them in!” More muttering followed the order, but the words were thankfully unclear.
Grace caught Dorothy’s hand and gave it a squeeze.
Chin up, Dorothy pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The maid skittered backward, her mouth hanging open. Her gaze flickered from the sisters to the lady standing in the hallway behind her. Her reddened hands picked up the edges of her damp-looking apron and twisted it into a thick corkscrew as she focused on the other woman.
“Good evening, Miss Stainton.” The other lady nodded and clasped her hands at her waist. She was dressed entirely in black except for a white cap and brass keyring suspended from a chain at her waist. Her dark hair was severely scraped back, braided, and pinned into a coronet that encircled her round head and was just visible beneath the ruffled edge of her cap. “I am Mrs. Jolly—the housekeeper. Welcome. I hope your trip was not too exhausting?”
Mrs. Jolly appeared to be anything but jolly; however, she seemed polite enough. There might even have been a glimmer of sympathy in her dark eyes, although the one lamp gracing the entryway made judging anyone’s expression a trifle chancy.
“Not at all,” Dorothy said, moving forward. “We were fortunate that a neighbor took pity upon us and offered us transportation.”
“Yes. We had a most enjoyable trip.” Grace edged closer to Dorothy, her dusty skirt brushing the top of Dorothy’s half-boot.
Behind her, Mr. Cavell was busy depositing their belongings in the entryway. When he was done, he took one look at Mrs. Jolly, doffed his cap, murmured something that sounded like a goodbye, and fled.
The rattle of the wagon echoed through the doorway, startling Elsa, who spun around and slammed the front door shut as if she feared the farmer might try to drive the wagon straight into the townhouse. When she faced Mrs. Jolly, she winced and began twisting her apron again.
Mrs. Jolly studied the girl for a minute, let out an exasperated sigh, and said, “Please inform Cook that the Staintons have arrived. I am sure they will need some refreshments.”
Elsa curtseyed but remained rooted to the spot as her gaze drifted over the untidy and obviously well-worn bags behind the sisters. The tip of her tongue ran over her lower lip, her face alive with curiosity.
The distinct impression that Elsa would have unpacked the bags here and now if the housekeeper wasn’t standing twenty feet away overcame Dorothy. She bit the corner of her mouth to keep from laughing.
“Now, Elsa. If you please,” Mrs. Jolly said in a tired voice. “And then return to take the Misses Stainton’s luggage to their room.”
Elsa dithered, taking one step toward the bags and then one back toward Mrs. Jolly. The housekeeper watched her in silence. Finally, hands still twisted in her limp apron, Elsa darted past Mrs. Jolly to the shadows beyond the grand staircase and disappeared.
Mrs. Jolly waited until the slap of Elsa’s leather soles over the marble flooring faded before she fastened her gaze on the girls again. “I apologize that the Polkinghornes are not here to greet you. Mrs. Polkinghorne was looking forward to seeing you again. Unfortunately, the family had a prior engagement. However, she left orders that you were to be shown to your room and given anything you require.” Her thin, dark brows rose in polite inquiry. “Are you hungry? There is a cold joint or a very good meat pie, if you wish.”
“Oh, the pie would be wonderful!” Grace sucked in an enthusiastic breath and moved toward the housekeeper before glancing at her sister. “Would it not, Dorothy?”
Dorothy smiled. “Yes. It would do very well, thank you, Mrs. Jolly.”
Any kind of savory or sweet pie would suit Grace down to the ground—anything between two flaky crusts was an immediate favorite with her. Dorothy’s stomach gurgled, and she pressed a hand against her middle. At this moment, meat pie was her favorite dish, as well.
The housekeeper nodded and gestured to the wide staircase behind her. “Then let me show you to your room. I hope a tray in your room will be acceptable?” she asked.
“Of course.” Dorothy nodded and, placing a hand in the middle of her sister’s slender back, urged her forward to follow Mrs. Jolly.
Picking up the entryway lamp, Mrs. Jolly led the way up the stairs, briskly navigating the first floor landing to ascend to the second flight. Grace glanced over her shoulder at Dorothy and raised her brows in a grimace, clearly anticipating a long climb up to the pokey room under the eaves that they had been relegated to on their last visit.
However, this time, when they reached the landing on the second floor, Mrs. Jolly ushered them to the second door on the right.
Stopping, Dorothy caught Grace’s arm to hold her back. “There must be some mistake. Is this not Cousin Cecilia’s room?”
The faintest glimmer of a smile briefly curved the housekeeper’s mouth. “Yes, it was Miss Cecilia’s room. Mrs. Polkinghorne decided you would be more comfortable here. Miss Cecilia is sharing a room with Miss Katherine on the third floor.”
“Oh!” Dorothy caught Grace’s hand and gave it an encouraging squeeze. Perhaps things wouldn’t be so bad, after all. “We are sorry to take her room—I hope they are not too crowded.”
“Not at all. The two ladies have quite a large room to share.” Mrs. Jolly unlocked the bedroom door and handed the brass key to Dorothy as she swept open the door.
As Dorothy and Grace entered the room, Mrs. Jolly moved past them to light a lamp sitting on a slender-legged writing table near a large window. The warm glow brightened the room, revealing the same gracious furnishings Dorothy remembered.
A large four-poster bed, swathed in white drapes edged with crimson, stood on their right, and four chubby little cherubs clinging to the tops of the bedposts grinned down at them, their gilded faces catching the gleam of the lamplight. A thick red, white, and gold carpet occupied the center of the floor, and a large maple wardrobe stood on the left. A white damask chair, along with an embroidery hoop on a stand, was arranged near the fireplace, and beyond that was a delicate writing table and a chair. A washstand, with a heavy white bowl and jug, stood in the corner. The final piece of furniture was a large chest of drawers.
The pale gold of the maple furniture looked like molten honey in the soft light, warmly welcoming them after their long day of travel.
Grace was already untying her bonnet and taking it off with a sigh of relief. Some of the tension tightening Dorothy’s shoulders eased.
This would not be so terrible, at all. Their aunt couldn’t have done more to make them feel at home than to assign them to this lovely room.
How lucky they were!
Removing her own bonnet, Dorothy turned to smile at the housekeeper. “Thank you very much, Mrs. Jolly. We are so pleased to be here.”
“Mrs. Polkinghorne will be happy to hear it.” Mrs. Jolly inclined her head regally. “Elsa will be here shortly with your bags. There is fresh water in the jug if you wish to refresh yourselves after your journey. I will send a tray up to you in a half hour, if that is acceptable.”
“Indeed—it pleases us very much!” Dorothy answered as her sister giggled with pleasure and twirled her traveling shawl onto the counterpane of the bed.
Dorothy stifled a sigh. She loved Grace dearly, but the girl never quite seemed to grasp the purpose of a wardrobe. Clothing didn’t just come out of them—it also went back into them and did not have to be heaped inside on the floor. And doors and drawers could actually be closed, as well, and not left hanging open.
Sharing a room was certainly going to be, well, a challenge. She took a deep breath, folded her own shawl, and placed it on one of the shelves in the wardrobe. She’d just have to remember that they were fortunate to be here in London, and that she loved her sister.
Truly. She honestly did. She picked up Grace’s bonnet and shawl and placed them neatly in the wardrobe next to her own. She loved her, even when Grace left her clothing draped over every available surface in a room as if she had a personal maid trailing after her, picking up all her belongings.