Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Finally, she was in London!
Viola lowered the carriage window and stuck her head out. The air was dense with fog and smoke, and she could not see a thing, but oh, it was wonderful! The rain drizzled gently on her cheeks, and the smell—she drew in a big lungful of air.
Well. She wrinkled her nose. That she could do without.
They must be near the Thames because a putrid stench of rotten fish, urine and burnt coal hovered in the air.
But everything else, the hustle and bustle on the streets, and all those people!
And oh, the buildings! She craned her neck to see how tall they were. Inverness had nothing to compare.
It had been a long, dreary journey from Scotland, delayed by rain and muddy roads. Viola had set out with several trunks and her maid, Ellen, who had promptly slept through most of the journey. She was sleeping even now, huddled in the opposite corner of the carriage.
Viola closed the window and pulled out her leather notebook and pencil.
She flipped through the pages. It was woefully empty. And it had been for quite a while.
Panic clenched her stomach.
But!
That would change now that she was in London. Wouldn’t it? That was why she was here, wasn’t it? To get inspiration. And there was inspiration aplenty here. She would see the sights and make a list of things to do. There were so many things to do in London!
The Tower of London, of course.
Old St Pancras churchyard.
The anatomy school at the Royal College of Surgeons.
The Egyptian Hall.
Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks—she added a question mark, for she wasn’t certain whether the lady was currently touring. But it would be most helpful if she wasn’t.
After a moment’s hesitation, she added Newgate Prison, for she had learned that it was possible to take tours there.
She must secure a ticket. She tapped her pencil on the notebook.
Maybe she could interview a prisoner on death row.
If she was lucky, there would be a hanging, too.
It would be most inspirational to witness one.
Viola reread her list, satisfied. After all these wonderful things, surely, surely inspiration would finally strike, and the words would flow again.
They must.
They inevitably would!
If they did not…
She shuddered.
The thought was too terrible to endure, so she wiped it away. Best not to think of it.
Her carriage passed through a bustling thoroughfare that Viola assumed was the Strand. There were inns, coffee houses, shops, oh, so many wonderful shops!
She glanced through the other carriage window and saw a long line of people queued outside a grand, porticoed building. The Minerva Theatre.
Curious, she leaned forward. A lurid playbill announced, ‘The Monk and the Maiden; or, The Cloister’s Secret. A New Melo-Drama of Terror and Passion.’ Her hand rose to her throat. ‘By Mrs Selina Sable.’
“Goodness.” Once more, she opened the window and leaned out. The queue stretched along the building, around the corner, and out of sight before the carriage jolted forward.
Viola fell back against the seat. Excitement rushed through her. Her fingers fumbled for her pencil. She would have to add it to her list. She would have to see it. She absolutely must.
The carriage drove on and eventually turned into Piccadilly. There were jewellers, hosiery shops, hats, shoes, milliners, haberdashers, and what was that? Oooh! A bookshop?
Viola stretched her neck as the carriage slowly rolled past Hatchard’s bookshop, the windows filled with tempting gilt and vellum. This was certainly destined to become one of her favourite places in London.
She clasped her hands together happily. Coming here had been an excellent decision. She felt it in the depths of her bones.
The best was that she had a lovely little townhouse waiting for her in Bird Street.
It would be hers and hers alone; she’d made sure of that.
But before she could arrive there, duty required that she had to stop at South Audley Street to visit her cousin Georgiana and her daughter Lily, to deliver a parcel that Aunt Augusta in Inverness had put together specifically for them.
After that, she had all of London lying at her feet, waiting to be discovered.
It turned out that it was not at all easy to get away from Cousin Georgiana and her daughter Lily.
Her quick stop to drop off the parcel had turned into a full-fledged visit stretching the entire afternoon that included not only tea and a light repast but also an exhibition of all of Lily’s dresses for the Season, along with every bonnet and shawl.
And her cousin Georgiana had to fill her in on all the society gossip that, no doubt, she had missed out on in Inverness.
“Then there is Lord Lockwood, of course. The darling of the ton. He is considered the prime catch of the season. He has five thousand per annum, apparently.” Lady Georgiana Fenleigh leaned conspiratorially over the tea table to share that most crucial tidbit.
Viola, who had just taken a sip of her tea, choked.
“…and he is so very handsome, too. Isn’t he, Mama?” Lilian’s eyes glowed, and she had two hectic spots of red on her cheeks.
“Who did you say he was?” Viola managed once she had recovered enough to speak. She set down the teacup with excessive care.
“A nonpareil.” Lilian clasped her hands. “In the very image of George Brummel.”
Viola shook her head. “I mean, his name. What was his name again?”
“Lockwood. A most charming name.” Georgiana said. “But he is most difficult to catch.”
“Oh dear. He is in London?” Blast it, but she had no idea. Why hadn’t she known that he was here?
“What do you mean, Viola? Of course he is.”
“I shall catch him, Mama. I most definitely will,” Lily declared.
“I would be most obliged if you could.” Her mother watched affectionately as Lily twirled in her new pearl-white dress.
Viola opened and closed her mouth, but not a word would come out. She tried one last time after having thoroughly cleared her throat. “Lockwood? But…isn’t he married?”
Both heads swivelled towards her.
“Nonsense.” Georgiana waved a hand. “Where did you pick up that piece of untrue gossip? He is the most eligible bachelor this Season. Everyone knows that.”
“I thought he lived estranged from his wife,” Viola murmured. She traced the pattern on the tablecloth with one finger, wondering whether she ought to say more, and deciding, upon reflection, that she most certainly ought not.
Not that it mattered, because neither of the two heeded her. Mother and daughter proceeded to dissect Lord Lockwood’s virtues, both physical and in character, in minute detail, but Viola was barely listening.
How excessively inconvenient if he were here! She’d wanted a peaceful visit to London with no fear of having to run into him at every turn. Confound it. What was she to do? She could hardly return to Inverness. Not when she’d so looked forward to being here.
“What do you say, Cousin? Will you join us?”
Viola blinked. Georgiana’s and Lily’s faces were turned to her, both inquisitive, expectant.
“Err. Where?”
“Almack’s.”
“Almack’s?” Viola bleated and felt like a sheep.
“Well, naturally. We shall all go tomorrow, then, shall we? It is decided. Wonderful.” Georgiana rose without giving Viola the chance to respond.
“But—”
“But is it the thing for spinsters to go to Almack’s?” That was Lily. “Isn’t Viola too old for the marriage mart?”
“That. Precisely. Just the question I was about to ask,” Viola said weakly. “Thank you, Lily.”
“How old are you?” Lily placed her hands on her hips as she studied Viola.
“Positively ancient. I’m twenty-seven.” She let that tremendously advanced age sink in.
“And, as you can see, hopelessly on the shelf. I agree with Lily that Almack’s is not at all the place for me to go, not when it’s the hub of the marriage mart and the holy temple of the ton.
What would I do there other than be a wallflower and sit by the wall and do nothing at all?
” She had better uses for her time, like scampering about St Pancras old churchyard hunting for ghosts.
“Besides, I have no interest whatsoever in getting married.”
Georgiana’s gaze swept over Viola as if she were seeing her for the first time.
“Lily has a point.” She frowned. “We would not want to appear as though we are trying to marry off an ape leader. Yet having a spinster in the family is not the thing at all.” She pursed her lips. “It might reflect badly on Lily.”
Stung, Viola retorted, “That would be terrible, indeed, if my spinsterhood were to be an obstacle in her landing a wealthy, titled husband.”
Georgiana waved a hand. “But no. I trust Lily’s ability to haul in someone suitable, regardless. But it does not sit well with me to know that you, Cousin, sit alone at home knitting, or whatever it is you’re doing with your ample time.”
“Writing,” Viola muttered, “and my time isn’t all that ample. I’m a very busy woman.”
Georgiana pursed her lips. “Well, letter writing is something that all of us must do. It is unfortunately an activity hardly any of us can escape, with so many of our family living in the far north of Scotland. But that is beside the point.”
Lily stood next to her mother. “What if we get Cousin Viola up to scratch and try to marry her off anyhow?”
“Oh Heavens. No!” That cry of horror came from Viola.
“That is a splendid idea, my child. We could try it.” Georgiana studied her appearance.
“It would take some work. That hair, for example. It looks like a crow’s nest. And your spectacles.
And that horrid lace cap.” She shook her head.
“And your dress is out of fashion.” She leaned forward with a sniff.
“You also have a tea stain on your lace collar, and that button is about to fall off.” She wrinkled her nose.
“That kind of lace was worn by our grandmothers. It is not the thing at all.”