Chapter Five
The idea of Miss Whitchurch rarely left Thompson’s thoughts, but he had accepted her denials of his initial overture.
It puzzled him greatly regarding her need to speak to Mrs. Dove-Lyon.
“Has the lady contracted with Mrs. Dove-Lyon to find her a husband?” he asked his empty chambers as he sat in his favorite chair and nursed a brandy.
He would not be happy to learn that Miss Whitchurch had set her heart on another, at least until they had had the opportunity to learn more of each other.
“If such is true, I must wish her well and walk away.”
However, Benjamin did not wish to walk away.
His gut told him the lady required someone she could trust. “Yet, it shan’t be me.
” Even so, he would be asking questions of those with whom he had become familiar at the gaming hell during the week he had spent tending Duncan’s injuries.
He could not shake the idea that the woman was in over her head in trouble.
The first week following her encounter with Lord Thompson, Victoria’s head had been on a swivel as she walked to and from her position in Mr. Sustar’s shop, but, as his lordship had promised, he was nowhere to be found.
Victoria was not confident she was satisfied with his abandonment, though she was well aware there was no means for them to be more than nodding acquaintances.
“An earl cannot consider aligning himself with a family such as mine,” her mind announced as she crossed between the street traffic to circle the building and enter the drapery shop through the rear door.
She hung her belongings in the small pantry and entered the equally small workroom to find Mr. Sustar placing several bolts of material on the table.
“Ah, Miss Whitchurch, I am glad you arrived early. Lady Cunningham wishes a new set of drapes for the alcove off her front parlor completed by tomorrow. I told her you would be pleased to prepare them for her.”
Victoria had hoped to know a bit of sleep this evening, but that idea would not be possible.
“Naturally, you may stay over in the cloth room this evening, just as you have done previously. I will tell Mrs. Sustar to prepare another setting for supper.”
Victoria did not wish to sleep in her clothes again, for she had no iron to use at her boarding house, but she could not refuse the work.
The extra coins meant she might afford a bit of tea.
She had quietly cursed herself for refusing the memory of sharing tea and cakes with Lord Thompson.
She had lost the memory of sitting in a tearoom with a handsome gentleman, and that was in addition to losing a free meal.
The bell rang over the entry door, and Mr. Sustar rushed away to greet his customer, though he had employed a half dozen men to answer such questions.
Meanwhile, Victoria studied the measurements on the paper that Mr. Sustar had left for her.
“At least these will be for windows in an alcove. Not as elaborate as those for a window in a drawing room,” she said as she fingered the chosen cloth.
“Sheer for the long panels,” she murmured and then reached for the heavier cloth.
“What twitch landed in Lady Cunningham’s head to choose this pattern?
” she snorted with a chuckle. Victoria held up the end of the cut piece.
“Chosen for its price, not its appeal. The woman, whoever she may be, evidently did not read Ackerman’s comments on this style. ”
Picking up the heavier cloth a second time, along with the gold trim Mr. Sustar’s clerk had cut, Victoria claimed a spot near the window and the sunlight.
She would sew the thicker swags while the light was good.
Her stitches must be perfectly placed so as not to be seen, but be strong enough to withstand the wear and tear of a large household staff.
“I am thankful, God,” she said as she threaded her needle, “that you have permitted me to know employment in Mr. Sustar’s shop, and that your hand led me here, and you whispered in Mr. Sustar’s ear as I proposed the idea of hiring a seamstress or two—though only one now…
” She sighed. “This is where I must be to find Cassandra and the child, the dear child she carries.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Return to me, Cassie,” she whispered as she placed her first stitch to the fabric.
With a second sigh, she recited, “The novelty of the early bright chintzes have faded.” She repeated as she laid a row of tightly placed threads before continuing her Ackerman memory lesson.
“So the gaudy colors…” She rolled her eyes as she adjusted the orange-gold velvet swag.
“Gaudy colors of the chintz and calico furniture… Heaven forbid chintz and calico furniture has recently given way to a ‘more chaste style,’ Lady Cunningham…” Victoria snickered at her own amusement.
“…in which two colors only are employed to produce the appearance of damask.”
“Were you talking to someone, Miss Whitchurch?” one of the clerks asked as he crossed to a storage area for extra bolts of cloth.
“No, nothing of the kind. Just saying a prayer of thanksgiving for God’s blessings and reciting some of the ‘literature’ I recently read. Simply to pass the time.”
Over the next few weeks, Benjamin had little time to consider what might have been with Miss Whitchurch.
First, he had assisted Richard with the “Lady Emma dilemma,” as he and his brothers referred to it.
Naturally, none of them, not even Duncan, had considered how the woman would first save Richard’s life, while they were in Buckinghamshire and then leave Orson wondering where he had gone wrong.
The lady had returned to London in Lord Graham’s care, but ended up being taken prisoner by a person none of them had suspected.
In truth, Benjamin thought he might have recognized the true culprit before the others, but no one had confided in him until after Lady Emma was finally safe and in Orson’s arms, with hopes of a marriage between the two.
“What a difference a week makes,” Benjamin observed to no one in particular as he addressed the ledgers for the multiple properties he owned in London.
“From Tuesday to Saturday, Orson’s greatest fears knew the gamut of despair to elation at rescuing Lady Emma.
” Benjamin paused in his calculations to think upon all that had occurred.
“Graham and I captured Lord Davidson, just as we should have. Meanwhile, Orson snatched Lady Emma from the hands of Death itself.” Benjamin put his pen down to consider the wonder of what all occurred in less than four and twenty hours.
“A happily ever after as the female sect likes to think upon such moments. If all goes as we hope, the first of Duncan’s sons will be the first of us to marry.
If that holds true for the rest of my brothers and me, I have a long wait to claim my happiness, for I am not necessarily the youngest, that privilege goes to Marksman, but I was the last to come to live with his lordship. ”
The days passed, and, though Benjamin thought often of Miss Whitchurch, he no longer thought on what might have been, for he was busier than ever with multiple attempts to learn more of Duncan’s shooter, as well as keeping abreast of his investments in Cheapside’s homes and warehouses.
May arrived and Lady Emma’s father finally came to London, but not the lady’s mother.
On that day, Emma proposed to Richard and a date was set for their marriage.
June 1, 1812 was to be the day Orson would take his one love to wife.
Thoughts of it made Benjamin jealous, but not in a bad way.
Less than a week after news of Lady Emma’s public proposal reached his ears, the chaos in England again raised its angry head.
Benjamin had been at the opposite end of the hall when the shot rang out.
While most of those present in the passageway marking the multitude of governmental offices screamed, Benjamin bolted towards the scene occurring outside the Prime Minister’s door, only to discover his worst fears: The Prime Minister, Spencer Perceval, lay upon the stone floor, his blood making the area about him slippery.
Noting several others held the arms of a man Benjamin did not recognize, he turned his efforts to saving Perceval’s life, but he soon told himself and others they were too late.
Naturally, that did not prevent his continued efforts for several more elongated minutes before more than one of his fellow members of Parliament pronounced Perceval dead and dragged Benjamin backwards so others could cover the body.
While still on his knees and despite the chaos all about him, Benjamin and several others paused for a prayer for Perceval’s soul.
It was Sir Hunter Wickersham, Orson’s friend, the one with whom Richard had stood for Wickersham’s wedding, who had assisted Benjamin to his feet.
From where the man came, Benjamin did not ask, but he was excessively thankful for Wickersham’s support and kind words.
Benjamin looked about to view people crying uncontrollably, while others saw very little of what occurred, for they were still in some sort of disbelief.
As terrible as it would be to say the words, all Benjamin wanted was to escape.
No words of acknowledgment or even of disbelief.
Somehow, after a simple nod of his indebtedness, he made it back along the passageway, many offering their words of gratitude for his efforts, but he kept asking himself why he had attempted the impossible.