Chapter Six #2
Duncan observed, “William Pitt never handled the situation well, though his scheme likely saved the Bank of England back in the 1790s. Pitt kept public confidence in the circulation of paper money currency by claiming the Bank of England was actually still very affluent, but the suspension of specie payments had been a temporary measure at the government’s request. None of you will recall when Parliament authorized the Bank of England to issue all notes in denominations of less than five pounds to ease the shortage of specie, for the public had been hoarding coins for several years.
If Honfleur is hoping to flood the markets with fake bank notes, it could mean a disaster in the making. ”
“The Bank Restriction Act has been renewed again,” Benjamin reminded them.
“But we are on the brink of war with America,” Graham countered. “Britain cannot afford to be caught with its trousers down when that happens.”
Benjamin frowned his disapproval. “How many wars must we fight?”
No one answered, for they all despised the idea of more war, but, at length, Marksman said, “Margaret Childers has been suspected of passing forgeries in the past, but she was never convicted because those in the rookeries would consider her tricking a legitimate merchant a badge of honor, rather than a criminal act.”
“Then we must discover with whom Margaret Childers associates and whether her plans are small or large. Though, if she passed a message to Lady Caroline Moreau, the plans are for more than earning a bolt of cloth at a warehouse,” Duncan summarized.
Mr. Sustar and Lady Cunningham had been quite pleased with Victoria’s work, so much so that her ladyship had recommended Victoria to friends and acquaintances, and they, too, had sought out the seamstress at Sustar’s drapery shop.
They had also placed orders, so many that Victoria could not sew fast enough to meet all their demands, even if she sewed four and twenty hours per day.
“I am quite sorry to admit, Mr. Sustar, that there is no means for me to complete all these orders in a week, not even in a month,” she had told the gentleman when he placed another folded over cloth on the second of the tables now crammed into her small work area.
“I could do all the decorative touches—small leaves and flowers and the like if we had one, perhaps two others, who could do the hemming, which is a much easier stitch to execute. Nearly every woman in London would be able to hem the drapes.”
Mr. Sustar did not immediately complain about her suggestion, which was a step forward.
“I like the idea of expanding our services. No other drapery shop is offering personalized services, at least not to this extent. Most of the formal houses employ women to make and repair bed linens and the like, but they must hire someone to come in and complete the type of work your nimble fingers offer. I will speak to Mrs. Sustar and learn her opinion of having more women in the shop. We do not wish our young men to be distracted from their duties.”
“Naturally,” she said, while attempting to conceal her sarcasm.
“Mrs. Sustar only permitted your presence because you are the daughter of a vicar. Her father had been a curate before he passed.”
“Yes, I recall,” Victoria said obediently.
“Mrs. Sustar has spoken of her father often.” Yet, she did not abandon her hopes.
“Admittedly, it could be difficult to find more relatives of a cleric to serve the store, but there must be other godly women seeking employment. You might ask Mrs. Sustar’s opinion of what questions you should ask the women when you speak to them.
Perhaps ask for a recommendation from their clergyman.
” Victoria knew the new vicar overseeing her father’s former parish would not have extended such benevolence to her, but surely in a city the size of London, two or three such women existed that would stir up the confidence of a cleric to recommend them.
Victoria let herself into Mrs. Holland’s boarding house in the wee hours of the morning.
She had spent the majority of the night making intricate little flowers along the end of a pale, olive green drape.
She still had to do the same for the valance, but she had returned home when dawn had provided enough light to know a modicum of safety.
She had promised to return to the shop after she had claimed a meal and some sleep.
Mr. Sustar would have preferred she had stayed and finished, but Victoria had convinced him her care and accuracy would suffer if she had no rest.
She tiptoed up the stairs to her quarters.
She planned to eat a bit of hard bread dipped in leftover tea to soften it enough to chew the scraps.
Sustar had recently presented her a small raise—only a few pence each quarter, but she had been placing the extra coins aside to present to Cassandra, if and when her sister showed herself again.
Victoria froze when she opened the door.
The room was simply furnished. A bed against the wall.
A small round table and two chairs. Tonight, the blankets had been left crumpled in the middle of the bed, but such was not the way she had left them.
Victoria tended to be very structured—everything in its place.
She waited by the open door for at least a full minute, allowing the shreds of daybreak to claim the corners of the room enough that she could make out that no one else was in the room.
Tentatively, she entered, edging along the wall to reach where a lamp sat upon the nearby table.
She fumbled a match from its cylinder and struck it against the iron plate on the top of the small stove used to heat both the tea kettle and the room in winter.
She lit a candle, and the shadows crawled deeper into the room’s corners. Victoria noted her breathing had eased.
Though the room was messy, no one remained inside.
Her frown deepened as she slowly made her way along each wall, looking for any clue as to who might have entered her room.
Mrs. Holland ran a very structured boarding house.
No gentlemen callers permitted above stairs.
All the boarders were ladies, such as was she, with most working in the nearby shops for pennies per week.
Only Mrs. Taylor, an elderly woman on the first landing, ever had visitors, and they were, generally, the woman’s son and her grandchildren.
Victoria slowly made her way towards the wall holding the still open door, but the sound of what could only be called a chirp had her standing perfectly still and again studying every shadowy corner of the room.
The chirp was followed by a grunt and then a whimper.
She had deduced the sound had come from under the table.
Victoria had heard tales of rats in London homes, but she could not imagine any rat would dare to make an appearance in any of Mrs. Holland’s rooms.
She edged cautiously around the table. Mr. Sustar had permitted her to take several scraps from the ends of the rolled cloth from the store, and Victoria had sewed them together to make a covering for the table.
“Nothing,” she murmured, and then the toe of her boot bumped something hard under the table. This time she heard a squawk.
She knelt down and lifted the end of the cloth to reveal a basket—a basket filled with a baby, who obviously was not happy to be disturbed.
“Shush,” she told the child when it screwed up its face as if he meant to cry.
His eyes grew wide when she tugged him from his hiding place and made cooing noises to entertain him.
She gently rocked the child as she looked it over carefully.
“When did you come into the world, little one, and where is your mother?” She lifted the babe into her arms to hold it closer to her body.
She walked slowly about the room, swaying gently from side to side as she had seen the women on Betts’s manor do when they carried their newborns about.
Eventually, she closed her still open door.
“So, Cassandra used her key sometime yesterday to rejoin me,” she told the child who stared up at her in what appeared to be wonderment, though Victoria doubted such a young child could possess a variety of emotions.
“Do we know where your mother has taken herself? Hopefully to find something to feed you. I assuredly am not equipped to do so, though Cassie should be, so maybe she went to find food for herself, not you.”
She gently rubbed the child’s back as she continued to walk the room.
Exhaustion wished to claim Victoria, but she dared not place the child down, fearing it would cry and wake the whole household.
“What am I to do with you, little one?” She glanced down to the child.
“Perhaps, until your mother returns, we might rest together.”
Victoria sat upon the edge of the bed and reached for the two thin pillows Mrs. Holland had provided them when Victoria and Cassandra initially let the room.
She maneuvered them to where she could lean back against them.
She was precariously close to the edge of the bed, but there was no means to scoot over without waking the child, who had closed his eyes once more.
Therefore, she adjusted the babe in her arms and closed her own eyes.
She should not sleep in her dress, but when she returned to the drapery shop this evening, she would take the dress with her and use the iron there to take out some of the wrinkles.
As both she and the child drifted to sleep, she murmured, “I am your Aunt Victoria, little one. When your mother returns, I shall learn your name and determine her plans for the future.”
Thompson turned when he heard someone on the steps.
He claimed his gun from where he had left it on the table beside the bed and cocked it.
“It is I,” a familiar voice said, and Benjamin uncocked the gun.
They had all been taking turns watching Amgen House for several weeks, but Lord Honfleur had continued his charade, committing only a few minor mistakes.
“You are early,” Benjamin told Marksman. “I am surprised Duncan permitted your abandonment.”
“Neither Duncan nor Theodora was in attendance at this evening’s entertainment,” Marksman said with an odd inflection in his tone.
Even so, Benjamin could not resist ribbing his brother a bit. “The lady’s monthlies or Count Almano?”
Marksman simply shrugged before taking a seat in a nearby chair.
Since Alexander had volunteered to be one of the two men wooing Honfleur’s daughter and niece, Theodora had been accepting another gentleman caller. Benjamin assumed Alexander was not happy with his choices.
When Marksman avoided a response about Theodora, Benjamin asked about the man they had all been following all over London. “Tell me, was Honfleur at the entertainment you attended?”
“Not at the ball, but he was at the theater, sitting with Lady Winston and her son. It appears Honfleur means to court her ladyship,” Marksman said as he stretched out his legs.
“Really?” Benjamin said in surprise. “With young Mr. Winston courting Honfleur’s daughter? He has been busy sniffing around her a great deal of late. Always in her entourage.”
Marksman explained, “I do not think the girl ‘has taken,’ as they say in society’s circles. Fewer and fewer gentlemen seek her hand at balls. The only ones hanging on are younger sons or those whose estates are deeply in debt. They all assume Honfleur has money, and the girl will inherit.”
Benjamin turned to watch the house once more, but he continued to converse with Marksman.
“Lord Ward says Honfleur does not even employ a proper butler. Ward has called upon Lady Caroline several times, and with each call, he was greeted by a woman he assumes is Honfleur’s housekeeper.
All very ‘provincial,’ as Ward declared.
His lordship also spoke of the lack of what he termed ‘cleanliness’ in the house.
There was reportedly a patina of dust on the furniture that one would never discover in the finer houses.
When Beaufort has called on the chit, he escorts her to the nearby park.
He has only been inside twice and only to the foyer. ”
Marksman observed, “If all is true, evidently, Lady Caroline chooses not to demonstrate her ability to manage a proper household. All the woman’s suitors—those who truly hope for a connection—should take note.”
Though it was not often an exchange typical between him and Marksman, nevertheless, for several minutes, they continued to berate Honfleur and Lady Caroline and those from society who could not see the writing on the wall.
Benjamin sensed that Marksman required a distraction from whatever it was that had Alexander so pensive.
At length, Marksman asked, “Has anyone observed Miss Moreau?” Obviously, Alexander was supposed to be pursuing the girl, but there was something in his brother’s tone that caught Benjamin’s attention.
With a mental note to learn more, he said, “Lionel has spotted her a few times at a window on the top floor, which must surely be the attic or drying room. She sat in the garden for a quarter hour yesterday and the same two days prior. I do not understand why she is not permitted more freedom. I assume you already know the lady has appeared briefly at the corner window on the left-hand side of the building on several occasions. Do you possess an inkling as to why Honfleur brought her along on the venture?”
Marksman shrugged, but he appeared more than a bit frustrated. “In truth, very little Honfleur does makes sense, at least to those of us who constantly observe his comings and goings.”