Chapter Three
Freya rapped on the door of Beaufort House.
She suspected that the Beauforts had not yet returned to London, for the knocker was still removed, but she wished to leave her card.
She was running out of time to thwart her father’s plans, for Sir Patrick would exit his mourning period in mid-March and would officially begin courting her by April, with the hope of a proposal and a marriage by the time Parliament broke in mid- to late July.
“Yes, miss,” a very proper butler responded with a frown of disapproval.
“Good day, sir,” she said with a well-placed smile.
“I am Lady Freya Cunningham, a friend of the new Lady Beaufort. I was with her when she married His Lordship.” Theoretically, she was not in attendance on Lady Annalise’s wedding day, but Freya did not think Her Ladyship would object to the exaggeration.
“I simply wanted to leave my card. If you would pass it on to Lady Beaufort and let her know I am also in London, I would greatly appreciate the kindness.”
“The master does not expect to return until after the sixteenth,” the butler explained, “I suspect it will be on Monday; however, I will leave the card for Her Ladyship’s notice. Anything else, my lady?”
Freya wanted to ask if Lord Graham also meant to return after the fifteenth, but she swallowed her curiosity.
She knew Graham and Lady Annalise were to stand up with Graham’s brother, Lord Thompson, at the man’s wedding, and they would return soon to prepare for the event.
Freya had a plan—a desperate plan—but a plan, nevertheless.
16 January 1813
“There you are, Freya,” her mother called as Freya attempted to reach her quarters before either parent noted her return.
“Good day, Mama. I did not know you searched for me,” she said dutifully.
When she was young, Freya had always thought her mother would protect her from her father’s manipulations, but over the last few years, Freya had come to realize she was very much on her own.
Both her mother and elder sister obediently did what they were told.
She sometimes wondered why she was the only one who could see how much harm Lord Iain Cunningham enacted upon his family.
He had never raised a hand to any of them, at least, not of which Freya held knowledge, but he had berated and belittled the life out of all of them.
She had hoped she could reach her majority before he turned his insensitivity on her, but her father meant to marry her off, or, at the very least, have her engaged before the early days of summer.
“Yes, I must call upon Mr. Sustar’s auxiliary establishment in Cheapside, and I do not wish to travel alone to that part of London. You are much more attentive to those about you than is Mrs. Marlowe.”
“I did not realize Mr. Sustar had opened another shop,” Freya remarked as she bent to kiss her mother’s upturned cheek.
“Yes, I have recommended Sustar’s services to several of my friends.
Thanks to me, Mr. Sustar has had to hire an additional staff, though I do not understand why the women had to move to Cheapside.
Working overnight and out of sight of the young clerks who are employed in the shop during the day should not be such a great encumbrance. ”
Freya kept the frown from her features. Back in Scotland, her mother was the sweetest creature alive, but when they came to London each year for the Parliamentary session, her mother changed, always worrying about being judged by the English aristocracy.
In Freya’s opinion, Maeve Cunningham should simply live her life and ignore the critics, real or imaginary.
“I suspect it would be hard on a woman with family to work the nighttime hours,” she suggested diplomatically.
“I suppose,” her mother said with a shrug. “I wanted to have new drapes made for Imelda’s sitting room at her London home.”
Freya would prefer to remain at home, but she nodded her agreement. She might require her mother’s support for the plan bouncing around in her head. “Should I change?”
“For where we are going, you are still quite acceptable.”
A bit over forty minutes later, they stepped down before a terrace house in Cheapside. “Are we assured of the street, Mr. Tucker?” her mother asked.
“Yes, ma’am. As I understand it, Lord Thompson owns all the houses on this street. He lives in the first and his betrothed runs a seamstress shop out of the attached house until her new shop is available.”
Her mother’s eyebrow rose. “Interesting. Please go ahead and release the knocker, Mr. Tucker,” she instructed.
Freya laced her arm through her mother’s and guided Lady Cunningham’s steps to stand upon the walkway before the house. “Permit me to lead, Mama,” she whispered. “I know you are not accustomed to calling on those in Cheapside.”
“And you are, Child?” her mother accused.
“Not in Cheapside, but I do enter the shops on Bond Street more often than you,” Freya assured. “And then there is my assistance for the needy with the church, which occasionally has me traveling in areas of less refined communities.”
Mr. Tucker quickly returned with a proper butler, who offered them a bow.
“If you permit me a moment, my lady, I have sent someone to Macalhey House Two. The ladies inside, generally, do not speak to patrons directly. In fact, the house is furnished only with mismatched furniture stored away for the other properties His Lordship owns. I would not have you shocked by the quarters. If you would prefer, ma’am, I would be happy to see you served tea and cakes in Lord Thompson’s main sitting room, and I will bring the lady in charge of the seamstresses to you.
Her name is Miss Whitchurch, and she is His Lordship’s betrothed. ”
Freya noted her mother’s slight frown, but whether it was for being served tea in a house in Cheapside or the idea of being handled by Lord Thompson’s butler, who could say. “What do you think, Freya?” her mother unexpectedly inquired.
“I would be appreciative of a cup of tea to take away the chill,” Freya said with as much innocence as she could infuse in her tone. God had answered her prayer, and, if all went well, she might learn more of Lord Graham from those inside.
“Tea, it is, sir,” her mother announced royally.
“Mr. Patterson, ma’am.” He offered her mother his arm, and the gesture was accepted. “Permit me to steady you on the steps, my lady.”
Freya followed, but she noticed the flick of the drape in the other part of the house.
She could not be happier with her mother’s choice on this day, for she knew Lord Graham was “brother” to Lord Thompson, a detail Mr. Sustar had evidently not provided her mother when he sent them to Cheapside.
If Freya could not connect with Lady Beaufort to learn more of Lord Graham’s plans, perhaps she might learn them from Lord Thompson’s intended.
Freya was putting all her faith in Lord Graham’s goodness, as well as his reputation for assisting those in need, and she was assuredly in a quandary.
Mr. Patterson had barely seated them in a very masculine-style sitting room when a beautiful, dark-headed woman rushed through the door. She stopped quickly and curtsied. “Lady Cunningham,” she murmured.
“You know me, girl?” her mother asked.
“Only by appearance, my lady,” the woman answered in refined tones, and Freya instantly knew the woman was Lady Annalise’s friend, Miss Whitchurch.
Both women held a frankness in presenting themselves.
“I was the seamstress who made the orange-gold velvet swags and the sheer drapes for your alcove in your London home.”
“I see,” Freya’s mother said. “At least I am happy to have come to the correct house.”
The young woman turned to the butler. “Has tea been ordered, Mr. Patterson?”
The butler nodded what appeared to be his approval. “Yes, miss.”
The young woman said before she sat, “I am Miss Whitchurch, Lord Thompson’s intended.
His Lordship and I are overseeing an expansion of Mr. Sustar’s facilities, as well as those of other London merchants, using many of the existing buildings in Cheapside to make the area a more productive and refined place to reside and work. ”
Freya’s mother frowned. “I was not aware of the magnitude of Lord Thompson’s investments.
I had simply called upon Mr. Sustar to order drapes made for my daughter’s new home.
She has recently married Lord Dickerson and has been asked by His Lordship to refresh his home so they might entertain more often than he has in the past. Mr. Sustar directed me here. ”
Freya noted how Miss Whitchurch relaxed a fraction. “Naturally, we would be happy to assist you. Might you tell me whether the fabrics have already been chosen?”
“Yes, I have made several decisions and Mr. Sustar has graciously presented me with samples of all my choices.”
Again, Freya noted the slight adjustment Miss Whitchurch made, for, evidently, her mother had broken Mr. Sustar’s business rules. If Freya made a guess, she would say Mr. Sustar had purposely sent her mother to Cheapside to place the blame, if there was blame to be had, on someone else.
Thankfully, for Miss Whitchurch’s sake, the butler returned with the tea cart at that very moment. “Should I serve, Miss Whitchurch?” he asked.
“Please, Mr. Patterson,” the woman said as she accepted the portfolio handed over by Freya’s mother and sat on the edge of a nearby chair.
Miss Whitchurch examined each small piece of cloth.
Some brought a slight frown. The young woman waited until Mr. Patterson had served each of them, though Miss Whitchurch took only a small sip of her tea before she asked, “Have the measurements been taken, my lady?”
“Not officially,” Freya’s mother responded after taking an accompanying sip of her own tea.