Chapter Thirteen #2
The arcade was unlike any other in the entire country.
Instead of being a building of several stories, like the ones in London, Milton’s arcade was actually two massive buildings set next to each other with a spacious alley dividing them.
A neoclassical arch separated the buildings, welcoming foot traffic into an alley that had a domed glass ceiling above and at least ten stores that faced out on either side of the alleyway.
It was significantly warmer and drier than the streets outside, and that alone would pull in shoppers during the cooler months.
Groups of masons and woodworkers crowded around the embellished stone and wood that created each individual storefront, which had all been rented out by a number of business owners, although Samuel had managed things a little differently.
Instead of charging rent on the store fronts, the house would receive twenty percent of each business at the end of every quarter.
It allowed people to bring their wares to sell and make some money before having to pay out, and he even had a waitlist.
“It’s massive,” Jane murmured as she gazed up at the glass ceiling above. “And beautiful.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s the width of a road, but you’ve tiled the entire floor,” she said, looking down, amazed.
“I did,” he said, waving to Mr. Chips, a fair-haired man who sat near one of the storefronts where a dozen little potted plants were being used as a frame of sorts around the door. “Chips, there you are.”
“Good morning,” he said, glancing at Samuel.
“I have checks,” Samuel said, lifting up his folder. “Shall we?”
Mr. Chips followed him into the Stephens & Sons Jewelry store. Though it wasn’t operational yet, there were several pieces shining up from beneath the glass. All the storefronts had brought their inventory to the arcade over the past few weeks, preparing for the grand opening.
Jane slowly moved around the room, while Samuel handed each check to Mr. Chips.
They were discussing something about the unfinished decorative unicorn head crests that Samuel had ordered.
He told Mr. Chips that he’d pay them fully once those heads were in place, but until then, they would receive money for the work done and not a penny more.
“They’re going to give me a hard time,” Mr. Chips said.
Samuel patted him on the arm.
“Nothing you can’t manage, I’m sure,” he said as he spotted Jane in the distance, gazing down at a glass case with some sort of jewelry in it.
Mr. Chips followed his stare.
“A shame about her, isn’t it? To be illegitimate. I mean, I was a bastard, but so were my brothers until me ma and pa finally married.”
Samuel scowled.
“How do you know about Miss Atherton’s history?”
“It was in the gossip column of the Times a few days ago. A Mr. Pennyworth inquired after Lord Atherton’s sisters at his club, and he told everyone within earshot that his sisters were illegitimate.”
“Why in the world would he do such a thing? And so publicly? Has the man no shame?” Samuel asked, disgusted.
Mr. Chips shrugged.
“Who’s to say? Perhaps he didn’t want to be associated with any bastards.”
“She’s not a bastard,” Samuel said firmly.
“But it’s what’s being said, isn’t it? The same article mentioned that Lord Atherton was seeking to remove his half-sisters from the family trust because the marriage was illegitimate due to their mother being a bigamist.”
“And all of this has been printed in the papers?”
“Yes. Of course, it’s not her fault, but make no mistake about it. That woman and her sister have fallen a good deal down the social ladder. It’s a blessing that their half-brother should be Sir Logan. Lord knows what would have happened to them otherwise.”
Samuel watched Jane as Mr. Chips spoke. It hurt his heart a great deal to picture his Jane, standing out on the street, selling drying flower bouquets or bits of ribbon to get by—
He stopped and blinked. No, not his Jane. She did not belong to him, and he needed to remember that.
“If you’ll excuse me,” Mr. Chips said, his tone oddly knowing. “I’ll just go deliver these checks. If I do it before you leave, they can come argue with you instead of me.”
Mr. Chips left immediately with the checks and Samuel’s folio, but he hardly noticed.
Instead, he moved toward Jane, who glanced up as she stepped back.
Her cheeks were pink and the pupils of her eyes were large and black.
Something had enticed her and he found himself eager to produce whatever it was that she fancied.
“What’s caught your eye?” he asked as he came to stand next to her.
“Nothing.”
“Come now. It’s a jewelry store. If nothing grabs your attention, I should close this store before we even open.”
He glanced down at a garland necklace, notably in the Etruscan revival style. At least twenty silver star motifs were centered with sapphires, and beneath the gas lamps, it shone like the very stars themselves.
He looked at her.
“Do you want to try it on?”
“Goodness, no,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “I couldn’t afford it.”
“You could borrow it. I know the owner, so he knows I’m good for it.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
“We may have, well, kissed,” she said the last word in a whisper. “But I will not accept gifts, Mr. Milton. It is untoward.”
He smiled.
“You know, I rather like how you call me Mr. Milton.”
She stared at him.
“What else would I call you?”
“You could try calling me Samuel, but I assume that would be too forward.”
“Indeed.”
“So, Mr. Milton it is.”
“Yes, well,” she replied, unsure. She shook her head. “Shall we?”
“After you.”
They left the jewelry store, as well as the arcade, and drove in the carriage through the city center.
All the while the rain continued. They rode along the River Clyde, which was raging due to the heavy rains.
Thankfully, Crystal House sat on a hill in Kelvingrove Park, and because of the weather, they were the only ones there.
It was a glorious structure made entirely of large glass panels. He wondered if Jane had ever gone to the gardens in London while she lived there and if she found Crystal House as impressive as Palm House in Kew Gardens. He followed her as she strolled through the paths of the spring garden beds.
“I think blue irises and yellow daffodils,” she said, pointing them out to the attendant who was in charge of taking orders.
“Then, whatever white flowers you have, and we’ll make the arrangements to showcase the spring flowers.
” She looked back at Samuel, who was following a little distance away.
“Mr. Liddell’s favorite season is spring. ”
“Is that so?” She nodded. “How do you know?”
“He mentioned it the other night. Or rather, he said springtime in London was unmatched.”
“You’re a master of detail, aren’t you?”
“Hardly. But I do pay attention,” she said with a grin as she continued reciting a number of things to the courier.
After about an hour, Jane finished and they returned to the carriage to make their final destination of the fabric shop. While riding along Clyde Street though, their carriage slowed until it came to a complete stop.
“What’s going on?” Samuel said more to himself than to Jane.
“Is there an accident?” she asked, peering out the window.
“I don’t know. Stay here.”
Samuel opened the door just as the driver appeared.
“Sorry, sir. Accident up ahead. A boy fell into the river.”
Jane gasped and covered her mouth. Knowing that it was a death sentence to fall into the raging river, Samuel cursed.
“Good God. How?”
“I’ll find out,” the driver said as he ran off, only to return in a brief time. “A nightman’s apprentice. He fell in while cleaning chamber pots.”
Samuel climbed down from the carriage just as a faint call sounded from the river’s edge.
“Help! Help me!”
Samuel and the driver looked at each other, before running to the river’s wall. The city had built the Lang Dike a hundred years earlier to help temper the river when it flooded. However, the city had grown exponentially since the 1760s, and the dike was now in desperate need of repairs.
Hanging over the edge, Samuel could see the small hands of a boy, gripping one of the boat cleats that had been drilled into the sides of the wall as the rushing waters battered over his small body.
Without thinking, Samuel turned to face her as he began taking off his jacket, just as Jane appeared at his side.
“What are you doing?”
“Stay here.”
“Are you mad?” she asked, horrified as she watched him undress. “You’re not going in after him, are you?”
“Find me a rope,” he spoke to the driver, who went running toward the nightman, who was draping a long length of rope over the edge.
“Can’t the boy grab the rope?”
“He’s probably frozen stiff and wouldn’t be able to hold on for longer than a few seconds with a single grip.” The driver returned with the rope, and Samuel took it and instantly started to tie it around his waist. He turned to the driver. “Hold this end and pull me up when I wave.”
“Yes, sir.”
“You cannot do this,” Jane argued. “What if you kill yourself?”
“I won’t let the boy die.”
“But… But…”
But there was nothing to say. The sheer terror he saw in Jane’s face gave him pause, but only for a moment.
Then, Samuel bent down and kissed her cheek.
It was madness perhaps to do something so public, but knowing that he might die in the next few minutes, well, he didn’t know a better way of saying goodbye.
It wasn’t about him though. It rarely ever was.
Climbing over the rock parapet, Samuel descended down the slick stone while the driver, the nightman, and a number of other drivers and gentlemen held onto the top of the rope.
The wind, the water, and the rain were so loud and so frigid that Samuel expected to find the boy gone, but as the raging waters below reached up and touched his feet, then his legs, Samuel was able to find the boy, clinging onto the hook for dear life.
He wrapped his arms around the child tightly.
Looking up, he started to shout, though he doubted they could hear him.
Tightening his grip around the child’s chest, he lifted his other arm for a brief instant and immediately felt the rope begin to pull him up.
They were hoisted up in quick fashion. After dragging his body over the rough edge of the wall, Samuel splayed out onto the cobblestone with the frozen child crying and clinging to him.
And while the crowd that had formed erupted in cheers, it was Jane’s almost painfully warm hands on his face that commanded his entire attention.
“Are you mad?” she accused him, as her fingers swept over his face, seemingly on the hunt for any injury or scrape. “You could have been killed.”
“Yes.”
“Yes. Is that all you have to say?” she snapped as she turned around. “We need blankets!”
“My lady, we need to get him into the carriage,” the driver was saying.
“Yes, yes,” she answered frantically, trying to haul him up herself.
Samuel was able to get to his feet and stumble back toward the carriage, but his clothes were soaking wet and he was shivering. The carriage began to move while Jane removed her cloak and tried to blanket it over him.
“You needn’t do that.”
“Hush. I can’t believe you did that,” Jane said frantically. “You could have died.”
“The boy would certainly have died if I didn’t. Now, we both may survive.”
“Or you both might die.”
But Samuel was sure he already had. To be tended to by this angry angel was certainly a form of heaven or hell.
Perhaps he was in purgatory. Jane’s fingers swept down his torso, and he was sure that he was, but if he died before he reached Milton House, he would be content to be held by a woman who at least was acting as though he was important.