Epilogue
A week later, Miss Harvey and Miss Watson strolled through Borough Market.
Miss Harvey was chattering, “And now those horrid newspapers are saying the most rude things about my papa’s paper.”
“Can you not see why?” Margaret said.
Kate shrugged and linked her arm with Margaret’s.
“No, and I don’t care. The sooner people forget about the odious Miss Clifton, the better.
Your little lies helped people see the truth about her, but no matter.
Like yesterday’s ink, she will be forgotten tomorrow.
No one will remember her in a week’s time.
I, for one, have heard enough about her to last me a lifetime. ”
“I’ve heard she’s due to go to Paris soon,” Miss Watson said.
“Oh, good. Maybe someone else can find her as dull to look at as I do. I say, honestly, there’s no accounting for taste. Just because some artist decided to take pity on her and paint her portrait, when she probably paid him an exorbitant sum…”
“Now, Kate, you know she did nothing of the sort,” Margaret said.
“Do I? All I know is she is exceedingly lucky and completely undeserving. She acts as though she didn’t want any of this attention, and just succeeds in getting more. People adore her, when she doesn’t have a pretty face at all.”
“There are some who would disagree with you, Miss Harvey,” Margaret said, whistling a little tune. “She’s not so bad, you know. Some think she is quite pretty.”
“Well, I don’t see it. She’s nothing to me.” Kate tossed her head, and the pair headed down one walkway, toward the bookstalls.
“Oh, no, not there. I cannot stand books. They are so dry and dusty, it makes me sneeze. Oh, Lord, look. She’s there.”
There stood Miss Clifton in a smart tan walking coat and beige bonnet, with a dark-green ribbon and small, green reticule hanging from her wrist.
“We should say good afternoon,” Margaret said.
“No, I’d rather not. She’s gotten to be so rude since her great debut at the Royal Exhibition.”
“At least the painting of her at the Lyon’s Den was repaired,” said Margaret.
“I heard every picture of her sold, including the miniatures. Apparently, the damaged painting, once it was restored—people went wild for it, due to its notoriety. I hear some man paid Mrs. Dove-Lyon twice the amount she had paid for it. And there’s a demand for prints of her. Can you imagine?”
“Don’t remind me. It gives me a sour feeling to my stomach, just thinking about it,” Kate said.
But there next to Miss Clifton stood a familiar figure. “My goodness, is that… Mr. Heyter?”
Mr. Heyter gave Miss Clifton his arm, which she took, smiling up at him. Together, they approached Kate and Margaret, and the ladies nodded to each other.
“Miss Watson, Miss Harvey,” Mr. Heyter said. “What a good day this is. Miss Clifton and I had a little literary wager going. She read The Sorrows of Young Werther, whereas I… Well. Have either of you read The Mysteries of Udolpho? I didn’t believe it at first, but it is a thrilling tale.”
“No. I don’t bother reading such tripe,” Kate said, looking away. She brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her sleeve.
Mr. Heyter and Miss Clifton exchanged a look.
“I see. Well, in any case, I have good news,” Mr. Heyter said.
“Oh? What is that?” Margaret asked.
“I have proposed marriage to Miss Clifton, and she has accepted. Meet my betrothed,” Mr. Heyter said.
Kate’s mouth dropped open.
Margaret’s eyes widened. “Congratulations,” she uttered.
“I do hope you will come to the wedding,” Mr. Heyter said. “We are having my aunt, the countess, sing, and are commissioning a portrait from Phillippe. It should be a grand affair.”
Kate turned red, then puce. She was lost for words, and blinked hard.
Mr. Heyter shot her a disparaging look and looked down at Sibyl.
“Come, my dear. Let’s talk about our upcoming wedding.
I believe both our mothers wanted us to choose some ribbons for the occasion.
” He turned his back on Kate’s tear-stricken face.
“On second thought, here is a book just for you, Miss Harvey. One I think you will find very useful, indeed.” He put the slim volume in Kate’s trembling hands.
Kate looked down. It was a dictionary. She scowled and tossed it away.
Margaret looked to Miss Clifton, who nodded in return.
Sibyl watched the young women go and let out a sigh. “I feel guilty. I really do feel a bit sorry for Miss Harvey. Do you think it was cruel of us to do this? To announce our engagement in such a way?”
Mr. Heyter rubbed her gloved hand with his thumb.
“No. Not after what she put you through. She lied and mistreated us both and threatened a perfectly good artist. She almost ruined your reputation for her own gain and hasn’t shown an ounce of remorse.
Pity her if you want, but she deserves none of your kindness.
Miss Harvey should never have engaged in such wild schemes or caused such hurt.
In the end, she’s only damaged her own reputation and that of her father’s paper.
I only hope she learns something from this.
She cannot treat people so cruelly and not expect to suffer the consequences. ”
Sibyl looked down. “I hope she finds peace in time. What?” she asked as he tilted her chin up.
“I would prefer you think about what lady’s undergarments you would like to buy for your wedding trousseau.”
“I’d rather read a fairy tale or bit of poetry,” she mused.
He grinned. “We have the rest of our lives for that. Want to know what I think?”
“What’s that?”
“I think our story would make a perfectly good book.” He kissed her.