“I wish my father were more like Mr. Scott. No, don’t laugh. I mean that he has a very enlightened attitude to female education. His little girl, Heather, is particularly bright, much more able than his two boys—his words, not mine. He has set aside the reward money you gave him to enrol her in a decent school. I have arranged to meet little Heather at a future date; I am keen to make her acquaintance. What do you say to that, Lochiel?”

“I am not in the least surprised you wish to, but please, for my peace of mind, conduct the meeting in some more salubrious location than here. Talking of which, I had best get you home.”

Disappointed, Margaret gazed skywards. “It’s a miracle. An actual glimpse of blue. We are very near the river here, aren’t we, and just opposite Lambeth, I think, which I have read a good deal about in Mr. Mayhew’s writing. I would very much like to see it for myself. Would you mind terribly, Lochiel, if we took a detour on our way back to Montagu House? It is only just after noon, and for London a positively beautiful winter’s day. I feel as if I’ve been cooped up for months, and Mama won’t be back for hours, for she has gone to call on a friend in Richmond. Please, may we take in a little more of this fascinating and unusual part of the city?”

“An epithet that could well apply to yourself, and before you take that amiss I meant it as a compliment.”

“Did you? Then may I say that is the nicest thing anyone has said to me for months. What’s the quickest way?”

“Your faith in my knowledge of the geography of London is touching.”

“But not misplaced, I hope. Lead on, Macduff!”

“Very well, I know enough to keep us clear of danger, I reckon. Why don’t we cross the river here, then we can walk back past Lambeth Palace and Astley’s Theatre, then cross back over at Westminster Bridge, if that’s not too much for you? Most young women of my acquaintance require smelling-salts to walk farther than the length of themselves.”

AFTER THEY CROSSED THE TOLL bridge into the Parish of Lambeth, they were quickly caught up in a steady stream of traffic.

“I can only imagine they are headed for the new station at Waterloo,” Lochiel said, looking dubious.