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Chapters (40)
  1. Cover
  2. About the Author
  3. Dedication
  4. Map
  5. I
  6. II
  7. III
  8. IV
  9. V
  10. VI
  11. VII
  12. VIII
  13. IX
  14. X
  15. XI
  16. XII
  17. XIII
  18. XIV
  19. XV
  20. XVI
  21. XVII
  22. XVIII
  23. XIX
  24. XX
  25. XXI
  26. XXII
  27. XXIII
  28. XXIV
  29. XXV
  30. XXVI
  31. XXVII
  32. XXVIII
  33. XXIX
  34. XXX
  35. XXXI
  36. XXXII
  37. Seven Years Later
  38. Epilogue
  39. Acknowledgements
  40. THIS IS JUST THE BEGINNING

I stuffed the handbill in my coat pocket to appease him and at last he dropped back and let me go. As soon as I turned the corner, I’d chuck it. I might be one of the Black Poor to the Do-Gooder but that wasn’t how I saw myself and it wasn’t how I wanted Lucien Winters to think of me either. Lectures, settlements, Sierra Leone. Whatever it was all about, it was nothing to do with me.

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VIII

Breakfast with Crillick

A week had passed since Crillick’s return. Mercifully, he’d been largely absent from the house, out on business in the daytime and at his club of a night. It meant I could continue to put off my return to St Giles but, whenever he was around, I was reminded that I needed to be on my way soon, however hard it would be after the luxury of Northumberland Avenue.

I’d managed to avoid being alone with him but the house felt different when he was in it. Crillick was so brash it rubbed off on the servants. The undercook’s grumblings could be heard even when the kitchen door was closed. The maids shouted to one another as they went about their chores; even the fires crackled louder. It was as though the house had slept while Crillick was away and, now he was back, it had roared into life. The noise left me feeling edgy. I’d got too used to the calm and quiet of life with Vincent. His low voice, the expensive swish of his fine clothes, the way everything he touched seemed to yield to him. I supposed it was for the best, though, as I couldn’t afford to get too soft. A girl like me had to keep her guard up. But today wasn’t the time to be worrying about that. It was my Thursday off and soon Vincent and I would be in Richmond, for a wonderful day, just the two of us.

I walked along the corridor and pushed open the door to the morning room. There were Crillick and Vincent seated at the heavy oak dining table. They were deep in conversation, their heads bent over a massive sheet of blue paper, and I paused on the threshold, too shy to interrupt. Crillick sat at the head of the table. I’d never known him to be on horseback but he was dressed for riding in a tweed coat with brass buttons. The outfit looked new and he shifted from time to time as if to stretch out the seams. I thought of Mrs Bradley and what she’d say if she was here. Don’t want to spill any grease on fabric like that. Nightmare to get out.