1
Matlock Bath, England
11 July, 1832
“Even a nob’s carriage has an uppity roll to it, you know?”
As Nell stood beside Tilly on the front drive of the Old Bath Hotel and watched said carriage roll down the high street, a dry laugh escaped her. Leave it to Tilly to sum it up perfectly.
Tilly wasn’t finished. “Even their horses have their noses in the air, all hoity-toity like.” Her assessing eye fell on Nell. “And how long until your next client arrives?”
“Three days,” said Nell.
For a year now, two of her most valued clients from the north had been asking Nell to journey up from London and bring the services ofGalante Dressmakers: Extraordinairehere. As it was summer, she’d finally agreed. The shiny black coach-and-four that had just disappeared around a bend in the road was the first client finished. As Matlock Bath was too far from London to return between clients, she had three days to herself.
It was a strange feeling.
In Nell’s whole life, she’d never once had a holiday. She was a Cockney girl from the East End. Her people didn’t holiday. They worked. In fact, they worked so others could holiday.
Tilly waggled her eyebrows suggestively. “That gives us time to see what all Matlock Bath has to offer a pair of chits on their own.”
Tilly had been playing dressmaker’s apprentice to Nell these last four days, and was clearly aching for a bit of freedom as her gaze cast about.
For her part, Nell simply took in the view. The grand Old Bath Hotel was situated along the inner curve of a bend in the river Derwent, and a lovely green meadow lay between hotel and river, offering a view of the nature surrounding them. Nell hadn’t imagined such a place truly existed.
“Now for the people we’ll be meetin’,” said Tilly.
Nell inwardly groaned. By “people,” Tilly meant “gents.”
“Will you be givin’ them your true identity?”
“I don’t see why not,” said Nell. In truth, she had no intention of meeting any “people.”
Tilly shrugged. “But why not play with it?”
Before becoming a lady’s maid, Tilly had met her future employer, Isabel Galante, while working at an exclusive London brothel. Which was to say Tilly was comfortable with switching identities as a situation called for it. Nell, on the other hand, had never been anyone other than Nell Tait.
“What about that Frenchie accent you were puttin’ on for a while?” asked Tilly. “You could give it another go.”
Nell shook her head, adamant on this point. “That’s better left in the past.”
Her one attempt to be someone other than herself had ended in miserable failure. It wasn’t enough to put on a French accent. One had to know a few words, too. Which she hadn’t, and the ladies she serviced with her dressmaking skills did… An experiment best forgotten.
Instead, these last several months, she’d been picking up books from a lending library and practicing her pronunciation at night in front of her dressing table mirror. It seemed to be going well. She’d even stopped dropping her aitches, which was an accomplishment in itself. She would never sound like a nob—why would she want to, anyway?—but she could sound like the businesswoman her employers, the Galante sisters, had taught her to be.
“Well, methinks you could loosen your corset a wee bit and let yourself have three days of fun. Our five shillings is paid up for the week,” finished Tilly, as if that settled it. “Surely, you can approve of that?”
Nell wasn’t sure she could. At least, not the sort of fun Tilly wanted.
Gents… men.
With her bright blonde curls and voluptuous figure, Tilly attracted men like bees to honey.
Nell had absolutely no interest in or intention of attracting men. Men only got a woman into trouble. At least, that had been her experience.
She touched her silver locket, as she always did when she thought about the trouble she’d found herself in at the age of sixteen.Ewan.His name, though he’d never drawn a single breath. All she had left of him was the curl of fine red hair that she’d snipped off before they’d pulled him from her. It had taken her two full years of saving to buy the locket. But it had been worth every shilling, for now she was able to carry him everywhere, not only in her heart.
She cleared the familiar ache of grief from her throat. “I have a few notes to jot down regarding Lady Somerton’s court dress before I forget.” She hoped that would be excuse enough for Tilly. If not, an outrightnowasn’t outside the realm of possibility. After all, she was a Cockney girl born and bred. She could be blunt when the situation warranted, but usually her smile sufficed, for Nell understood the power of her smile.
