A butler announced that my great-aunt’s driver had pulled round to the front entrance as I arrived at the entrance hall. Rupert had re-appeared from the general direction of the kitchens, his muzzle covered with cake crumbs. I saw Mrs. Ryan’s hand in this.
He reeked of some overpowering perfume fragrance that reminded me think of the brothel in Edinburgh. That could explain his sheepish demeanor, head down, refusing to look at me.
“Mrs. Hastings did make a comment earlier that she refused to have him in the place smelling like...I believe she described it as a piss-pot,” Mr. Symons explained. “Beggin’ your pardon, miss.”
I wasn’t certain which was worse, Rupert’s usual aroma, which I had become accustomed to, somewhat. Or his new scent.
My aunt’s driver, Mr. Hastings, opened the coach door. I climbed inside, Rupert behind me as if escaping an inferno, and we were off.
No sooner had we departed than Mr. Hastings unexpectedly drew the team to a lurching halt. The coach door was pulled open and Lily climbed inside.
“I thought ye might need help,” she explained with a grin, then called up to him to proceed.
Ten
I hadno objections to Lily accompanying me—not that there was much choice in the matter. As for any danger, I was confident that I could protect us both. And I was reminded that she could be most persistent when she was determined about something.
It did seem good experience to have her venture somewhere about London besides the office on the Strand, Sussex Square, and the theater while she was away from her studies. I understood completely that she found them boring. And I did enjoy her company.
I was not concerned that she might meet Theo Burke in spite of his reputation about the city for being...shall we say difficult in the least, condescending toward women, and devious when it came to ‘getting the story,’as they say.
After all, Lily had grown up on the streets of Edinburgh, not exactly a provincial hamlet, and had been employed in a brothel.
I had wondered in that previous inquiry case if any of the‘customers’of the Church had thoughts that their activities there might be looked upon by the Almighty.
Where Lily was concerned, as I said, she reminded me of me. And I had to admit that I had also been thoroughly bored with my studies that included Latin—I couldn’t understand how that might be of any use to me—a smattering of science at the time, fed by my avid curiosity of the inventions I saw at the Exhibition, and the classics in literature.
I looked across at Lily now as we arrived at the Times offices, her gaze fixed out the side window, with a particularglintin them. That was the only word for it.
Dear girl, what adventures will you have? I could only imagine.
Traversing London was always an adventure of itself. There were new buildings being built, the congestion of traffic on the streets that included all sorts of conveyances—I did look for my aunt, however I did not spot her motor carriage.
There was also signage on the sides of trams and omnibuses that advertised everything from hair tonics for men and ladies’ soaps, to the premium cigars from Cuba available at smoke shops. I was grateful Brodie preferred the occasional pipe tobacco.
We were only a matter of a few miles from Sussex Square, when I thought how much more convenient it might be if one traversed above the streets in a balloon.
It was very near eleven in the morning when we arrived at the Times office building. We stepped down from the coach and were immediately accosted by a woman who thrust a pamphlet into my hands.
“There’s a meeting Wednesday next,” she informed. “You and your daughter should attend. We need to fight for our rights!” And she was off to spread the word. Not my first encounter with that determined group of women.
“Rights?” Lily frowned. “What sort of rights?”
“The right to vote,” I explained as we went to the entrance of that red brick building with the peak roof line that included the Times logo.
“Vote?” she eagerly replied. “Women will be allowed to vote?”
“I suspect that it will be an uphill battle,” I explained. “I do feel that if those such as Lady Antonia and myself are expected to pay taxes, then we should be able to vote for the representatives who determine what those taxes are spent for.”
“I get wot yer talkin’ about,” she replied as we entered the Times building.
Lily was appropriately dressed in a traveling costume. Then there was the hound and his new‘fragrance,’not the usual guest at the newspaper office. I was reminded of that by the clerk at a desk.
“I’m sorry, miss. Animals are not allowed.”
I thought that most amusing considering the clerk closely resembled a hedgehog—short-cropped hair bristled on his head, beady eyes looking as if he was constantly surprised.
“His name is Rupert,” Lily indignantly replied, then added, “He’s famous.”
