Bird Street. Where on earth was Bird Street?
Pen closed her eyes. She’d memorised the entire map of London back at the school. She knew she could either take a hackney, which would be the more reasonable thing to do, or she could walk. Pall Mall, Bond Street, Oxford Street, Bird Street. It hadn’t looked too far on the map. How fascinating to walk alone in the streets without having a companion or maid trailing after her. She felt the rush of an exhilarating sense of freedom. Her legs started to move.
Bath was nothing like London, she decided. Bath was a pretty country village compared to this. Bath was quiet, safe. There were fewer people. The air was better, but it was also less fascinating. London pulsed with life. It was chaotic. It was loud. It was overwhelming. It surprised her that she liked it.
As she walked down Bond Street towards Oxford Street, the area grew more and more familiar. Her speed increased, as did the thudding of her heart.
There it was, the little street where she used to live, for a short time only, so long ago. As if in another life.
She stood in front of the little townhouse.
It looked like it did before, with a grey front and a wrought-iron fence at the entrance.
With wet palms and dry mouth, she lifted the brass door knocker.
A maid opened and looked at her inquisitively.
“I am here to see Mr Marcus Smith, please.”
The housemaid frowned. “There is no such person living here, sir.”
Pen felt like someone knocked her over.
“M-Marcus Smith?” she stammered. “But he lives here.”
The housemaid shook her head. “Sorry, sir, I’ve worked here only for several months. The current family who lives here is called Winterbottom.” She started to close the door.
“Wait!” Pen cried. “Is there anyone else in the house you could ask? Mr Jarvis, the butler? Or Mrs Jenson, the housekeeper? Fariq, the valet? I am Pen Kumari, and I used to live here. A while ago. Is there anyone working here who would still know me?”
“If you would wait, sir. I can ask the housekeeper.”
“Yes, please do.”
Pen sighed in relief. If Mrs Jenson was here, everything would be good. Surely, she would remember her and take her in, and if not, at least tell her where Marcus was now. Pen could’ve kicked herself. Why hadn’t it occurred to her that Marcus no longer lived here? Was that the reason he’d never answered her letters?
A buxom woman opened the door and looked her up and down. This was not Mrs Jenson.
“I am looking for Mr Marcus Smith.”
The woman lifted her eyebrows. “Mr Marcus Smith no longer resides here.”
“Would you know where he is living now?”
“I am very sorry. I wouldn’t know. Mr and Mrs Winterbottom reside here. We moved in with them last year. There are no domestics from the previous occupant working here.”
Pen’s heart sank.
“What is your relationship to this Mr Smith, if I may ask?” the woman asked.
“He is my guardian.”
“Indeed!” Her demeanour left no doubt what she thought of a guardian whose ward did not know where he lived. “It is rather odd. Letters to this Mr Smith have been arriving here with regularity. From a certain Miss Penelope Reid.” The woman added after some hesitation, “You would not, by any chance, know her?”
Pen’s head snapped up. “Er, yes. She is my, er, um, sister.”
The woman nodded. “One moment please, sir.”
She left and returned with a hemp bag and handed it to Pen. “These are all Miss Reid’s letters to Mr Smith. There must be nigh a hundred of them. Would you be so kind and return them to your sister?”
