Annabelle sighs and pulls a small card from her reticule.
“Call here when you arrive. I will see what I can do. I cannot promise anything.”
The girls look elated.
“Thank you, thank you, Miss de Lacey.”
“I hope you arrive in London safely.”
With that the young women scamper off, gripping each other’s arms. I watch as they enter the third-class compartment of the waiting train.
“We must go,” she says. “We must find my car.”
Annabelle, of course, has a private train car in which we will be travelling to London. When I expressed surprise at this fact, she leveled me with a look that I could only describe as withering.
But now I am preoccupied by her exchange with the two young women.
“You employ women in your counting house?”
“Is that a problem?”
“Not at all. No,” I say quickly. “I am just—those young women?—”
She sighs in exasperation. At least she is feeling better, and we aren’t talking about her condition.
“I am notuniversallyreviled, Alfred. Just nearly.”
“I do not understand.”
“I am hated by many. Deplored by the newspapers. To the quality, I am notorious. But that does not mean that I havenoadmirers. I am celebrated in the demimonde of course. And among the more eccentric bohemian circles. And for those who cannot afford to follow the ministersof respectability and the ethos they cultivate…among some of those I am even revered.”
Of course, to many, Annabelle de Lacey is a heroine. I knew she was famous and celebrated in certain circles, but I had not imagined that it extended to the humbler orders.
“I have some male employees,” she continues. “But I have found that men are more liable to disrespect my authority. And forthat,I have no tolerance. Women cannot often find professional employment elsewhere. Certainly not at counting houses. Have I shocked you?”
She looks at me now with defiance.
“No,” I say. “I must confess I had not thought deeply about your counting house.” I drop my voice into a whisper. “I have been too preoccupied with your other assets.”
She gives a little laugh at that.
“Well, I assure you, many in London can think of little else where I am concerned. It is quite profitable.”
A burst of warmth bites through the froideur brought on by our fight in the carriage.
“Come,” she says. “Let us board.”
To my relief, when we stand, she takes my arm and lets me pull her close.
Chapter 46
Annabelle
By the time we are settled into the comfort of my private car I feel well again.
The bread and cheese bolstered me in body and the interaction with those two young women has done the same for my spirits. I wash my face and brush my teeth behind the screen in the corner of the car and emerge refreshed.
It helps that I love my private car. I am not one to spend money recklessly—no matter what they say of me—but my car is a place where I have been profligate. I surprised myself, in fact, when I chose its decorations. It is rather feminine by my standards. The curtains and furniture upholstery are done up in lilac with pale turquoise carpets. The tables, my desk, and the wood finishes are light. Usually, I feel a responsibility to affect an air of gentlemanly seriousness. But because my car is private, because Alfred is the first person who is not an employee or Evie who has ridden in it with me, I let a different side of myself take thereins.
