“Ah, yes! Dear Leo has arranged a private box for us!” Mrs Hartley began to root around in her reticule, before thrusting a folded piece of paper towards Belinda.
Does she carryallof her paper treasures with her?
Lindy unfolded and examined what proved to be a playbill upon which the wordsThe Unfinished Gentlemanwere written in bold letters, followed by various details of the production in smaller print.
“Well?” Mrs Hartley breathed, her plenteous bosom expanding with pride. “Won’t you accompany us? We’ve heard it’s great fun!”
“Please say you will,” Dora said, squinting hard at Lindy. “I would be able to enjoy much more than just the music if you were there telling me what was happening on stage, in whispers, of course.”
“I should certainly like to. May I give you my answer after discussing it with my aunt?”
Belinda handed the playbill back to Mrs Hartley, who was pouting now. “Yes, but be sure to tell her that we Hartleys may not be in town for much longer, as Leo says we are for home soon.”
Home? That’s right — they don’t always live in London.Belinda struggled to recall where the family stayed the rest of the year.
“Mamma, why did you not tell me until now?” Miss Hartley was crestfallen.
“He only spoke of it last night, and you girls have been talking so much all day that I couldn’t get a word in!”
Stifling an indignant giggle, Belinda thanked the Hartleys again for including her in their morning adventure. She stepped out of the carriage, feeling a little overwhelmed at all she had to think through.
A Shoulder of Consequence
ALWYN NOTED that Mr Caspar’s initial suspicion of him had dissipated at the promise of a few games of chess. The two men had become fast friends by the time Mrs Caspar came downstairs after her two-hour respite.
Seeing how tightly she clasped her hands together as she walked him to the front door, Alwyn had said, “Mrs Caspar, I find your husband improved already, having more control over his limbs than he did yesterday. I believe his will be a swift recovery.”
“But his constant questions, his forgetfulness…he hardly seems like himself.” Mrs Caspar’s eyelashes had sparkled with clinging tears.
“Please be encouraged. His memory will likely be restored. In the meantime, respond with simple answers that will help to orientate him. But prepare yourself as you may have to repeat them quite often.”
Taking a deep breath, she had nodded. “Will you return tomorrow?”
“Of course.”
“Thank you very much, Mr Alwyn. We are so grateful for your attention and knowledge.”
Her use of the wordwehad brought Miss Everson to mind and he was tempted to inquire after her as she had not appeared once all morning.
No,his good sense reprimanded him.This is no social call.
As soon as Mrs Caspar had shut the door behind him, a carriage had come up Hertford Street. Alwyn had lingered on the doorstep, thinking it might be returning Miss Everson home, but he knew a fellow could stand straightening his lapels for only so long before looking like a fool. When a strange woman started whooping at him from the conveyance, he finally started away, towards the Grey Bull.
He was on Davies Street when he saw a fellow with a familiar stride up ahead of him.
“Sliger!” he called out.
He hadn’t seen the boy since chastising him, and was determined to patch things up completely. There was a slight wavering in Sliger’s eyes at his approach, but the boy’s natural warmth returned when Alwyn asked, “Are you coming from lecture?”
“Materia Medica,” he answered with a nod, and the two walked on together, discussing the subject with a similar enthusiasm. When the pharmacological applications of rhubarb and foxgloves seemed spent, Sliger introduced a new, unexpected topic.
“Mr Alwyn, it seems that something quite fortuitous happened yesterday. You see, not an hour after you mentioned to me that you hoped to hire a companion for your aunt, I learned that Mi—”
But the good fortune was to remain a mystery, for just as he was to reveal it, there was a sharp shout further up the road, followed by a great crashing sound. The steady flow of wagons, carriages and horse-riders on the street came to an immediate halt, and a chorus of dismayed cries rose heavenward.
Sliger and Alwyn ran forwards, weaving through the congestion towards the site of whatever calamity had caused it. They found a brewer’s dray at the very front of the vehicular clutter, its barrels scattered like billiard balls on the roadway. The staves of one had broken, and its yeasty smelling content was pooling in the street.
Crammed up against this wagon, with a deep gash running the length of its body, was a barouche landau. It appeared as if its impatient driver had attempted to overtake the dray, and having little margin, had caught its left panel on the wagon’s bed. But the fault of the collision was of no concern to Alwyn as he looked around for anyone who might be injured.
