Half an hour later the final coach drew up on the driveway. The remainder of the guests were already gathering for the welcome tea, but Thea had anticipated that these guests would be late. The door flew open, almost knocking the footman off his feet, and the full force of Harriet Henry burst out, immediately enveloping Thea in a bear hug full of hair and silk and ample bosoms. Thea held her for a long time, delighted to see her enthusiastic friend. A little wave of joy that had been long lacking warmed her inside. After a long embrace Harriet held Thea at arm’s length, grasping her puffed sleeves.
‘Everyone here?’ she asked.
‘You’re the last,’ confirmed Thea.
‘Thought so,’ said Harriet. ‘So, who’s here? Cecily and the weasel?’
‘In the parlour,’ confirmed Thea.
‘That haughty but delicious lover of yours?’
‘Thankfully.’ Thea smiled.
‘The grumpy botanist?’
‘Crumpacker,’ Thea nodded.
‘Your sister-in-law?’
‘Critiquing my curtains as we speak.’
‘That sour faced guy who comes with the weasel?’
‘Doctor Herbert, yes,’ said Thea. ‘And his friend, Stanhope Grimston, who has a little history with Martha.’ That had been a surprise when he had turned up. George had failed to mention it.
‘I shall look forward to Lady Foxmore’s ire.’ Harriet looked almost gleeful at the thought. ‘What about the person I am in love with most in the world and her husband?’ Harriet pursed her lips, and a little of her exuberance ebbed.
‘Still?’ asked Thea gently, knowing how much hurt Harriet’s bluster hid.
‘Can’t seem to help it,’ she said with a crooked smile. ‘Another winter in London pretending to be interested in her art clubs, I fear.’
‘Part of the soft furnishing assessment party with Helena,’ confirmed Thea.
Harriet dropped her hands from Thea’s shoulders and seemed to gather herself. ‘Good lord,’ she said. ‘We are in for it, aren’t we. I had thought I’d brought the most sensible with me but wait until you hear what he’s done.’ She gestured over her shoulder at the open door of the carriage.
‘Kit!’ exclaimed Thea, having almost forgotten he was travelling with Harriet. She headed to the open door of the carriage and peered in. The form of Doctor Speckle hunchedover a notebook set on his knee, pen scratching frantically across it. He held up one index finger, imploring her not to interrupt just yet. Thea retreated from the carriage and turned back to Harriet, questioning.
‘He’s been like that the whole way,’ said her friend.
‘What has he done?’ asked Thea, searching Harriet’s face.
‘Well, you know he inherited that plantation in St Kitts?’
‘Yes,’ remembered Thea.
‘And he went out there to see how it was all going?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, he only got back a couple of weeks ago and I didn’t know until now.’
‘What has he done?’ asked Thea, worried that she was going to have to deal with more awkward conversations about conditions in the West Indies over dinner.
‘He’s only let them all go.’
‘Let what go?’ asked Thea, none the wiser.
‘The slaves,’ said Harriet. ‘On his plantation. Freed them all. Allowed any who wanted to to stay and be paid a wage, brought a couple over here who fancied it, and let the rest go. Now he’s writing a pamphlet about it.’
