“Mama, did you see the papers?” James asked, taking a seat beside her. In truth, he managed her better than Evelyn did; neither attempted to brighten the other, and news of the world was the one subject that still held their mother’s interest.
“Papers are there,” she said hollowly.
Evelyn’s heart tightened. It must be a particularly bad day. Cloudy weather always deepened her mother’s despair. Evelyn moved to the curtains, hesitating—her mother disliked the brightness—but oh, how tempting it was to admit even a sliver of daylight.
“I read them,” James said quietly. “Did you see the scandal sheets?”
“No.” Her voice was flat. “The Whisperercomes out tomorrow.”
Though money was desperately tight, Evelyn ensured all the newspapers—including the scandal sheets—were still delivered. They were one of her mother’s few remaining pleasures.
“We shall read it then,” James said soothingly, before lapsing into silence.
Evelyn poured tea for both of them, then herself, and took a seat across the room. She needed to think, though the dimparlour—with its flickering firelight and heavy shadows—offered little encouragement. Dark possibilities plagued her: fleeing England, though where could they go? And how could she take her mother from the only home she understood? Work was impossible—no governess could earn such a sum in a lifetime, and leaving her mother unattended was unthinkable.
A sharp ache formed behind her eyes. She rose and wandered toward the curtained window.
A knock at the parlour door broke her bleak thoughts. Her heart leapt—perhaps the scandal sheet had arrived early. It would cheer her mother, if only for a few minutes.
“Come in,” she called.
“My lady?” Mr Soames’s voice carried a tense note. “You have a visitor.”
“Who is it?” Evelyn asked quickly. She glanced at James—he had gone rigid, his face ashen. He clearly feared the worst.
“It is Miss Harwick, my lady,” Mr Soames replied.
“Lucy!” Evelyn’s heart soared. Lucy was her dearest friend. The daughter of a baron who had been a close friend of their father, Lucy was like a sister. They had known one another since they were both twelve years old—fourteen long years.
“Please show her in,” Evelyn said warmly, suddenly remembering to address the butler.
The door opened, and Lucy stepped inside. Her reddish-blonde hair remained neatly drawn back in a chignon, fastened with blue ribbons despite the wind outdoors; her blue gown shone vividly in the dim room. She gave Evelyn a radiant smile before turning a warm, courteous expression toward James and Lady Calperton.
“Lady Calperton. Lord Calperton,” she said with cheerful respect. “How good it is to see you.”
Her open, friendly tone warmed the room, and Evelyn felt a wave of gratitude simply to have her friend there.
“Lucy,” she said warmly. “What brings you here? Do sit down.”
“I was on my way to St. James’s Park and thought I would stop to see if you might like to accompany me,” Lucy said brightly. “We could even do a little shopping. I have a mind to visit that bookshop near Birdcage Walk.”
“Oh?” Evelyn’s spirits lifted at once. Any reason to visit a bookshop was a welcome one. Her gaze drifted toward her mother. Once they had shared a deep love of reading; her father too had been an avid lover of literature. But now her mother claimed that reading strained her eyes, and she derived no pleasure from it. Evelyn missed discussing books with her more than she could say.
“Yes,” Lucy continued. “I should like to find a copy of Byron. Anything you fancy yourself?” She crossed to the hearth and stirred the fire.
“No,” Evelyn murmured. “I cannot—” She meant to remind Lucy that she had no allowance to spend.
“It was your birthday last week, and I bought you nothing,” Lucy said quickly. “Do come. James, Lady Calperton—you will not mind our going?” She smiled at them pleasantly.
James inclined his head. “Go, Evelyn,” he said gently. She knew he spoke out of guilt and a desire to ease her burden in whatever small ways he could.
“Thank you, James,” she said softly.
After bidding their mother farewell, she and Lucy made their way downstairs. Evelyn pulled on a grey pelisse, Lucy donned her white one, and they tied their bonnets firmly before stepping out into the blustery street.
A powerful gust caught Evelyn’s skirt, tugging it sharply; she shrieked, then laughed as the two of them hurried along, their pelisses and ribbons whipping in the wind. For one glorious moment, she felt twelve again, running through the gardensof Lucy’s family estate, lighthearted and untroubled, with no weight of responsibility upon her.
“Let us run!” Lucy declared. “Look—the streets are empty. No one will see.”
