Mary shot him a look of pure venom. “Aye, tell them you’re Catholic. That’ll help. Here, this will help. I can get another one.”
Mary reached to her neck and took down a small, wooden crucifix on a leather string. She tied it around Alexander’s neck.
“They can’t blame me for converting you when the Deacon didnae want you.”
She looked into Alexander’s frightened eyes for a long moment. He knew the building she spoke of, had seen it from the Green where he had played with his pals. Black-frocked priests and nuns had frequently gone in and out. The priests lookedlike crows to Alexander, dark and foreboding. He took hold of the cross, a symbol Master Knox had taught him to regard as idolatrous. Now, Alexander was wearing a cross just like the people Master Knox had scorned as Papists. He wondered if the priests wouldn’t take him in unless he was Catholic. It didn’t seem fair somehow.
“That’s the doctor now. Looks like we’re out of a job, Mary,” Tommy said from his position across the yard, leaning against the wall, puffing on his pipe.
The physician who had been brought in to see to Master Knox came out of the door. He carried a leather bag and wore a top hat and overcoat. He looked from Mary to Tommy.
“It’s not good news I’m afraid. Your Master has passed away,” he said in a smoother accent than either Tommy or Mary possessed. “You should say a prayer for his soul. I’m returning home and will notify the Lord Provost and make out the death certificate. The son is already away to fetch some legal papers from his father’s offices. Bloody vulture.”
He glanced down at Alexander who looked back hopefully. The Doctor was a man of rank in the city, respected and wealthy. Surely, he would take care of Alexander. But the Doctor just looked away and followed the path the Deacon had taken through the gate.
“Go now, Alexander,” Mary said. “I’d take you in myself but my old man would throw you out. I’ve got enough wains to be looking after. Go to the priests, it’s their job to look after you.”
“But, what will I do?” Alexander said, tears blurring his vision.
Mary caught him up in a fierce embrace, hugging him tight. It brought brief solace, a small hope that he would be looked after. Then she was pushing him away, tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Go, before it gets much later.”
Even Tommy looked uncomfortable, callow youth that he was. As Alexander reached the gate, he growled.
“Hold up, boy. I’ll come with ye. Ye hardly ken the first thing about Glesga after dark. You would-nae get to the end of the road. But don’t think this means I’m takin’ you in. My heid doesn’t button up the back, mind.”
“Thank you, Thomas,” Mary called as Tommy pushed Alexander through the gate ahead of him.
Alexander knew the expression Tommy had used meant he wasn’t to be taken for a fool. It was one of many that he had picked up in Glasgow, proud of the vocabulary he had absorbed in his year in the city. Tommy took him through the maze of back alleys between towering, grand buildings until they reached Ingram Street. It was wide and long, flanked by tall, imposing buildings. At the far end was the Royal Exchange, the grandest of buildings, staring down the street at him. He had been there many times with Master Knox, listening to the men talk about prices, goods, and trade. It was to have been part of his apprenticeship, to learn about the business that was transacted in one of the largest cities of the Empire.
Tommy steered him away from it, walking east towards the High Street, cutting down Candleriggs to head for the river. When they reached the dark, sluggish expanse of the Clyde, he stopped, pointing to the old wooden bridge that crossed it and the looming building beyond.
“That’s it. This is as far as I go. You run across and don’t stop ‘til you’re at the door. Mary’s right, the priests will look after ye. God makes them dae it, or something. Go!”
He gave Alexander a shove and the boy took a faltering step into the dark. There were lights burning in some of the windows of the orphanage, beacons guiding him to safety. His feet moved faster and clattered on the wooden surface of the bridge. At the orphanage, he would be safe. Safe from the father who had beaten him and ultimately rejected him. Safe from the dark, odorous, and violent city into which he had been plunged.
Alexander Fitzgrant ran towards safety for all he was worth. Towards what he thought was safety. He could not have been more wrong.
Chapter 1
Violet moved gracefully as a swan through the assembled guests. Her pale, blue eyes picked out those she knew or was at least acquainted with and she smiled a greeting at them. She wore a dress of pale blue and gray, with pale gray gloves that reached to her elbows and pearls about her neck. The gold-spun curls of her hair were artfully pinned up, revealing the smooth, pale skin of her neck. Delicate silver earrings complimented her eyes and complexion.
The surroundings were grand indeed. The mansion in South Audley Street, a stone’s throw from Hyde Park, sparkled as though it had been built of precious gems instead of brick. The tall ceiling hall in which the guests of the Earl of Munster were assembled was a piece of art in itself. Mirrors gave a gleam to the room as well as giving the illusion of much great space. Candles were magnified by chandeliers that hung from a ceiling painted in a scene of angels and the celestial heavens. The gathered guests added their own finery to that of their surroundings.
Around her, Violet looked admiringly at necklaces that sparkled and shone, and rings with large precious stones, all showed off ostentatiously by the wearer. Tiaras adorned fashionably styled hair. She felt at home here, though it was not her house. The people around her moved and behaved according to a set of unspoken rules and conventions that she had come to understand very well. Violet swam in a sea of London high society, navigating its shifting currents with ease.
“Quite spectacular, is it not, Lady Violet?” said Mary Wyndham, emerging from a shift in the assemblage to address Violet.
She had brown hair, worn up and festooned with precious stones and jewelry. Violet acknowledged the other woman’s rank with an inclination of her head. She was, after all, wife of George Fitzclarence, Earl of Munster, and eldest son of the new King.
“Simply perfect, Your Ladyship,” Violet said. “My compliments to you and His Lordship. I have rarely seen a finer display.”
“We must outdo ourselves on such occasions, must we not? A new King does not ascend to the throne every day,” Lady Mary said.
“Indeed. I think everyone here is of the same mind and quite in awe of the occasion.”
Lady Mary smiled, turning to allow the light to catch the sapphires of her tiara. Violet took the cue, knowing that the item was new.
