‘That’s in the Barbican!’ Mrs Moore warned her. ‘I’m coming, too.’
‘No. You are to organise the children,’ Anna said calmly. ‘Get them up and start packing.’ When Mrs Moore opened her mouth to protest, Anna kissed her cheek. ‘I am twenty-nine years old and capable.’I hope, she added to herself.
She hurried away before Mrs Moore could voice more objections, setting out at a spanking pace, aware that people rarely bothered someone with a determined look.
Her expression was sufficiently quelling. A lounging sailor near a grog shop whistled at her, then slunk away when she glared. Even a constable backed away. Better and better.
It was one thing to walk bravely through the Barbican. It was quite another to stand at the entrance to the Drake and wonder at her boldness.It doesn’t matter, she thought.I need help. She opened the door.
Mrs Fillion stood behind the front desk, sorting through papers, spectacles perched on her nose. She saw Anna, yanked off her spectacles and hurried around the desk, her arms open.
With a sob, Anna threw herself into her embrace.
‘How did you know I needed this?’ Anna managed to say.
‘I knew I would never see you here without Captain Beattie if it weren’t an emergency. What happened?’
Soon they were seated in the alcove between the front desk and the stairwell.
Mrs Fillion took her hands. ‘You’re freezing,’ she scolded, but in that way of women looking out for each other. ‘Why are you here and how can I help?’
Aware of time passing, Anna started with Captain Beattie’s impulsive embrace on the steps of her home, and the rumours that had started. She only faltered on that terrible moment when the curate had pointed at her in church.
‘Somebody should thrash that man!’ Mrs Fillion declared.
‘Then a horrible man with a leather case arrived this morning and said we had six hours to vacate our premises. Mrs Fillion, I am desperate. Please help us.’
Her tired heart seemed to start beating again when the hotelier grasped her hands and said, ‘Yes, Anna, a thousand times.’ Anna wept as Mrs Fillion held her, like mother and daughter. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ she crooned.
Anna pulled herself together. ‘I can pay for lodging. That is not the issue.’
‘I knew Captain Beattie would never leave you penniless,’ Mrs Fillion said. ‘Take your money? No. I have a better idea.’
‘I could use a good idea,’ Anna said simply.
‘I need someone at the front desk. You, perhaps?’
‘At the front desk?’ Anna asked, surprised and, if she was honest, intrigued. The front desk meant Navy men, who lately—especially one man in particular—had disrupted her orderly life. Her humour returned. ‘Men? The old biddies on Covent Street will lose their minds if they hear I work at the Drake.’
Mrs Fillion laughed. ‘It’s a cliché, but living wellisthe best revenge. Officers are as gentlemanly as they can be. True, some haven’t seen a pretty face in a long time, but everyone knows I run a tight ship at the Drake.’
‘I’ll be safe,’ Anna agreed, ‘but no one ever said I had a pretty face.’
‘Look in the mirror occasionally,’ Mrs Fillion said crisply. ‘Front desk for you. Your housekeeper cooks? My chef will collapse in gratitude if Mrs… Mrs…’
‘Moore…’
‘…Mrs Moore agrees to help him. You mentioned a scullery maid. Pru? There are never enough choppers and dicers in my kitchen,’ Mrs Fillion said, ticking off the chores on her fingers. ‘Captain Beattie’s son? Is he useful?’
‘He will do whatever you like, and with good cheer,’ Anna said, amazed at the racehorse speed of this conversation. She reconsidered. ‘He can be a little tentative, but he has been through so much.’
‘So has his father, Miss Fontaine. Please, may I call you Anna?’
‘Certainly, you may, Mrs Fillion.’
‘I am Grace.’ She stood and tugged Anna up with her. ‘My Ben—he’s a handy man to know—will drive you back to Covent Street and help with the packing. We’ll beat that six-hour deadline. I’ll have rooms ready when you return.’ She hesitated. ‘I can put you on the third floor, which is where officers and their wives stay, or…or with me below-stairs.’
‘Below-stairs,’ Anna said promptly, then felt the greatest sense of belonging, knowing in her heart of hearts that it was not a step down into lower status, but an opportunity. ‘I can learn a skill. Mrs Fillion…’
