Had she really said that? What had she been thinking to blurt it out like that? Lucy was too young, too naïve to have to survive like she did. Her mind fluttered back to her own young self, how she was too inexperienced to be on her own – how she could have done with an older friend helping her, not instructing her to just get on with it. How different her life could have been if someone had taken her under their wing. And she remembered her mother asking Betty to try what she could from the other side of the world. Miranda had ignored Betty’s letters, when she should have grabbed hold of that lifeline. It would have made life warmer, better.
She watched Lucy’s stiff frame, her jutting chin, how hard she’d become. And it struck Miranda that maybe this was how she was herself, cold and sharp, cynical and unfeeling.
With a sudden need to repair the damage, she put an arm around Lucy’s shoulder. ‘I was wrong to say that, Lucy. I didn’t mean for you to sell yourself short, especially to a man like Richard. I’ve found out that he is instrumental in a lunch club, that young waitresses are traded in there, used for sex.’
Lucy said nothing, shrugging Miranda’s arm away, focusing on painting her lips.
‘I know that you were there, Lucy,’ Miranda continued. ‘I hope you weren’t roped into being part of their entertainment. I’ve heard that there are back rooms, places where the waitresses are taken for extra tips. Once you get into that game, Lucy, it’s hard to escape.’
Lucy’s eyes flickered to hers, bored. ‘Look, Miranda, I’m in a hurry. I know how London works, and Richard is looking after me, and—’
‘Looking after you?’ Miranda interrupted her, horrified. ‘What does that mean, Lucy? Is he a family member, a close friend? Is he someone you’ve known for a long time, someone you can trust?’
Lucy shrugged dismissively.
‘Or is he looking after the money he can make from you?’ Miranda went on. ‘Managing you so that he can profit from your good looks and desperation to be onstage?’
‘I’m not desperate,’ Lucy said with a smart smile. ‘He says I’ve got talent – they all do.’
‘They?’ Miranda took a step back. ‘Who arethey?’
Lucy’s fingers fumbled with a compact, and she dropped it with a small clatter onto the tabletop. ‘Agents, theatre owners, people who know the right people.’ Her eyes met Miranda’s again. ‘That’s how this city works, through connections.’
‘There are ways of getting to the top other than flirting with the right man – or men, since your way seems to indicate that you’ll have to charm Richard’s friends as well.’ She shook her head. ‘Once you head down that road, Lucy, no one will treat you as anything other than that kind of a girl.’ She looked at her evenly. ‘You’re too good for that, too talented.’
Lucy turned to her. ‘Just because you’re stuck in a rut, using your situation as an excuse never to be happy, don’t expect me to do the same.’
Stung, Miranda stepped away, for once stuck for words.
Lucy had gone too far, breached the boundary that most normal people would never touch: the sanctity of a grieving widow. But there, in Lucy’s words, was honesty, too. Miranda had settled too much into that role, not realizing that she was, indeed, stuck in a rut.
And that she had to make her own escape.
Lucy got to her feet and walked past her. ‘I have to go out. I have an important engagement,’ she said, adding with a sarcastic smile, ‘one that might change my life.’
With an intake of breath, Miranda’s eyes levelled with hers. ‘Did you know that Richard’s married? His wife is one of the maids of honour in the coronation.’
Startled, Lucy’s eyes opened wide for a second before she was able to collect herself. And in that brief moment, Miranda saw the frightened young woman inside, the country girl who had lapped up Villiers’s praises, let him tell her how to behave, what to do.
And Lucy had bought every word of it, questioning nothing, believing everything.
Quickly, Lucy put on a spirited smile. ‘Of course I knew,’ she said, heading to the staircase. ‘It’s what makes our friendship so very special.’
Something in her words faltered as she went down the stairs and strode out through the front door. It felt like something Villiers himself would say, alluring yet meaningless.
‘A very special friendship,’ Miranda murmured, wondering precisely how far Lucy had gone.
LUCY
AWEEK AFTER THE LUNCH EVENT,LUCY TIPTOED DOWNthe red-carpeted corridor to Guest Room 33 praying that no one would see her. It was the middle of the morning, and there was no laundry to collect, no reason to be there.
But it was imperative that she saw Richard.
Ever since the event, she’d expected invitations to meet agents and theatre directors, all the things Richard and Metcalf had promised. She’d performed well, hadn’t she, done what she had to do? Metcalf had even slipped her some money to help her out for the time being.
But now there was only silence.
Quietly, she eased open the door.
