The Brannons had both been out all day, and now, having dined well with friends, they were agog for the details of Jamie’s sudden betrothal. He stumbled through his explanation, feeling despicable for lying to his good friends, even though he knew ithad to be done. But when the Brannons had gone to bed, and Jamie enjoyed a final brandy with Joe, he had the feeling from Joe’s knowing smile that he understood a great deal that had not been said explicitly.
But all he said was, “Marriage will suit you, Jamie. It will do you good.”
“I think so, too. I certainly hope so!”
“Your Mrs Hastings sounds as if she has had a hard life, and she is too young to be left a widow. Is she pretty?”
“Very.”
Joe chuckled. “Said without hesitation. Excellent! But you are not in love with her. No, no! I do not mean to pry. It is your own affair, the business of choosing a wife, and practical considerations must come into it, too. So tell me how your father is getting on with investigating the Wyatts.”
Relieved at the change of subject, Jamie refilled their glasses and settled down to a long, meandering chat.
11: The Pawn Shop
Jamie’s days were filled with appointments. The bishop’s office, the attorney, the bank, the bishop’s office again, the attorney again, the rectory, the attorney yet again… there seemed no end to it. By the end of the third day, all was in train for the wedding the following day and he was glad to be heading home to Georgie’s cottage. Home… home was wherever Georgie was, now. Such a strange thought.
It was already almost dark and a sleety rain was beginning to fall. He pulled his hat a little lower on his head and pushed his hands into his pockets for extra warmth. It was not a good day to be out of doors, and he hurried along, the thought of a good fire and a glass of wine adding speed to his steps.
He was confident enough in his bearings now to take a short cut through one of the many narrow lanes that branched off the main routes. The lane was dark, and the houses he passed mostly had shutters or curtains closed to shut out the winter night, but one or two lamps lit over doors showed the way. From inside, he heard the sounds of families settling down for theevening — a burst of laughter, pots rattling, a thread of music from a pianoforte. In the distance, a church bell was announcing an evening service.
There were shops here and there, some with lights inside, but it was too dark to see into their windows to determine what they sold. However, a couple passing by with a lantern held aloft briefly lit a window, and Jamie almost cried out in astonishment. For there in the window, amidst a motley collection of objects, was the pair to Georgie’s miniature, with the exact same ornate gold frame.
The lantern moved away, rendering the window dark again, but there was a light burning inside, so Jamie pushed open the door, setting a bell jangling, and went inside.
“Just closing,” came a voice from the depths.
The shop was stuffed with goods, from furniture to china to silverware to large paintings, with shelves of books and ornaments and boxes filled with clothes. A pawn shop, perhaps. At the back was a long counter, where a small lantern provided a dim pool of light. The owner of the voice could not be seen.
“I will not keep you a moment,” Jamie called out, “but you have a miniature in the window that—”
A head popped up from behind the counter, the man’s features indistinct in the gloom. “Miniature? Who wants to know?”
“My name is James Hammond.”
“Never heard of you. Oxford man, are you?”
“No, I am secretary to the Duke of Brinshire.”
The man stood up to his full height, which was considerable. He looked like the sort of man who routinely got into fights at the local hostelry, and enjoyed it, too. “What does the Dook of Brinshire care about that miniature?”
“I am sure his grace does not, but I do. I believe it may be of a good friend of mine, Mrs Henry Hastings, and—”
The man beamed. “Georgie? You know Georgie? Wait, let me show you the thing. It’s very like her.”
He picked up the lantern and emerged from behind the counter, threading his way delicately through the detritus of his shop. Reaching into the window, he stepped back and pressed the miniature into Jamie’s hand.
“There! Pretty little thing, ain’t it?”
“It is, and as you say, very like her. It was a wedding gift from her uncle, and I am sure she would be glad to have it back. How much do you want for it?”
Jamie could see the desire for money pass across his face. “Well, now, ’tis awkward, sir, very awkward. It rightly belongs to… to a friend of mine, who left it with me for safe keeping, like.”
“For money, you mean, and he has not yet reclaimed it. I would be happy to pay you twice what he would give you for it.”
“Well, that’s right gen’rous, sir, but… well, he’s a friend o’ mine… although it’s a year since he left it here, so… but he don’t expect me to just sell it.”
“Perhaps if you could give me his direction, I could talk to him… redeem it from you and then buy it from him,” Jamie said, wondering just how much money he would have to lay out to recover the miniature. “I want to be fair to you both, but Georgie would love to have this back.”
