Chapter Eleven
Mel arrived backat the tower long after their usual time and with a diminished group of brothers. Not only had the five would-be grooms not returned, Cornelius had returned to Spitalfields and his wife and child.
“We shall sleep, and then talk,” Lord Kemble decreed. Since Mel could barely keep her eyes open, she didn’t argue.
She only had a couple of hours sleep before Kemble was there, shaking her awake.
“You just missed a visit from Baldwin,” he said. “He called to say they have the licenses from the Bishop of London and the weddings are to be all together, at St Margaret’s. I woke you because I thought you might wish to attend, Mrs. Blackmore.”
Mel sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest with one hand. “Yes. I’d like to.”
“Get ready then,” he said, and handed her a cup of coffee, made just the way she liked it. She sipped it as she set out a clean petticoat, other underthings, and her walking dress, and finished it as she fetched the jug of hot water someone—Kemble, she would lay odds—had set at her door.
He is far too fond of being in charge, but gestures like this are second nature to him. Even his habit of barking commands, annoying though it might be, was an aspect of his urge to look after those he perceived to be under his care.
Everything she put out to wear was designed to lace, hook or button at the side or the front, and she was soon washed and dressed. With her shoes on, and her bonnet and gloves in her hand, she was downstairs within twenty minutes of waking.
“A piece of toast to keep you going until the wedding breakfast?” asked Isaac. Looking smart in formal day dress, with an immaculately tied cravat, he was juggling a couple of toasting forks before the fire. “Jerome will be out in a minute, Allan is fetching something, and Gerard has gone ahead to procure a hackney.”
Mel had only had time for a few bites when Jerome emerged, already wearing an outer coat and a muffler, and carrying his hat.
“Ready, Mrs. Blackmore?” he asked, accepting one of Isaac’s slices of toast on his way to the hidden door. “Let’s go.”
Isaac was pulling on his own coat, and Mel dusted the crumbs of her fingers to do likewise. She tied on her bonnet even as she made for the door.
They had made it down a full circle of the spiral staircase to the first landing when a wall swung open, and someone stepped out. Mel, her eyes adjusting to the sudden light from behind the newcomer, managed to keep her startled reaction from showing. It was Kemble, of course, coming in from one of the lower rooms on the tower. So, they were still accessible, after all. Of course. This staircase was probably once the main way up and down the tower, before the top of it was hidden in the corner of the dining alcove, and probably those priests Kemble had mentioned yesterday had used the tunnels to come and go from the lower tower.
“I’ve selected five rings from the family jewelry stored in the lower tower,” Kemble said. “Come.” And he hurried down the steps ahead of them all. Just as well, for if he hadn’t been aheadof them, Mel would have walked right past the side tunnel into which he turned. Did he have a key to the gate?
But no, it was unlocked, and Gerard—who stood on the other side of it—locked it behind them as soon as they were all through.
“The hackney is waiting,” Gerard said, and sure enough, it was at the entry into the slightly wider street this alley met a dozen paces from the gate. It was cramped with five of them inside, but the driver must have recently cleaned it, for it did not have an overwhelming smell of poverty, perspiration, and piss, like so many.
Even so, Kemble had thought ahead and put a blanket he had been carrying over his arm down on the seat to protect her gown. He really was very thoughtful.
London’s traffic was not yet at its peak. The morning deliveries were over and the upper classes had not yet begun their rounds of shopping, calls, and other outings. Nonetheless, it was busy enough that progress was slow.
“We could have walked just as fast,” Kemble commented. Had he read Mel’s thoughts? Probably. His amused smile hinted as much. “But this way, we are less likely to be seen and recognized. I do not want word of today’s business to reach my father before we have Isaac and Jerome safely away.”
About that! She had not yet had the chance to share the information about shipping. “I went to see the Satterthwaites last night because I know Christopher Satterthwaite has interests in shipping,” she said.
“Can he find us a berth?” Jerome asked, eagerly. “When do we leave?”
“Where are we going?” Isaac inquired. “Do we have a choice?”
“To leave within the next few days, he suggests one of two ships. One in which he has a seventy-five percent share is leavingfrom Southampton in two days, bound initially for Gibraltar and then on through the Mediterranean to Egypt.”
“Egypt,” said Isaac, reverently.
“The other belongs to Kopet Dag Shipping, and is in the Pool of London. It sails on tomorrow’s tide, and is bound for Venice, which is the home port of the Kopet Dag fleet. Mr. Satterthwaite is close friends with Lord Alexander Winderfield, whose brother is the head of Kopet Dag, and he is sure that the owner’s cabin could be made available to you.”
“Tomorrow!” Kemble made the word sound tragic, as if she had announced the sudden destruction of London by fire. He collected himself, and added, “Tomorrow is safer, and the distance to the Pool of London shorter. If Lord Alexander is able to arrange it, that would be the best ship.”
“Venice would be very interesting,” Jerome said to Isaac. “And once we are there, perhaps we can go on to Egypt.”
“That is true,” Isaac acknowledged. “And I am tired of never seeing daylight. Also, Italy is famous for its singers. Perhaps we shall be able to attend the opera.”
The smile that trembled on Kemble’s lips was a brave effort. “I daresay you shall enjoy your Grand Tour, my dear brothers. I only wish I had time to find an experienced man to be your guide. Mrs. Blackmore, we are in your debt again. May we rely on you to make the arrangements with Mr. Satterthwaite? We shall, of course, pay the cost of passage.”
