It had been a long, dreary journey from Scotland, delayed by rain and muddy roads. Viola had set out with several trunks and her maid, Ellen, who had promptly slept through most of the journey. She was sleeping even now, huddled in the opposite corner of the carriage.
Viola closed the window and pulled out her leather notebook and pencil.
She flipped through the pages. It was woefully empty. And it had been for quite a while.
Panic clenched her stomach.
But!
That would change now that she was in London. Wouldn’t it? That was why she was here, wasn’t it? To get inspiration. And there was inspiration aplenty here. She would see the sights and make a list of things to do. There were so many things to do in London!
The Tower of London, of course.
Old St Pancras churchyard.
The anatomy school at the Royal College of Surgeons.
The Egyptian Hall.
Madame Tussaud’s Waxworks—she added a question mark, for she wasn’t certain whether the lady was currently touring. But it would be most helpful if she wasn’t.
After a moment’s hesitation, she added Newgate Prison, for she had learned that it was possible to take tours there. She must secure a ticket. She tapped her pencil on the notebook. Maybe she could interview a prisoner on death row. If she was lucky, there would be a hanging, too. It would be most inspirational to witness one.
Viola reread her list, satisfied. After all these wonderful things, surely,surelyinspiration would finally strike, and the words would flow again.
They must.
They inevitably would!
If they did not…
She shuddered.
The thought was too terrible to endure, so she wiped it away. Best not to think of it.
Her carriage passed through a bustling thoroughfare that Viola assumed was the Strand. There were inns, coffee houses, shops, oh, so many wonderful shops!
She glanced through the other carriage window and saw a long line of people queued outside a grand, porticoed building. The Minerva Theatre.
Curious, she leaned forward. A lurid playbill announced, ‘The Monk and the Maiden; or, The Cloister’s Secret. A New Melo-Drama of Terror and Passion.’ Her hand rose to her throat. ‘By Mrs Selina Sable.’
“Goodness.” Once more, she opened the window and leaned out. The queue stretched along the building, around the corner, and out of sight before the carriage jolted forward.
Viola fell back against the seat. Excitement rushed through her. Her fingers fumbled for her pencil. She would have to add it to her list. She would have to see it. She absolutely must.
The carriage drove on and eventually turned into Piccadilly. There were jewellers, hosiery shops, hats, shoes, milliners, haberdashers, and what was that? Oooh! A bookshop?
Viola stretched her neck as the carriage slowly rolled past Hatchard’s bookshop, the windows filled with tempting gilt and vellum. This was certainly destined to become one of her favourite places in London.
She clasped her hands together happily. Coming here had been an excellent decision. She felt it in the depths of her bones.
The best was that she had a lovely little townhouse waiting for her in Bird Street. It would be hers and hers alone; she’d made sure of that. But before she could arrive there, duty required that she had to stop at South Audley Street to visit her cousin Georgiana and her daughter Lily, to deliver a parcel that Aunt Augusta in Inverness had put together specifically for them. After that, she had all of London lying at her feet, waiting to be discovered.
It turnedout that it was not at all easy to get away from Cousin Georgiana and her daughter Lily. Her quick stop to drop off the parcel had turned into a full-fledged visit stretching the entire afternoon that included not only tea and a light repast but also an exhibition of all of Lily’s dresses for the Season, along with every bonnet and shawl. And her cousin Georgiana had to fill her in on all the society gossip that, no doubt, she had missed out on in Inverness.
“Then there is Lord Lockwood, of course. The darling of theton. He is considered the prime catch of the season. He has five thousand per annum, apparently.” Lady Georgiana Fenleigh leaned conspiratorially over the tea table to share that most crucial tidbit.
Viola, who had just taken a sip of her tea, choked.
