The True Darcy Spirit. Elizabeth Aston

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СКАЧАТЬ brought a smile and a gleam to the faded blue eyes of the shopkeeper. Herr Winter had long been a customer, a friend, he would venture to say, such a shame that he had had to leave London.

      Of course, for any acquaintance of his, a pupil, did she say…? Indeed, then it was a privilege to help, and Cassandra found that the prices were suddenly less than had originally been quoted.

      “Is there anything more I can do for you?” he asked, as he made a neat brown paper parcel of her small purchases.

      She hesitated. “Perhaps. I am to make a little stay in London, and my friends, with whom I was to stay, are longer out of town than they had planned,” she said, improvising rapidly. Did he know of some respectable woman who let out rooms?

      He pursed his lips, and shook his head from side to side. “Not that would be suitable for a lady of quality,” he said regretfully.

      It was an impasse, for she could hardly claim not to be what she so obviously was.

      The bell tinkled, and a middle-aged woman, of smart appearance, dressed in bombazine, came into the shop. Cassandra stood to one side, hoping to have a further word with the proprietor when he had finished with this new arrival, who seemed to be an honoured customer. The design for a screen was ready, she would wish to see it and approve before any more work was done on the panels. He hurried into the back, and reappeared with several sheets of paper intricately worked with a pattern of peacocks and urns.

      An unbalanced design, Cassandra said to herself, but she said nothing.

      Mrs. Nettleton—for that was how Mr. Rudge addressed her—studied and questioned and approved. Then she turned and smiled at Cassandra.

      “I am sorry to have interrupted your business here; I had thought you were finished.”

      Her voice was ladylike, and her smile was pleasant but not over-familiar.

      “No, pray do not worry. I have made my purchases, I was lingering to ask Mr. Rudge about another matter.”

      “A pupil of Herr Winter’s,” Mr. Rudge told Mrs. Nettleton. “I mention it, for you bought one of his paintings some years ago, a fine work, on a mythological theme, if I remember correctly. Miss”—he looked enquiringly at Cassandra—

      “Kent,” she said quickly.

      “—is but recently come to town, but finds herself at a stand for lodgings, her friends not having returned as soon as they were expected. Your best course,” he said, addressing Cassandra, “will be to put up at one of the hotels.”

      Mrs. Nettleton nodded her approval, but the look she gave Cassandra was shrewd and appraising.

      “Do you live far from London?”

      More invention came into Cassandra’s head. “I have come from Bath, where I resided until recently. I am a widow, my husband was wounded at Waterloo, and was never well again, and he died last year. From his wounds. My friends, Mr. and Mrs. Fortescue, dwell in Wimpole Street.” Cassandra had little idea of where Wimpole Street was, but had heard Emily describe it as the kind of place where maiden aunts with no great social position or money often chose to live.

      Mrs. Nettleton looked faintly surprised. “Wimpole Street? Indeed. I would have thought…but that is no matter. Are there no servants at home?”

      “The knocker is off the door. They have been away in Scotland, but were due to return last week; I can only conclude they have been delayed. I hope no mishap can have befallen them.”

      “Is your stay in London to be of some while?” Mrs. Nettleton asked.

      Cassandra blushed. “I intend to establish myself here, I am well-taught as an artist, and I hope that I may find employment instructing young ladies”—she turned with a smile to Mr. Rudge—“as Herr Winter did me.”

      “Have you no family in London, no other acquaintance?” Mrs. Nettleton said.

      “I fear not. My parents are dead, I have no brothers or sisters.” Cassandra felt a momentary qualm, consigning her mama to the grave, but she didn’t want Mr. Rudge to pursue the subject of her family; it was best to keep away from the county of Kent.

      Mrs. Nettleton searched in her reticule and produced a card, which she handed to Cassandra. It was engraved in an elegant copperplate, and gave her address as 7 St. James’s Square.

      “It so happens that I have a room which I let out from time to time, only to ladies of good family, and generally to persons I know. My house is large, and I am glad of the company that a lodger provides. It is a comfortable apartment, on the second floor.”

      Cassandra stared at the card and then looked up at Mrs. Nettleton. Could her problem be solved in this fortuitous way?

      “You know nothing about me,” she said.

      “Mr. Rudge vouches for your master, at least, and I am sure Herr Winter would instruct none but those who came from the best houses, is that not so, Mr. Rudge?”

      “Indeed, a man of Herr Winter’s standing and reputation might pick and choose where he chose to teach, and I did hear that he has pupils at several great houses in his neighbourhood…” Mr. Rudge looked questioningly at Cassandra.

      “That is so,” said Cassandra. “But he also instructs young people from more modest establishments, such as myself. My late papa was a clergyman.”

      Why had she not thought to say that sooner? It was not so far from the truth as some of her wicked lies, for was not her stepfather, although still alive, an ordained clergyman?

      The clerical touch worked magic. Mrs. Nettleton and Mr. Rudge beamed approval. She was placed, she was respectable.

      “Pray step round at any time to suit you,” said Mrs. Nettleton. “You have my direction. Where are you staying at present?”

      “With my old nurse, in Parker Street, but it is not precisely convenient for her…”

      “And not suitable for a young lady such as yourself,” said Mrs. Nettleton firmly. “I have a numerous acquaintance; perhaps it will be possible for me to find some houses with daughters in need of a drawing teacher.”

      “I will keep my ears open, also,” promised Mr. Rudge, “although it is an overcrowded profession, especially here in London. However, a pupil of Herr Winter’s would come highly recommended, I feel sure.”

      The two women left the shop together, shaking hands as they stood outside on the pavement.

      “I hope to see you soon, my dear Mrs. Kent,” said Mrs. Nettleton. “Shall we say tomorrow morning?”

      Cassandra walked back to Covent Garden with a lighter heart than she had had for many days. Even the hostility of Mrs. Dodd, who was not her old nurse at all, but James Eyre’s, could not upset her that evening. Mrs. Dodd thoroughly disapproved of her, for she had a great fondness for James, as was only natural, and knew that he and Cassandra had had a violent quarrel. Cassandra suspected that only the knowledge that Mr. Eyre would expect to find Cassandra there when he came back prevented Mrs. Dodd from tossing her and her possessions out into the street. She was grateful for that small mercy, but nonetheless, she must be gone before James did return. He was in Ireland, to visit a sick godfather, СКАЧАТЬ