Copyright

Published by HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd

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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018

Copyright © Barbara Taylor Bradford 2018

Cover design by Claire Ward © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018

Jacket photograph © Lee Avison/Trevillion Images

Barbara Taylor Bradford asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008242404

Ebook Edition © November 2018 ISBN: 9780008242428

Version: 2020-10-01

Dedication

This book is for my husband Bob,

my hero, who has always given me the freedom and space to write

despite whatever else has been happening.

With my love and gratitude always.

Contents

COVER

TITLE PAGE

COPYRIGHT

DEDICATION

CHARACTERS

PART ONE:

THE BARROW BOY London 1884

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

PART TWO: NEW HORIZONS London/Kent 1887

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

PART THREE: UNIQUE RELATIONSHIPS Kingston Upon Hull/London 1888

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

PART FOUR: THE ROAD TO DESTINY Hull/London 1888

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

PART FIVE: THE WAY IT IS London/Paris 1888–9

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

CHAPTER FIFTY

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

KEEP READING …

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

BOOKS BY BARBARA TAYLOR BRADFORD

ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

CHARACTERS

THE FALCONERS

Philip Henry Rosewood Falconer, founder of the dynasty; a head butler.

Esther Marie Falconer, his wife and co-founder of the dynasty; a head housekeeper.

Their sons

Matthew, his eldest son and heir; a stall owner at the Malvern Market.

George, a noted journalist on The Chronicle daily newspaper.

Harry, a chef and owner of a café, the Rendezvous.

Their grandchildren (Matthew’s offspring)

James Lionel, an ambitious young businessman on the rise.

Rosalind, known as Rossi, a seamstress.

Edward Albert, assistant to his father on the stalls.

Their daughter-in-law

Maude Falconer, Matthew’s wife and mother of his children; a seamstress.

THE VENABLES

Clarence Venables, Esther Falconer’s brother-in-law, great-uncle of James Falconer. Owner of a shipping company in Hull.

Marina Venables, Clarence’s wife and younger sister of Esther Falconer. Great-aunt of James Falconer. A noted artist.

Their children

William, eldest son and heir, working at the Hull shipping company.

Albert, second son, working at the Hull shipping company.

Their daughter-in-law

Anne Venables, Albert’s wife.

THE MALVERNS

Henry Ashton Malvern, owner of the Malvern Company, a big business enterprise and property company.

Alexis Malvern, his only child and heir; a partner in the business.

Joshua Malvern, Henry’s brother and business partner in London.

Percy Malvern, his cousin who runs the wine business in Le Havre.

THE TREVALIANS

Sebastian Trevalian, head of the Trevalian private bank.

His daughters

Claudia, his eldest daughter and heir.

Lavinia, a debutante.

Marietta, a debutante.

His sister

Dorothea Trevalian Rayburn, an art collector and member of the bank’s board.

His son-in-law

Cornelius Glendenning, Claudia’s husband, a banker.

THE CARPENTERS

Lord Reginald Carpenter, publishing tycoon and proprietor of The Chronicle.

Lady Jane Cadwalander Carpenter, his wife.

Their daughters

Jasmine, a debutante.

Lilah, a debutante.

PART ONE

ONE

James Lionel Falconer, commonly called Jimmy by everyone except his grandmother, was out of breath. He came to a sudden stop in the middle of the road going towards Camden Lock. The wheelbarrow he was pushing was heavy and grew heavier by the minute, at least so it seemed to him. He rested for a few seconds, leaning against the barrow, trying to catch his breath.

It was Thursday 12 June 1884, and last month, in late May, he had celebrated his fourteenth birthday. He felt very grown up now. After all, he had been working with his father at their stalls in Henry Malvern’s covered market in London’s Camden Town since he was eight. That was part-time until he was ten, when he began to go there every day. He loved the haggling, the negotiating, the wheeling and dealing about prices, just as much as his father did.

His father called him ‘my clever lad’, which pleased Jimmy. He admired his father, endeavoured to emulate him. Matthew Falconer, who was thirty-seven, dressed neatly to go to work, and so did Jimmy. His father never forgot to ask his regulars how members of their families were, and neither did Jimmy. It had been inculcated in him.

Even his grandmother, Esther Falconer, had noticed, since his early childhood, how he copied his father in most things. It frequently brought a smile to her face, and sometimes she even gave him a threepenny bit for being a good boy. She told him to save it for a rainy day. He did. He paid great attention to her.

Straightening, blowing out air, Jimmy picked up the two handles and started pushing the barrow once more. He walked at an even pace, knowing that this main road got a bit higher after it branched off on both sides.

He stayed on the main road, puffing a bit harder, perspiring; it was a warm day. He was almost at the market when he experienced a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest, and came to an abrupt stop, startled by the intensity of the pain.

Holding onto the handles of the barrow tightly, he kept himself upright even though he thought he might fall over anyway. Slowly, the pain subsided. He was still short of breath; sweat covered his face. He couldn’t imagine what was wrong with him. What had just happened?

‘Jimmy! Jimmy! Are you all right, lad?’

He recognized Mrs Greenwood’s voice and turned around. She was a neighbour, a cook who worked in a big house in a terrace near Regent’s Park.

‘I’m fine,’ he answered, and he did feel better. Whatever the pain had been about, it had gone away. He just felt a bit warm on this sunny day, and breathless.

When she arrived at his side, Mavis Greenwood peered at him intently, her warm, motherly face ringed with concern. ‘You stopped suddenly, and looked a bit odd. I can’t help thinking something is wrong.’

‘No, it isn’t. Not really. I just got out of breath and felt hot.’

She nodded. ‘Let’s not complain about the weather. It’s been raining cats and dogs for days.’

Jimmy laughed. He liked Mrs Greenwood. She often brought them some of her baked goods, as she called her marvellous concoctions, and he was especially partial to her gooseberry tart.

‘Where’s your dad, Jimmy? He shouldn’t let you push this barrow. It’s almost bigger than you.’

He grinned at her; then his face quickly changed. His expression sobered as he explained, ‘Dad’s taken Mum to see Dr Robertson. She says it’s just a cold, but me dad thinks it might be bronchitis, or – worse – pneumonia.’

‘Oh, I do hope it’s not, lad. They’re serious illnesses.’ Placing her handbag on top of the sack covering the contents in the wheelbarrow, she got hold of one of the handles. ‘Come on then, Jimmy, take the other handle, and I’ll help you push this to the market.’

Jimmy was about to refuse her help, but changed his mind at once. It would offend her. He did as she said, grabbed the other handle, and together they pushed the barrow, keeping in step with each other.

When he had first rented a stall at the Malvern Market, Matthew Falconer had made up his mind to be successful – and he was. The owner, Henry Malvern, soon took an interest in him, realizing what a good merchant he was, and when a new stall became available, it had been Matt who’d been given the chance to rent it. He did.

The Malvern was one of the few covered markets in the area, and because of its glass roof and stone walls, it was protected when the weather was bad. This meant the stalls were open to the public all year round; every stallholder appreciated this.

Jimmy and Mavis Greenwood pushed the barrow through the big iron gates, to be greeted by Tommy, the caretaker, who lived in the gatehouse. Then Jimmy and Mavis headed towards the area where the two adjoining sheds were located.

Once the shed doors were unlocked and folded back, Jimmy opened the doors of the storage rooms, which were like two small shops. Mavis Greenwood helped him to pull out the wooden sawhorses and the planks of wood which made the stalls when put together.

As she assisted Jimmy, she wondered how Matt Falconer had expected his son to do this alone. It baffled her but she remained silent. She knew it was best to mind her own business.

Once they were finished with the stalls, she picked up her handbag from the barrow, smiled at Jimmy. ‘And what treasures are hidden under that old sack, then?’

Jimmy pulled it off and showed her. ‘Copper kitchen utensils me dad got at an estate sale last week. From a big house up West.’ He pointed to a few items.

‘Look at ’em, Mrs Greenwood. Copper moulds for jellies, blancmange, salmon mousse; all the things you no doubt make at that big house where you’re Cook.’

She nodded and picked up a few items, looking them over carefully. ‘Lovely pieces, Jimmy, I’ve got to admit. How much is this mould then?’ she asked, taking a fancy to one.

‘Dad forgot to give me the price list, but you can have it for sixpence. I think that’d be about right.’

‘Sixpence! That’s highway robbery, Jimmy Falconer!’

‘Oh! Well, perhaps I made a mistake. A threepenny bit? How does that sound, Mrs Greenwood?’ He gazed at her, smiling. After all, she had helped him to get there. She deserved a bargain.

Mavis opened her handbag and took out her purse. She handed him the coin, gave him a big smile, and put the mould in her bag. ‘Thank you, Jimmy. You’ve been very fair. Now I’d better be getting off or I’ll be late for work.’

‘Thanks for helping me, Mrs Greenwood. Can I ask you something?’

‘Anything you want, but best make it quick, lad.’

‘Can you have a heart attack at fourteen?’ he asked, staring intently.

She stared back at him and exclaimed, ‘Don’t be daft, Jimmy! Anyway, you’re as fit as a fiddle. You must be or your dad wouldn’t expect you to push that heavy barrow up here.’

Once he was alone, Jimmy began to arrange the copper moulds on the stalls, following his father’s instructions to always put tall pieces at the back, graduating them down in size because the buyer’s eye would look at the first grouping and then move their eyes up to the taller items.

He worried about his mother as he did this task almost by rote, also wondering where his father was. How long would it take at the doctor’s? Now and then he turned around, looked down towards the gates into the market. It was still quite early, and stallholders were already there, doing the same job as him. Thoughts of Mrs Greenwood intruded, and he felt a sudden rush of guilt. She had blamed his father for his predicament on the road, but it was his fault. He had filled the wheelbarrow too full, piled in far too many moulds and a variety of additional items. He must explain that the next time he saw her. He didn’t want his father to look bad in her eyes.

Jimmy had just finished arranging the wares on the stalls when he spotted his father coming through the iron gates, hurrying towards him. His first instinct was to rush forward, but he restrained himself, as he had been taught from an early age – control yourself, be dignified. And so he waited.

Matthew Falconer approached his son, smiling, and drew the boy close to his body for a moment. ‘She’s got a very heavy cold,’ Matt explained, at once noting the worried expression in Jimmy’s blue eyes. ‘She’s back home in bed. The doctor gave her some good cough mixture. She’s to stay in bed, be kept warm and given lots of liquids.’

Beaming at his father, filled with relief, Jimmy said, ‘I’m thankful it’s not bronchitis or pneumonia.’

‘You can say that again. I’m as grateful as you, Jim. Now, I want you to go to your grandmother’s. I need her to give you a bottle of her raspberry vinegar concoction and some camphor bags, as well as any special advice she has. Lady Agatha won’t mind you going, if she’s still there. Your grandmother told me the family is going to France for the next two months, leaving today.’

The boy nodded. ‘I’ll go now. Shall I take the things home to Mother?’

‘Yes do, my lad. Grandmother will no doubt give you a sandwich and perhaps some food to take home for your mother.’

‘But what about you, Dad? We forgot to make our snacks before we left this morning.’

‘Don’t worry about me. The pie man usually comes around hawking his goods at one o’clock. I’ll manage.’

‘I’ll come back, after I’ve given Mother her lunch.’

‘No, no, don’t do that! It’s not worth it for an hour or two in the late afternoon. Stay at home, look after Rossi and Eddie, and make sure they have something to eat. Now, off you go.’

TWO

James walked out of the Malvern, without a backward glance, feeling happy for various reasons. He was glad his mother did not have some deadly illness and that she was safe at home in bed. He was relieved his father had lost that worried look. Matthew had been whistling when he left the stalls. And he was thrilled to be going to see his grandmother.

He hurried along the road, wanting to get there as fast as possible. His grandmother, Esther Marie Falconer, was the most important and influential person in his life. As he was in hers. That he knew to be an absolute certainty, because she had told him so. Although she was careful, discreet, not wanting to hurt his siblings.

James loved his parents, emulated some of his father’s mannerisms and way of dressing; he loved his sister Rossi, now twelve, and his little brother, Eddie, who had just had his ninth birthday. And then there was his wonderful grandfather, who kept an eye on them all. Philip Henry Rosewood Falconer had taught him a lot, especially about geography and the rest of the world. He had even given him a globe on a stand, which James treasured.

Nonetheless, his grandmother was at the top of his list. She was his guiding light; she had taught him to read and write by the time he was four. When he had gone to school in Rochester at that age, his first teacher had been truly impressed by his ability and his intelligence.

James realized, as he headed down the road leaving Camden behind, that it was as busy a morning as usual. There were crowds of men hurrying up to the Malvern, who were obviously stallholders, and women, too, customers out for a bargain.

Mornings and evenings were generally hectic during the week, the streets filled with men and women going to their workplace, and then returning home at the end of the day.

Some of the men waved to him, and he waved back, smiling hugely. These were the stallholders who had their setups near theirs. James had a genial nature and a ready smile. He liked people and made friends easily. In turn, they were attracted to him because of his charismatic personality and handsome appearance.

His grandparents were in service near Regent’s Park, and it was not too far away. James knew he would soon be there, once he had crossed Chalk Farm Road. He was headed in the direction of Marylebone.

He liked Marylebone and knew a lot about the area. His grandmother had told him that the region had been planned and developed by the great Regency architect, John Nash, around 1818, and that his overall architectural scheme had included Regent Street, Regent’s Park, and the beautiful terraces and streets of elegant townhouses close to the park.

It was there that Philip and Esther Falconer lived, in one of those formally designed John Nash townhouses facing Regent’s Park, belonging to their employers, the Honourable Arthur Blane Montague and his wife, Lady Agatha Denby Montague, daughter of Lord Percival Denby, the Sixth Earl of Melton.

Esther Falconer had been born in the Yorkshire village of Melton, which was not very far from the great northern seaport of Hull. At twelve, Esther had been pretty, clever and ambitious, and through her mother’s connection to Lady Agatha’s aunt, she was given a job at Melton Priory.

Esther had been trained to be a lady’s maid, specifically to look after Lady Agatha, the Earl’s youngest daughter, who had then been sixteen. At seventeen Lady Agatha had come out as a debutante, had been presented at Court, and had her first Season in London.

Esther had been with her mistress ever since. Forty-four years, to be precise. Over the years she had risen in the ranks; now she was the head housekeeper at Lady Agatha’s current residences in London and Kent, and proud of her position.

Philip Falconer, a Kentish man, had also gone into service. He had started out as a junior footman, aged sixteen, in the employment of the Honourable Arthur Blane Montague at the latter’s country manor, Fountains Court in Kent. He had also worked at the Regent’s Park house which Mr Montague had purchased several years before his marriage to Lady Agatha.

Esther and Philip had met at this beautiful Nash house in London, where they had soon fallen in love. They had been married from the house and had lived there ever since. Their employers valued them far too much to let them go. Lady Agatha had transformed a set of rooms at the back of the house into a flat for Philip and Esther. It was still their main home, although they had the same kind of quarters at Fountains Court in Kent where their three sons had been born and brought up.

Esther was crossing the back hall when she stopped abruptly. Somebody outside was repeatedly banging the brass door knocker so hard it sounded like thunder.

Rushing to the service door, she opened it to find herself face to face with her favourite grandchild.

Momentarily taken aback though she was, she instantly smiled, reached out and drew him into the house. Then the smile slipped when she asked swiftly, with a small frown, ‘Is there something wrong? Why are you here in the middle of the day, James?’

‘There’s nothing wrong, Grans, not really. Mum’s ill. Dr Robertson says she has a heavy cold, and he gave her a bottle of medicine. He said she should go home to bed. That’s where she is now. Dad sent me for some of your raspberry vinegar concoction, as he calls it. Oh, and some camphor bags.’

‘I understand,’ Esther said, her sudden anxiety dissipating. ‘I’m sure the doctor’s right. Unfortunately summer colds are hard to get rid of, James.’ Putting her arms around him, she hugged him to her. He hugged her back, then stepped away, and said, ‘I’m sorry if I frightened you, Grans.’

‘I’m all right. Though I thought you were about to break the door down with your knocking.’ She gazed at him, her eyes roaming over his face. It had been only ten days since she had seen him, and yet he looked more mature; he was now an inch taller than she was.

Staring back at her, he asked softly, ‘What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?’

Esther shook her head and a faint smile crossed her face. ‘You’ve changed a bit, and you seem to be, well, more mature. You might be only fourteen, but you are growing up rapidly.’

He smiled at her, and then laughed. And she was dazzled by him … the even white teeth, the natural charm, the most stunning blue eyes, filled with sparkle and life. Women are going to fall at his feet, she thought.

Brushing incipient worry to one side, she now said, ‘Let’s go down to my parlour and I’ll tell Cook to make the raspberry vinegar concoction. She’ll also make you something to eat.’

Esther led James down the long corridor where her parlour was located, Philip’s office, as well as the kitchen and the wine cellars. Showing him into her room, she went to the kitchen to speak to Cook.

Left alone in the parlour, James went and sat in a chair near the window. He liked this room. It was comfortable, nice to be in and full of light.

There was a fireplace, a sofa and chairs, and his grandmother’s desk. She had once explained that it was Georgian, a very good antique piece which Lady Agatha had given her. Basically, the room was an office where Esther did her menus, her household accounts and other paperwork, but she could also relax here between her many duties.

His grandfather’s room was a few doors down the corridor. It, too, had a desk, and was full of books, mostly about wine and the vineyards of France.

Philip Falconer had become an expert on wine over the years, and Mr Montague had allowed him to create a wonderful cellar.

James knew how lucky the whole family was, because of Philip and Esther Falconer. Their very long service in the Montague household protected them all. His father and two uncles worked and made decent livings, but there was, most importantly, the reassuring knowledge that the older Falconers were there for them, should they need help of any kind. Lucky indeed.

People giving over their entire lives to one aristocratic family was not unusual, but James knew his grandparents were kept on also because they were excellent at what they did. In a sense they had become part of the family, were often given many small privileges which were much appreciated. James’s grandparents had many perks because the Montagues thought so highly of them. His grandmother had recently confided that Lady Agatha had told her that she was not the best, but better than the best, and so was Philip. Esther had sounded very proud and pleased when she recounted this to him.

James looked across at the door as it opened and his grandfather came in, a huge smile on his face. Jumping up, James ran to him. They embraced and Philip kissed his cheek before releasing him.

‘What a nice surprise to see you, my boy. I notice that you’ve shot up since I last saw you.’

‘That’s what Father says.’

‘Your grandmother told me your mother’s not well; that’s why Matthew sent you for the raspberry vinegar. He’s all right himself, isn’t he?’

James nodded. ‘Fighting fit, he says.’

Philip seated himself on the sofa, and James took the chair opposite. ‘Has Lady Agatha gone away then?’

Philip smiled, knowing how much James enjoyed the way Her Ladyship fussed over him. ‘She has indeed, with the Honourable Mister and Miss Helena and Master William, plus two maids, the valet, and enough baggage to fill two coaches. Gone to the Riviera to enjoy the sun and the festivities by the sea. They will stay in Nice and then progress to Monte Carlo. They will return in September, unless the Honourable Mister wants to come back in August for the grouse season.’

Esther arrived and announced, ‘Let’s go to the staff dining room and have a bite of lunch.’ Beckoning to them, she went on, ‘Cook has made a cottage pie, and she’s now preparing another one for you to take home, James, and an excellent chicken soup for your mother. Nothing like chicken soup to cure a sore throat.’

Philip and James followed Esther as she hurried down the corridor and into the staff dining room, where they sat down together. They would have it to themselves for the next hour, while the other staff cleaned the house and went about their duties.

For a long time Esther had wanted to discuss the future with her grandson, eager to know if he had any special plans about his work. This was a great opportunity to bring up the subject.

Turning to look at him, her pale green eyes filled with love, she began. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you if you intend to spend your life working at the market with Matthew on the two stalls. Or whether you might have other ideas, perhaps?’

Taken by surprise, James stared at her, his eyes wide, his expression quizzical. He did not answer for a moment. Finally, he said, ‘I don’t know, not really.’

‘It has occurred to me, from time to time, that you love architecture, and I know how intrigued you are about John Nash and his Regency buildings. Grandpa and I would be prepared to send you to school to be trained in architectural drawing, if you want that,’ Esther announced, and sat back in her chair, looking at him expectantly.

He shook his head vehemently. ‘No, I don’t want to be a draughtsman, Grans, but thank you for offering to send me to study – and you, too, Grandpapa. That’s generous of you.’ He was sincere, and this echoed in his voice.

‘What about school in general?’ Philip asked, leaning forward, his entire focus on his grandson. He was aware James was a special boy, highly intelligent, with the kind of class that was bred in the bone. He also had enormous charm and looks, and he was an achiever.

When James was silent, Philip added, ‘There is no pressure from us, James, but think about it, maybe something will come to you. We just want you to understand we are here to support you. The world is opening up for you.’

James nodded, looked at his grandfather intently, thinking how smart he was in his black jacket, pinstriped trousers, pristine white shirt and silver silk tie. The perfectly dressed butler.

His glance was now aimed at his grandmother, also well attired in a long, navy-blue skirt and matching blouse, with a white collar and cuffs. Her luxuriant silvery hair was piled up on top of her head. To him, she was the epitome of tailored elegance.

He knew she was fifty-six, but she didn’t look her age. And neither did his grandfather, who was now sixty. They have worn well, he thought, and suppressed a smile, wondering what they would say if he told them this.

Straightening in his chair, taking a deep breath, James decided to tell them the truth about his dreams. He plunged in. ‘I want to be a merchant,’ he confided. ‘By that I mean I want to own a shop like Fortnum and Mason, or an arcade of shops like the Burlington Arcade in Piccadilly. I want to be the most successful merchant in London! In the world!’ His voice had risen in his escalating excitement and, as he sat back, taking a deep breath, he realized his grandparents were staring at him in astonishment.

THREE

James loved his grandparents and he would never do anything to upset them, or disrespect them, but he had a mischievous streak in him and he was tickled that he had rendered them speechless for once in his life. He felt sudden laughter bubbling up inside him.

But he realized he dared not laugh, so he swallowed hard and tried to look serious. Taking a deep breath, he repeated, ‘Yes, I want to be a great merchant. That is truly my dream.’

‘How wonderful it is to have such a dream, James,’ his grandfather responded, the first one to break the silence. ‘Just as it’s important to know what you want to do with your life at an early age. Good for you, my boy.’

‘How are you going to make this dream come true?’ his grandmother asked, always down to earth and practical. James had certainly aroused her curiosity this morning with his announcement.

‘To answer your last question first, Grans, I can’t put my plan into operation just yet. I have to wait a couple of years. As for my plan, I really will make it work. And I shall strive very hard to make my dream come true. When I’m the right age.’

A smile of pleasure gleamed in Esther’s eyes. ‘That sounds very smart of you, and would you like to share your plan with us?’

‘Yes, I would …’ James stopped as Cook came into the staff hall carrying a tray, followed by Polly, one of the young housemaids.

Moving forward, her white apron billowing around her, Cook put the tray down at the other end of the table, brought a white ceramic dish over to his grandmother, and placed it on the table in front of her.

‘Here it is at last, Mrs Falconer, the cottage pie, and Polly has brought a bowl of peas, the gravy boat and the plates.’

‘Thank you, Mrs Grainger, and you, too, Polly,’ Esther said, smiling at the women as they placed the other items to one side of her on the table.

The women smiled back and departed.

Esther served James and Philip, and then spooned some of the pie onto her own plate. It smelled delicious. The crust of mashed potatoes covering the top of the minced beef was browned to perfection.

After a mouthful of pie, James put his fork down and went on, ‘About my plan … it’s quite clear in my mind. For the next couple of years, I want to work with Dad, learn more from him. I’m going to ask him to take me with him when he attends estate sales in the country, or on the outskirts of London, and wherever he goes. I like to watch him wheel and deal, as he calls it. He’s an expert, and I must be an expert too. I also want to learn about other things, as well.’

‘Such as what, James?’ Philip asked curiously.

‘The finer things in life. I think I should gain a good knowledge about luxury goods, for instance. I need that information to run a store like Fortnum and Mason, and have an arcade full of fancy shops.’ James eyed his grandfather, then looked at Esther, his expression questioning.

‘Good thinking,’ Esther exclaimed. ‘Knowledge is Power with a capital “P”.’

‘I can teach you about the noble grape, and all the great wines of France,’ Philip announced with a smile. ‘I’d rather like to do that.’

James’s young face took on a glow, and he nodded vehemently. ‘Oh, Grandpapa, what a wonderful idea! Thank you. When can we get started?’

Philip and Esther glanced at each other and chuckled, amused, yet also pleased that James was so enthusiastic, and bursting to better himself.

It was Esther who now suggested that she should take James on some trips, when he could manage to take time off from his work at the market. ‘I’d like you to visit the Burlington Arcade again. I’ve only taken you there once before, and there are other arcades in London for you to see. And it is mandatory that we make a few trips to Fortnum and Mason. To study every floor and everything sold on those floors. You are correct, James. To be the owner of a shop selling high-class, luxury goods, you must understand the merchandise, your market, and your customers. And all the things they dream about and want to own. You must know their style, their way of living, what they wear and eat and drink.’

‘I will love visiting my favourite store.’ His blue eyes were sparkling more than ever, and he tucked into his lunch with relish, obviously enjoying it. He was happy he had confided in his grandparents, and thrilled by their positive response.

Esther gave him a loving look and began to eat her pie; Philip studied his young grandson thoughtfully and acutely, assessing him.

The boy was undoubtedly extremely clever, and he had been well brought up by Esther and Philip and his own parents. His mother Maude had seen to it that James read all the magazines and books he gave him, passed on by Lady Agatha, and Maude had helped him with his other lessons over the years.

Matthew had shown him how to dress well, and in a suitable way, and how to take care of his few clothes. Obviously James didn’t have a lot of things at his age, but they were always pressed and kept in good condition; his mother darned and stitched so that her family was always well turned out. His father was also teaching him to be the best salesman.

He certainly looks fit and healthy, Philip now thought, and was glad about that. Silently he thanked his employers for keeping him on the staff all these years, and Esther too. He and Esther had always made sure their sons and their grandchildren had good food and were aware of the importance of nutrition for their good health. It enraged Philip when he thought about his country, which was now – in 1884 – the greatest, richest and most powerful nation in the world, and how it treated millions of its citizens. Without a second thought, the government allowed them to starve and live in filthy, foul slums.

It wouldn’t surprise me if they rose up and started a revolution one day soon, he thought suddenly, attacking the aristocracy, the gentry and the government. The French Revolution flew into his mind, and he cringed inside, but it was not such a far-fetched idea that it could happen here. Not the way things were.

The lower working classes and the very poor went hungry all of the time. Their daily sustenance was composed of a chunk of bread, and, if they were lucky, a mug of tea. Otherwise, it was water or a glass of ale. The latter was better than it sounded, because at least it wasn’t dangerous like some of the water supply. Philip couldn’t help wishing there were more men like his master, who was unusually charitable. Arthur Montague had given plenty of money for philanthropy to his eldest son and heir, Mr Roland Montague, who had started a charity with his wife, Catherine. They did a lot of wonderful work to help the poor and the destitute in Whitechapel and surrounding areas in the East End of London.

‘If you’re finished, Philip, I think we should collect the food from the kitchen – and the raspberry vinegar – so that I can go with James to Camden,’ Esther murmured as she pushed back her chair.

Esther’s words brought Philip out of his reverie. He nodded and rose. ‘That’s a good thought, my dear. I’ll take James to my office for a few seconds to show him some of my books on wine whilst you deal with Cook.’

Fifteen minutes later, when James and his grandfather joined Esther in the service hall, Philip immediately insisted she take a hansom cab. ‘Those two big canvas bags look awfully heavy,’ he protested, as his wife made a move to leave with them, one in each hand.

‘It’s fine; they’re not that heavy,’ she answered, ‘and James can help me with the smaller ones over there.’

James immediately exclaimed, ‘I think they are all extremely heavy, Grans, and they’re overflowing. Grandpapa is right. We should take a hansom cab.’ He did not want a repetition of the experience he’d had with the wheelbarrow. It had frightened him a little. But, mostly, he longed to ride in one of the horse-drawn carriages. He had never been in one before.

Much to James’s relief, his grandfather won the argument. He had gone outside and found a cab almost at once. Now he and his grandmother were sitting in it, surrounded by even more bags. ‘Since we’re taking a hansom cab, I might as well add a few things for Maude,’ she had told his grandfather, who had merely smiled knowingly. He told her to give Maude his love and his hope that she would feel better soon.

James sat opposite his grandmother in the horse-drawn carriage, one arm protecting several of the canvas bags on the seat next to him. His grandmother was doing the same thing. He had no idea what was in the extra bags, although he was certain it was food because of the nice smells emanating from them. Apple pie, he decided, and maybe sausage rolls.

After a long silence, sitting with her eyes closed as if in deep thought, Esther opened her eyes and stared at James. ‘I’d like to ask you something,’ she said in a low voice.

‘You can ask me anything, Grans.’

‘Have you told your father about your dream to be the greatest merchant in the world? And your plan?’

James shook his head. ‘No, I haven’t. Only you and Grandpapa know.’

‘Don’t you think that perhaps you should tell your father your plan for the future? After all, he ought to know that you’ll be leaving the stalls in a couple of years.’

‘I might be with him longer than that,’ James explained. ‘I might be seventeen or eighteen. I have to gauge what Mr Malvern will say when I take my proposition to him.’

‘Oh, so you have a proposition for him, as well as a dream and a plan for yourself?’

‘I do, yes,’ James muttered, thinking that she had sounded odd. Sarcastic? That wasn’t like her. No, she wasn’t being critical. Just curious.

He said, ‘I have some ideas that might make the market hall better, just small things, but they would improve the Malvern in certain ways.’

‘Do you want to tell me about them?’ she asked, now smiling, more like herself.

He shook his head. ‘No. I haven’t quite worked them out properly.’

‘I understand,’ Esther said. ‘Keep thinking.’

FOUR

The hansom came to a halt at the corner of the street where Matthew Falconer and his family lived, just off the main Hampstead Road in Camden.

The driver of the cab jumped down from his seat, opened the carriage door, and helped Esther to alight, with James following his grandmother. He and the driver pulled out canvas bags while Esther opened her purse to pay the driver. She did this once the bags were at the front door and thanked him. Small children watched curiously from across the street.

He tipped his cap, thanked her back, and thought to add, ‘Nice young ’un yer ’ave there, missus.’ He grinned and went back to the carriage, whistling away.

James was searching for the key when the front door suddenly opened. Rossi stood there smiling, with little Eddie peeping out from behind her. ‘James and Grandma! I’m so glad you’re here.’ She opened the door wider and helped them to carry the bags inside.

The house was tall and narrow and not very big, but it did accommodate the family comfortably, and they liked it. There was a cosy, homely feeling about the large kitchen, a room which was the centre of the household.

It had a big open fireplace and an oven with a range, and a wide window looking out into the back garden. A long oak table stood under the window and it was here they had their meals.

Once the canvas bags were safely on the table, Esther hugged and kissed Rossi and Eddie, and said to James, ‘I’m just going to pop upstairs to see your mother, and then I’ll be back to heat the raspberry vinegar medicine.’

James nodded. ‘I’ll unpack the bags, and Rossi will help me.’

‘I want to help, too,’ Eddie said, and James smiled at him and said he could.

Esther hurried into the front hall and mounted the stairs leading to the main bedroom floor. As she climbed, she could hear Maude coughing, and was quite alarmed when she went into the bedroom and saw her daughter-in-law’s face. It was ashen and there were dark rings under her eyes. Her light brown hair, always so glossy and carefully arranged, was rumpled and unruly.

‘I’m here, Maude,’ Esther said, walking over to the bed, anxiety on the edge of her voice. ‘Would you like some hot soup or just the raspberry vinegar?’

Her daughter-in-law could do no wrong in Esther’s eyes. She had proved to be an adoring wife and mother, and the whole family was devoted to her. To Esther, Maude was the calmest person she had ever known. Maude kept a loving and peaceful household; angry words were unheard of and food was always on the table. The house was clean as a whistle and the children well cared for. Her son was a lucky man. So were her grandchildren.

Pulling up a chair, sitting down next to the bed, Esther leaned closer and said in a low voice, ‘Are you awake, Maude? I’ve brought soup, and my concoction.’

‘Just drowsing; the raspberry vinegar would help,’ Maude whispered, her voice hoarse. ‘Is Jimmy with you?’

‘He’s downstairs with Rossi and Eddie. He came to get me earlier. We had a bite of lunch; then we came straight here. I’ve brought plenty of food, so you mustn’t worry about Matthew and the children being fed. They’ll be all right.’

Maude looked up at her, the sparkle in her dark brown eyes dulled by her illness. ‘Thank you,’ she murmured. ‘It’s not the bubonic plague, you know, merely a chill and a sore throat. I’ll be up and about in a few days.’

‘When you’re better, and not until then. I’ll be back in a few minutes, love.’ Esther hurried downstairs.

When she returned to the kitchen, she noticed that the bottle of raspberry vinegar and the jar of chicken soup were on the oak table. Everything else had been put away in the pantry.

‘Is Mother very ill?’ James asked, his worry obvious.

‘No, it’s just one of those bad chills, and she’s a bit chesty. But she’ll be fine. You can go up and see her if you want, or better still, you can take the drink up to her. It’ll only take a moment to boil.’

As she spoke, Esther crossed the room, picked up the bottle, and was back swiftly. Standing over a pan on the oven top, she stirred the raspberry vinegar. To this she added sugar and a large piece of butter, which James had brought to her from the pantry.

‘Is that all it is?’ James asked, sounding surprised, glancing at his grandmother. ‘Just those things boiled together?’

‘More or less,’ Esther nodded. ‘But I prepare the vinegar in a special way and put a few herbs into it as well.’

‘What are they?’

‘That’s a secret.’ Esther winked at him and poured the concoction into a cup. ‘Here it is, my lad. You can take it up to your mother. She must sip it slowly. It’s a bit hot.’

James did as he was told, and when he entered his parents’ bedroom he saw at once how poorly his mother looked. Carrying the cup carefully, he put it down on the bedside table.

Hearing the slight noise, Maude opened her eyes, and a smile surfaced when she saw her eldest son. ‘There you are, Jimmy.’

‘Grans said you’re to sip this slowly,’ he explained, reaching for the cup. ‘Be careful, Mum. ‘It’s very hot.’

Maude now pushed herself up in bed and took the cup from him. ‘I don’t know why but this is always helpful, really a good remedy for me.’

‘I think Grans put something special in it, but she wouldn’t tell me what. She said it’s a secret.’

Maude peered at him over the rim of the cup. ‘That’s strange. Your grandmother usually tells you everything.’

James chuckled. He settled back in the chair, his eyes focused on his mother. Although she looked tired and sick, he remembered his grandmother’s words that it probably was only a chill, nothing more serious. Comforted by the thought, he relaxed.

It had been a slow day at the stalls, and Matthew decided to leave early on this warm June afternoon. The market’s owner, Henry Malvern, wasn’t visiting until the next day; concern about his wife made Matthew hasten his departure, and propelled him down the Hampstead main road.

He didn’t even take the barrow with him to bring back goods tomorrow. They had plenty of stock and he had locked it away in the shed with the sawhorses and planks.

The road was full of men who were leaving the market hall and others who worked in companies or factories nearby. The road was filled to overflowing, which surprised him. It was only five o’clock. Most men worked until six or seven, some even later.

Perhaps it’s the nice weather after lots of rain, Matthew thought, as he strode out, moving at a steady pace, not wanting to start perspiring. We all want to sit in our back yards and read a newspaper, or go to the pub for a pint.

The pub. A lot of men he knew made a habit of going for a drink after work – many of them most nights of the week. He didn’t. He wanted to be in his home with his Maude and their children. They were his whole world. He wasn’t interested in swilling down beer in the taproom or playing darts, and he certainly didn’t want to listen to husbands grumbling about their wives, trying to unload their problems on him.

Maude. The image of her face came into his head, and he smiled inwardly, suddenly thinking of the first time he had set eyes on her. Eighteen years ago now.

He had been nineteen and she had been seventeen, and they had bumped into each other in the back yard at Fountains Manor in Kent.

She had explained that she was delivering a blouse for Lady Agatha when she saw him glancing at the small suitcase she was holding. He had asked to carry it for her, and she had agreed. Then he had led her to the back door, ushered her into the kitchen, where his mother happened to be speaking with Cook.

His mother obviously knew the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, had greeted her warmly, and admired the rose-pink dress she was wearing. Within seconds, she had whisked her away, taking her to Lady Agatha in her boudoir.

The sense of disappointment he had felt that day rushed back to him as he increased his pace down the road, needing to get home to be there for Maude. He recalled how he had hung around the yard until the beautiful girl had finally emerged from the house. He had asked her if he could walk her to the main gates. She had looked at him intently, questioningly, and then she had smiled and he had smiled back, floored by her beauty. Those deep brown eyes, set wide apart, full of sparkle and life under perfectly arched brows, the burnished brown hair that fell in curls around her lovely, heart-shaped face, and the slender, lithe figure. She was breathtaking.

He was smitten. And so was she.

A year later they were married. And then came the children. They were happy, loving, devoted, and extremely close, and bonded with his parents and brothers to make a dependable family unit that gave them all a sense of security.

‘I’m hungry,’ Eddie wailed. ‘Why can’t I have a sausage roll? Now!’

Rossi looked across at him and explained gently, ‘Because we’re waiting for Father, and when he gets home we can sit down and have supper together.’

‘Will Mumma get up and come down?’ Eddie asked wistfully.

‘I don’t think so, lovey. It’s better she rests.’

Eddie jumped off the chair, and said, with sudden determination, ‘I’m going upstairs to see her. I want to give her a kiss to make her feel better.’

Rossi put the knives and forks she was holding down on the table, walked across to the pantry and went inside. ‘Just this once I’ll make an exception. Please bring me one of those plates, Eddie, and I’ll give you a sausage roll to keep you going.’

Running over to the oak table, Eddie took a plate to Rossi in the pantry, a beaming smile on his face. His sister placed the roll on it, then admonished, ‘Don’t gulp it down … eat it slowly.’

‘I will.’

‘And what else do you say?’ Rossi stared at her young brother.

‘Thank you,’ Eddie replied, and carried his plate to the end of the table, far away from where Rossi was setting the places for supper.

At this moment James came back into the room, carrying the cup. ‘Mum’s fallen asleep at last. The rest will do her good.’ He took the cup to the sink, and turned to his sister. ‘I see you gave in to Eddie’s nagging. But he probably is hungry, Rossi. It’s getting late.’

‘I know, but he has to learn to be patient.’

‘I don’t want to be a patient,’ Eddie cried. ‘Then I’d be in hospital.’

‘Patient also means being able to wait for something, without making a big fuss,’ James explained, and went to sit next to the nine-year-old. ‘I could eat one of those myself, but I’ll wait till Dad gets home.’

Eddie adored his older brother, and he looked up at him and smiled, offered him the sausage roll. ‘Have a bite. I don’t mind sharing it with you, Jimmy.’

Shaking his head, James put his arm around the younger boy’s shoulders. ‘Our grandmother brought us a cottage pie and chicken soup and, as soon as Dad arrives home, we’ll tuck into it.’

Rossi exclaimed, ‘Perhaps I’d better put the pie in the oven now, Jimmy, and the chicken soup in a pan on top of the range. What do you think?’

‘That’s a good idea. Shall I help you?’

‘I’ll help, too,’ Eddie volunteered, and took a bite of the sausage roll.

‘I can manage,’ their sister answered, finally finishing the last setting. Suddenly she began to laugh as she walked back to the pantry. ‘You and Grandma brought enough food to feed Nelson’s navy. There’s also a steak and kidney pie in here, and a hunk of boiled ham. Oh, and an apple pie. Not to mention the sausage rolls.’

James laughed with her. ‘Grans kept adding things once Grandpapa had insisted we come here in a hansom.’

‘I’ve never been in one,’ Eddie said, the wistful tone echoing yet again.

‘You will one day,’ James murmured.

‘When? I want to know when!’

‘Never if you don’t stop nagging!’ Rossi exclaimed.

James said to his sister, ‘How was school today?’

‘It went well. I taught some of the younger children, as I do these days, and then I had an hour with the sewing teacher. I love sewing and designing things. As you know, I won’t be going back after this month. I’ll be working with Mum, helping her to fill her orders for the blouses and shawls.’

The three of them jumped and looked startled at the sound of knocking on the door. It was James who immediately stood up, motioned the others to remain where they were.

The knocking started again as he reached the front door. ‘What do you want? Who is it?’ he asked, having been instructed time and again never to let anyone into the house if they were alone.

‘It’s me, James. Grandpapa. When your grandmother arrived back, she said your mother needed rest and she sent me to see if the three of you are all right.’

James turned the key and opened the door to let his grandfather in. ‘Sorry to keep you waiting.’ James explained to Philip, ‘Dad has drilled it into the three of us not to open the door unless we know who’s there.’

‘Very wise,’ Philip answered, and he and James walked into the kitchen, where Philip was immediately assaulted by Eddie and Rossi, who threw themselves at him, hugging him.

When he finally became disentangled, he turned to James. ‘Shall I go upstairs and look in on your mother? Or is she resting?’

‘Perhaps she’s still asleep,’ James answered, ‘I’ll creep up and take a look.’

Philip nodded, and allowed himself to be pulled further into the kitchen. Having been taught to be polite, Rossi asked, ‘Would you like a cup of tea, Grandpapa?’

He shook his head, and then looked towards the door as he heard the key in the lock turning. ‘I think your father has arrived.’

FIVE

Matthew stared at his father, alarm rushing through him. Why was he here? Had Maude become worse?

As if reading his son’s mind, Philip said, ‘I just dropped in to see how Maude is doing, Matt. Although when she got home, your mother told me it was definitely only a chill.’

‘And what do you think, Dad?’

‘I haven’t seen her yet—’

James interjected, ‘I was just upstairs, Father, and she’s sleeping.’

Relaxing, Matthew walked into the kitchen and opened his arms as his two younger children rushed towards him across the floor. He kissed them both, and then straightened. Turning to James, he asked, ‘Has your mother taken the raspberry vinegar?’

‘Yes, I sat there while she sipped it and fell asleep. It must have knock-out drops in it, or something like that.’

He’s far too bright for his own good, Philip thought, but said, ‘Don’t be silly, James. It’s the cherry juice your grandmother puts in it that makes a person sleepy and soothes a sore throat.’

Matthew walked towards the door, turned to look back at his father. ‘Will you have supper with us?’

‘I’ll stay a bit longer, go up and see Maude after you, but I can’t linger. I told your mother I would have dinner with her tonight. We don’t often get a chance to do that.’

Matthew nodded, hurried out, flew up the stairs two at a time, and then paused on the landing, took a deep breath and calmed himself before pushing open the bedroom door. He went in as quietly as possible, then realized Maude was awake.

‘Matt,’ she whispered hoarsely when he sat down next to the bed, and reached out her hand to him.

He took hold of it, leaned closer, his eyes searching her face. She was extremely pale and her forehead was damp. When he tried to kiss her, she moved her head. ‘I don’t want you to catch cold.’

Smiling at her, he ignored her words and kissed her cheek anyway.

‘It seems very hot in here, Maude.’

‘I am a bit warm.’ she answered.

He jumped up and went to the window. Although it was six thirty, it was still light outside. He opened the top and bottom of the sash window, shaking his head as he did so. Like every Victorian, he suffered from paranoia about his home not having sufficient oxygen. ‘I don’t understand why this is closed,’ he muttered. ‘We’re all fully aware we must have oxygen circulating through every room. The whole country knows it.’

He walked back to the bed, continuing, ‘We mustn’t let carbonic acid build up because we don’t have proper ventilation.’

Sitting down, he took her hand again and stared at Maude. ‘Breathe in, love, you need fresh air. It’ll help you get better.’

‘It was becoming stifling in here, but I just didn’t have the strength to get out of bed to open the window,’ she murmured.

‘What else can I do to make you more comfortable? Are you thirsty? Do you want a glass of water? Or perhaps some chicken soup? Are you hungry?’

‘I have no appetite at all. I think I’d just like to rest here, maybe doze off again. Sleep is the best thing for me right now.’

‘Dad’s downstairs, Maude. He came to see you.’

‘Oh, that’s nice of him. Tell him to come up.’

‘I will. And I’ll get supper going, although I think Rossi has started doing that already.’

A faint smile touched Maude’s face. ‘No doubt.’

A moment later, Philip Falconer was seated in the bedside chair. His love for Maude was reflected in his eyes; he could only hope and pray that his two other sons, Harry and George, would be lucky enough to marry women like her. ‘I felt I had to come by to see you for myself, Maude. Naturally, I trust Dr Robertson’s diagnosis and Esther’s opinion. On the other hand, I do worry about the entire family. And I just can’t help being concerned about you, after that terrible bout of bronchitis you had last year.’

‘I know that, Dad,’ she answered, using the name she had called him since her marriage to Matthew. ‘This time it is just a bad chill. I’ll be better in a few days.’

‘Do you promise?’

‘I do.’ She smiled at him, her face ringed with affection.

‘Then I shall walk home with a lighter heart. And I know you’re in good hands with Matthew and the children to take care of you.’

When he went downstairs, his grandchildren begged him to stay for supper with them. He told them he couldn’t, explaining that their grandmother was waiting for him.

‘Why didn’t Maw come with you?’ Eddie asked. He had never been able to say grandmother. Only Maw came out of his mouth as a small child, and that she had been ever since.

‘Maw is busy working on that rag rug she’s making for you,’ Philip said. Kissing the three of them and walking over to his son, he took Matthew’s arm, and led him into the hall.

‘Maude will be all right, Matt, just make sure she gets plenty of liquids, and don’t let her leave that bed for a few days. Oh, and keep the room cool, as you have it now.’

‘I will,’ Matthew replied, and gave his father a questioning look. ‘Is there something special in that raspberry vinegar Mum takes?’

Philip couldn’t help laughing. ‘No. Just cherry juice, as I told James.’ He eyed his son, amusement still flickering on his face. ‘Fancy you asking me that at the age of thirty-seven. Has anybody in this family ever died after drinking it?’

Matthew joined in his laughter. ‘Oh, Dad, you are a card. There’s nobody like you.’

Philip drew his son closer and gave him a bear hug. ‘Have a good night, son,’ he murmured and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

It was a nice evening and Philip decided to walk back to Regent’s Park.

His thoughts lingered on Maude. His lovely daughter-in-law was more frail than she looked, and had a tendency to catch cold easily. Bronchitis had felled her last winter, and in consequence they fussed over her – perhaps too much. Also, a sick member of a family was a drain on everyone. Fortunately, he and Esther could afford to pay for a doctor, but most of the Falconers’ street couldn’t, which was why staying healthy was so important. They all tried to protect themselves from germs as best they could.

He was reassured by the doctor’s opinion. He did not want his son a widower or his grandchildren motherless. It was all too common and with heartbreaking results.

He knew how lucky he was in so many different ways. He had been blessed with kind, loving, good-hearted parents, who had set him on the best course when they encouraged him to go into service.

His father, Edward Falconer, had owned a small grocery shop in Rochester, Kent. His parents, his brother Tom, and he had lived in a flat above it. Being rather crowded never ever bothered them, since they were a loving family and enjoyed each other’s company.

It was his mother, Olive, who had recognized he would make a good butler if he had the correct training. She knew he was efficient, well organized, had good manners, charm and a special way with people.

It was she who had suggested he visit Fountains Manor nearby to seek employment. He had done so, and had been taken on immediately by the Honourable Arthur Montague, who was struck by his politeness, pleasant voice and good looks. He had risen through the ranks with ease and rapidity, learning about wine, food and clothing in order to improve himself.

Philip had always thought that his eldest, Matthew, took after his own father in wanting to be a salesman, and had rented stalls. Now James was following in their footsteps. But his dream was not of a little shop in a country town or stalls in a market, but a grand emporium like Fortnum and Mason – catering to the rich.

Hearing James’s plan today had given Philip genuine pleasure, and Esther as well. There was no doubt in their minds that their grandson had a prodigious intelligence; he was clever, smart, had enormous ambition and drive. These two particular characteristics were essential to success. Anyone aiming high who did not own them was doomed to failure. Whether he could achieve such a lofty dream was another matter, though.

As Philip walked along, striding out at a brisk pace, he decided he would select some of his books on the red wines of Provence for James to read. That was how he would begin to teach his grandson – lead him into the wonderful world of vintage wines.

After a while Philip had to slow his pace. There were too many people on the streets tonight. Men and women hurrying home after a long workday; couples were strolling along in a more leisurely fashion, obviously out for an evening of entertainment at a restaurant or the music hall.

Philip loved London, thought of it as the capital of the world. They had a Queen-Empress in Victoria, the aging widow, and Britain was the richest and greatest nation on the planet. Yet he hated the fact that this age of Victoria, momentous in so many ways, was also a hungry and deprived age. Millions of its citizens went to bed with empty bellies.

Gladstone, Disraeli and Salisbury – politicians all – raged and argued in Parliament about the terrible conditions, but did nothing positive to change the game as far as he could see. Certainly there was nothing much he could do either, except to help a friend in need from time to time. And this he did whenever he was asked. His conscience ruled his head and his heart. And at night he prayed for better days ahead for the common people of England.

That night James found it hard to go to sleep. He felt calmer about his mother and knew the doctor had been correct. She had caught cold, and it was nothing worse. What kept him awake was the sudden worry about his father – how would he react when James told him about his dream? Now he had confided in his grandparents, he thought he would have to explain to Matthew that he did not want to work on the stalls at the Malvern forever. He had ambitions of his own … of being a merchant prince. Even his grandmother had brought that matter up to him as they had been driving over to Camden Town in the hansom cab. He didn’t want to upset his father, but he knew within himself that he would have to follow his dream. It was like a burning flame inside him.

Knowing his father the way he did, understanding that he was a fair man, one who saw everyone’s point of view, James was sure he would not object to his leaving the stalls.

Not yet, of course. He would have to be seventeen or eighteen before he could think of moving on. Could his father manage without him? Would he use Eddie? He would need help. Perhaps he could hire somebody.

He tossed and turned in his bed, his mind whirling with dire thoughts. How would he approach Mr Henry Malvern? The owner of the Malvern Market was a pleasant man; he usually came over to speak to his father, and always had a word for him. But James was smart enough to know that this didn’t mean a thing. Mr Malvern was pleased at how well his father ran their stalls, had made a success of them, but that didn’t mean Mr Malvern would give him a job at the Piccadilly office just like that. Why would he? Why should he?

And there was another thing. He was a working-class boy. Might Mr Malvern think he was stepping out of his place? Maybe. Maybe not.

An education was what he needed. James had been to school. He could read and write very well; he knew his geography and English history. And he was a dab hand when it came to arithmetic. The teachers had told his parents he was gifted and an excellent pupil.

Yet he still needed to know more. Knowledge was power; his grandmother always said that. It came to him in a flash. He would speak to his grandfather, who was going to teach him all about the noble grape and the great wines of France. That’s how Grandpapa had put it. And lend him books about wine. He knew his grandfather would be pleased to lend him books about many other things as well. There was a big library at the Nash house in Regent’s Park.

Lady Agatha would surely agree to lend him a book or two. Or three. He would take care of them, handle them with respect.

He let out a long sigh. Books. That was his answer for gaining more knowledge. He had to work hard in the next few years, bettering himself in every possible way he could. When he eventually went to see Mr Malvern, he had to be absolutely acceptable in every way.

That was the new goal of James Lionel Falconer. Having found the answer to his problem, he relaxed and soon fell asleep. He would awaken the next morning with new determination to be the best. And, later in the week, he would take a deep breath and tell his father that he had to follow his dream.

PART TWO

SIX

Alexis Malvern stood in front of the cheval mirror positioned near the window in her bedroom. She studied herself for a moment, turning to one side and then the other, and decided she would pass muster.

At twenty-five, she knew her own mind, and some time ago she had given up wearing crinolines, except for very special evening occasions. She felt they were too cumbersome for her and the life she led. Instead she favoured the crinolette hoop, made of steel and cotton, a framework worn under the back of the skirt only. This meant that the skirt of a gown was slim at the front and the sides, with a big bustle at the back, supported by the hoop tied around the waist.

This afternoon her gown was made of a rich cream silk. It had a high neck, long slender sleeves and a tight bodice that accentuated her slender waist. From the waist down, the front of the skirt was flat, with pleats at each side, which, in turn, became the bustle.

Her clothes were designed by Madame Valance, a Frenchwoman, who was everyone’s favourite at the moment. Her clothes were elegant and stylish and not as flamboyant and flashy as some of the other fashion designers in London.

Walking over to the bed, Alexis picked up the hat which had been made to match the gown. It was a cream silk bowler, but more of an oval shape than round like the kind men wore. Trimming the rim of the hat were lengths of knotted tulle tied in a bow at the back.

Placing it on top of her auburn curls, Alexis tilted it to one side, set it at a jaunty angle, and stuck a hatpin in for safety. Now she was ready to leave at last.

Picking up her reticule, she walked to the door. She paused for a moment in the corridor, knowing she ought to go to her father’s study to say goodbye.

But she was reluctant to do so. There had been a breach in their relationship that troubled them both, and it had now gone on far too long. Perhaps this afternoon was the right time to heal that breach, and get them back to their normal relationship. But how would she begin? She stood there, thinking, knowing it was the proper thing to do, if only she could find the right words.

Although she did not know it, her father was having similar thoughts as he sat at the desk in his study. He wondered if he should go up to her room to speak to her and attempt reconciliation. Not that they had really quarrelled, and they were polite and civil with each other on a daily basis. Yet there was a coolness on her part, and he was hurting from it.

Henry sighed under his breath, rose and walked across the room, looking out at the garden, ruminating about the problem. It was Saturday 30 July 1887, and a glorious day, filled with sunshine. Yes, he wanted her back very badly, loathed her emotional withdrawal from him.

Henry Ashton Malvern was not exactly a self-made man. Rather he had taken his father’s small and rather badly run property business and turned it into a flourishing enterprise. And a big moneymaker. He had become an extremely wealthy man.

His older brother, Joshua, was his full partner in Malvern and Malvern, but did not have any ambition, no dreams of glory like Henry always had. It was Henry who had been the driving force behind the business, just as his daughter was now. She was so like him in many ways.

She was Henry’s only child, the third member of the Malvern team, and had worked by her father’s side from the age of sixteen, having refused to go to finishing school in Switzerland.

Her mother had died when Alexis was eight years old, and it was Henry who had raised her. She would often tease him and say that he had brought her up to be a boy. She was intelligent, hardworking and smart.

Alexis was his sole heir, and one day the business would be hers. She knew every aspect of it, and now, at twenty-five, she could take control of it if needs be. He had never known anyone more talented at business than his daughter; he had great respect and admiration for her.

Quite aside from this, Alexis was a rather beautiful young woman, with her auburn hair, deep green eyes and English-rose complexion. Because of her looks and her charming manner, she had had many suitors over the last few years. None of them appealed to her; also, she was wary of marriage, knowing that a husband would be the head of the family and would perhaps take control of her inheritance and the business. Frightening prospects to her.

And so, a few months ago, she had told her father that she would never get married, and had given him the reasons why. The prospect of not having a son-in-law or grandchildren appalled Henry. He also worried about the future of Malvern and Malvern after he was dead and Alexis grew older. Who would be her heirs?

A long and difficult discussion had ensued, and had brought about this breach in their loving relationship, a situation both of them genuinely hated. Nothing like this had ever happened; they felt isolated from each other.

There was a light knock at the door and, as Henry swung away from the window, Alexis walked into his study. He couldn’t speak for a moment. This afternoon she was breathtakingly lovely. The cream silk gown was a wonderful foil for her natural colouring, which appeared more vivid than ever and was most arresting.

‘Do you have a moment, Papa?’ Alexis asked, closing the door behind her, walking towards him.

‘Of course I do,’ he answered. ‘I was about to come and find you, before you left for your ladies’ tea. I hope you told Bolland to have the carriage ready for you.’

‘I did, Papa. Not that I’m going very far, only to Delia Talston’s house in Belgravia, but I can’t very well walk through the streets in a cream-coloured dress. It’ll soon be dirty.’

‘And, I might add, looking the way you do … very comely, indeed, my dear.’

A faint smile crossed her face, and she sat down on the edge of a chair. After a moment, she said, ‘I’ve been wondering how to start this conversation, Papa, and decided just to … well, blurt it out. So, I want you to know that, first of all, I’m sorry for my coolness and that there’s been a distance between us. Truly, truly sorry, and I apologize for hurting you. I would like us both to forget about our … disagreement, shall we call it? Let us put it behind us, be close again, as we’ve been all of my life.’

‘I want that more than anything in the world, Alexis. Thank you for taking the lead. I was wondering myself how to broach the matter to you a few minutes ago. You see, I’ve come to understand that you must live your life the way you wish. After all, it is your life, not mine. You must be happy and fulfilled, and if the business is enough for you, then so be it. It is your choice.’

‘Thank you, Papa. It’s not that I have anything against men, you know. I rather like them, enjoy their company. But I can’t become someone’s possession or have another person rule me. I need my freedom and I need to work in a business I love. I’m not cut out to be a housewife.’

Henry chuckled and held out his hands, pulled her to her feet. Automatically, she went into her father’s arms. He held her close for a moment, relief suffusing him, and he kissed her cheek, then released her.

Walking across to his desk, he said, over his shoulder, ‘I know you and Delia wish to launch that charity you dreamed up together last year, and that’s what this tea is all about today? I’m right, aren’t I?

‘Yes, you are,’ Alexis answered, staring after him, wondering what he was getting at.

He looked across at her and showed her an envelope. ‘There is a cheque in here which I wrote two weeks ago. I want to be the first to make a donation to your charity and wish you great success.’

Crossing the room, Alexis, accepted the envelope. She looked at the cheque. ‘Papa! How generous of you. Thank you, thank you so much.’

Delia Talston greeted Alexis in the peach-coloured drawing room of her townhouse, a smile of approval on her face. ‘You look quite divine today, Alexis. No wonder men fall all over you. I would too, if I were a man.’

Alexis laughed. ‘I should wear cream all the time, since it seems to engender compliments. I see I’m the first, so let me give you this before the others arrive.’ Opening her reticule, she handed the envelope to Delia. ‘Look inside. It’s a cheque from Papa.’

Delia raised a brow as she took the envelope from her. ‘Have you two finally reconciled? Oh, I do hope so.’

‘Everything is back to normal. I apologized to Papa just before I left, and he handed me the cheque. You’ll see he made it out two weeks ago.’

‘And he’s been so generous! How wonderful of him. Richard gave me a cheque this morning for five hundred pounds, and my father did the same last week. We now have a good sum for our kitty, because of other small donations I’ve received. Please thank your father, and I shall write him a note.’

‘I think we’re off to a good start.’ Alexis sat down on the edge of a chair, and glanced around. ‘I’ve always loved this room since you painted it peach a few years ago. It has worn well, I must say.’

‘Become too worn, I think. I was wondering the other day if I should create a new look.’

‘Oh no, don’t do that. The peach has grown mellow and warm; on a day like this, the room is so welcoming with the sunshine streaming in on us,’ Alexis observed.

‘The Persian’s somewhat tired,’ Delia murmured, glancing down at the large burgundy rug patterned in cream and moss green.

‘Leave everything alone!’ Alexis exclaimed. ‘Anyway, you won’t have time. You and I both are going to be rather busy—’

Alexis broke off as Parker, the butler, opened the door, announcing, ‘Mrs Clive, madame.’

Delia stood up and went to greet Vera Clive, an old friend, who shared her feelings about the plight of poor women in London.

After kissing each other’s cheeks, Delia escorted Vera into the room.

Alexis stood up, thrust out her hand. ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs Clive.’

‘And you too, Miss Malvern.’

At this moment, Parker returned once more, leading another young woman to the drawing room. He announced, ‘Miss Trevalian has arrived, madame.’

Once introductions had been made, the four elegant women sat down in chairs grouped near the French doors. These stood open, showing a view of the summer garden and allowing fresh air to circulate in the room.

Delia looked at her friends. ‘Welcome. I’m so happy you are here. And before we start speaking about the project, I did want to inform you that Miss Malvern’s father has made a very generous donation, my husband and father have also donated, and I’ve garnered another significant amount made up of smaller donations from members of my family. So not a bad start, wouldn’t you say?’

Vera Clive nodded. ‘My husband has given me a cheque for five hundred, I’m happy to tell you. And it is a very good start indeed.’

‘Thank you, Vera, and please thank Rupert on our behalf,’ Delia said.

Claudia Trevalian spoke up. ‘And I am giving the same amount, Delia.’ She opened her reticule, took out an envelope and passed it to Delia.

‘Thank you. How generous you’ve both been.’ Delia placed the envelopes on an occasional table next to her chair. Her eyes swept over her friends, and she began. ‘Last year Alexis told me a story that so appalled and disturbed me, I immediately agreed with her when she said she wanted to do something to help abused women. Mostly living in the East End. To start a charity, in fact.’

Glancing at Alexis, who sat opposite her, she continued. ‘Will you tell Vera and Claudia the story please, Alexis?’

‘Of course,’ Alexis said. ‘As you are no doubt aware, my father owns the Malvern Market in Camden. Last year, he went on one of his regular visits to the market to meet with stallholders, and one of them – Jack Holden – approached him. He wanted to know if my father knew of any safe shelters for women in distress.’

Alexis paused for a moment, shifting on the edge of the chair. ‘My father did not, and he asked Jack Holden why he needed this information. Seemingly, a neighbour of the Holdens had come to their home late one night seeking help. She had been so badly beaten that they knew they had to get her to the nearest hospital at once. Which they did. The poor woman had been attacked violently by her husband, and for such a long time that she had massive internal bleeding. Sadly, she died in the hospital later that week. Mr Holden’s startling comment to my father that abusive husbands were ‘two a penny’, and that they exist all over different areas of London, shocked Papa. He recounted all this to me, and so I went to see Mr Holden to gather more facts. I decided there and then I was going to find a house and turn it into a refuge for these distressed and helpless women.’

‘That is very commendable of you,’ Vera Clive remarked. ‘You can count on me to help you.’

‘And I would also like to volunteer,’ Claudia said. ‘Can we perhaps look for the right place together?’

‘I found the house six months ago,’ Alexis explained. ‘And I bought it. The interiors needed a great deal of work, and I had to add baths. And also water closets. I can only say thank goodness for Thomas Crapper and his products. I bought his WCs, which work well.’

‘That must have been a very expensive operation,’ Vera said, a frown furrowing her brow. ‘Perhaps we should give you some of the money we’ve donated to help with these costs.’

‘No, no, I don’t need it, but thank you for the offer. You see, Malvern and Malvern, our family company, does a lot of building in the course of the year. And I was able to negotiate some excellent deals with the building firms we constantly use. I have a legacy from my late mother and I paid for the refurbishing of the house with some of that. I think she would have approved.’

‘The good news is that Alexis now has the house ready,’ Delia interjected. ‘And we have found a good woman who will be in charge of it. She is helping us to put together a staff of five women, three of whom will live there with her. She’s called Madeleine Thompson; she will be the manager of the house.’

‘Well, you’ve certainly done an awful lot already. When can we see the house? And what can we do to help?’ Claudia asked.

‘I can take you to see the house any day next week,’ Alexis said. ‘It’s in Whitechapel near Commercial Street. Just round the corner, before you come to Whitechapel High Street. There is plenty of room there. It’s simply furnished, and this just occurred to me – if you’re thinking of throwing any pieces away, consider the house first.’

‘Oh, goodness me! I have several comfortable chairs and a sofa I want to get rid of,’ Vera said. ‘I’ll arrange for them to be taken over whenever it’s convenient for you.’

‘Thank you very much,’ Alexis said. ‘You see, Delia and I don’t want the funds we’ve raised to be used for purchasing furniture and the like. Rather we need the money to pay for food, medicines, and Mrs Thompson’s wages, of course.’

‘What about the other women who will work there?’ Claudia asked. ‘Will they be paid also?’

‘The three who will live in are former battered women and in need of a roof over their heads – a safe place to live. Since they have that, we will be paying them only a small amount of money, but they will get all of their meals,’ Alexis told them. ‘They too want to help women who have suffered.’

Delia said, ‘There’s another thing you can do, Vera, and you too, Claudia. Discarded clothing would be most useful, especially coats, cloaks, shawls, skirts, and blouses. Nothing too fancy. And even undergarments. When the women come to the house, they will literally have nothing at all with them except the clothes they’re wearing.’

At this moment, Parker arrived in the doorway and looked across at Delia, a questioning expression on his face. She merely nodded her head, and he hurried away.

‘Parker is about to bring us tea and biscuits,’ she said, smiling at her guests. ‘If you have any more questions, we will answer them. I can’t tell you how happy I am that you’re willing to join with us. And I know Alexis is as well. All suggestions are welcome.’

Claudia, looking thoughtful for a moment or two, finally asked, ‘The two other women who agreed to help … are they volunteers?’

‘Yes, they are,’ Delia replied. ‘The three who will be living in will cook and clean, and do everything they can to help the battered women.’

‘What happens if they fall ill?’ Vera looked from Delia to Alexis. ‘Will you pay for a doctor?’

‘Yes, we will. And, if necessary, we will send them to hospital. After all, we are a safe house offering temporary protection, and helping the women to get on their feet. We can’t look after the sick. If possible, we want them to move on and start a new life.’

Parker and two young maids entered the drawing room, placed several trays on a table nearby. Parker poured the tea and the maids served the ladies, and the butler followed with a plate of biscuits.

Once they were alone again, Vera asked, ‘What about bed linen and towels? I can have my housekeeper go through our linen closet. I’m sure we can spare quite a lot of items.’

‘That’s very kind of you,’ Alexis nodded. ‘Delia and I did the same thing, and Delia’s mother paid for some beds.’

Delia said, ‘This is all turning out very well, and I think it goes without saying that we will literally take anything you can give—’

‘Or cadge,’ Alexis cut in, happy that Delia’s friends were so enthusiastic.

SEVEN

Alexis and Claudia sat together in the drawing room, chatting amiably about the charity. Vera had taken her leave, rushing off to be with her ailing father, and Delia had excused herself and gone up to her boudoir to pen a note to Henry Malvern, to thank him for his cheque.

It was money that Claudia was now speaking about, and this did not surprise Alexis. She knew very well who Claudia was – the daughter of Sebastian Trevalian, head of an ancient bank dating back a century at least. It was as famous as the renowned, longstanding Coutts.

It struck Alexis that her understanding of money was no doubt in her blood. ‘The amount donated is an extraordinary beginning,’ Claudia went on. ‘A veritable fortune, in fact. But I believe we should think further ahead and continue to raise money. Now. For the future. We mustn’t rest on our laurels.’

‘I agree with you. Money so easily slips away. Very fast.’

‘I will ask my father for a donation, and I’m sure he will supply a cheque immediately. I will also attempt to find other sources. We ought to build up a large amount of cash. In reserve, so that we are never caught short. Don’t you agree, Alexis?’

‘I do, and I feel very strongly that we should not waste the cash by buying items we can source elsewhere. Rather, it should be kept for medicines and good, nutritious food. In the six months it took to renovate the house, Delia and I managed to cadge enough furniture, crockery, and kitchen utensils to make the house functional and relatively comfortable to live in. And, in fact, every single thing was donated by our families and friends. Or bought for us by them.’

Claudia chuckled. ‘I shall have to learn to cadge, and I think I might be rather good at it. I’ll start with my sisters and cousins.’

‘That’s usually a good idea. I think you’ll find that those you ask will be glad, even relieved, to have somewhere to send items they no longer use, but don’t want to hoard away in cupboards.’

Claudia said, ‘One thing I forgot to ask you earlier: how many women will the house accommodate at one time?’

‘Twelve comfortably,’ Alexis replied. ‘We have six bedrooms. Delia and I placed two single beds in each room. But at a pinch those rooms could take a third bed, if necessary. There is also a large upstairs parlour that would quite easily convert to become a small dormitory. That would hold about four women and several children. You see, some women may well bring a child with them, or more, afraid to leave them behind. Our aim is to have twenty beds eventually. To give them shelter and safety, and that includes a few children. But we can’t become an orphanage. No one can live there for long: there are too many others waiting for a place.’

Claudia stared at her, a look of shock registering in her eyes. ‘Is it that bad? Is there such a lot of physical abuse among poor women?’

‘Oh yes. And even among the rich, if the truth be known,’ Alexis responded. ‘But wealthier women generally have families to run to, or loyal friends who will help them escape their husbands and their situation.’ Alexis shook her head, and added quietly, ‘Class doesn’t define abusive men, Claudia. I am afraid they are everywhere in society. In all classes and creeds.’

Sitting back in the chair, Claudia snapped her eyes shut, not saying a word.

Watching her closely, Alexis saw that her face had turned pale, and she seemed upset. After a moment, Alexis asked in concern, ‘Are you all right? Can I help you?’

Opening her eyes, sitting up straighter, Claudia said, ‘I’m fine. I was just remembering something …’ A great sigh escaped her. ‘I had a friend who once confided in me, told me her husband abused her, and very brutally. At times she had to remain at their country house until her bruises faded and she had recovered her equilibrium.’ There was a pause. Unexpectedly, Claudia’s eyes filled with tears.

Reaching out, Alexis touched her arm. ‘You are upset. What can I do to help you?’

Blinking back the tears, Claudia endeavoured to recover, to collect herself. Her voice was sad when she said, ‘I was remembering something, suddenly understanding how wrong I once was. About a friend. You see, I didn’t believe her. He was such a good-looking man, full of charm and grace, a true gentleman, an aristocrat of impeccable lineage. It just didn’t seem possible …’ Her voice trailed away and she shook her head.

‘Just because a man is a born gentleman doesn’t mean he isn’t also a cad. And a dangerous cad at that! I can think of a number of worse words to use to describe those bad men.’ Alexis’s voice had raised an octave in anger.

Claudia took out a handkerchief and patted her face. ‘I wish I had believed her. She was reaching out to me. She wanted my help. And I abandoned her. How awful of me. But I never saw any physical damage.’

‘Because she had waited until her wounds had healed.’ Alexis leaned forward, and asked, ‘I hope nothing terrible happened to her. I hope she didn’t die.’

There was a moment of silence before Claudia whispered, ‘She did. But not by his hand … She took her own life.’

‘Then she did die by his hand! He drove her to it.’ Looking at Claudia intently, Alexis saw she was still upset. Her eyes were moist again. She said, ‘You mustn’t blame yourself, or feel guilty. We are all in charge of our own lives, Claudia. Character is destiny … it is who we are inside ourselves that leads us to live the lives we do. Our character makes us who we are.’

A look of comprehension crossed Claudia’s face. ‘I see what you mean. Nonetheless, I should have helped her get away from him.’

‘She should have left him, sought help from someone else. Or did he keep her cloistered away?’

‘I don’t know. She stayed in the country when he’d hurt her badly. She told me she couldn’t show herself in that condition in London society.’

For a moment Alexis was silent, realizing how violent the man must have been. She couldn’t help wondering who he was.

Claudia levelled her gaze at Alexis. ‘Why on earth does a woman stay with a brutal man?’ She sounded genuinely puzzled, frowning.

‘I don’t know.’ A thoughtful look crossed Alexis’s face. ‘What I do know is that a woman living in poverty is extremely vulnerable. She has nowhere to go, probably not one single person to help her. And if she has children, it becomes more difficult, complex.’

Claudia simply nodded.

Alexis shrugged her shoulders, lifted her hands helplessly. ‘As for women of our class, despite the scandal of leaving, why they stay I’ll never understand. Could it be that they still love the man, despite his wickedness? It’s a mystery to me.’

‘And to me, Alexis. I have learned a lesson this afternoon. I shall never disbelieve a friend again, if she comes to me with a similar story. I shall pay attention and I will do something.’

‘I feel the same way.’

‘I know you’re not married,’ Claudia stated, half smiling at Alexis. ‘Neither am I. That is because I haven’t met the right man. But I hope I will do so one day. I would like to have a husband and a family. I love children.’

‘Yes, I’m not married,’ Alexis said, relieved that Claudia had recovered from her sadness about her friend. ‘And, frankly, I don’t expect I ever will be. My business career is more important to me than anything else …’

Alexis stopped short, suddenly wondering why she was confiding in Claudia, whom she did not really know. Then she realized that she had felt drawn to her the moment they had met.

‘Your reputation as a brilliant businesswoman precedes you, Alexis. You inspire other women who would also enjoy being in business, but are not allowed to work.’

‘What about you? Would you like to be a banker, following in your father’s footsteps?’

‘No, I wouldn’t. But I would like something to do, which is one of the reasons I want to be involved with your charity. By the way, does the safe house have a name yet?’

‘It does. Delia and I decided to call it Haven House, because that says exactly what it is – a haven for women who need to be safe.’

‘I can’t wait to visit it next Tuesday, and when will it be opened? When will women be able to come there for help?’

‘It’s really ready now, and Delia and I will make it known to the local churches and hospitals that we are there to give shelter,’ Alexis explained, and looked at the doorway as Delia walked in.

Delia joined them near the window. ‘I can see that you have hit it off. I knew you would. In fact, I’m sorry I didn’t ask you to become involved with the charity before, Claudia.’

‘So am I, but here I am now, ready, willing and able to do whatever I can. Wouldn’t it be possible to go and visit Haven House regularly, Delia?’

‘Of course, we’d love that. Alexis and I believe that the women will appreciate our interest in them. We fully intend to drop by whenever we can. Of course, they may be a bit shy at first.’

Claudia looked from Delia to Alexis. ‘I had a thought when I was on my way here earlier. I’d like to share it with you …’ A questioning look crossed her face.

‘Please do tell us.’ Delia smiled encouragingly.

‘I was wondering what I would actually do if I visited the shelter. It suddenly occurred to me that I might be able to teach the women something during their stay. I came up with the idea of taking some books. I thought perhaps there might be some women who can’t read.’

Alexis exclaimed, ‘What a clever idea! It’s just wonderful, Claudia. And there are bound to be many women who never went to school before it became compulsory.’

A smile spread across Claudia’s face, and she began to discuss the kind of books she would collect, how she might bring a carpenter to build bookshelves in one of the communal rooms with their permission.

As she sat listening to her, liking Claudia more and more, Alexis saw the strong family likeness between her and Delia. Their mothers were sisters, making them first cousins. Margot, Claudia’s mother, had died some years ago, but Delia’s was still alive and had helped with the charity.

Both women had the same burnished, glossy brown hair and dark eyes. Pretty women, they were well groomed and smartly dressed. She knew that Delia was just thirty because she had attended her birthday luncheon. But she had no idea how old Claudia was … younger than Delia, about twenty, perhaps, not much older than that.

Each of them was wearing a gown by Madame Valance. Her unique style was easy to recognize and it was obvious to Alex that they also patronized the French designer.

Delia had chosen a deep-rose-coloured silk gown, with long sleeves, a square neckline and a sweeping bustle; Claudia was dressed in a purple silk jacket with a cleverly cut skirt which matched. It was a straight skirt, with side drapes, but no bustle. Alexis thought it was chic, and decided she would order something similar. She liked the idea of skirts without those cumbersome bustles that she no longer tolerated.

Delia broke into her thoughts, when she said, ‘You are certainly giving us a very sharp once-over, Alexis. And the answer is yes. We are clients of Madame Valance.’

Alexis laughed. ‘I was actually admiring you both. And I have suddenly had a serious thought. We must be simply dressed when we are at Haven House, wearing plain clothes.’

‘Nothing like these gowns, nothing fancy. That’s most important,’ Delia interjected. ‘They would be upset, I think.’

Claudia was in agreement. ‘We have to show them respect and kindness, and we mustn’t appear to be superior or patronizing.’

‘Correct,’ Alexis said. ‘Plain clothes, plain talk, too, and very good manners. We must also have a lot of patience. These women who are so much in need must never be made to feel inferior.’

EIGHT

As they took their leave of Delia, Alexis turned to Claudia. ‘I have my carriage waiting, and I’m certain you do, too. But, if not, I would be happy to take you to your home.’

‘How nice of you, Alexis, and thank you. I’m going to visit a relative with my father. He said he would come for me, and I’m sure his carriage is already outside.’

It was. As Alexis and Claudia left Delia’s house, she saw it at once. Her father was standing outside on this glorious sunny afternoon, leaning against the carriage door nonchalantly smoking a cigarette. As soon as he saw them he dropped it, stubbed it out with his foot. Then he began to walk towards them, a smile on his face.

After greeting his daughter in an affectionate tone, he said, ‘Won’t you introduce me to your friend?’

‘Of course, Papa.’ She looked at Alexis. ‘I would like to present my father to you … Sebastian Trevalian. Papa, this is Alexis Malvern.’

Sebastian bowed slightly, offering her his hand.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Trevalian. I am very pleased to meet you,’ Alexis murmured, taking his hand.

‘The pleasure is all mine, Miss Malvern,’ he responded, staring at her with great intensity. He was still holding her hand in his, struck by her vivid beauty: her luxuriant auburn hair, deep-green eyes, and English-rose complexion. She was stunning. A beauty. No, a great beauty, and extremely elegant in her cream gown.

Startled by her father’s attention to Alexis, even puzzled, Claudia cleared her throat several times.

Glancing at his daughter, noting the surprised expression on her face, he immediately let go of Alexis’s hand and took a step back. ‘Wherever it is you are going, Miss Malvern, we will take you there.’ Turning, he put a hand under her elbow and began to walk her to his carriage.

‘Thank you, Mr Trevalian,’ Alexis said, ‘I have my carriage here, but such a kind offer on your part.’

Claudia said swiftly, ‘I’m so glad we met, Alexis, and I look forward to visiting Haven House on Tuesday.’

Taking hold of her father’s arm, still amazed by his fascination with her new friend, she made to lead him in the direction of their carriage. He shrugged her off gently, an amused look settling on his face.

‘I shall escort Miss Malvern, help her into her carriage,’ Sebastian announced firmly, and did just that, with Claudia staring after him, more and more surprised.

After stepping up into her carriage and seating herself, Alexis rolled down the window and looked at him, her attention held by his pale-grey eyes.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured.

Sebastian stared back at her for a long moment, before saying, ‘I do hope we shall meet again, Miss Malvern. Soon. I shall have Claudia give a small supper. You will come, I hope?’

Alexis found herself saying, ‘I would enjoy that,’ and then she wondered why she had accepted so quickly.

He nodded politely, and as he turned away she noticed the small smile playing around his mouth.

Her carriage moved forward, the horses snorting, the driver urging them on. Alexis leaned back against the leather seat, thinking about Sebastian Trevalian. His behaviour had been a bit odd. No, not odd. Very male. She knew he had been surprised by her appearance. And he had been attracted to her. Very much so.

With a little jolt, she understood that Claudia had been startled by her father’s behaviour. And she wished she had not accepted his invitation with such alacrity. It might look too eager. And she didn’t have the slightest interest in him. None at all.

And yet her thoughts stayed with Claudia’s father as the carriage rolled on towards Mayfair. He was undoubtedly one of the handsomest man she had ever set eyes on. It was his silvery-grey eyes, translucent and clear, that were so arresting and compelling.

His colouring was very fair, his light brown hair filled with blond streaks. There was no doubt that he was an Englishman, although his face had strong lines. It was sharply chiselled, with a Roman nose, a masculine jawline and generous mouth. He looked too young to be Claudia’s father. Her guess was that he was only forty.

Oh bother, what does it matter, she thought, as the carriage finally pulled up at her front door, at the bottom of Chesterfield Hill on the corner of Charles Street. Why am I thinking about him? I’m not going to supper. I’ll never see him again.

But she was wrong.

Alexis crossed the marble-floored entrance foyer and noticed that the library door was half-open. She hurried forward.

Her father was sitting in a chair near the fireplace and immediately jumped up, putting the book he was holding on a nearby occasional table.

‘There you are, my dear. I hope you had a good afternoon and that all went well.’ His smile was welcoming.

She kissed his cheek, and went and sat on the edge of the chair opposite his. He also seated himself again.

‘Yes, it was a great success, Papa.’ Opening her reticule, she took out the envelope, explaining, ‘Delia has written to you about your donation.’

Henry Malvern took the envelope, opened it and read the note. He passed it back to his daughter, so she could read it for herself. ‘She expresses herself very well,’ he murmured.

‘And it is indeed a very generous gift to us. Thank you again, Papa. Delia’s husband donated and so did Vera’s, and Claudia Trevalian the same amount. We’ve suddenly got a nice cash reserve.’

‘You do indeed!’ he exclaimed. ‘Is your friend Claudia Trevalian by any chance related to Sebastian Trevalian?’ he asked, an interested expression on his face.

‘Yes, she is his eldest daughter,’ Alexis answered but, noting the curiosity, seeing an eagerness in her father’s eyes, she said nothing else.

Henry leaned back in the wing chair and was silent for a moment or two, wondering how well his daughter knew Claudia. Unable to resist, he finally asked, ‘Have you known Claudia a long time? Is she part of the charity?’

Although she knew where this was leading, Alexis understood she had no option but to continue the conversation. ‘No, not an old friend, I met her today. She’s Delia’s cousin, and yes, she really wants to be genuinely involved, from what she said. She’s come up with the idea of teaching some of the women to read and has offered to pay for bookshelves and bring books.’

‘How remarkable! And it’s an excellent idea. I’m certain a lot of those women never went to school. So now you’re all set to open Haven House, aren’t you?’

‘We are, Papa, and Delia and I will probably do so next week. We want to get the word around first, so that people know of its existence.’

‘I will tell Jack Holden and some of the other stallholders when I go to the Malvern on Monday. They’ll spread the word. Good news travels as fast as bad news, you know. And how old is your new friend?’

‘Claudia? Oh, I’m not sure – about twenty, I think.’

‘Yes, that sounds right. Her mother died when she was quite young … ten years ago, if I remember correctly, when Claudia was ten. And I must say Sebastian has done a wonderful job of bringing up his three girls. With the help of nannies, I’ve no doubt, but he’s been a spectacular father, devoted to them.’

Before she could stop herself, Alexis said, ‘You sound as if you know him.’

‘I do, but not in the sense of being a friend. He’s a nodding acquaintance, shall we say. We’re members of the same club.’

Alexis merely nodded, not wishing to be drawn into a conversation about Sebastian Trevalian. But her father had other ideas, and her heart sank when he began to speak.

‘Trevalian’s the most eligible man in London, from what I hear. Only forty or so, a widower with a fine reputation, no scandals about women. Handsome, rich and available. No wonder women fall at his feet.’

‘Oh really,’ Alexis muttered, ‘Have you seen them actually doing that?’

Henry began to laugh. ‘No, of course not; no one means it literally. It’s just a saying. They do flock around him, though, according to some of the other club members. A few of the men wonder why he’s never remarried, others don’t. They think he enjoys his bachelor life to the hilt.’

Alexis sat very still on the edge of her chair, not liking the way she was feeling. Her chest had tightened, and she was suddenly uneasy. Obviously Sebastian was one of those men-about-town they called playboys. Why do I care? It doesn’t matter to me what he does.

She knew she must remove herself from her father’s presence for a while, otherwise he would go on and on about Claudia’s father. Single men drew him like a bee to honey. He was always on the lookout for a good, upstanding, available man. For her. Even though he knew she was not interested in becoming involved with any of them, and certainly marriage was out of the question. For her.

She stood up, clutching her reticule and the envelope, which she passed back to her father. ‘If you don’t mind, Papa, I am going to go to my room and change my clothes. I thought I would wear one of my house gowns for supper. They are much more comfortable.’

‘Yes, my dear, do go and change. And I shall continue to read David Copperfield.’

‘Yet again,’ she said, smiling at him. He looked about to speak, and she cut across him and said, ‘I do know it’s your favourite book of all time. It was even Dickens’s own favourite.’

‘Do you always have to have the last word?’ he asked, his eyes loving.

She brought her fingers to her lips, shaking her head. Then she blew him a kiss and disappeared.

Within minutes, her lovely maid, Tilda, was in her room helping Alexis undress. First she undid all of the little buttons down the back and helped her out of it. Alexis removed her small hat. Then Tilda began to unlace the tight corset which went over her torso and down over her hips. Once the corset was removed, two different petticoats came off, then the half-hoop which was tied around her waist. The last things to be removed were her knickers, the chemise across her chest, and finally the garter belt and silk stockings.

Naked, Alexis slipped on the silk robe Tilda held out to her and tied it, turned around to look at her maid, and thanked her profusely.

‘What a relief it is to get these undergarments off,’ Alexis said. With a smile and another word of thanks, she went into the adjoining bathroom as Tilda began to hang up the gown.

Feeling free at last, Alexis stretched her arms above her head; she bent low, touched her toes, then she waved her arms in the air and reached for the ceiling. She did these exercises every night, the moment her garments were removed. They were very constricting.

Once she felt suppler and free, she leaned forward, gazed at herself in the mirror above the washstand. There was no doubt in her mind that she did look rather nice this afternoon … how hard he had stared at her. When she had looked at him through the carriage window, he had held her eyes, devoured her with his. She had been unable to look away. His eyes were so translucent she felt as though she were looking deep into his soul. Something had been said without words … a message had been sent.

She turned away from the mirror swiftly. Why was she thinking about Sebastian Trevalian? She must dismiss him from her thoughts.

Returning to her bedroom, she found it was empty. Tilda had put her clothes away and disappeared. Before leaving, her maid had closed the draperies and placed a small quilt on the chaise, so that Alexis could take a rest before supper.

She lay down, covered herself with the quilt and closed her eyes. But she did not fall asleep. Her mind turned and turned … about the charity, her new friend Claudia, and Claudia’s father.

Why had he stuck in her mind? Because of his extraordinary eyes, and what they had told her so eloquently. That he desired her, wanted to be with her, aimed to get her. She could not allow that to happen. Sebastian Trevalian might be the most handsome man she had ever met, but he was also the most dangerous.

NINE

Claudia Trevalian loved Aunt Dorothea, her father’s sister. She was a very special woman, rather unique, and she had been kind to them all after their mother’s death, extremely caring. Claudia’s two younger sisters, Lavinia and Marietta, loved her as much as she did, and their father adored her.

At this moment Thea, as she had always been called, was sitting with Sebastian near the bay window in the parlour; Claudia was at the other side of the room, seated near the fireplace. Even on this late afternoon in July, the weather had already cooled, and the fireside was a warm and welcoming place to relax.

Although Aunt Thea was a widow and well taken care of by her husband’s considerable estate, Claudia was aware that she was a shareholder in the family’s private bank, which her father ran. His sister was also on the board of directors and had been for years. Of course she was. Her father protected those he loved.

Close together, chatting animatedly, Claudia saw them objectively for a moment. Anyone would know they were brother and sister, so alike were they in appearance. Although Aunt Thea had brighter blonde hair and pale blue eyes, their features were similar, cast no doubt.

Dorothea Trevalian Rayburn was fifty years old, but did not look it. Her husband, Martin, had died fifteen years ago in a riding accident. He had been thrown by a new stallion he was attempting to break and train. It was an instantaneous death; he broke his neck in the fall.

Aunt Thea had once told her that she was glad it had been so quick and that he had not been left wheelchair-bound for life. ‘He wouldn’t have been able to tolerate that,’ Aunt Thea had explained, ‘being such an athletic man, a hunting-shooting-fishing man.’

Claudia saw the truth in that, but then she was down-to-earth, just like her aunt. She glanced around whilst her father and aunt went over more bank papers.

As always, she admired the way Aunt Thea had furnished the room in light pastel colours. The upholstered sofas and chairs were filled with cushions and were comfortable, and there weren’t too many small occasional tables. But Aunt Thea’s were tall tables, chosen to accommodate the crinolines the women wore. Because of their height they didn’t get knocked over.

Her thoughts went to Alexis, who had been dressed in a tailored gown, the kind she herself now preferred. The purple suit she was wearing today was the most comfortable outfit she owned, and she decided there and then that she would have another one made by Madame Valance. Alexis. Her image hovered in her head. She had liked her the moment they had met at Delia’s house earlier, had thought her quite beautiful. No wonder her father had looked at Alexis twice. That she understood. What had puzzled her was his blatant moving in on Alexis, the way his eyes had been riveted on her the entire time she was with them.

Turning in the chair, Claudia stared at the fire, watching the flames flying up the chimney. She was remembering how, when they were in their carriage, finally coming here to Kensington, her father had been silent, looked preoccupied, gazing out of the window most of the time. Hardly speaking. And she had noticed he appeared to have been genuinely affected by Alexis, which was something she had never ever seen happen with any other woman before.

In fact, there had not been many women around him since her mother’s death. He had certain women friends of longstanding, whom he invited to join him on special occasions or to go to events, but she was aware they were merely friends. If he knew any other women, with whom he might have more intimate relationships, she did not know about them …

‘Claudia, here we are.’ His voice brought her out of her thoughts as he strode across the room, followed by her aunt, who said, ‘I’m afraid I’ve neglected you, my dear,’ and sat down in a nearby chair.

Claudia smiled at her. ‘It’s nice just being here in this lovely room, Aunt Thea. And I think I’ve spotted a new painting, haven’t I?’

‘You have indeed,’ Thea answered, and immediately rose, beckoning Claudia to follow her.

Sebastian said, ‘It’s the John Everett Millais you mentioned to me, isn’t it?’

‘It is indeed.’

The three of them stood grouped in front of the painting on a side wall. It took pride of place, hanging alone, without any other paintings to crowd in on it.

‘What a beautiful little boy blowing bubbles,’ Claudia said, staring at the painting, her face full of smiles.

‘It is called Bubbles, my dear. The perfect name, I think,’ Thea replied. ‘The artist started it in 1885, and finished it in 1886. I was so happy to acquire it.’

Sebastian stared at the painting for the longest moment, before saying, ‘Millais is the best of the current painters, in my opinion, and his attention to detail is quite amazing. I think that if I touch the boy’s trousers, I’ll actually feel the velvet, it’s so realistic. And congratulations, Thea, I know how much you longed to own this.’

‘I did. And I’m going to let it hang alone, Sebastian. I think it needs space, nothing competing with it.’

‘I know what you mean,’ Claudia said. ‘People make their rooms far too cluttered these days, in my opinion. They hang too many paintings on one wall, then they add a palm tree in a brass pot, and soon you can’t move in the room, or know which painting to look at.’

They both laughed and agreed, and Thea said, ‘I haven’t offered you any refreshments. Won’t you have something before you leave?’

Sebastian shook his head. ‘No, thank you. Reviewing the bank papers took longer than I expected. I have a guest arriving at the house very shortly, and we must leave now, I’m afraid.’

Claudia hid her surprise, wondering who he was expecting, and merely smiled. She moved closer to her aunt, kissed her cheek. ‘My congratulations, too, and I’d like to talk to you next week, if I may? About a charity I’ve become involved with.’

‘Then you must come for lunch. Any day you prefer?’

Once they were in their carriage and driving to Sebastian’s house in Grosvenor Square, Claudia spoke out.

‘Who are we expecting, Papa?’

‘My dear friend, Uncle Reginald,’ Sebastian answered, settling back against the seat, crossing his long legs. He was taller than many of his friends.

‘Did you invite him for supper, Papa?’

‘Yes, I did. However, I have a feeling he may wish to go to the club, although I would prefer to remain at home. I must dine alone with him if we stay. It was my understanding he needs to discuss something private with me.’

Claudia nodded. ‘Whatever you wish, Papa, that is fine.’

Sebastian looked across at his eldest daughter, responded in a warm voice, ‘You always say that, and have ever since your mother died. I don’t know what I would have done without you by my side, Claudia, over the past ten years.’ He shook his head almost wonderingly. ‘I’ve leaned on you a great deal; perhaps made you grow up far too quickly by sharing some of my problems with you.’

‘I wanted to be by your side, to help you if I could, Papa. And so did the others, but they weren’t old enough then.’ She began to laugh. ‘And I don’t mind if I’ve become more grown up. And I am twenty now, Papa. Don’t forget that.’

His quirky smile played around his mouth for a moment, but he remained silent, looked out of the window for a while. Then he brought his gaze back to her. ‘How old is she?’

Claudia had known he would discuss Alexis with her, and she was prepared for his questions. ‘Delia told me she is twenty-five.’

‘Oh, I thought she was older.’

‘She doesn’t look it, not to me.’ Claudia frowned as she spoke.

‘Nor to me. But I’ve realized exactly who she is whilst we’ve been at Thea’s. She is extremely well known. Works with her father and has a reputation for astuteness and acumen. So twenty-five, not much older than you.’ He turned his face to the window, looking out, remained silent, tautness in his shoulders.

When the silence had dragged on far too long, Claudia decided to open up the conversation again. ‘Papa, I need to speak to you.’

He swung his head to face her. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s about Alexis. I’ve never seen you behave like that, ever in my life. You were … startled by her … caught up in her. Actually, I think the best word I can use is mesmerized.’ Claudia sat back, watching him, hoping he wouldn’t close himself off, like he so easily could when he did not want to discuss something.

He sighed. ‘Mesmerized, eh? Is that how I seemed to you, Claudia?’

She merely nodded.

He was reflective for a moment. Finally he spoke. ‘I was stunned by the vividness of her colouring and her beauty. And then something strange happened I felt … I don’t quite know how to describe how I felt …’ His voice faltered.

‘Attracted to her? Happy? Joyful?’ Claudia suggested, aware he couldn’t find the right way to describe his reaction.

‘No, none of those. What I experienced was a sense of excitement. Yes, that is the best word to use. Excitement. And a rush of … need. No, not need. Something else. Something a man feels for a woman. Those are the emotions she evoked in me.’ He shrugged. ‘And naturally you are correct; I did have a strong reaction to her. You said I was mesmerized. Perhaps. I do know I was blinded for a moment or two and conscious only of her.’

‘Has that ever happened to you before, Papa?’

‘No, never. I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.’ His smile flickered momentarily.

‘You never felt that about Mama?’

‘It was different. Your mother and I grew up together, Claudia, as you well know. Our families were very close. From the age of fourteen, our parents were quite certain we would marry. And we did. We loved and adored each other. Margot was the perfect woman for me, and we knew each other so well. Just imagine, we were both only twenty when you were born.’ A sigh trickled out and he blinked.

Acutely attuned to her father, after their unique closeness of the last few years, she spotted the sadness in his eyes, which had grown moist. He coughed behind his hand, and sat up straighter on the carriage seat.

Taking a deep breath, wanting to change his mood, Claudia plunged into the deep end. ‘You want to see her again, don’t you?’

He didn’t answer.

His daughter knew he was debating how to respond, always the discreet and careful man – sometimes over-cautious.

‘Yes.’

‘Then you must do so.’

Sebastian gave her a swift look. ‘I did tell her I wanted her to come to supper and that I would ask you to arrange something. I said soon.’

‘How did she reply?’

‘She said she would like that.’

Claudia gave him a huge smile. ‘I think Miss Malvern might well have had the same reaction to you as you had to her.’

‘Perhaps,’ he said, that caution now entering his voice.

Claudia said, ‘We are home, Papa.’

He glanced out of the window and saw that his carriage had already entered the square and was pulling up outside his grand townhouse.

Did this woman Alexis Malvern preoccupy him so much that he hadn’t noticed where they were?

TEN

When Sebastian and Claudia went into the house, they were immediately greeted by Lavinia, who was seventeen, and Marietta, fifteen. Both girls were excited to see their father and Claudia.

They rushed over to them, only slowing down when they reached Sebastian. Smiling with pleasure, he pulled them both into his arms and hugged them. Once he had released them, answered a few questions about Aunt Thea and how she was, he explained, ‘I’m afraid I’ve got to hurry. I must change my clothes. Uncle Reginald will be arriving imminently.’

‘Can we say hello to him?’ Marietta asked, who loved company and was quite socially inclined for a young girl. She was filled with charm, whilst Lavinia was more reserved, a bit aloof.

‘He’ll be delighted to see you, Marietta, and you too, Lavinia,’ Sebastian answered, edging away, conscious of the time.

‘And I think he will like to say hello to me, too,’ Claudia murmured, smiling at her sisters indulgently.

Leaving his daughters standing in the middle of the elegant entrance hall, Sebastian ran up the staircase, and headed down the corridor to his bedroom.

As he entered, Maxwell, his valet, emerged from the dressing room. ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said, and went to help Sebastian out of his black frock coat.

‘I’ll take the waistcoat off as well, Maxwell,’ Sebastian said, and did so. ‘I’ve no reason to change my tie, or my black trousers. However, I will put on one of my smoking jackets. I will be dining at home this evening.’

‘Much more comfortable, sir. Which one do you prefer? The burgundy, the blue or the dark green?’

‘The blue. Thank you. Please excuse me for a moment.’ Sebastian hurried into the adjoining bathroom, where he washed his hands, patted his face with a clean cotton towel, then picked up a silver-topped brush and smoothed his hair back. He glanced at himself, and couldn’t help thinking he looked tired, but he simply shrugged away the thought and returned to his bedroom.

Maxwell helped him on with his deep-blue velvet smoking jacket, which had a tie belt with fringe at each end. ‘Thank you,’ he said, with a nod, and left the room.

Claudia was waiting for him in the library, standing near the blazing fire. ‘So you will be having supper at home, Papa.’

‘Yes. I believe Reginald will prefer it, and frankly, so do I.’ He joined her at the fireplace, and stood with his back to it, warming himself. ‘It’s turned chilly, don’t you think?’ he said, glancing at Claudia.

‘It has. But perhaps you’re also hungry, Papa. I know we had a nice lunch together with the girls, but it’s now six o’clock. I can ask Mr Bloom to bring in caviar and toast. You always enjoy that, and I know Uncle Reginald does.’

He laughed. ‘What a grand idea. Tell Bloom not to mess it up with additions I don’t like, such as chopped onions and chopped boiled egg. Caviar must be eaten as it is, with just a squeeze of lemon and the toast.’

‘I know. You taught me that when I was about twelve. Shall I ask Mr Bloom to open a bottle of champagne? Dom Pérignon?’

‘I believe I taught you well, my Claudia,’ he answered with a nod.

She offered him a glowing smile. ‘Do you want me to plan a supper for next week? So you can invite Alexis?’ Before he could answer, she rushed on, ‘I was thinking of Thursday.’

‘Who would we invite?’

‘Not Aunt Thea, as much as I love her, and not Delia and Richard. I think Alexis has to be with people she doesn’t know, and certainly not any family.’

‘You must be there!’ he exclaimed. ‘I absolutely insist.’

‘I intend to be, Papa. I thought we could invite Uncle Reginald and Aunt Jane, and Mark Brewster and his nice sister Evangilina.’

‘Good thinking on your part,’ Sebastian responded, suddenly feeling rather proud of his intelligent and clever daughter. ‘With the two of us we will be six, and with Alexis we’ll be seven. Should we make it eight by inviting someone else?’

‘No. We don’t need too many guests, Papa. You want to talk to Alexis, get to know her, don’t you?’

He began to chuckle, and before he could answer her, the butler tapped on the door and entered. ‘Lord Reginald has arrived, sir.’

‘Thank you, Bloom.’

The butler stepped aside, and Sebastian’s best friend walked in, smiling broadly when he saw Claudia with Sebastian. ‘My favourite girl!’ he exclaimed, walking over to the fireplace. After kissing her on each cheek, he turned to Sebastian and took his outstretched hand.

‘Glad you’re here, Reggie.’

‘Glad to see from your smoking jacket that we’re dining at home. Not only is it much more private than our clubs, the food is better. You have the best chef in London.’

‘If you’ll excuse me, Papa, I will go and speak to Bloom. And, by the way, you will be having roast leg of lamb for supper.’

Sebastian’s eyes followed her as she glided across the room, thinking how well she had turned out. What a lovely young woman she had become!

At the doorway, she said, ‘Oh, Uncle Reginald, Marietta and Lavinia wish to greet you later on.’

Lord Reginald smiled at her. ‘It will be my pleasure, my dear.’

Once they were alone, Sebastian sat down and Reginald followed suit. He reached into his pocket, took out a gold cigarette case, and opened it.

‘Oh, do you want to smoke, Sebastian?’ He offered the case.

‘No, thank you anyway. What I do want is for you to open up to me. What is troubling you?’

After lighting a cigarette, taking a puff, Reginald said, ‘I wanted to discuss some business – and we will. But it’s Jasmine. She has not been feeling well, and has developed a nasty cough. Jane took her to see Dr Stoppard, who says she has to stop wearing very tight corsets.’

Frowning, focusing on his friend, Sebastian asked, ‘Wearing corsets is making her ill? But every woman wears corsets. And seemingly the tighter they can make them with the lacing up, the better. Or so I’m given to understand.’

‘That tight lacing is the root of the problem!’ Reginald exclaimed. ‘It is compressing her ribcage, which has become smaller and smaller, and apparently that’s not healthy.’

‘What treatment does the doctor suggest?’

‘Jasmine has to stop wearing corsets, or rather, tightly laced corsets. And that’s where the problem is. Jasmine wants to have a tiny waist like the other debutantes – the tinier the better, apparently.’

‘I’m sorry about Jasmine’s health issue, Reggie, but surely her mother can make her see sense?’

‘She’s trying to, but these girls …’ Reginald broke off, shaking his head. ‘They are so competitive with each other, it’s unbelievable.’

‘Can I help in any way? Actually, I don’t see how I could.’

‘I believe Claudia may be the one person Jasmine will pay attention to, and I was hoping you would ask her to come and call on us. Sometime next week. Perhaps she could help our daughter.’

‘I shall do that. I must also talk to Claudia myself about this tight-lacing problem. I don’t think Claudia approves of it, now that I’m discussing the matter with you. I vaguely remember her chastising Lavinia and Marietta about it a few weeks ago.’

‘Thank you, Sebastian, I really appreciate your help, and if anyone can talk sense into Jasmine, I believe it will be Claudia.’

‘We are like brothers, you and I, Reggie,’ Sebastian suddenly said. ‘Just imagine, we were boys at Eton together, then at King’s College, Cambridge. We’ve spent our lives in each other’s pockets, and we’ve never had a cross word.’

‘An extraordinary friendship, yes, indeed we’ve had that.’ He puffed on the cigarette and, changing the subject, he went on, ‘I had a meeting today with George Havermill. He wants to buy my newspapers. Offered a very good price. What do you think?’

‘Consider it, if you really do want to sell. Or start something new. Maybe I should take a look at the deal he’s offered you.’

‘I’d like your advice.’

‘And I would like yours.’

‘What about?’

‘A woman.’

It was obvious from his expression that Reginald was taken aback. ‘What kind of woman?’

‘I’m not sure I know how to answer that, Reggie.’

‘Well, what I mean is, are you interested in a woman with whom to have a friendship, one of those lovely ladies who accompany you to events? Or are you speaking about a woman with whom you wish to be … well … intimate?

‘Neither.’

‘Oh, I see,’ Reginald began, and stopped abruptly when Bloom came in carrying a silver tray, followed by a footman with a silver bucket containing a bottle of Dom Pérignon.

Once the champagne had been poured into crystal flutes, and the caviar passed to the two men, the butler and the footman took their leave.

After clinking glasses, Reginald said, ‘Do you realize you’ve never discussed women with me since we were very young men – fifteen, or thereabouts? So naturally I’m a bit surprised. Who is she?’

‘A woman I met today. This afternoon, and very briefly. I must see her again.’

‘And you knew at once?’ Reginald asked, his surprise obvious in his tone of voice.

‘I did. It was the most extraordinary thing. I was instantly struck by her looks, bowled over really. So much so, that even Claudia noticed and was taken aback.’

‘She was with you at the time?’

‘Yes. She had been at a ladies’ tea with some other women, at Delia’s. A meeting to do with a charity they are involved with. I went to fetch her, so she could accompany me to my sister’s house, and the woman was with Claudia when they left.’

‘And what did Claudia say to you?’

‘She didn’t say anything until much later, after we had left my sister’s, when she mentioned that I’d had a strong reaction to her companion. She asked me why.’

‘And you told her what?’

‘That I wasn’t sure. But I’d had a rush of feelings: excitement, a sense of need, perhaps desire. Claudia told me I had appeared to be mesmerized.’

‘Mesmerized. That’s a strong word, old chap.’

‘I said I’d felt blinded, conscious only of her. Anyway, she’s in my head, Reggie, and I can’t wait to see her again. Only then will I understand myself, my reaction to her.’

‘She must be quite a stunner to affect you in this way. I know it’s not happened to you before. You would have told me, wouldn’t you?’ Reginald raised a brow quizzically.

‘Of course.’ Sebastian took a sip of champagne. ‘I’ve never had any secrets from you.’

‘So who is this woman who has you so rattled? What’s her name?’

‘Alexis. Alexis Malvern.’

Reginald gaped at him, stunned into silence. After a split second, he exclaimed, ‘There can’t be two women with that name. You must be referring to Henry Malvern’s daughter, aren’t you?’

‘I am indeed. Do you know him?’

‘He’s a member of one of our clubs, Savile’s. And we chat occasionally, but I can’t say I know him well. He’s a powerful man, very wealthy, and all of his businesses are extremely successful.’ Reginald chuckled. ‘It is well known that his daughter is his only child and heir. She works in his business, but then I’m sure you know that.’

‘I had heard of her, and her business acumen. However, she is also extremely beautiful. And she is a mere twenty-five.’ Sebastian grimaced. ‘Too young for me, I think.’

‘No, not at all. You’re only forty. I would certainly like to meet her.’

‘Glad to hear that, Reggie. Claudia is planning to give a small supper here next week. We hoped you and Jane would accept our invitation.’

‘Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.’ Reginald lifted his flute of champagne and took a sip.

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