Lady Lightfingers (6 page)

‘I've noticed.'

‘What do you want with her?'

Thomas didn't really know. It was unlike him to become involved in the life of those he observed. ‘I might be able to help you to better yourself.'

She shrugged. ‘I would prefer my independence than be under an obligation to any man.'

‘I want nothing from you. Let us be frank with one another. It seems to me that you and your children have nowhere to go but down. Celia is on the brink of womanhood. She's got a good brain on her and already has quite a bag of tricks at her disposal; most of them dishonest, for even begging is illegal. She's also an accomplished liar.'

Celia gasped.

‘I can only guess at how you are able to support your children, Mrs Laws, but if Celia is any indication they haven't got much of a future. I'm not without influence. Perhaps if I were to inform the parish of your circumstances—'

‘They would give me a place in a workhouse and deprive me of my children. They would then be worse off because they'd be hired out to anyone who would offer for them, and would be at the mercy of people who didn't care what happened to them. Have you seen the children starving, or frozen to death on the streets? I don't want that to happen to my children.'

‘And if anything happens to you?'

She avoided his eyes. ‘Celia is better educated than most, and she's old enough and sensible enough to care for Lottie.'

‘So are you, my dear, but you can't earn enough to afford decent lodging.'

Celia put an arm around her mother and gazed fiercely at him. ‘Was it your intention to insult us when you came here?'

‘Hush, Celia. Mr Hambert has never been in the position we're in, while I have the advantage of being familiar with his. He's attempting to educate himself under the guise of educating us . . . is that not so, Mr Hambert?'

Thomas squirmed at the resounding put-down. That's exactly what he'd done. How could he have been so patronizing? ‘You're right, Mrs Laws. I'm not usually so crass, and I hope you will forgive me, and come and have tea with me tomorrow. As Celia so rightly reminded me, that's why I came here . . . to meet you, and invite you.'

Would misplaced pride make her refuse the offer of a free meal, though?

The woman gazed down at her dress and sighed, but said nothing of her poverty. ‘Afternoon tea . . . it's been a long time . . . yes, I think I'd enjoy that.'

‘I'll get along home, then.' Flustered, he stood up too quickly and banged his head on the roof.

Celia smothered a laugh.

When Thomas told James of the invitation his nephew flopped into a chair, looking clearly astounded. ‘You've invited a family of thieves to tea? Good Lord, Uncle . . . whatever next? The people in the square won't appreciate your home becoming a meeting place for such people.'

Thomas ignored the suggestion. Bedford Square was mostly inhabited by artisans, writers and scholarly people like himself. Some took in lodgers to help pay the rent. ‘You'll like Celia when you meet her. Her mother is unusual in that she was a teacher in a church school before she fell on hard times.'

‘A likely story.'

‘James, you're being much too cynical. Please reserve your judgement until after you've met them.'

His eyes lit up with amusement. ‘You mean that you expect me to attend your tea party in an effort to further my social interaction?'

‘Damn it, James, yes, I most certainly do,' Thomas growled. ‘You must be obliged to mix with all classes of people in your legal profession, so I'm sure you'll carry it off admirably. In fact, I'd be interested in what you make of them. If nothing else it might encourage you to appreciate your own circumstances and opportunities a little better. Besides . . . I thought the family might be a suitable study for the paper I must present to the Anglican Philanthropic Society I belong to.'

‘Ah . . . so that's it. Perhaps I'll be able to keep an eye on the teaspoons for you if I join you then. Have you told Mrs Packer that you're expecting beggars as guests tomorrow?'

‘I've told her I'm expecting guests for tea, and to light a fire in the drawing room. That's all she needs to know. I've asked her to buy some muffins from the vendor in the morning, and she has promised to bake a madeira cake.'

James' laughter rang out. ‘It'll be worth coming to your tea party just to see her face when she sets eyes on them.'

Four

The walk to Bedford Square tired Alice Laws more than she cared to admit. Celia strode on ahead, her sister carried warmly under her cape. Lottie rode astride Celia's hip, small and thin.

‘Celia, wait.' She stopped to catch her breath and was overtaken by an irrepressible urge to cough. Her handkerchief displayed tiny flecks of red afterwards. Alice knew what that usually signified, though she'd avoided thinking about it so far. She'd just turned thirty-eight, yet she felt like an old woman. It occurred to her now that she must make arrangements for the welfare of her children. She had no doubt that Celia would manage without her, but it was
how
her daughter would manage that worried her.

An offer had been made recently that her daughter didn't know about. Celia possessed a certain quality that had attracted the notice of a gentleman. Innocence! Through a broker he'd offered a great deal of money for the girl, trying to tempt Alice to hand her over.

Alice had turned the offer down, but she suspected that she was simply postponing the inevitable. It wouldn't take much to snatch Celia from the street. Children of all ages disappeared every day, some turning up on the Thames river mud a few days later, their bodies broken.

Alice always worried when Celia went out, just going about her business and looking for work to help them provide for their daily needs. Her daughter was lovely and drew the eye.

Concern in her eyes, Celia came back to where she stood. ‘Are you all right, Ma?'

Alice nodded, her breath a harsh rasp. She felt the cold, deep down inside her bones. ‘Yes, my love. I just need to catch my breath. It's years since I walked this far, and you're hard to keep up with.'

‘I should have walked slower. It's not much further, just around the corner.'

When Alice's breathing quieted Celia took hold of her hand and placed it on her shoulder. ‘Lean on me.'

‘Celia,' Alice said urgently. ‘If anything happens to me I want you to take Lottie and go and ask my sisters for help. Beg if you have to. I don't want you and Lottie to be forced on to the streets.'

‘I know better than that.'

‘You might not be given a choice, so be vigilant. A gentleman noticed you and his agent approached me. I don't want you to live that sort of life.'

Celia looked shocked for a moment, then placed a kiss on her mother's cheek. ‘Neither do I, Ma, so don't worry so much. I'll be careful.'

‘I don't know why I agreed to have tea with your friend. You can't trust any man and we could be walking into the lion's den.'

‘Oh, Ma, you can't blame all men for what happened in your past. Think about it. We'll get something nice to eat, and the bread and broth we were going to eat today will then last us until tomorrow.'

‘There's that.' There was also the thought that she wouldn't have to find some man to give her the price of a meal for her favours. Celia didn't mention it, but Alice knew that her eldest daughter was well aware of the way of things. She was sure that's why Celia had taken up dipping . . . to earn more money for them all. Alice was ashamed of herself and hated what she was forced to do to survive. She definitely didn't want her daughter to sell herself. It was demeaning.

‘Cheer up, Ma. You haven't had a cup of tea to drink for months, and now you'll get more than one,' Celia teased.

‘That will be wonderful. I'm really looking forward to it. Perhaps there will be muffins and cake, and little sandwiches.'

Celia grinned. ‘And four-and-twenty blackbirds baked in a pie, perhaps.'

Alice laughed and placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. They moved forward at a slower pace and turned the corner into Bedford Square. Celia knocked at a door with ornate glass panels.

A thin streak of a woman opened it and gazed down her nose at them. She was wearing a silver-framed lorgnette on a cord around her neck. ‘Yes?'

‘We're here to see Professor Hambert.'

‘For what reason, may I ask?'

Thomas Hambert called out, ‘Are those my guests, Mrs Packer? Let them in.'

‘I don't think so, sir. They look more like beggars to me.'

The blood rose to Alice's face and she bit back a retort. She couldn't blame the woman for thinking that, though, and began to wish they hadn't come.

Her daughter called out, ‘It's me, Mr Hambert . . . Celia Laws, with my mother and sister.'

He bustled forward, a smile on his face. ‘Celia my dear . . . and Mrs Laws. How lovely to see you again. Don't stand out there in the cold.' He drew them inside. ‘Hello, Lottie dear, what a dear, sweet child you are. Shut the door if you please, Mrs Packer, you're allowing the cold in. May I relieve you of your capes, ladies?'

The door closed with a thud to signify the housekeeper's displeasure, and, as she went stomping off towards the back of the house, Mr Hambert called out to her retreating back, ‘Serve tea in fifteen minutes please, Mrs Packer. And use the best china for our guests. The child will have milk.'

‘Can I be of help, Mrs Packer?' Celia offered.

The woman turned and gave her that tight-lipped look of hers. ‘I can manage.'

A word of thanks wouldn't have gone amiss, Alice thought. Brought up in a house with servants, she was now being scorned by one. It would have been a different attitude if she'd turned up in a satin gown.

When Mr Hambert chucked Lottie under the chin she put her hands up to her eyes and peered through her fingers at him. She giggled when he said, ‘Boo!'

There was a faint smell of lavender in the room and a fire burned brightly. A woman gazed down at them from a frame. The late Mrs Hambert, Alice supposed. She looked rather serious, but there was a soft curve to her mouth and the beginnings of a twinkle in her eyes, as though her expression disguised a nature that was both frivolous and mischievous.

A man rose to his feet. He had a natural, easy smile and eyes that displayed an intelligence that had not yet been satisfied.

‘This is my nephew, James Kent. He has cut his teeth at the Old Bailey, and is shortly to join a legal practice in the country, where he will eventually take up the post of magistrate. He's a clever young man who should go far.'

‘Now, now, Uncle, your pride is showing.'

James kissed Alice's hand. It had been a long time since that had happened and memories surfaced of evenings spent in the drawing room with her family and their friends. How easily those particular worms had turned when she'd needed them.

‘Mrs Laws; how nice to meet you. You look cold . . . come, take my seat by the fire.' When she did he placed a cushion at her back and turned to Celia. ‘Miss Laws, we meet again. How are you?'

Celia busied herself with Lottie. ‘I'm well, Mr Kent.'

‘Good. My uncle tells me you've taken up acting. You must recite your poem for us.'

Celia turned a rosy shade of pink. ‘I don't think so, Mr Kent. I'm not a real poet and your uncle thinks my poem to be . . .
florid,
so I won't bore him with it again.'

‘I wouldn't have thought that a young woman who performs in public would be shy of performing in the drawing room. What say you, Uncle?'

The man was subjecting Celia to some light teasing.

Mr Hambert beamed a smile at everyone. ‘There's a big difference in acting a part, and in being connected to a poem for the love of it. One is performed with the head, the second with the heart.'

Spontaneously Celia said, ‘Oh, I know exactly what you mean.'

‘Do you, my dear?'

‘Some poems hide inside you, and little snatches of it visit from time to time. Sometimes the scenes created by the words are so beautiful they make me sad.' She looked from one to the other and shrugged. ‘I imagine that sounds silly.'

Alice rescued her daughter. ‘Not at all, that's exactly how it is. Now, you might prefer to recite another poet's work, Celia. Keats perhaps.'

Mr Hambert smiled at her. ‘Ah yes, John Keats. It's a long time since I've heard his work recited. Do you know
The Human Seasons
, Celia? It starts with:
Four seasons fill the measure of the year
.'

‘Not very well.' Shyly, Celia picked up on it.
‘There are four seasons in the mind of man: He has his lusty spring, when fancy clear, takes in all beauty with an easy span.'

When she hesitated Thomas prompted,
‘He has his summer . . .'

They picked through the poem together, and Alice received a nervous glance from Celia when it came to her turn again.
‘. . . on mists of idleness – to let fair things pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.'
Celia spread her hands. ‘It's been a long time and I forget the rest.'

James smiled at her.
‘He has his winter too of pale misfeature . . .'

‘
Or else he would forgo his mortal nature?
' Celia finished.

‘A wonderful joint effort.' Thomas said with a smile.

‘Why is the poem called
The Human Seasons
when it refers to men all the time? Women are human, too.'

James laughed. ‘Answer that one, Uncle?'