London Calling (2 page)

* * *

The several days that followed were difficult to bear. Susanna wandered restlessly about the house and grounds, gripped in turns by anxiety, anger, and impatience. Even Uncle Charles noticed something amiss, and, on the evening of the second night, asked her rather anxiously whether anything were the matter.

“Fretting over young Ravenwood, eh?” He patted her hand. “Don’t worry, my dear. I never in my life saw anyone so much in love as that young man of yours.”

He paused, his ruddy, square-cut face suddenly wistful. “Enough to make me wish I were young again myself,” he said. Then he brightened.

“Never mind, m’dear. Your young man will wind up his estate business as fast as may be, and be back here with us before you know it. And now‌—‌what do you say to a game of backgammon? I’ve beaten you every night this week. Care to try your luck again?”

Susanna managed to smile, but her mind refused to focus on the game.

She had thought so much these last days that her mind had begun to feel like a child’s spinning top‌—‌whirling around and around and ultimately getting nowhere at all. But she could not stop herself. She kept going over and over again every meeting she had had with James. Every word they had spoken to each other since their betrothal.

She remembered her first impressions of James. She had found him almost impossible to read. He was charming, mocking, and at times seemed to take nothing seriously‌—‌not even his own life. He was a trickster, an actor who could play any part to perfection and give away no clue as to the real thoughts going on behind the mask of whatever persona he had assumed.

It was only occasionally that she had caught glimpses of the man who existed underneath the layers of lighthearted mockery‌—‌a man in equal parts hard-edged and dangerous, and absolutely honorable.

It was that man she had fallen in love with. And agreed to marry after knowing him less than a month’s time.

She had thought‌—‌hoped‌—‌that in the weeks they had spent together after they had been engaged, James had begun to be less controlled, less private with her. But now, thinking back on all he had said, she wondered whether he truly had.

He seldom spoke of himself. Though she had not noticed it at the time, because he was always asking her questions, wanting her to tell him of her childhood with her charming but irresponsible father. The posts she had had as a governess after her father had died. It was only now she realized that he had told her almost nothing in return‌—‌nothing that mattered, at least. He had told her funny stories about his boyhood in Derbyshire, the pranks he had played on the instructors at his boarding school. But if she asked him about his previous assignments for the War Office it was as though . . . ‌as though he stepped back behind some invisible wall and then adroitly changed the subject.

James loved her. Even without her uncle’s assurances, she never doubted that. But James was a spy, through and through‌—‌it was not just that he wished to serve his country. He thrived on the danger, the risks he ran, the daily uncertainty of the life.

And the question that kept coming back to stare Susanna in the face was whether James might have been secretly chafing to return to that life, all the time he had been with her. Whether he had now come to regret saddling himself with the encumbrance of a future wife.

#

Blessedly, the awaited letter from Aunt Ruth arrived the next morning, and was lying beside Susanna’s place at the table when she went down to breakfast. Her uncle had not yet returned from his morning ride, and she was alone. Eagerly, she snatched up the letter and broke the red wax seal.

Her own letter to Aunt Ruth had cost her some little thought in its composition. After much deliberation, she had determined to confide fully in her aunt. It would be unfair to try to enlist her aunt’s help with a lie, and any pretense would be too difficult to maintain once they reached London. She had set down the whole of the case.

And now her aunt’s reply showed that her confidence had not been misplaced. Her aunt made no attempt to dissuade her from her plan; indeed, she offered few comments of any kind. The letter was brief, businesslike, and to the point. She wrote that she quite understood Susanna’s position, and would begin making arrangements at once for renting a house in London.

Her husband, Mr. George Maryvale, had agreed to the scheme readily. Ruth had not, she assured Susanna, confided the purpose of the business to George.
All my own secrets are shared with my husband, my dear, but those of my friends‌—‌those I keep private.
She had told him merely that she wished to make the move to London early, but that he might join them as planned in March. They had no small children, the youngest boy being in his first year at Eton, so that Ruth was quite free to do as she liked. She would therefore travel to London at once, and the letter closed with a promise to write again when she had found a suitable house.

There followed another week of seemingly endless waiting, during which Susanna chafed at the enforced inactivity and delay. She had not even the dubious comfort of a letter from James. Morning after morning brought no post and no word of any kind. At long last, though, word arrived that Ruth had taken a house in Grosvenor Street, and would receive Susanna as soon as she could come.

It was three days before she set out‌—‌two interminable days full of packing, arrangements for changing horses, and then final good-byes to her uncle and cousin. But finally, on the morning of the third day, she was off, seated in her uncle’s carriage in the cold grey light of early dawn, waving goodbye, as the coachman, with a flick of the reins, urged the horses forward down the gravel drive.

#

They had left early, so that by late afternoon they were nearing the outskirts of the city, and soon the rhythm of the carriage changed as the wheels rolled from the beaten earth to cobbled stone. It was months since Susanna had been in London, and at first she was almost overpowered by the sheer noise and confusion that met one like a blow in the face. The air was filled with the bawls of street vendors selling gingerbread, muffins, newspapers, and roasted chestnuts; the clatter of carriage wheels; the cries of coachmen as they shouted to their own horses‌—‌and heaped anathemas on the heads of their fellow drivers. Sleek black private carriages sped past carts piled high with turnips and onions, while a herd of cattle, lowing plaintively, was driven towards one of the many urban slaughterhouses. The streets were crowded with pedestrians, as well. Milkmaids in cotton dresses, hung about the shoulders with yokes and pails; young men of the town, jauntily swinging their canes; and day laborers with rough, careworn faces and callused hands, carrying their midday meals knotted up in colored handkerchiefs.

Susanna found herself scanning the crowds of faces all around her. Which was idiotic, she knew, since she was hardly likely to spot James on the street the very day of her arrival. But she couldn’t stop herself. And she couldn’t stop disappointment from welling up inside her when the streets yielded nothing but the faces of utter strangers.

#

At last the carriage pulled up outside the address her aunt had given, and, amid the gathering shadows of dusk, Susanna looked up at the place that was to be her home while in the City. It was a handsome place, high, and built of brick, set on one of the most fashionable streets of the West End. Susanna, surveying the tall bow windows and domed roof, smiled wryly. What her Aunt Sophia would give to stay in such a place.

And then the bottle-green door was flung open, and Aunt Ruth flew out and down the steps, hands waving, the ribbons of her lace-trimmed cap streaming out behind.

“Well, my dear. And so you’ve arrived at last.”

Chapter 2

Ruth Maryvale was a tiny woman, reaching scarcely to Susanna’s shoulder, with softly curling puffs of grey hair, bright brown eyes, and a face that was as fresh and unlined as a girl’s half her age, above a dress of soft teal blue. She looked, Susanna thought, rather like some tiny, brightly colored bird. She seemed perpetually in motion, darting this way and that, seeing to the unloading of Susanna’s trunks, scolding the coachman for driving without a warmer muffler, directing the servants to take Susanna’s things to her room, ringing the bell for tea to be brought to the saloon.

Susanna, slightly dazed, allowed herself to be helped out of her pelisse and outdoor wraps and guided to a chair by the fire, where she spread out her numbed fingers to the blaze. Ruth kept up a steady stream of talk the while, and Susanna let her aunt’s words pour over her‌—‌news of home and the two boys at Eton, details of her journey to London, the finding of this house and the engaging of servants. A tray of tea and beautiful little iced cakes was borne in by an almost impossibly stately grey-haired butler, and when he had gone, Ruth leaned forward confidentially.

“That’s Snell‌—‌isn’t he delicious? He came with the house, and I engaged him at once. He lends such an air of distinction to our establishment, don’t you think? He disapproves of me dreadfully, poor man‌—‌I’ve shocked him to the core at least a dozen times already this week. But he’ll settle down and get used to us.”

Susanna surveyed her aunt and smiled. Ruth had kicked off her slippers and tucked her feet under the hem of her gown; her lace-trimmed cap was tilted slightly on the fluffy curls, and there was a thin coating of icing sugar on her fingers. She could well imagine what Snell’s opinion of his new mistress would be.

Ruth kept up a line of sprightly, inconsequential conversation. She seemed scarcely to expect Susanna to talk, and for that Susanna was grateful. Now that she had at last arrived, the combined effects of strain and the long, cold journey were setting in, and she felt suddenly unutterably weary and thankful for the warmth of the fire and the cup of hot tea.

She had drifted almost into a doze, lulled by the crackling flames and the gentle murmur of her aunt’s voice, when Ruth broke off all at once and looked at her over the rim of her teacup with a bright, birdlike stare.

“And now, my dear, have you thought how we are to find your young man?”

Susanna felt the cold tension gripping the pit of her stomach all over again. All throughout the journey, she had been trying not to wonder how, in a city of some million inhabitants, she was to go about finding one man. And moreover, one man who probably wanted nothing less than to be found.

“I do not know,” she finally said.

Ruth, studying her face, took pity on her. “Never mind, my dear.” She patted Susanna’s hand. “We’ll think of something. Now, to begin with, where did Sophia say she’d seen James?”

Susanna forced herself to take a steadying breath. “She said that she had seen him at Almack’s assembly rooms. Do you think we might get word of him there? If we were to go there . . .”

“Almack’s?” Her aunt repeated. She raised her eyebrows slightly. “My dear, you do not know what you are asking. Admission to Almack’s is the exclusive province of its lady patronesses‌—‌a kind of board of directors that determines who can and cannot attend. Half the young misses in London would kill to obtain a ticket of admission.” Then, looking again at Susanna’s face, she added, “Well, we can but try, at least. Now that I recall it, Lady Jersey does owe me a favor. I introduced her niece to young Mr. Astruthers the Season she came out, and theirs was thought one of the most brilliant matches of the year. Her gratitude may extend to an invitation. And there is an assembly there tomorrow. If I send a note to the Countess right away—” Ruth frowned meditatively, then glanced up at Susanna. “Have I your permission, my dear, to tell Lady Jersey something of your situation? I believe the romance of it all may appeal.”

“Romance,” Susanna repeated. She smiled, if with little humor. “I suppose that is certainly one word for it.”

“Oh, I know, my dear. But these fashionable society ladies—”

Susanna interrupted. “It’s all right, Aunt Ruth. I am very grateful for any help you may give me. And please, tell Lady Jersey anything you like if you think it will help.”

* * *

When Susanna woke the next morning, golden sunlight was streaming in through the windows, and a maid in a crisp white apron and mobcap was busy drawing the curtains and laying out fresh towels on the washstand.

Susanna sat up and looked around her. She had been too tired to notice the details of her chamber the night before, but now she saw that it was a pretty room, with lovely curls of plasterwork along the ceiling and doorways, and a carpet and curtains of pale blue.

“Good morning, miss.” The maid, an apple-cheeked girl with a gloss of chestnut in her hair and cornflower blue eyes, bobbed a curtsy. “There’s hot water for washing, if you want it, miss.”

She indicated a copper can on the washstand.

“Shall I pour it out for you?” Her voice held the soft burr of a country accent, and her face had the fresh, healthy glow of the outdoors. A farm girl, no doubt, sent, like so many others, to service in the city so that she might send back what she could to the family left behind.

“Thank you—” The room was still cold, and Susanna pulled the covers up about her shoulders. “What is your name?”

“It’s Annie, miss.”

“Thank you, Annie.”

The girl bobbed another curtsy, poured water into the basin, and went out, leaving Susanna to rise and bathe in the warm water. When she had washed her face and hands, she turned to the wardrobe where someone‌—‌Annie, it must have been‌—‌had unpacked the contents of her trunk.

Susanna’s wardrobe had grown substantially from the days when, as a penniless governess, she’d been forced to make do with the old castoffs and outgrown garments of her employers, but she had not lost the trick of waiting on herself and buttoning her own dress up the back. No mistress, however liberal, provides a maidservant for her governess.

By the time Annie returned, Susanna was standing before the dressing mirror, already dressed in a pale pink muslin dress with long sleeves and a little ruffle of lace about the neck.