Lucy couldn’t imagine why she had never noticed this before. Her feet were throbbing gently within their little kid boots, and she dearly longed to sit down, but her companions seemed as fresh as when they started out. Lucy supposed she would have to get used to long walks on hard pavements.
“They all come here,” said Christina to her. She linked her arm with Lucy’s. “Look - Mrs. Drummond-Burrell. She’s one of the Patronesses of Almack’s you know.”
Lucy knew only too well. She had helped her mother entertain the lady last week. Quailing, she lowered her head, hoped the bonnet would be enough of a disguise, but inside she knew her masquerade was over. There was no possibility she wouldn’t be recognised.
Lucy let the brim of her new bonnet cast its shadow over her face. To her horror Mrs. Drummond-Burrell was heading straight for them, her steely eyes fixed on an imaginary spot in front of her. She would be bound to notice Lucy, and then it would all have been for nothing. Oh how could she bear it, the shame, what could she say? Frantically she began to think of a lie that would cover this contingency. The best she could think of was to pretend to be Fiona Moore and hope that Mrs. Drummond-Burrell would accept a remarkable family likeness.
She glanced up and could hardly believe her eyes. Mrs. Drummond-Burrell, her gaze fixed, walked straight past them. Lucy thought she had stared directly at her for a brief moment, but couldn’t be sure. She felt so dazed it overwhelmed her for a moment and she put one hand up to her forehead. “Are you all right my dear?” asked Christina solicitously.
“Perfectly,” Lucy assured her, looked at her and beamed with such a joyful expression Christina stared back at her in surprise. The relief was wonderful, and in a moment Lucy realised the reason for her narrow escape.
She wasn’t dressed in the kind of garments Mrs. Drummond-Burrell would expect. Her mind must be so attuned to the fashionable world she didn’t notice anyone outside it. The signs she would be expecting - the modish gowns, the fine materials, the maid and liveried footman in attendance - none of them were present, therefore Lucy was nothing to do with her.
“Will we go to Almack’s?” she asked disingenuous in her naïveté.
Janet heard her and laughed. “Us? No, I’m sorry, Fiona, we’re not Almack’s material. You only get vouchers at the discretion of the Patronesses, and their rules are very strict. It’s the centre of the Marriage Market, the
crème de la crème
.”
“What are the criteria? Surely you are good enough?” Lucy sincerely believed this. She knew their wealth would be approved of. “We’re Trade,” said Christina shortly. She smiled at Lucy. “Don’t worry - it’s very boring, and we have our own places to go which are much more fun.”
Lucy could believe it. The only point of Almack’s was to see and be seen. The rooms could be draughty, the refreshments offered paltry and inadequate. Only fashion kept the place current. There must be more amusing places than that for girls who nobody wanted to see and assess as the future Brides of England.
They sauntered up the street. Lucy let Frances and Janet go ahead of them, protecting her from recognition. Mrs. Drummond-Burrell wasn’t the only fashionable face on the street, and others might be more observant
“Where does Lord Royston live?” she asked. “I mean I know he lives in
Grosvenor Square
, but whereabouts is that?”
“Not far from here,” her new friend told her. “But we can’t call on him. He lives alone, with no female to act as his hostess.”
“Oh, I see.” She paused. “Is he interested in anyone?”
“He’s never shown any preference,” said Janet carelessly, but when Lucy looked at her face, she fancied she saw a light blush on her features. She guessed that Janet blushed easily; her face had the florid cast which suggested it. Christina had gone quiet, but the sudden silence between them was broken when Millicent said; “Oh look. There it is.”
When Lucy followed Millicent’s gaze she saw a shop she couldn’t recall seeing there before. Thinking back she couldn’t recall what had been there but now, in the middle of one of the most fashionable shopping streets in London was a shop with “Carmichael’s” blazoned above the door.
Everything looked right. The shop was new, as evidenced by the smell of new paint as they crossed the road to reach it. Christina threw the crossing sweeper a coin and they went inside.
They were recognised instantly. A young man came forward, bowed and said; “the Misses Carmichael. How pleasant to see you all.”
“We had to come and see.” said Christina. “I told Papa we might.” She turned triumphantly to Lucy. “There. Isn’t this a wonderful surprise?”
“Yes,” Lucy said faintly, wondering how Philip felt about it.
“Mr. Carmichael will be delighted to see you,” said the assistant.
Lucy looked around the shop and realised this was a place she might well give her patronage to, in the usual way of things. Likely looking young men were quietly and efficiently attending to several customers, though thank goodness, no one she knew. She thought it unlikely anyone who hadn’t met her would recognise her in this get-up, so she felt relatively safe compared to how she had felt outside in the street.
The young man led the group of ladies to a door at the back of the shop. Lucy realised she was about to see something she had never seen before; what goes on behind the orderly exterior.
If she had expected chaos, she was to be disappointed. Behind the orderly shop with its bolts of shining silk and crisp cottons was an orderly office. A large double sided desk stood in the centre of a small room which looked out on to a bleak area, piled high with boxes and odds and ends of wood, probably left over from fitting out the shop. The two Mr. Carmichaels sat at either side, and both stood when they saw who had come in.
“Why what a pleasant surprise.” Mr. Carmichael said, and came forward.
“We knew you and Rodney would be here today, Papa, so we thought we’d come and see you.”
The room was now full of feminine chatter and cries, very full indeed. Lucy noted with passing regret there weren’t enough chairs for everyone but she was forgetting the
Carmichael
’s hospitality. After the younger Mr. Carmichael had taken her hand in greeting he took her to his own chair at the desk and bade her sit down in it. Lucy couldn’t repress the sigh of contentment. “Why I believe you have quite worn Miss Moore out.” he said to his sisters. Christina looked at her in concern. “I had no idea. You should have said, we could easily have stopped.”
“No really,” Lucy protested, blushing. “It’s quite all right, there’s no need to be worried. It will do me good.” she smiled at them and Christina smiled back. She had a wide, generous mouth so her smile was particularly friendly. Janet’s eyes fined into slits when she smiled, the gleaming life only just showing through. Lucy thought how pretty she was, even with the pock marks, but it could have been her good nature showing through.
Frances
and Millicent were different shades of adorable.
Rodney Carmichael clapped his hands together. “Tea.” he said.
Lucy realised she would welcome another cup and smiled up at the one who had suggested it. He beamed down at her, his round face illuminated by his smile. But there was something more definite about his features, something Lucy warmed to.
The orders were given, and from a room beyond came a pot of tea and several cups inelegantly stacked together, borne by a superior personage who was introduced at the principal salesman here. “I repose every confidence in Mr. Cheveny,” Mr. Carmichael explained. “I cannot always be here, so I need someone I can rely on completely.” Unsmilingly Mr. Cheveny bowed, and left the room to rejoin his minions in the shop.
“I think he wanted to see our interesting new guest,” he added.
Lucy felt alarmed. The last thing she wanted to do was evoke interest in anyone, especially in this part of the world. It was extremely unlikely that anyone would hear of the
Carmichael
’s new guest, and even more unlikely they would link this with the disappearance of Lady Lucy Moore, but Lucy felt unease all the same. More than anything else she dreaded being taken home and harangued by her dominating mother. She might give in out of exhaustion, give up everything she had found in a moment’s desperation. Her mother had always succeeded in having her will obeyed. Lucy had never gone against it before, and it terrified her when she thought of it.
She sipped her tea and listened to the chatter going on around her. The
Carmichaels
knew a great deal about their clients, it seemed, and on the desk was a book with dates in it. Seeing her interest, Rodney drew it towards her. He leaned over her shoulder. “This is the important dates in this Season,” he said. “Look - Court dates, important balls, reminders of Almack’s’. This” he drew another book towards them - “Is a book with the names of our most important clients. They require exclusivity, so we try to make sure no one has the same fabric for the same occasion. We could lose two accounts that way.”
Lucy read some of the names and occasions, fascinated by the attention to detail. “So this - “ she pointed with one delicately gloved finger - “Is the record of the next ball at Carlton House, and these are the people who are to attend?”
“Yes indeed,” he replied. He sounded surprised, and she looked up at him.
“Not everyone understands quite so quickly,” he said. He glanced with a smile up to his sisters. Lucy smiled back and turned back to the books. Once the shorthand was understood, the books were easy to read. “
She leant back and picked up her tea cup. “How long have you been here?” she asked.
“Barely a month,” he replied. “The clientele is growing nicely. We’re hoping if we make a good showing at the upcoming events, they’ll come back. We also supply heavier materials for upholstery and the like, but we haven’t opened a shop in this part of the town for those yet.”
“It’s all very interesting,” she remarked. “I never realised you went into such detail.”
“Not everyone does, Miss Moore, but we find attention to detail is the answer, especially where the ton is concerned.”
“Do you own any more shops?” she asked.
He laughed. “Lord, yes. Two in less fashionable parts of the city, one in
York
and one in
Exeter
. We hope to have more. We started by importing the cloth, warehousing it and distributing it, but if we own the shops as well, we can control the business so much better. We still sell to other establishments, but the cloth you buy here you can’t buy anywhere else.”
“How clever.” Lucy said in admiration. “I should like to know more about this sometime. It’s all so fascinating.” It was a different experience: worlds within worlds. The microcosm of the mercer’s business within the macrocosm of her world, which in its turn was a microcosm of the wider world beyond.
She looked over at the others to see Mr. Carmichael give her a curious glance. She couldn’t see why; she wasn’t flirting with his son. She didn’t know if the look signified approval or not, but she hoped he didn’t mind. Lucy determined not to flirt with Mr. Rodney Carmichael. It would be wrong to repay her kind hosts with such false coin, compounding the sin of lying to them.
She was relieved to find they were to travel home by carriage. A boy was despatched to call two hackneys to the door, and when they did, the girls trooped through the shop. Nobody looked at them.
The street outside was filling up now; the fashionable hours for shopping were upon them, so Lucy didn’t look up but climbed quickly into the first coach with Janet and Christina. It was a tight fit, with the bulk of the other two, but far preferable to trudging all that way back home. Mr. Carmichael and his son promised to be there for dinner and the carriages set off back the way they had come. Lucy presumed, from their tone, that they didn’t always managed to come for dinner. Shops often opened late at night, as often as their clients required them to be open. They wouldn’t serve of course, but they were conscientious and keen to see things done properly. Lucy gathered this was an important venture for them, their first foray into the fashionable world, and wished them all the luck in the world. She would certainly go there once she was back.
***
Philip came to dinner, and brought Lord Wenlock with him. When Lucy entered the drawing room, she found them alone, waiting for the others to join them. Philip took her hand and kissed it, and then she shook hands with Lord Wenlock. “Mrs. Carmichael has been called away for a few moments,” said Philip, possessing himself of her hand again. “We haven’t long on our own. How are you?”
“They’re very kind,” she told him. She glanced at Lord Wenlock. “What do you know of this mess, sir?”
“I know you’ve been abused by Sir Geoffrey in a way which makes it impossible for you to marry him,” he said gently. “Forgive Royston, but he had to tell me this much.”
“I can forgive him anything,” she said softly, and received a squeeze of his hand for her words. “Yes. Geoffrey hurt me. He’s a brute.”