‘We only dine at midday on Christmas Day,’ Ellen explained as she accepted Sir Hector’s offer to escort her to the dining room. ‘Normally we eat at a more fashionable hour, Lucetta. But on this special day I like to give the servants time to enjoy the festivities.’
‘Quite right, Ellen,’ Sir Hector said with a nod of approval. ‘Excellent sentiments.’
‘Are you going to take me in to dinner, Giles?’ Jemima asked with an arch smile. ‘I am the eldest.’
‘And so you are, Jemima, but Lucetta is our guest, and Mary is your senior by a year, so I think she takes precedence.’ He proffered an arm to each of them.
‘Well, she is not much older than me,’ Chloris muttered, eyeing Lucetta with an ominous pout. ‘And you don’t know who she is, Giles. She could be a dolly mop for all you know.’
Giles turned his head to give his youngest sister a searing glance. ‘Chloris, if you can’t mind your manners you can go downstairs and eat with the servants.’
Lucetta had begun to enjoy herself, but now the bright bubble of the day had burst. She knew that Chloris had only put into words what most people seemed to think. She was a fraud and an adventuress. She glanced down at her hand as it nestled in the crook of Giles’ arm, and the gold bracelet winked at her in the sunlight. She should not have accepted such an expensive gift. First thing in the morning, she would return it to Giles. She hoped that he would understand.
‘No, damn it, I don’t understand,’ Giles said, staring at her in bewilderment. ‘I gave you that present because I wanted to, Lucetta, and for no other reason than that. I wanted to make up in some small part for the terrible experiences that have been forced upon you. Why should you not accept it in the spirit in which it was given?’
Lucetta stared down at her unembellished wrist. It had cost her much heart-seeking during the night, but she had come to the same conclusion in the morning. She was upsetting the whole family by her presence and Mary in particular, even though her friend had said nothing to make her feel uncomfortable. ‘I can’t
keep it, Giles,’ she said in a small voice. ‘It’s too costly a gift and it puts me in an awkward position. If anyone should have had such a present, it should have been Mary.’
‘Why so? I gave Mary and my sisters what I thought they would like. Why should I not give you something similar?’
‘But that’s just it. My present must have cost double or more the amount you spent on them. They all saw that and were upset by your generosity to someone who they think is an imposter.’
‘My sisters are ninnies and Mary is too good and generous to be jealous about such a trifle. The only problem is in your head, Lucetta. I will be most offended if you refuse to accept my present.’ Giles took her hand and placed the box in her palm, closing her fingers over it with a teasing smile. ‘Now you wouldn’t wish to offend me, would you?’
She shook her head. ‘No, Giles.’
‘Then we will hear no more of such talk, and I have something to tell you.’
‘What is it?’
‘My uncle and I had a talk last night after you ladies had retired to bed. We decided that the only people who could identify you and were not going to be intimidated by your uncle were the consul in Bali and his wife.’
‘That’s true,’ Lucetta said slowly. ‘But I have not the means to travel all the way to Bali, and a letter would not suffice.’
‘It might, if it were to contain a likeness of you. Sir
Hector is going to arrange for a daguerreotype to be taken of you and he will send it to the consulate with a covering letter. It will take several months for the reply to arrive, but in the meantime you will have plenty to do writing letters for my uncle, and keeping Mary company when she is not at the hospital. I think it is a capital solution. What do you say?’
Lucetta raised her eyes to his face and her worst fears were confirmed. She had seen that look in Sam’s eyes. Any hope that she had been mistaken as to Giles’ feeling for her was dispelled at that moment.
‘Giles,’ she said slowly, choosing her words with difficulty. ‘There’s something that I haven’t told you.’
He stared at her, eyebrows raised. ‘What on earth could it be that makes you look so serious?’
‘Please sit down, and I’ll explain.’
He took a seat opposite her. ‘Go on. I’m listening.’
‘I met a young man in Bali, a seafarer who should have sailed with us on the
Caroline
. It’s a long story and complicated but I’ve discovered that his family live in Devon. As soon as the weather improves I must go there. I love him, and he loves me. I don’t care about my inheritance. I must find him. You do understand, don’t you, Giles?’
Giles had understood perfectly. Lucetta had no doubts about that, but she realised instinctively that admitting her feelings for Sam had both shaken and hurt the man to whom she owed so much.
During the weeks that followed Giles said nothing to make her feel uncomfortable, but sometimes Lucetta caught him looking at her with a serious, almost wistful expression in his dark eyes. It was gone in an instant, replaced by his normal insouciant smile, convincing her that she had imagined the whole thing. After all, he had never spoken to her of love or romance and he was a good ten years her senior. What would a man of the world like Giles see in a penniless orphan? Despite the generous Christmas present and his obvious pleasure in her company, she decided that he was just being kind. His real interest must lie with Mary, whose feelings were painfully obvious, at least to Lucetta who had grown to love her like a sister.
The days passed pleasantly enough, although the weather continued to be dreadful with continuous snowstorms and reports of drifts several feet deep making travel outside London virtually impossible. Lucetta hoped that this was the reason for the lack of a response to the letter she had sent Sam, but she was
still determined to go to Devonshire the moment that winter released its icy grip. She worked diligently for Sir Hector, and even when Parliament returned after the Christmas recess she continued to write much of his private correspondence, for which he paid her a modest salary. She saved every penny of her wages, placing the coins in an old stocking that was too laddered to darn, and stowing it away in a drawer with her clean undergarments.
Soon after Christmas, Sir Hector had taken Lucetta and Mary to the studio of a photographer who was renowned for his daguerreotype portraits. Sir Hector and Mary had their likenesses taken together and separately, posing rather self-consciously amongst potted palms set against a lavish curtained backdrop. Then it was Lucetta’s turn to sit on the horsehair sofa for what seemed like hours while her image was captured for posterity and an extra print ordered so that it could be sent to Bali for validation by the consul.
‘It seems as though this is the only way we can prove your true identity,’ Sir Hector had said. ‘Even if you find your young seafarer, I doubt whether his word alone would be enough to convince a magistrate that your uncle is lying.’
When the daguerreotypes were delivered to Lonsdale Square, Lucetta could hardly recognise the elegant young lady who stared dreamily into the distance. The sepia tint gave her an ethereal look. Her eyes looked huge in her pale heart-shaped face and the photo grapher’s flash had illuminated her blonde hair so that it framed her head like a halo. She found it
hard to believe that anyone would recognise this person as being Lucetta Froy, even though both Mary and Giles insisted that it was an exact likeness and not even very flattering. The print was duly posted to Sir John Boothby at the British consulate in Denpasar, and once again there was nothing Lucetta could do other than wait for a reply.
Each morning she collected the post from a silver salver on the hall table hoping to receive a letter from Sam, and although she knew it was ridiculous to expect anything from Bali so soon she found herself hoping for a miracle. When there was nothing bearing her name, Lucetta resigned herself to yet another day’s delay. She took the correspondence to Sir Hector’s study, where he read the letters and dictated replies to those he considered most urgent, leaving Lucetta to answer the more mundane enquiries from his constituents. This took up most of the morning and occasionally an hour or two after luncheon, which Lucetta took alone in the morning parlour. Mary continued to work long hours at the hospital, as did Giles, although when he was doing a night shift he had time off in the afternoon. Rather than return home to the chaotic household where his sisters continued to spend most of their time bickering, he took Lucetta on outings to art galleries and museums, followed by tea at Brown’s Hotel. Lucetta had never been up West before, and if she had thought the houses in Lonsdale Square and Thornhill Crescent were the height of luxury, she realised that she had seen nothing to compare with the grand mansions in Mayfair.
‘One day, I might have a practice in Harley Street,’ Giles had said with a teasing smile. ‘What do you think of that, Lucetta? Could you imagine living in such a place?’
His tone had been bantering but there had been an intense look in his eyes which had suggested that his question was serious and required an honest answer.
‘No, Giles. Nor can I imagine you taking money from rich people with imagined illnesses. I’ve seen first hand how dedicated you are to your chosen profession.’
‘Yes,’ he murmured, turning away to hail a cab. ‘Such a life is obviously not for me.’
The weeks turned into months but the snowfalls continued until April, when there was a sudden thaw followed by the welcome first signs of spring. Lucetta had saved enough money for the train fare to Devon, but before she could make the necessary arrangements Mary had gone down with a chill which developed with frightening rapidity into pneumonia. There was no question of Lucetta leaving while her friend was so ill, and she devoted herself to looking after Mary, hardly leaving the sickroom other than to snatch a few hours’ sleep while a night nurse took over. But on finding the woman dead drunk one morning and Mary lying in a nightgown soaked with sweat, Lucetta sacked the woman on the spot. She sent for Phyllis and between them they managed to get Mary onto a chair while they stripped and remade the bed with fresh linen. Having sponged Mary’s fevered limbs with cool water
they dressed her in a clean nightgown and laid her back against the pillows.
‘I think she’s a bit better, miss,’ Phyllis whispered. ‘She don’t seem quite so hot.’
Lucetta laid her hand on Mary’s brow. ‘You may be right. We can only hope that the crisis is past, no thanks to that dreadful woman. Mary could have died and that old hag wouldn’t have been in a condition to notice.’
‘I’ll fetch you a nice hot cup of tea, miss. And I’ll ask Cook to make up a breakfast tray. You need to keep your strength up too.’
Phyllis whisked out of the room and Lucetta sat down in the chair by the bedside. She smiled, thinking how Phyllis had changed in the past few months. Her initial antagonism and suspicion which she had done little to conceal had vanished, and it comforted Lucetta to know that the servants, all of whom were devoted to Sir Hector and Mary, now accepted her as part of the family. She had had to earn their respect but she knew that those below stairs were often more adept at recognising an imposter than their masters. Satisfied that Mary’s breathing was much easier and that she was sleeping peacefully, Lucetta set about tidying the room while she waited for Phyllis to bring the tea.
When the family physician made a house call later that day he confirmed that the crisis was past. With complete rest and constant care, Miss Hastings would undoubtedly regain her full strength, but there was no question of her returning to work in the hospital for some time to come. Mary greeted this pronouncement
with a resigned smile, and Lucetta had to face the fact that she must put off her trip to Devon for a while longer. She hid her disappointment, putting on a cheerful face and spending every afternoon in the sick room with Mary who was allowed to sit out of bed for increasingly long periods each day. Lucetta read to her or they pored over copies of
The Young Ladies’ Journal
, discussing at length the latest Paris fashions. They marvelled at the elegance of the gowns, the size of the bustles and the length of the trains worn by fashionable ladies. They exclaimed over the tiny hats trimmed with feathers, flowers and ribbons that had taken the place of the more homely bonnet, and as the days began to lengthen they made plans to go shopping together as soon as Mary had regained her strength.
Giles visited almost daily, or as often as his hospital duties would allow. He never came empty-handed and would arrive with bouquets of daffodils or nosegays of snowdrops, boxes of chocolates to tempt the invalid’s appetite and baskets of hothouse fruit. As soon as the doctor considered that Mary was well enough to take a little air, Giles arrived early one afternoon, and, despite her protests, he insisted on carrying her downstairs to the entrance hall where Phyllis was waiting anxiously with her mistress’s cape, bonnet and kid gloves.
Mary shook her head, laughing. ‘Phyllis dear, the sun is shining. It’s a lovely warm day. I think a shawl will suffice.’
‘No, miss. The doctor says you must be well wrapped up against the chill wind. It might be May, but you
can’t trust the weather and we don’t want you to suffer a relapse.’
Lucetta saw Mary’s lips tremble and she took off her own shawl, wrapping it around Mary’s thin shoulders. ‘Wear this, and I will carry your cape. Then if a wicked wind should rage round the square we will be prepared.’
Phyllis pursed her lips with an ominous frown, but Giles took the bonnet and gloves from her hands. ‘Don’t worry, Phyllis. I promise to look after Miss Mary. After all, I am a doctor, and I do know best.’
‘Very well, sir. But Miss Mary must wear her bonnet.’
Mary reached out to take the straw bonnet trimmed with white lace. ‘I will put it on to please you, Phyllis dear.’ She placed it on her head, but her hands shook a little as she attempted to tie the ribbons beneath her chin.
Giles took them from her and he tied them in a perfect bow. ‘What would you do without me, cousin?’