be seen, disappearing down the street and turning the corner. The maid watched dubiously, then, with a sigh, she returned to her scrubbing.
For several days, Jane had had in her mind a half-formed plan to go to Spitalfields and find Therese de Beaurain. Simon had maintained that he would not force his attentions on Therese since she quite evidently did not welcome them, but Jane loved her brother a great deal, knew that he was unhappy and was determined to try to help him. If Therese truly did not care, then Jane was prepared to accept that, but she could see that it would be easy for the French girl to misunderstand Simon’s intentions. Jane was sure that she could make Therese realise that Simon was entirely honourable, and perhaps persuade her to agree to a meeting.
There was only one fly in the ointment and it was a formidable one. Jane knew that Alex would never agree to her visiting Spitalfields and, now that they were to be officially betrothed, she was sure she would never be able to slip away on her own. This was her only chance.
Jane had thought that it would be only a step to Spitalfields, but that was because she did not really know where it was. She turned down Oxford Street and, by the time she reached St Giles Circus, she felt as though she had been walking for hours. She was obliged to pause for a rest, for her feet had started to ache and, as the morning awoke and the pavements filled, she was starting to attract some curious glances. A young man driving a cart called across to her, but Jane raised her chin and turned haughtily away. She was now far from Portman Square and for the first time, the imprudence of her plan struck her.
‘Cab, lady?’
A hansom had drawn up beside Jane. The driver, a fatherly-looking figure, was eyeing her with concern.
‘Can I take you home, miss? You should not be wandering about on your own…’
Jane smiled. ‘Thank you, sir. You can take me to Spitalfields, if you please.’
The driver looked dubious. ‘It’s no place for a young lady alone. Be sensible, ma’am, and go home. Where’s it to be? Grosvenor Square? Queen’s Square?’
For a moment Jane reflected crossly on her lack of foresight in forgetting to borrow some of Cassie’s old clothes. It seemed that a young lady was as instantly recognisable on the streets of London as a Cyprian might be. She had not laid her plans particularly well this time, and felt keenly that Alex was to blame for this. She had become so preoccupied by him that it had left little room for other schemes.
‘I have business with another lady in Spitalfields,’ she repeated. ‘Be so good as to take me there, sir.’
The driver scratched his head doubtfully. Then, clearly thinking that Jane was safer with his escort than without, he reluctantly agreed and they set off along High Holborn.
Jane watched in fascination as the streets passed by. Narrow cobbled alleys gave glimpses of cramped squares and tumbling buildings leaning towards each other. Shop signs swung in the breeze and sprawling taverns already seemed packed with humanity. Crowds jostled the coach, good-humoured in the sunshine, peering curiously into the interior. Jane could not have created more of a stir had she been preceded by a butler announcing her progress.
‘This is Crispin Street, Miss,’ the driver said, in tones of deepest disapproval. ‘Whereabouts do you wish to me to set you down?’
Jane’s throat was suddenly dry. ‘I am not precisely sure-’ she began, then broke off as she saw a fair girl emerging from a house a little way down the street.
‘Oh, there she is! I am sure of it! I pray you…’ she fumbled in her reticule for a coin ‘…wait for me here! I shall not be long!’ She thrust the money into his hand and turned back to the street.
‘Therese! Wait!’
The fair girl had been about to pass them by with no more than an inquiring look, but at Jane’s words she hesitated a moment and her intensely blue eyes rested in puzzlement on Jane’s face.
‘
‘No…yes!’ Jane found that she seemed out of breath, her thoughts tumbling. It had all happened too quickly. How was she to find the words to explain? The cab driver was listening with unconcealed interest and a couple of passers-by had stopped to watch. Across the street, a portly man, bulging out of an embroidered waistcoat, lounged in a doorway and watched them out of the corner of his eye.
A frown wrinkled the girl’s forehead as she considered Jane’s simple white dress and elegant bonnet. ‘I think you are a long way from home,
Jane thought that she was probably right. She suddenly felt very odd, cast adrift in an entirely unfamiliar world. Yet the stubbornness that had brought her this far would not allow her to give up now.
‘I am Jane Verey,’ she said clearly. ‘I believe that you are acquainted with my brother Simon, Miss de Beaurain. I must speak with you.’
The girl’s blue eyes had narrowed. ‘You are his sister? Can he have sent you here? But no, it is impossible!’
She had started to turn away, but Jane caught her arm in desperation. ‘Please! I beg you to listen to me!’
A murmur ran through the growing crowd. Therese eyed them with exasperation, her expression becoming even more irritated as it returned to Jane’s flushed but determined face. ‘Very well, Miss Verey! You had better come with me before they tear the clothes from your back! This way…’
She ushered Jane through a narrow doorway and up a steep stair. The air was musty and dim out of the sunshine, and Jane blinked as her eyes accustomed themselves to the comparative darkness.
There was one room only at the top of the stairs, a long room resembling an attic, with bare boards and high windows. To the side of the stairs was a table with materials scattered across it-rich silks and taffetas in red and gold, a contrast to the bare austerity of the room with its single chair and wooden bed pushed up against the wall. The bed was occupied, but Jane did not like to stare with ill-bred curiosity at the recumbent figure.
‘My mother is too ill to be disturbed,’ Therese said abruptly. ‘I beg you to speak softly, Miss Verey, and do not wake her! Now, how may I help you?’
Her tone was not encouraging. Jane looked about her helplessly. She wondered suddenly whether she was making a dreadful mistake, then she remembered Alex’s words. The proud daughter of the Vicomte de Beaurain had already rejected one offer of help. She would need every ounce of persuasion she possessed to make Therese de Beaurain even listen to her.
Jane sat down on the workbench beside the dress that was clearly Therese’s latest commission. The room was spotlessly clean and tidy, the floor swept and the bedclothes neatly folded around the invalid on the bed. Jane dragged her gaze away and found Therese watching her with a mixture of pity and exasperation.
‘I do not know what can bring you here,
The colour flamed in Jane’s face. Therese’s tone had been heavily ironic, but there was anger in her eyes-anger and a kind of hopelessness that Jane did not understand. For two pins she would have rushed from the house, but the memory of Simon’s strained and despairing face was before her eyes. She spoke firmly.
‘Mademoiselle de Beaurain, I beg you to hear me out. Firstly, my brother has no notion that I have sought you out today. I am here because I care about his happiness and I thought-erroneously, perhaps-that you might do so too. Secondly, I do not believe that Simon ever suggested that you should become his mistress! He is far too honourable a man to do such a thing!’ The sincerity in her voice rang out. ‘I thought that if I could see you…explain to you that he was desperately unhappy…you might relent and at least grant him an interview…He loves you!’ she finished desperately.
There was silence. Therese had sat, head bent, whilst Jane spoke, but now she looked up with a flash of her blue eyes. ‘Do you know who I am, Miss Verey?’
‘Yes! You are the daughter of the Vicomte de Beaurain, who fled France at the Revolution! You used to do sewing for Celestine and you were at the masquerade ball at Lady Aston’s, which was where my brother fell in love with you! You are related to General Sir John Huntington, who offended you by trying to offer you charity! I assure you that I am offering no such thing!’
This time there was reluctant humour in Therese’s voice. ‘I believe you, Miss Verey! You are remarkably well informed! And is your brother similarly aware of my history?’
‘No!’ Jane spoke more hotly than she had intended. ‘Simon knows nothing and cares even less! He is not concerned over your ancestry or current occupation! He would not care if you were a Duchess or a chambermaid!
