‘I do not think so,’ said Lord Harley. ‘I believe he will be transported.’ The couple then began to talk generally of their adventures. Hannah joined in, but after a while Lord Harley and Emily seemed only to want to turn over and over again how they first came to fall in love, and Hannah felt excluded from the glowing circle that seemed to surround the happy pair.
When they left, she found she was feeling more alone than ever. She could never have been in love with that under-butler. For Lord Harley and Emily had been radiant and exalted by love. Hannah could never remember having felt like that.
But a cheerful thought came into her mind. Now she was free to go and see Sir George. First, she sat down and wrote Mr Fletcher a letter. He had given her the address of a friend in London where he had said he would be staying until he married Lizzie. She told him that his forgeries had done the trick. Then she sealed the letter and put on her hat and cloak and took the letter to the post.
Then she looked at Sir George’s card, hailed a hack, and gave the driver directions to Green Street in Mayfair.
Only when she had rung the bell and an imposing butler was standing looking at her did Hannah realize two things. Firstly, a lady did not call at a gentleman’s town house, and secondly, she did not even have a card to present.
Her cloak and hat were of the finest material, but servants, she knew only too well, had an inbuilt sense of who was Quality and who was not.
‘I am come to see Sir George Clarence,’ said Hannah. ‘I am Miss Pym.’
The butler did not hesitate for a moment.
‘Sir George is not at home,’ he said and closed the door in Hannah’s face.
Sir George was walking into the hall, drawing on his gloves as the door slammed.
‘What was that?’ he asked.
‘A person by the name of Miss Pym. She did not even have a card, sir.’
‘Pym?’ Sir George looked puzzled for a moment and then his face cleared. ‘Oh, Miss
The butler sprang to the door and opened it as Sir George hurried out. Sir George looked to right and left and then saw a thin dejected figure just turning the corner of the street. He walked swiftly along and finally caught up with Hannah.
‘Miss Pym,’ he called.
Hannah turned round and looked at him. She had forgotten how handsome and distinguished he looked with his piercing blue eyes and silver hair.
She tugged at her nose in embarrassment and said croakily, ‘I should not have called on you, sir, at your home. I was acting as a servant, you see, and I forgot I did not even have a card to present.’
‘And I should have told you to write to me so that we could make an arrangement to meet,’ said Sir George. ‘I was on my way to my club, but I would rather hear your adventures. It is not far to Gunter’s, and it is a fine day.’ He held out his arm.
Hannah gingerly took it and then cast little glances to right and left, hoping one of the former servants from Thornton Hall might appear and see her walking so grandly with Sir George Clarence.
Once seated in Gunter’s, Hannah began her tale. Sir George leaned back in his chair and studied those odd eyes of the ex-housekeeper. They would glow blue with happiness, flash green with excitement, or turn gold when she was serious. He listened enthralled to her tale of the highwayman, the snowstorm, the incarceration at the inn, and the perfidy of Mr Hendry, and then in increased amusement as she told him how she had cajoled Mr Fletcher into writing those letters.
‘Now that was very bad and mischievous of you,’ said Sir George gently. ‘Perhaps it is just as well Lord Harley does not know your direction, or you might have found yourself in court.’
‘But it all came well in the end,’ said Hannah happily. ‘For this day Lord Harley and Miss Freemantle called to invite me to their wedding.’
He laughed and laughed and then he said, ‘So now you have had your fill of adventures, you will be glad to settle down.’
‘Oh, no,’ said Hannah. ‘I have only just begun.’
‘And where are you bound next?’
‘Bath,’ said Hannah. ‘I think I shall go to Bath.’
‘Are you sure? If it is adventures you crave, I cannot think you will find any on the road to Bath. It is a good easy road and I think the worst of the winter weather is over. And Bath itself! Genteel invalids and filthy tasting water.’
‘No, I always wanted to go to Bath. Do you know, sir, that sometimes I dream that on a journey I will meet Mrs Clarence. I know she did a very bad thing, but I remember her with affection. Besides, she will be free to marry now and might not know it.’
‘My brother’s death was published in all the newspapers,’ he said. ‘Mrs Clarence has no doubt read one of them or has been told by a friend. Where do you reside at present?’
‘I have taken two small rooms above a bakery in Kensington.’
‘Cannot you do better for yourself? If I can be of any help …’
‘You are too kind, sir. But I would like to travel first and then find some place pleasant to live afterwards. But you have heard all my news and I have not once asked you about yourself, sir.’
‘I have been busying myself with Thornton Hall. Perhaps I shall sell it. But it is such a bleak, ugly place that I became obsessed with a desire to see how it would look with pretty gardens and some decoration. If you go to Bath, you will see from the road that the gardeners have already begun work.’ He began to talk of all the improvements he was making and Hannah studied him covertly, trying to remember every detail: the high-nosed face, the bright blue eyes, the hair that was so white and fine, the splendour of his dress. He was wearing a coat with a high collar and short waist made of plum-coloured silk, nankeen breeches, and gold-and-white-striped stockings. A diamond flashed in the whiteness of his cravat and a diamond-and-sapphire ring sparkled on one of his long white fingers.
Hannah had opened her cloak when she sat down and hoped he noticed her dress of fine glazed cambric, one of Mrs Clarence’s gowns. Mrs Clarence had always been almost ahead of the current fashions, and fortunately her gowns were high-waisted, so that Hannah had had to make very little alteration.
She dreaded the moment when he would rise to leave. Her pleasure in his company was tinged with a bitter-sweet flavour. She could never feel entirely at ease with him, always conscious of her lower rank, always feeling out of place, very much like a servant strayed into a world in which she not only did not belong but to which she would never belong. But he seemed in no hurry to take his leave and they talked on amicably until the blue light of dusk began to fill Berkeley Square outside and the lamplighter was up on his long ladder filling the parish lamps with whale-oil and lighting them.
And then a lady came up to their table. Hannah looked up. Sir George rose to his feet and Hannah stopped herself just in time from rising as well.
‘Sir George,’ carolled the lady. ‘I have not seen you this age.’
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Courtney,’ said Sir George. ‘Miss Pym, may I present Mrs Courtney. Mrs Courtney, Miss Pym.’
Mrs Courtney sank down gracefully in an empty chair at their table without being invited. Hannah’s heart sank. She remembered Mrs Courtney. She had called two years before to see Mr Clarence, and it had been the general opinion of the servants that the lady, a widow, was husband-hunting. She was extremely elegant with a pretty, faded face. She was wearing a mauve crepe gown trimmed with groups of tucks and with a fold of silk of the same colour inserted in between. On her head was a headdress of intricately folded mauve silk. Her large greenish eyes rested curiously on Hannah, much as they had rested on the housekeeper two years before when she had quizzed Hannah closely about the state of Mr Clarence’s mind and whether he intended finally to divorce his errant wife.
Sir George was talking generally about the weather, plays he had seen, and mutual friends. Mrs Courtney raised her quizzing-glass and studied Hannah through it and then let it fall. ‘Haven’t we met?’ she asked, interrupting Sir George.
‘I do not think so,’ said Hannah. On her own, she would have told the truth, but she did not want to disgrace
