Chapter 12

March 23, 1810

Dear Miss Knight,

I am in receipt of your letter and it astounded me to such a pitch that I confess I tripped and fell down the stairs. Thankfully, only the servants saw. So, do no worry if you see me with a slight limp! I seem to have bruised myself in several locations. That is my punishment for reading and walking!

First, I wish to assure you that I agree completely with your assertions for secrecy on this matter. Indeed, we must exercise the highest caution. I do not trust any male member of the occult—Society or otherwise—currently abiding in London. I have had frequent interactions with them and they have all been horrid and rude.

Secondly, to think that you are in possession of an autograph book! I have heard rumors of it, of course, about London, and that you actually possess the book and, what’s more, that you have actually unlocked the ghost! Oh, Miss Knight, I fear I shall faint from excitement.

Of course, I shall assist you in any way possible. Now, for as long as you are in London, it is easy enough. Sophia has hired a new governess, finally! She begins directly. I don’t believe for a moment that my sister-in-law had any intentions, but a cousin to the Duchess of Montagu paid a visit and was quite shocked that Sophia had not hired a governess. Sophia instantly set about finding one and, as it happens, this one was available. So I am free! Well, I should correct myself, free to continue our visits.

Now that I finally know of your true intention for making my acquaintance—oh, do not worry yourself in any way that I feel used or unwelcomed. No, indeed, I can barely contain my excitement that you have trusted me enough to bring me into this secret circle of yours. It is quite invigorating.

Now, the point of this matter. With your permission, I would like to postpone our tea visit today so that I can go through my own occult books for information on autograph books.

I know a great deal already, as they have been a pet hobby of study of mine, but I never thought I’d actually have the opportunity to work with one. Oh, I am beside myself with excitement!

Oh, that is Sophia shouting for me. I shall go attend her. She has been quite vexed at having to hire the governess. And you should have heard her when she discovered it was assumed that, at her rank in society, she’d have to pay the governess at least thirty pounds per annum! You should have seen the look on my sister-in-law’s face! I thought she was going to die right there and then. Of course, she is going to pay it since she cannot have society gossip about her, and it has been a glorious day.

In fact, earlier today I heard her tell my brother that she would have to pay the poor creature thirty-two pounds because that is what Mrs. Weston is paying hers and her household has less money than my brother’s, so the gossip about town would be unbar—

She is coming up the stairs!

Miss A.T.

ELIZABETH HAD BEEN in London for over a week, and yet it seemed like a lifetime had passed by. Miss Thorne became a fast friend of Elizabeth’s and had visited twice already.

And Mr. Thorne, of course, who continued to prove helpful. He successfully sold the majority of the books that had been sorted and available in the drawing room, leaving Elizabeth with the grand sum of sixty-eight pounds, eleven shillings, and seven pence. The dining room was partially usable as of breakfast that morning.

Elizabeth sat her new writing desk upon the small, round table in the corner of her room. She had bought both with the proceeds of her book sale. At first, she had considered purchasing both used, but Maria, Aunt Cass, Henry Thorne, Sally, Miss Thorne, Mrs. Cook, Mr. Osborne, James, and even little Tom told her to buy something beautiful that was hers and would always be hers because, to quote them all, “Mr. Leigh would have wanted you to do that.”

She carefully opened the top of the desk, using the key in her reticule. The writing desk was a perfect rectangular box, complete with carrying handles. The desk was ingenious, as it had hinges on the legs, allowing it to fold up perfectly, and to be carried like a basket. Together, both items cost her eight pounds, two shillings, and ninepence which was a shocking sum of money.

Oh, but to have a locked box, that was her property! That she purchased with her own inheritance and earnings. She pressed her hand against the mahogany box. It was hers. Mary could not take this from her. It had a tiny compartment for an ink pot, and the lockable drawer where she could put money, papers, even a leather-bond journal. She’d also purchased a very basic, much smaller, volume as a diary of accounts and the various day-to-day business. The journals were a significantly cheaper expenditure, at just seven shillings and nine pence, but it was still a luxury in her eyes. However, if she were to be serious about the occult, and assisting Mrs. Egerton, then she would begin a magical journal. Plus, she needed a new daily accounts book.

She laughed at the two piles of money on her desk. Sixty pounds was three years worth of her pin money for clothes, gifts, plays, presents, letters, her parcels, tips for servants at Mary’s, all of it! Three years worth lay in just one pile of money. The other was nearly three-quarters of her annual sum.

She put the journal, and all her money, back into her drawer. It was a mixture of bill notes and coins. The bill notes would only be useful in London; none of the Bryden shops took bills from town banks. She would have to make a point to purchase as much as possible with the larger bills while in town, so that she would have more coinage.

Though, she considered that part of the reason her desk and table cost so much was because they did not have the exact change in their drawer to provide her. So there was no guarantee on that score, either.

She could ask Charles to come to town and put it into a bank account for her, but quickly decided that she would rather carry around a trunk of coins for the rest of her life than do that. As soon as he knew how much money she had on her person, he would find a way to steal it.

She took several breaths to calm the panic that rose in her. There was no purpose to be served in summoning up imaginary situations that had not yet happened. She would prepare herself, of course, but she would do so in a dignified, and sensible manner.

To the immediate problem. The guineas and most of the smaller coins were placed in her desk’s hidden drawer. She placed a fifteen-pound note in there, too, though she had no idea if she’d ever be able to spend it. She had several two- and five-pound notes. Those went into her reticule pile still upon the desk. A few of the odd coins went in there, too. She split the one-pound notes between both sections of money. Finally, she counted everything twice.

She was struck between panic over the fear of the money being stolen and her spending it all on frivolous, useless things. She rested a hand upon the desk. No, she would not allow her good sense to be scared away. The desk was perfect for her, and it was time she had one of her own, especially if she was to begin occult studies. Besides, she and her sister Cassandra shared a desk with Isabella, and the two youngest girls had a used writing desk that was very poor. Even her father lamented that he would need to purchase a new one soon.

Terror struck her at that thought. She did not want Isabella or Cassandra using her desk. They might risk finding the hidden drawer and the money beyond.

She would order a desk for Cassandra. Of course! Her sister turned eighteen the next month. A lovely writing desk would be the perfect gift on such a significant birthday. She would get Cassandra a style different from her own, so that there would be no mistaking them.

The pressing weight on her chest eased. She needed to concentrate on the important things. She had the money now. More than she’d ever seen before. She would be cautious with it, but she would also not hoard it. It was expected she would tip Sally upon her eventually quitting of London, and she would leave double what she normally could afford. Her aunt paid for the mourning dress before Elizabeth could even offer. Mr. Baldwin’s entire cobbler shop came down with a horrid fever and had wrote to tell Maria that their footwear would all be delayed. Knowing Maria, that would mean Elizabeth’s boots would end up on an account.

A stack of letters on her bed caught her gaze and brought her back to her original task at hand. She had been remiss in her duty—as a sister, a niece, and as a daughter. And, if she did not write the letter that she most did not wish to pen, she would continue to be so.

March 23, 1810

London

My dear Mary,

I have been a faulty writing companion over these last days. I hear from Isabella that the children are all healthy, and that you are finally over your bad cold. I trust no lingering affects have come from it, and that you are back to your usual duties and pursuits. I have misplaced the letter you sent in all of the packing and repacking of books. It had the date of the ball in it. Have you had it yet? I hope you were not too ill.

Now, I must come to the point of this letter. Be assured that I am well, as is Aunt Cass. However, what I am about to tell you might be distressing. It was for me. Please only read further when you are able.

As you have no doubt heard, my uncle left me several books. What isn’t commonly known yet is that he also kept all of the letters from our dear mother. In particular, seventeen are from the days just before you were brought into this world. They include her wishes and dreams for your life, and her own worries and hopes. It also contains the last letter I believe she wrote to him.

I feel very strongly that our uncle wished for you to have them, but did not have the strength to sort through them during his final days. Therefore, I have taken the task upon myself. Mr. Thorne’s brother is heading to your part of the country, and has graciously offered to bring the entire package to you himself. The entire Thorne clan have been excellent people to me during this entire affair, as I was very uneasy about sending these letters through the post.

I must confess, Mary, that I have experienced a significant amount of guilt at not writing to you about the letters until now. I can make no apology, other than I have been dealing with a great many things since our uncle’s death. I have found this task, and so many others, to be rather painful and quite fatiguing.

There are more letters, written before your birth. I do not know the best way to divide them between us. Aunt Cass had thought perhaps we could pick a date between my birth and our mother’s death and split the letters accordingly. However, I confess myself too taxed to make that decision at present. I will bring all the remaining letters back to Bryden with me and will keep them safe until we make a decision between us.

Send my best wishes to Mr. Fitzharding, and the children for me. Please ask the children what they would like from London. Boiled sweets perhaps? Also, pray ask Miss Hattie if there is anything she requires in town and I shall procure it for her.

“Miss Knight? Mrs. Thorne and Mrs. Spencer said they are ready to leave now.”

Elizabeth quickly ended her letter, adding the address and seal. She picked up the bundled letters, which were tightly wrapped in brown paper. She tucked the letter underneath the string on the parcel. She tugged on her wool spencer. It looked to be a fine day outside, so her heavy pelisse would probably be too warm with her new wool mourning dress. She tied her lavender bonnet ribbons into a pretty bow.

She gave herself an appraising look in the mirror. She had grown tired of the black gowns, if she was perfectly honest. However, she wished to mourn her uncle appropriately. She had not yet reached an agreement with her aunt about the appropriate date for her to transition to half mourning. If her aunt had her way, Elizabeth would already be wearing lavender and grey.

The new gown was quite comfortable, being both warm and soft to the touch. The neckline was lower than she preferred for during the day, so she tied her black gauze neck scarf to reduce the amount of bare skin at her throat.

Elizabeth grabbed the package and rushed down the stairs, to the disapproving looks of her aunt. She handed the parcel to the Thorne’s coachman. He nodded and said he’d make sure it was delivered. He had a storage box underneath his seat, which he placed the bundle of letters. Oh, she hoped it didn’t rain, or at least least the box was watertight. They squeezed into the tiny cabin of the carriage that was designed for three’s comfort. However, they travelled in jolly companionship and eventually arrived at their destination.

West Alley Buildings weren’t the sort of place a person like Elizabeth would normally visit in London. For all his Christian duty, her father would never have permitted her to pay a visit upon the impoverished neighbourhood. However, her father was not here, and she also had Maria and Mr. Thorne, and her aunt, and a carriage’s servants.

Aunt Cass waved him off. “This is not the first time I have come looking for a former servant in the slums. We shall only be a moment, in any case, to speak with the ladies inside.”

“I shall await with the carriage. Send word if I am required,” Mr. Thorne said.

The street was barely wide enough to handle the Thornes’ chaise and four. The steps of West Alley Buildings were littered with desperate people: mothers holding dirty babies, war wounded, the ill, the abandoned.

Elizabeth felt a pang to stop and assist them all, but Aunt Cass said, “Come along, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth was unable to meet the eyes of a small toddler, dirty-faced, next to her mother who held an even smaller babe. Once inside the damp, dark, and dirty corridor, Elizabeth said, “Aunt, should we not help them?”

The hallway was so narrow and dark that Elizabeth’s eyes struggled to adjust to the limited light. Her aunt continued walking, stepping over a cluster of a sick woman and her children. Elizabeth glanced down at their outstretched hands, and her heart tore.

Aunt Cass stopped in her tracks. She turned to the woman who was sat upon the floor. As Elizabeth’s eyes adjusted, she noticed the woman’s face was badly bruised. Cut lip. Swollen eye. The woman’s children held out their dirty hands.

“Are the children outside yours, too?” Aunt Cass asked the woman upon the floor.

The woman nodded. Her eyes were heavy and lidded, noticeable even in the dimmed light.

“He kicked us out, he did. Said my momma was useless,” the little boy of about eight said. “We’re waiting for my aunt to come home so that we have somewhere to live.”

“And why aren’t you out working to help your mama?” Aunt Cass asked severely. “The baby is outside working. Why aren’t you?”

Elizabeth was shocked by her aunt’s tone, as well as the knowledge that the baby outside was this poor woman’s own child. Did she loan out the babe? And at what price?

“Forgive us, ma’am,” the woman said in a hoarse, pained voice that cut through Elizabeth’s soul. “My boy here is my youngest son, so he stays with me during the day. He runs errands for the ladies in the back two apartments, who take in laundry. I do any sewing and mending repairs for them, and he brings it back and forth. But my hand is hurt, ma’am, I’m very sorry.”

Elizabeth looked down at the woman’s outstretched hand. Even through the cloth and dimness of the corridor, she could clearly see the blisters. “Good god, what happened to you?”

Tears welling up in her eyes now, Elizabeth was unable to control herself any longer. She tugged the strings on her reticule and pulled out a one-pound note. “Take it.”

Aunt Cass and the woman exchange a knowing look. Aunt Cass gently pushed the paper note back toward her niece. Even as her niece protested, Maria was already handing over several small coins to the boy.

Aunt Cass did the same to the lady. “That should pay your sister for your room and board, while you recover.”

“Oh, thank you, ma’am. Thank you.” She looked at Elizabeth. “Is this your daughter, ma’am?”

“She is a very good girl. So elegant.” She blinked her eyes and seemed to notice the black dresses upon two of the ladies for the first time. “Very sorry for your loss, miss. Ma’am.”

“Thank you. And my niece is the best girl alive,” Aunt Cass said. She gave the injured lady a final nod. “Come, ladies. We have a servant to find.”

“Ma’am, might I be so bold? I might know who you are looking for,” the woman said.

“Mrs. Taylor, an elderly former servant, and a Miss Susan...I do not know the young lady’s surname now that I think of it.” Aunt Cass pondered for a moment. “No, it quite escapes me. Mrs. Taylor must be seventy or thereabouts, and her niece has been quite ill with a cough.”

“She is upstairs, in one of the cheap rooms. Danny, show the ladies please.”

Little Danny jumped to his feet and rushed ahead to show them to the staircase. The boy chatted Maria’s ear off, who seemed content to let him. Elizabeth whispered to her aunt, “Why would you not allow me to help them?”

“Elizabeth, what would these people do with a bank note?” Aunt Cass asked. “Consider that the boy here is as likely to have lost it in the wind as it be stolen from him. And who would make them change for a bill note when buying a pound of cheese? Someone will see that, and they’ll be robbed. Or, let’s say they don’t get robbed. Who has enough coins on them to make change? The markets down here aren’t Bond Street, child.”

“I know. But, you cannot help everyone. So, when you do help them, help in the way that is best for them and not for you,” Aunt Cass said. “A handful of coins, which might add up close to a pound in any case, will be easier for them to manage. Remember that, the next time you come somewhere like West Alley Buildings.”

Elizabeth nodded and fell silent. Eventually, she pulled out a handkerchief from her reticule to cover her nose and mouth, to prevent the inhalation of miasmic air. Aunt Cass and Maria soon joined her, especially upon the sound of a racking cough coming from an adjacent room. They made their way down the long, even darker corridor than the one down below.

Elizabeth’s heart ached for all of these wretched people, and wondered how to help them all. Of course, there was no way that she could. It would take more than her money to help. Her father might not have taken the bible’s teachings on charity seriously, but she absolutely did.

So, she tried to remind herself that they did help. They helped the woman in the corridor. They were walking to help Mrs. Taylor and her niece. She was helping. She was doing all that she could.

It was just as well that Danny announced they were at the correct apartment, lest she begin to experience a stab of resentment toward her rich friend and aunt. It was their money to do with as they pleased, and she knew Maria did plenty in her own village to help relieve the poor’s suffering.

She only wished to do so much herself, to help ease the suffering, and to make life a little easier for all.

“Oh, Mrs. Spencer! Miss Knight! Ma’am! What a surprise. I had not expected visitors.”

Mrs. Taylor opened the door and they entered the cramped room. It was the size of Elizabeth’s bedroom at the rectory. A candle burned on a table, casting the only light in the room. There was no window. No fireplace. The ladies had a small bed upon the floor in one corner, with a pile of shabby blankets upon it. Two wooden chairs with blankets upon each were to one side. A small table between them, with the leavings of an earlier meal.

“Oh ma’am, I cannot tell you what assistance your husband and your housekeeper have been,” Mrs. Taylor said. “Your Mr. Thorne has been here every day to check upon us, and to bring us some wildly expensive thing from the market. Why, only yesterday? He brought Susan a bottle of milk! Milk!”

Maria smiled and a hint of a laugh crept into her voice. “Mr. Thorne never said a word.”

“Oh dear! He even said it was to be our secret.” Mrs. Taylor’s old face creased with worry. “I’m very sorry, ma’am. In my excitement, I told a secret I was supposed to keep.”

“I believe we shall keep this one under our bonnets then,” Maria said. “Is that Miss Susan?”

Mrs. Taylor looked back at the pile of blankets and nodded. It was then that Elizabeth realized that there was a small body underneath all those tattered quilts. “She is asleep, I believe. I don’t wish to wake her.”

Elizabeth was surprised to see that Miss Susan was a rather thin woman of about her own age, or a little older. Her eyes were tired, and her hair was half out of its braid. Her shift was thin and Susan held a blanket against her chest, no doubt both for modesty and to protect against the drafts.

“Susan, you know Mrs. Spencer, of course. This is Mrs. Thorne, Mr. Thorne’s wife, and her friend, Miss Knight. I don’t believe you have ever met Miss Knight.”

“No, indeed. I was always at the Royal Occult Society whenever Miss Knight was in town. I only know her by reputation. I am Miss Susan Markson. My pupils always called me Miss Susan, so I would not object if you did.”

“Yes,” Miss Susan said in a weak voice. “I suppose, I was, until my illness. I taught the very young children of the Royal Occult Society families whenever they were in town. On occasion, I have lived with the various families to help out their governesses with the small ones.”

“Oh, no, the doctor said the cough may linger for quite some time. Once the fever broke two days ago, I have been feeling much stronger. Though, if you could avoid making me laugh, that would be a kindness.”

Mrs. Taylor looked at the ladies. “Mr. Thorne is a wonderful man, but he is determined to make that girl laugh.”

Miss Susan smiled. “To answer your question, Miss Knight, I taught the children their colours and letters, and the usual things you teach young children. I also taught the slightly older ones some of the very basics about the occult.”

Aunt Cass began asking Mrs. Taylor about financials, while Elizabeth remained quiet. If Miss Susan was a teacher, indeed a governess at the Royal Occult Society, then she could assist with the Mrs. Egerton problem. If she could have Miss Susan removed to their home, as opposed to Maria’s, then she could teach Elizabeth with the basics. And Miss Susan might know different subjects than Miss Alice Thorne...

“I was hoping that we might take on some work, when Susan is feeling a little better. Her eyes are better than mine, so I could care for some little ones while she does some sewing. But until I find us some work, ma’am, I have an annuity, which is five pounds a year. And your brother left me a pension, as well, which is another three pounds a year. However, that hasn’t been paid yet. Susan had a little money saved, and she was paid two pounds eight shillings upon her dismissal, so we’ve used that to pay for the weekly lease.” Mrs. Taylor forced a smile. “We are making do.”

Aunt Cass kept her tone even, but Elizabeth knew that look of anger. “My nephew is, of course, very distraught that he forgot to pay for the wages he owed you. He had become engaged, not knowing his uncle was upon his death bed. So, you can imagine the worry and distress that has caused him.”

“Oh, indeed. That is so difficult, when what should be an excellent time is clouded by such sadness,” Mrs. Taylor said.

Aunt Cass did not acknowledge the statement, and Elizabeth knew it was because her aunt would not have been able to hold back a sarcastic comment. They talked some more about how Mr. David Leigh had tasked Aunt Cass with passing along the forgotten wages, and a little extra as way of an apology for having been remiss. Mrs. Taylor was all gratitude.

“Aunt? Might I have a word with you in the corridor, if you do not object?” Elizabeth asked, a thought striking her.

“No, aunt. There is something particular I believe to have forgotten. Mrs. Taylor, would you mind terribly if I leave Maria to keep you company?”

Maria answered for Mrs. Taylor. “If you leave me alone with this woman, know I shall be interrogating her on every single bit of news about my husband, so that I might tease him later.”

Outside in the corridor, Elizabeth asked, “May we move Miss Susan to your house?”

“Did you not hear? She knows of the occult, and has taught children inside the actual Royal Occult Society building. She could be of use to us.”

“Your father would never allow you to associate with a servant.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door. “I confess I am not keen on the idea myself.”

“She is not a servant. She is a teacher. A governess. That is a very acceptable person for me to associate with.”

Elizabeth gave her aunt an annoyed look. “Who will be the one to tell my father that part of her history?”

“Let us not forget that Maria’s own grandfather was a grazier before he went into trade.”

“Maria Thorne is wife of a very wealthy and respectable gentleman,” Aunt Cass said. She lowered her voice. “It is not the same thing.”

Elizabeth took as much care as possible with her words, but she knew she was in the right on this matter. “Aunt. We must help. I will, if you will not. I am determined.”

Aunt Cass’s shoulders slumped enough to alert to Elizabeth that she had won the argument. She would not be able to push her aunt much more, but she had achieved a victory.

“I will need a pretense. Mrs. Taylor is a proud woman. You’re too used to the country. In town, servants have their own class. They are proud of their positions and they want to work.”

“And prouder than a young servant,” Aunt Cass said. She gestured at the door. “Come. Let me do this before I change my mind.”

Elizabeth followed her aunt inside, to a laughing Maria and a coughing Susan. “Did you make her laugh?”

Aunt Cass rolled her eyes. “Mrs. Taylor, I realize that the original offer was for you and Miss Susan to move to Mrs. Thorne’s home as soon as the doctor gave permission. However, I was wondering if you would both considering moving in with me for the time being?”

“Oh, but we are staying with Henry’s father for the next week, so they can still move in as planned. And there is so much room that we wouldn’t even notice them.”

“That is true. However, my niece and I have decided that Mrs. Taylor could be of great company to Mrs. Cook while my housekeeper is away. And, to be very honest, I would welcome the addition of company as well.” Aunt Cass’s words died abruptly. Then, as the rest of the tale suddenly came to her, she continued. “Oh, and Elizabeth would like to make more of Miss Susan’s acquaintance. She has a particular occult problem that she is in...in...”

Elizabeth glanced at her aunt and jumped in to rescue her. “I am in need of knowledgeable ladies who could help me with a rather unique occult problem. Obviously, Miss Susan’s health is of paramount priority. However, I thought that...perhaps Miss Susan’s spirits would improve with company and...seeing my new collection of occult books. And...erm...helping with my particular problem.”

“That is very kind, Mrs. Spencer, but I could not take any more charity from you. You have already been too generous to us,” Mrs. Taylor glanced at her niece. “Truly, you have been very kind.”

“I believe I have misrepresented my case, Mrs. Taylor. I am offering you a position in my house, as temporary housekeeper. There is plenty of room in the servant’s quarters below, which are heated I might add. Even Sally has her own bedchamber, and she is just a chambermaid, and she has often commented on how dry her own quarters are. Every room has a fireplace. You would not be inconveniencing anyone. And, since we have a spare bedroom upstairs, Miss Susan is welcome to come and stay until she is able to go back teaching.”

“Ma’am, I lost my position when I became ill,” Miss Susan said. “When I am fully recovered, I shall have to inquire for another placement, but I fear it might be some time.”

“When the time comes, I would be happy to offer my assistance. I have many friends in town of the first class of society,” Aunt Cass said. “This is a perfect scheme. While you recover, your aunt can assist about my house, giving poor Mrs. Cook a break. She has been trying to look after houseguests and be housekeeper, and still keeping up with all the meals, and she is run ragged.”

“I fear for Mrs. Cook’s health,” Maria interjected. She glanced at a confused Aunt Cass and said, “I did not wish to pry, but she isn’t as young as she used to be, Mrs. Spencer. And Sally can’t help her, because of all of the books from Mr. Edward Leigh, and Mr. David Leigh. The poor woman.”

“Oh,” Mrs. Taylor said. “I have always liked Mrs. Cook. I had not realized how tired she must be.”

Elizabeth made an encouraging gesture at Miss Susan, who quickly got the hint of what was happening. “Oh, aunt. Are you up for assisting Mrs. Spencer? I would so love to go and...assist Miss Knight. But, of course, if you do not feel up to the task...”

“Nonsense girl, I’m not that old. I don’t turn seventy-four until Christmas.” Mrs. Taylor looked at her sick niece and nodded. “Well, Mrs. Spencer, I would be honoured to work for you, for as little or as long as you need me to.”