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The clouds that low’r’d
(Richard III I.i.3)
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“HOW DID YOU KNOW?” Edward demanded of his friend the moment the door was closed. “Surely she has not been there all evening.”
Gwen was sitting in a large chair by the fireplace, a mischievous look on her face. Her eyes darted between the two men, and she looked about to swallow her burgeoning grin. Edward started in alarm to see her there, expecting, as he did, the room to be empty. Her red lips suggested that it was not, perhaps, billiards at which she and Fred had been playing, but she smiled demurely, and Edward was hardly in a state to cast aspersions on the propriety of others.
“It was my doing,” she explained. Then she noticed Edward’s raised eyebrows. “Oh, yes,” she smiled innocently, “I was watching you gentlemen play billiards. You were our chaperon, Edward, and you thrashed Fred soundly over several games, since his attention was all on me and not on the table.”
Edward released a short laugh, despite his troubled mind. “But Lynnie...?” he asked.
“I mentioned to Frederick before we ate,” Gwen explained, “that there would be a visitor for you, who would appear at the kitchen door. He asked his kitchen staff to prepare the servants’ sitting room and let her wait there in comfort. Rest assured, she has eaten as well.” She looked directly at Edward now. “Lynnie has been my dearest friend since childhood. She has been my support and strength and I am most protective of her. She loves you and I will help as I can, but I will not compromise her safety.”
The innocent expression on the lady’s face told Edward everything he needed to know about Gwen Lancaster; she was skilled at dissembling, and would not inadvertently betray her friend with a mistimed glance or insincere smile. He was not so certain he would have had the skills to scheme so completely and maintain such a guileless expression. Perhaps Lynnie was wise in her choices, no matter how they pained him.
As he considered the situation, he picked up a cue and started randomly to take aim at the billiard balls scattered across the green felt-covered table before him. “Yes, her safety is of utmost importance; it would appear she has grave reasons to be cautious. Miss Lancaster, I cannot thank you enough. Whilst I would rather court the lady in public, I appreciate her danger, and I am grateful for every chance to be with her.” Now turning to his friend, he added, “Frederick, I must thank you as well.”
“You can rely on us, my friend. Am I to assume the meeting was satisfactory? I see by the look on your face that it was.”
Edward just smiled as he sipped his whisky and then sank another shot. Not to be deterred from some good-natured teasing, Frederick attempted to wheedle some news from his friend, but Edward refused to speak, maintaining his enigmatic smile instead and sipping Frederick’s fine Scotch. After several moments, Gwen spoke up again, a grin upon her face.
“Gentlemen, may I suggest that you do engage in a game, for otherwise I would have cause to offer a mistruth to my beloved mother, and that would never do. I said I would watch you play, and so I shall.”
Edward now smiled again, more openly. “She is a whip, Frederick. But I have one more question for your young lady, if I may.” He turned to Gwen now, and asked, “Miss Lancaster, what can you tell me about Matthew. He clearly has Miss Grant’s full confidence, but I can learn almost nothing about him.”
Gwen thought for a moment, and then said, “I am afraid, Mr. Gardiner, that I, too, have almost no information on Matthew, other than what dear Lynnie has told you. But come, sir, we are co-conspirators. You shall certainly call me Gwen, and I, with your leave, shall call you Edward, as I have been doing. Unless, of course, you prefer to adopt another name. George seems rather popular these days.”
Edward laughed. “Edward will do nicely, madam. Frederick, I give the two of you leave to like each other very much.” Whereupon, he set up the table and offered the cue to his friend to break.
When at last they reappeared in the salon, Edward’s parents were at the point of completing their game against Mrs. Dyson and Mrs. Lancaster, and it was agreed that the guests would all depart shortly thereafter. “Did you have a good game, dear?” Mrs. Dyson tossed out casually to her son, not really listening for an answer. She was satisfied with his inconclusive response and gave her attention back to her cards. The older generation, it appeared were perfectly content to accept the fiction that the three young people had been together at billiards, and everybody was content.
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OVER THE NEXT FEW WEEKS, as winter deepened upon London, Edward and Lynnie met several times under similar circumstances. Frederick was often in Gwen’s company, as was well expected of a courting couple who, everyone knew, were only waiting to announce their engagement, and it was not unusual for Edward to be invited along to dinners or to Frederick’s house for a late evening game of billiards when the Lancasters happened to be in for a visit.
On one occasion, on a bright but cold day, Frederick rushed into Edward’s office at work and insisted he come for a walk in a nearby park. “Are you mad, man?” Edward glowered at his friend. “It is frosty enough that the snowmen are begging to be let inside.”
But Frederick held out a hat and scarf and stood by the door. “I believe you will not mind the weather, for the company promises to be excellent. And, as it is Wednesday, you do not even have to explain your absence to your young assistant, as he too, seems to be exploring our fair and frozen city. Come, man. Gwen is waiting downstairs with her friend. Come and walk with us.”
Edward did not require much more incentive, and was soon downstairs with his heavy great coat, his boots, hat, scarf and gloves. Gwen and her friend were standing just inside the loading doors to the warehouse, away from the more elegant doors where clients from Society entered the shop. Gwen had removed her hat and unbuttoned her jacket for the duration of the wait, but the other lady remained heavily swathed in her winter clothing. Indeed, with her thick woolen hat pulled low over her eyes and her fur stole pulled high over her cheeks, her features were all but totally obscured. If not for her sweet familiar voice, Edward would not have known who she was. Winter had provided the means for a perfect disguise, it appeared.
“I cannot be away for long,” Edward announced to his surprise guests, “but I am looking forward to a brief stroll through the park.” He offered his arm to Lynnie, who took it gladly and who then pressed herself against his side.
“I am happy to see you, Edward,” she said, her voice muffled through the layers of winter clothing. “I am truly pleased that you are able to take some time away from whatever you do up there to walk with me.”
“And I you,” he replied. Then, “Do you know, I believe this is the first time I have seen you in daylight. Such that it can be said that I am seeing you now, beneath all those layers.”
There was a laugh in her voice when she quipped, “the first time that you realize you have seen me, is what you mean to say. There may have been occasions when you have, indeed, looked upon my face, but knew not who I am.”
“Oh, Lynnie...”
“Be not so miffed, Edward. You know I would have it otherwise if at all I could. I do not enjoy this deception any more than you do, but I am thankful for these moments that we can have together.”
And so they walked with Frederick and Gwen for a while before the icy weather and demands of work necessitated their return to matters more mundane.
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EDWARD USHERED HIS three companions back through the loading doors to his warehouse, passing by caravans of wagons and skirting the sheds that served to stable the work horses on the coldest or hottest days of the year. The doors were standing open as some workers hoisted a shipment of fabric from their dray, and the small group were able to observe the vehicles and horses that passed through the alleyway and to and from the stables. Edward knew his friends would not remain for a lengthy visit, but he inquired if they wished to rest a minute to relieve themselves of the worst of the chill before continuing to their various destinations.
“I do not have my trusted assistant at my side, but I may be relied upon to order my staff to set a kettle on the fire to boil.” Fred responded with a nod and a smile and Gwen seemed happy to echo his agreement, but a sound from Lynnie stopped the others before they could speak.
Was it a strangled cry? A swallowed yelp of alarm? Or merely a cough brought on by the cold that had not matured fully? Edward turned to her in concern, only to face the terror in the sliver of her eyes that he could see.
She spun around to put her back to the open doorway and then, more quickly than he had expected, she slunk backwards until she was almost completely obscured by the open loading doors and the pile of bolts the workers had been piling onto low tables. “We must go. I must...” her voice was breathless and tight through her heavy swathing of woolen scarves. She took a deep shuddering breath and released it slowly before speaking again. “That is, I thank you for your offer, but I have to depart immediately. Frederick, if you would summon the carriage, I will wait here. Please ask the driver to approach as closely as possible to these doors. I must... I cannot... I cannot be seen.”
Her voice was calmer, but even through the heavy layers of fabric in which she was clothed, Edward knew she was shaking. Never had he seen her so ill at ease; gone was the confident and decisive woman he had known until now. Whatever had she seen or heard that had so perturbed her? From the manner in which she had darted from the doorway, the cause of her distress must be out in the lane. “Will you not come inside where it is safe?” But he knew she would not.
“Please do not try to deter me. I know you mean well, but I must leave immediately!”
Frederick had dashed from the space towards the stables, and was already returning with his carriage only steps behind, the driver at the ready. With all the skill of his profession, the driver stopped the carriage immediately at the doorway, as close to the building as the dray would permit, and within moments Lynne was gone from the warehouse and had thrown herself into the concealing safety of the coach. Only a small gloved hand, waving through the ice-etched glass of the window, allowed Edward any reassurance that she had been there at all.
Frustrated and confused, Edward oversaw the last efforts of the workers before closing the loading area doors against the cold and turning for his office. His path took him through the main area of the warehouse, where he was stopped by one of his salesmen.
“Mr. Gardiner, if you please,” the man called out to him, “We have a customer who wishes to confer with you over a purchase.” Business must triumph over heartache and Edward assumed his most cheerful expression and strode out into the showroom where the customer awaited him.
Standing in the middle of the room, staring with startling ferocity at a length of lilac silk crepe, stood a man of about fifty years, his hair cut into the latest Brutus style, and not one of them out of place. His clothing, too, was of the most current fashion, and Edward would have loved to have known the name of his tailor, for the workmanship was superb. He held himself like a duke, and with his stern face and imperious stance, Edward fully expected the man to announce himself as a peer of the highest order.
This he did not, and did not even mention his name, launching instead directly into his purpose.
“Gardiner? Good. I was told you are the man I must find. I wish to purchase fabric to make up a gown for my niece.” His voice, like his appearance, was stiff and superior, his eyes icy cold and the palest shade of grey. Sherrington’s description of George Darcy as ‘an arrogant old sod’ flooded immediately into his thoughts, but this could not be Darcy. Darcy, by all accounts was a good man, despite his extreme reserve of character; this man seemed far too cold and demanding to such. His gaze brooked no refusal; he seemed fully a man not to be denied.
Edward bowed, as he had learned so well, and asked, “Very good, sir. How may I assist in this endeavour?”
The man narrowed his eyes. “I require guidance in selecting the best colours to suit her complexion. That is women’s business, but I have no woman to execute this duty for me at present.”
Holding back a sneer, Edward replied, “It would be best for the lady herself to be present, for one can only see how a fabric will look when held directly against the skin. Is this possible?”
The man huffed. “No. She is not available. I can describe her for you.”
Edward bowed again and with all the politeness he could muster, offered the man his ears.
“She is young—twenty years of age. Her eyes are light blue and her hair blonde.” He seemed to be staring rather directly at Edward as he spoke, paying much more attention to his audience than to the woman he was describing. Was the man trying to gauge his response to this? What sort of reaction did the gentleman expect? “Do you know of any such woman, whom you might think of as a model in place of my niece?”
How peculiar! Edward did, indeed, think of one such lady, but he knew little enough of her real appearance to be able to imagine her in anything other than yards of heavy wool. “I cannot recommend anybody in particular, alas, but perhaps together we might select some shades that would suit a variety of complexions. What sort of gown did you wish to have made, so we may first choose the fabric?”
For the next half hour, Edward discussed the latest of women’s fashions with a man who clearly had little interest in such, argued over sleeve length, quantity of lace, the merits of this or that fabric for an overskirt, and the need to balance the light colours due to the niece’s youth with a need not to have her fair colouring disappear into equally pale fabric. At length the man departed with a good amount of a suitable light yellow silk wrapped up and packaged for him, but Edward felt no satisfaction in the sale. The entire encounter had been most strange, and he could not account for his discomfort.
It was only, after his dinner that evening as he sat with a new novel open but unread upon his knee, that he pieced together what must have occurred. Lynnie had been happy until she had seen something troubling, and this strange man had then asked Edward, in a most indirect manner, if he knew of a young woman matching what must be Lynnie’s description. “How stupid I am!” His palm hit his forehead with the realization. “And yet how fortunate in my stupidity!” The man, so cold and stern, must be Percival Grant, seeking out his niece. It was only Edward’s confusion and distraction that had prevented him from betraying his beloved’s whereabouts.
That frisson of fear worked its way up and down his spine once more. Percival was in London and was seeking Lynnie, and he seemed to know where to seek. Matters must be getting dire indeed!