‘Absolutely,’ James said with a smirk that just begged to have a bread roll thrown at him. I restrained myself.
‘All the better for observing the audience at the inquests.’ Luc glared at his brother. ‘You’ll need a veil,’ he told me.
‘I need an evening dress as well,’ I put in. ‘For this evening.’
‘I will press the one you wore to Almack’s on your last visit, Miss Lawrence,’ Garrick said. ‘There is also a veil in the chest of drawers.’
‘Last time I went to social events as your American cousin people asked me where I was staying. What do I tell them? And what if I encounter someone I met before and they ask what I’ve been doing for the past month??
?
‘Influenza,’ Luc said. ‘Settled on your lungs. You’ve been staying at a physician’s house in Bath to recover. And now you are back I’ve taken lodgings for you and your lady companion in Hill Street. She has now come down with something or another, which is why you are relying on my escort and you aren’t At Home to visitors.’
‘I’ll imply it is some embarrassing female complaint and no-one will dare ask in case I tell them,’ I suggested. ‘Which reminds me of something I was going to tell you. You know I’ve been careful not to reveal the future?’ They all nodded. ‘Well, despite that, I am going to give you advice about health and you must listen to me. Never, under any circumstances, allow yourselves to be bled. It never does any good and in most cases it makes everything worse, could even kill you. You need every drop of blood you can hang onto. All this stuff about humours is utter nonsense.’
‘Never?’ James asked dubiously. ‘What about leeches?’
‘For reducing bruises or big blood blisters, yes, otherwise, no. And never if they’ve been used on anyone else. And never, ever, let a surgeon near you with instruments that haven’t been boiled, or with unwashed hands. What causes infection in a wound is dirt, including dirt so small you can’t see it. It will be almost the end of this century before doctors realise this and they stop killing more people than they cure.’ I didn’t think I’d manage to convince them on germ theory, but surely observation would have told them that dirt in wounds led to trouble?
‘Boil instruments?’ Garrick asked.
‘Boiled, not just washed. And hands scrubbed,’ I said. ‘Trust me on this, it will save your lives. But there’s no point in telling doctors – they’ll cling to this nonsense about humours and won’t recognise what causes infections until they are absolutely forced to at the end of this century.’
‘Why are you telling us this? Is there something you know about that is going to happen?’ Luc asked.
‘No. It just came to me when I was in Doctor Talbot’s consulting room. I’ve read about how infection caused so many childbed fevers, killed so many women, and I thought I should tell you about blood-letting and sterilisation.’
There was a nasty little silence, then I remembered that Luc’s wife had died in childbed. When deep in hole, stop digging, I thought. Change the subject. ‘What are we going to do today?’ I asked. Probably it was a bit too bright, but everyone relaxed infinitesimally.
‘I thought of talking my way into the Home Office and finding if any of Coates’s colleagues will open up,’ Luc said.
‘And I can come? Your American cousin wanting to see how government works? Will they let you in?’
‘I am Radcliffe,’ Luc said, looking down his nose. ‘Of course they will let me in.’
I glanced at the others. Neither of them appeared to think this an idle boast. Security must be absolutely appalling if anyone with a title could just swan into government departments where they didn’t belong.
‘Could George have been spying?’ I asked, following through on the thought.
‘It isn’t the Ministry at War or the Foreign Office,’ James pointed out. ‘The Home Office is responsible for intelligence, but George wasn’t involved with that. The French wouldn’t have any interest in the kind of thing he was doing.’
‘True, I suppose.’ I wasn’t entirely convinced. Get a clerk at one department under your thumb and perhaps he would give you entrée to more sensitive sections…
‘But first we are going shopping. You need more clothes,’ Luc said. ‘Two day dresses, another pelisse, more bonnets and another evening gown at the very least.’
‘And underwear,’ I added. They all studied their plates with great interest so I bit my lip and did not tease them. It was tempting to think about putting a travel-sized fashion magazine in my bag next time though. The beachwear number, perhaps. Or why stop at the magazine? Easier to tuck something silky and sexy in my bag…
‘Cassandra?’ Now they were all staring at me.
‘Er… Daydreaming.’ Oh yes. ‘Yes, shopping. Excellent.’ Not that I was exactly thrilled by Luc’s close acquaintance with Madame Vernier’s exclusive dress shop. He might escort his mother there, of course, but I rather suspected the bills he paid Madame were for outfitting past mistresses. Just so long as they were past.
Madame was delighted to see us, and I was delighted with her shop. Who wouldn’t be? Fabulous fabrics, skilled dressmakers all focused on me and a wealthy man to pay the bills. Shocking of me to accept that, but I could hardly pay him back in anything but my help and I doubt a few outfits for me would put a dent in Luc’s bank account.
With three day dresses, another walking dress, some outer garments I’ve forgotten the name of and two evening gowns on order it turned out that Lucian knew the best milliners as well. So we took fabric samples and I chose two bonnets. Bonnet sounds such a drab word, but these were outrageously pretty and seriously frivolous.
Which just left the underwear. To my huge relief Lucian left me at Regine, the lingerie specialist Madame Vernier recommended. He gave them his card and instructions to send the bills to him. They thought I was his mistress, of course. It was strange how I wouldn’t turn a hair if someone assumed I was in a relationship with a man in my own time, but this left me warm under the collar. Presumably it was the assumption that money was changing hands.
He pointed out the bookshop across the road where he would wait for me and sauntered off leaving me to the tender mercies of a dauntingly chic assistant with a vaguely French accent. I told myself she had probably been no closer to Paris than London Bridge and said, ‘I need everything.’ And that included nightgowns. I wanted something gorgeous and I needed a thoroughly respectable robe to go over the top if I wanted to enchant Luc and not give Garrick heart failure.