“Yes, I know what a medium is. But…he didn’t believe her, did he? Good lord!” Hamish rose and began to pace his office, trying to keep his breathing under control. “Does she have this effect on all men? Is she going to pull the wool over his eyes like the charlatan she is?”
He realised he’d gone too far when he glanced up to see Archie’s interested look. “’Ad no idea she’d got ter yer like that, guvnor. Yer shoulda said the word ter ’er when yer ’ad the chance. She were only too keen ter get out o’ that Madame Chambon’s place, me Gracie tells me. Woulda jumped at any offa. But then, yer not in the market fer that kind o’ piece. Not a Puritan like yyerou.”
“I am a Methodist, not a Puritan.”
“Same thing.” Archie didn’t appear to notice that Hamish had taken umbridge. “Terrified o’ beauty. Or rather, o’ beautiful women like this Mrs Eustace.”
“I object—”
“Course yer do, course yer do, guv, but that ain’t me concern, ’ere. I want ter sell yer me wares an’ yer ain’t interested in wot I reckon is me best photograph by a ragged mile, so I’s jest gildin’ the lily, so ter speak.” He flicked a cheeky grin at Hamish over the top of his hands, for now he was holding a fistful of five photographs and going carefully over each one.
“There!” he said again. “Mrs Eustace, encore! Knew yer’d not be able ter resist in the end. ’Ere she is discussin’ spiritualism wiv Lor’ Elkin’ton wiv their ’eads close together. Mighty ’andsome couple they make, don’t they? I’s given yer the ca
ption an’ everyfink. Yer don’t reckon the public would be interested? Then yer’ve lost yer touch, I reckon.” He dropped the five photographs onto the table with a dismissive snort.
Hamish gripped the tabletop and kept his temper in check. “Sometimes you go too far, Archie,” he growled.
“I’ll go as far as I need ter,” the little photographer said cheerily. “Now, wot’ll yer pay me fer these? Every one is front page worthy.”
Of course, Archie bested Hamish. Archie could sell fish to the Greenlanders, Hamish told him as he’d forked over a handsome sum for the dubious pleasure of owning Mrs Eustace’s image, earmarked for his bedside table drawer rather than Manners & Morals, together with a horse-racing scene and a couple of standard society photographs, the type of fare his subscribers were used to seeing after a surfeit of missionaries and ministers.
Now, as the sun dipped beneath the roofs of the buildings across the road, Hamish hunched in his chair and surveyed the articles, drawings, and photographs that littered his desk.
His concentration was intense, as usual, so that he leapt at the sound of a brisk rap on the door which opened peremptorily without waiting for invitation, and a pert, bright-eyed face peered at him.
“Goodness Lucy, have you not heard of knocking to announce yourself?” he barked.
“I did, but I knew there was no point in waiting for an invitation,” his sister said, undeterred by the set down. “Here, I’ve brought you something from the pie shop so I don’t find a corpse when I get back from my visit to Aunt Periwinkle.” She sighed. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us on Saturday?”
He shook his head, ignoring the canvas bag on the table from which emanated an appetising aroma. “No point when there’ll be so little time. Do send her my regards, naturally.”
“Naturally.”
He looked up at her sarcastic tone, raising his eyebrows with what he hoped was an admonishing look. “You didn’t come here alone, did you, Lucy?” he asked.
“As a matter of fact, I did,” she said with a complacent smile. “I’m twenty years old, Hamish. And I have no mother or father to answer to.”
“If you don’t show sufficient respect to your brother, then I promise I will return you to Father.”
She blanched at this and immediately Hamish was sorry for the thoughtless remark. “An idle threat. Pay me no mind. Now, tell me why you’re here, but not before you tell me why you’re unaccompanied. It’s dangerous for a woman to walk the streets alone.”
“It’s not dark, Hamish. And besides, there’s every chance I shall be a comfortably married matron before the end of the year and able to do what I like.” She reached across and put her hand over his, giving it a gentle squeeze. “That is, if you’ll only agree to let Mr Myers call,” she added cajolingly.
“Not a chance.” Hamish leaned back and closed his eyes briefly, though he gripped Lucy’s hand before she could withdraw it in pique. “He’s not good enough for you and I won’t see you throw yourself away.”
“But I love him, Hamish. It’s true that his position is lowly but he has prospects, and he loves me and I love him.” Her voice grew tighter. “Are you really going to turn into Papa?”
“You know I’m not, otherwise I wouldn’t have fought the battle I did to let him relinquish you so you could live with me,” Hamish muttered.
“And for that I’m eternally grateful. And you would change your mind about Mr Myers if you only got to know him,” she said with fierce determination. “Do you know how easy it would be for him to call without you even knowing of it. There, see how honest I am?”
“You’re not honest. You just know that Maggie doesn’t let anything you do pass her by, and you’d be found out and I’d be told of it –”
“And what would you do then? Throw me into the street? Gracious, Hamish, just thinking of it makes me shudder. I truly thought Father would when I defied him one too many times. We both know he is capable of such callousness. You’re not.” She grew thoughtful, withdrawing her hand and murmuring as she wandered about his office, “Imagine what I should do if I were cast into the streets simply for displeasing you? I’d be ruined, of course. I’d have no future and end up selling turnips from a fruit and vegetable barrow.” She shuddered then straightened and said more forcefully, “For all your concern about people’s morals and manners, I think you should be more concerned about the cruelty of a society that offers no support to women who are cast out into the world and forced to become what they have no wish to be, simply because they have no choice. Papa would never listen to such talk, but I’m not a child, and I had a friend, Dorrie, at the Ladies Seminary—she was a servant, actually—but she sometimes told me about what life was like for girls like her. How hard it was to earn enough to be considered respectable. How hard the men were on their wives and daughters. In a different way, Hamish.” She looked stricken. “Papa clipped my ear and used the birch rod often enough, but if it hadn’t been for you launching in to save me from an even worse hiding, which was becoming a habit, I’d have been like Dorrie and her sisters, and so many other young girls who worked their fingers to the bone dragging buckets of water up and down stairs and blacking the grates. The only difference being that I’d be wearing fashionable clothes. At least I’m looked after properly…and kindly…by you. I hope you know how much I appreciate that.”
Hamish stretched his long legs, uncomfortable by the shift in conversation. “You were not so forgiving of the woman who stole your bonnet,” he reminded her. His throat felt dry. Imagine if Lucy knew what Hamish knew about her.
Felt about her.