‘You will not need it in the carriage,’ Quin said, his attention apparently on the wharf that was rapidly approaching. ‘Good, they are there.’
‘Who are?’ Cleo scanned the crowded dock that seemed quite as chaotic in its way as the Cairo waterside.
‘I wrote as soon as we arrived in Gibraltar and told my secretary to make certain we were met, even if it meant coming down and waiting every day for a week. We do not want to be hanging around in this area. It is not what your gr— What is suitable for a lady. Excuse me, I will go and make certain all the luggage is on deck and ready to be swung ashore.’
‘What was he going to say just then, I wonder?’ Cleo puzzled.
‘I don’t know, but if that little collection of carriages is his lordship’s, then he’s plump in the pocket and no mistake,’ Maggie said and pointed to three large coaches that, even at a distance, Cleo could recognise as expensively shiny.
‘At least we’ll be arriving in style at this lodging house he knows,’ she said with some satisfaction. ‘That will assure us of respectful treatment.’
* * *
It seemed that not only was Quin plump in the pocket but he commanded excellent service. They were off the ship and on to the dock less than an hour after the first mooring lines were thrown ashore. The luggage was stacked into a small, orderly mountain guarded by a stocky individual who Quin addressed as Sam, and Mr Baldwin, introduced as Quin’s secretary, ushered them towards the largest coach.
‘Everything is organised as you instructed, my lord. Godley is awaiting you at the Albany apartment and I have not accepted any invitations on your behalf for the next week. Miss Woodward’s luggage will go in the first coach and yours, accompanied by myself, will proceed direct to Albany in the second.’
‘Thank you, George. Admirable as always.’
That seemed to be a joke between the two men. Mr Baldwin grinned, transforming himself from dry and serious secretary into a cheerful young man. ‘I endeavour to give satisfaction, my lord,’ he said, adjusting his expression back into solemnity.
Quin helped Cleo and Maggie into the carriage, flustering Maggie by insisting she sat beside Cleo in the forward-facing seat. The vehicle was as sleek inside as it was outside, with well-sprung seats in crimson plush, a carpeted floor, brocade hanging straps and numerous cunningly arranged pockets in the doors. Cleo did her best not to stare and contented herself with running her gloved hand over the soft pile of the seat. What luxury to be able to afford something like this, and the horses to pull it, and the grooms and drivers to manage it.
She told herself that she was lucky to have been liberated from a dusty tent in the desert and that a respectable apartment, money to spare and her independence were luxury enough.
‘Look,’ Maggie pointed to the right. ‘St Paul’s Cathedral. This is the City of London where all the merchants and trade is conducted. The banks are here and the lawyers.’
‘Is this where the house you are taking me to is located?’ Cleo asked, trying not to gawp out of the windows like a complete rustic. Time enough to sightsee when she was on her own.
‘The City is not considered suitable for a lady’s residence,’ Quin said. ‘Living there would indicate that you are not of the ton. You do not wish to appear shabby genteel.’
But I am not of the ton, Cleo thought, but did not say it. If he thought there was somewhere she could afford in an even better district she was not going to protest.
The carriage went downhill, its wheels rumbling on cobbles, then climbed again, surprising her by how hilly London seemed to be. ‘Where are we now?’ she asked, looking out on crowded pavements, shops, swinging signs—inns, perhaps?
‘Just passing Temple Bar,’ said Quin, puzzling her. Temples in London? ‘Now we are in the City of Westminster.’
‘Strand,’ Maggie said. A few minutes later, ‘Pall Mall, look, there’s Carlton House...St James’s Street. Now I’m lost, I’ve never been up here.’ She fell silent, wide-eyed.
‘We are going to an area called Mayfair,’ Quin explained.
The rough-and-ready bustle of the city had vanished. The streets were crowded, certainly, but with carriages as smart as the one they were in, gentlemen on horseback, elegant ladies with footmen at their heels.
‘My lord...’ Maggie began. She sounded uneasy. Quin raised one eyebrow in silent question. ‘Er, nothing.’
‘Here we are.’ The carriage rolled into a vast square surrounded by what looked like rows of palaces all joined together. There were high iron railings around a garden, or a small park, in the centre and ornate ironwork at the front of every house. ‘Grosvenor Square,’ Quin said as they came to a halt.