Death and the Visitors, page 7
Miss Sandy curtsied. Lord Byron stood and walked out the door, never having said a word since I came in. She departed behind him after a nod at me. I went to the piano and began my vocal exercises, though the teacher didn’t play the notes like she normally did. I heard her lock the door, then she came to the piano and rustled some papers around.
When I had finished, I rubbed my hands together to warm my fingers. “Are we going to work on Armide today?” I asked. The difficult monologue in Act II, Scene 5, had kept me challenged for weeks now.
“Yes,” Mrs. Jones said. “I am sorry to say, though, Jane, that you can’t come anymore without payment in hand.”
I pressed my lips together. “How far is Mamma behind?”
“You haven’t paid in a month. I cannot let it go any longer than that.” She bent her head to the piano and played the opening notes of Lully’s glorious piece.
I could see the conversation embarrassed her. I said no more and applied myself to the piece. Tears ran down my face as I acted out Armide’s spiral of love with a man she’d meant to kill. Afterward, I sniffed and wiped my eyes.
“Very good,” Mrs. Jones said. “That was the first time I felt the despair in your voice.”
I hiccupped a laugh and wiped my eyes, but I maintained both of our dignities by not commenting on why I felt despair so keenly. Now that my school had been dismissed for the summer holiday, music was my only opportunity to escape my duties at home. Without this outlet, I’d probably go mad. What would it take to turn the princess’s ring into cash to pay for lessons?
I had thought it best not even to think about the ring, hidden in a wool stocking in my bedroom chest, until the Russians were safely out of London, which would not happen for many weeks. But could I survive a summer with no music lessons?
I thanked Mrs. Jones and promised I would find the funds somehow. It wasn’t much of an expense for me to stay sane.
I walked down the stairs, pulling my skirts close to avoid a couple of gin-soaked old rascals leaning against the wall. As I swept out the door, I covered my eyes against the brightness of the day.
When they had adjusted, I walked out and started up the street. A jewelry shop was two doors down. I often stopped to admire the gold bracelets sparkling in the window display, wondering if I’d ever be able to afford one. As I took a quick glance at a garnet brooch, the shop door opened. A man came out. I recognized the livery he wore, as well as his scars.
I turned away, hiding my face under my bonnet. What was Viktor Hesse doing here on Hart Street? Was he following me? Were we about to have a confrontation? My heart sped up. I pressed my hands to my stomach. Then another person exited the shop door, even stranger than the first. My mouth dropped open when I recognized Shelley’s sister-in-law, Eliza Westbrook. Mr. Hesse bent his head toward her bonneted ear. They were obviously together.
Eliza Westbrook, always conspiring to steal Shelley’s family funds, here on Hart Street. How were the Westbrooks involved with the Prussian advance team?
Had they enjoyed calls from the Prussians, as we had from the Russian aristocracy? Pride slowed my heart to a steady rate. The Westbrooks only rated acquaintance with a footman, while we’d had multiple visits from a princess.
But Princess Maria had focused her attentions on Mamma, in terms of the living, at least. Mary Wollstonecraft could only speak to her disciples through books now.
Mary had proven that Mamma and Eliza were in cahoots when she’d seen them at a late-night meeting. I had to wonder if the Prussians and Russians were connected, or if this devilish partnership had broken apart somehow.
I could think of one reason for that. Shelley had refused to return with his wife to Wales, as he’d evidently promised before that fateful night when he’d met Mary. Was the Godwin clan being blamed for Shelley cutting ties with his wife?
* * *
I made it home just ahead of Shelley, arriving to take us to observe the royal drawing room arrivals at St. James’s Palace. As we walked through the streets, more crowded than usual with a higher class of person, come to see the actual notables, I reported my news to Mary and Shelley.
“A month behind on your music lessons?” Shelley said.
Mary’s expression was sour. “I am most surprised, given that money is forever being spent on you.”
“School isn’t even in session right now,” I said, for I could not disagree with her. Mary was half an orphan. Well, I suppose I was as well, but Mamma controlled the household accounts, since that was the normal way of things.
After I felt that Shelley was sufficiently upset on my behalf, I raised the stakes higher just before we walked into the palace.
“My ghastly sister-in-law, wrapped up in mysterious doings again!” Shelley ranted after I shared my news. “I’m sure she got her hands on the missing diamonds somehow.”
Mary looked gratifyingly alarmed. “You think the Westbrooks would have killed a Russian diplomat in order to deprive my family of funds?”
He patted her arm. “No, my dear girl, any retaliation would be against me, not the Godwin family. But given my genuine support of your father, this could be a way to beat upon me.”
I wasn’t sure I understood that logic. Shelley hadn’t always been around when the footman had been watching us. I ignored their continuing chatter. I, unlike Mary and Shelley, wanted to appreciate our surroundings, from the fine paintings on the walls to the human parade, all sharing our interest in the upper classes.
But then we were pressed from the back as more tickethold-ers crowded in to our viewpoint. We fought for footing and for a view of the dignitaries.
Shelley, having more knowledge of society, muttered the names of various English dignitaries as they entered, and made rude remarks about the parentage of most of the young ladies who were being presented.
Queen Charlotte entered on the arm of a courtier. I thought the queen’s jewelry was magnificent. She was adorned entirely in pearls, from hairpieces to earrings to a fabulous string wrapped multiple times around her slender neck. While elderly, she had a strong presence.
We did not see any of the Russians, however, much less an errant Prussian footman.
“It is a few days until the main parties arrive,” Shelley said to us as we strolled in the courtyard, gasping for fresh air after the crush inside. “It may be that no one in town now is important enough to be presented.”
“Not even a princess?” Mary asked, tilting her head to the blue sky and closing her eyes.
Shelley shook his head. “I have asked around. She is the long-time mistress of Tsar Alexander and, as such, is not likely to be respectable enough to be presented. Such fools morality makes.”
“Oh,” Mary said. “I suppose that is why she is part of the advance team.”
I giggled. “It’s more about her than her husband.”
Mary flung out her arms and nearly slapped a merchant who had been in line in front of us. “It is a pity. These drawing room attendees are missing out. I wonder why her husband is not here?”
I took Mary’s arm as the merchant frowned at her. “They are in mourning, you ninny. His brother is dead.”
She made a face at me. “Business, young Jane. They haven’t much time before the tsar arrives.”
Shelley winked. “Their business might be more in the line of ordering new dresses for the princess.”
Mary’s cheeks went scarlet. A couple of women glanced at us curiously as they passed by. A good number of onlookers had departed, finding the rooms too close as we had.
“Should we go back in?” I asked. “Now that people have left.”
Shelley glanced at the guards. “I doubt it would be allowed. No, we have had our fun. Let’s get you home before your mamma’s temples begin to throb.”
* * *
When our trio arrived home, we discovered a household in turmoil. Lines of stress were visible on the faces of everyone present. Papa, never very well recently, had gone quite gray in the cheeks. His friend Francis Place was with him, but he looked frantic himself. His eyebrows were very disordered, giving him a shocked appearance matched by the rest of his facial expression. Mamma’s eyes were red-rimmed, and her hands were blotchy from the way she was squeezing them together.
“I’ll go east, and you go west,” Mr. Place said. “There are friends in both directions.”
My brother Charles came out of the bookshop as Papa and Mr. Place grabbed their hats and edged around us without speaking.
“Papa?” Mary asked, but he merely shook his head and left.
Charles had a nasty little smirk on his face. I knew Mary thought him a fool for not supporting the family. All the cost of his education in publishing had not made him like it any better. His limited efforts dragged us down far more than Mary’s and my reluctance to wait on bookshop customers. At least we worked when we were forced to. Charles merely lounged.
“What is this rushing between houses?” Shelley asked.
Mamma went to him, her arms outstretched so far that they strained the seams of her gown. “We are lost,” she moaned.
“Lost?” Mary said, her customary calm expression disordered.
“No money,” Mamma said. “They are going to take your papa away.”
Shelley swore, then apologized. “If only I had the means to help today.”
“You have done your best,” Mary assured him.
He sliced his hand across his forehead. His hat went sailing off, and he jammed his fingers into his curls. “Oh, poor Godwin, that your greatness comes to this!”
Mamma shook his arm. “Come, sir, we need practical solutions. Is there anyone you know with ready funds?”
Shelley moaned and fluttered his hands about his person.
“Do you have any coins at all?” Mary asked him.
“Do you have any coins?” I repeated pointedly to Charles. I knew he had a money box hidden in his room.
“How desperate are we?” Mary asked, as Shelley produced a few small coins. “Willy’s birthday money is upstairs.”
“And what about you, miss?” Mamma asked.
She shrugged. “Why would I have any? I know Fanny took all her paltry coins to Wales.”
Mamma’s eyes narrowed. “That is not an answer.”
“My pockets are to let,” Charles said.
“Mamma, he’s lying,” I cried. “I know he has money.”
“Your papa will have to go to the sponging house,” Mamma said, very intent on Mary.
“What about the accounts?” she said in return. “Can’t we send the porter to beg for payments?”
Just then our porter came through the door wheezing. He dropped six guineas, one by one, into Mamma’s hand.
I kicked Charles’s shoe. “Get your money box. This is desperate.”
“What are you sacrificing?” he asked.
“I’ll take that silver plate to the pawn shop,” I said.
“You have the list of our accounts in Mayfair,” Mamma said to the porter. “Go knock on all the doors. Tell them they may not find the bookshop open to them again if they do not pay something on their accounts.”
I dashed into the parlor as the porter left, ready to seize the fine silver plate from the mantelpiece, but it was already gone. When I returned, Charles was stomping up the steps, going to his room, I hoped.
“I sent Polly to pawn the plate earlier,” Mamma said.
Papa came through the door. He handed Mamma a handful of coins, then clapped Shelley on the shoulder. “Let’s pay a call at St. Paul’s Churchyard. Surely the publishers will help me.”
“Papa, what can I do?” Mary asked.
He barely glanced at her. “Take a look at the book of accounts.”
She nodded eagerly. “Perhaps we can write to our regular customers and remind them to come in.”
“It’s much too late for that,” Mamma scolded. “Cannon’s men were here. We need money today.”
Papa pushed Shelley out the door.
Mamma nodded. “It is best that he is not here.”
I looked at Mary’s back as she walked into the bookshop.
“We could pawn the tea set?” I suggested.
“We need real money, girl,” Mamma snapped.
I knew I’d have to do it. I hung my head. “I will check my room, and Fanny’s and Willy’s.”
She gave me a little push. Tears filled my vision by the time I reached my room. I didn’t want Papa to go to a sponging house. It was the final step before sending someone to debtors’ prison. What shame, for the immortal Godwin to sink to this!
I went through the rooms. Nothing but tuppence in Willy’s room. Two shillings were hidden in a stocking in Fanny’s room.
Charles appeared in the doorway. “What about us?” he asked, his money box in his hands. “Everything will go to the debt, and we won’t even be able to take rooms. I need to keep enough for that, at least.”
I scowled at him. “We don’t pay rent for Skinner Street. There isn’t anyone to kick us out while the ownership of the building is in dispute.”
Charles shook his head. “Mamma is proud of how well she manages the business. How can the household be so deranged that even free rent has done no good?”
“I don’t know.” I slammed down the lid of Fanny’s chest, then gestured at him to move. “We cannot afford servants, or our educations, or our travels? I’ll check Mary’s room next, then mine.”
“Give me the money you’ve found, and I’ll take it to Mamma.”
I shook my head. “I’ll take it myself to prove I hunted. Give her your money, Charles. They won’t stop paying you a salary, after all. You’re a man.”
He tilted his head. “Do you want me to ask for a salary for you, after this crisis is passed?”
I pushed the coins into the pocket pinned to my skirt. “No, it will just bring more abuse from Mamma. She doesn’t even want to pay for my singing lessons anymore, and I don’t think there will be any more school either, when the fall term resumes. I’m sixteen now.”
He frowned at me. “I worry about your future.”
“Worry about yourself.” I stomped to Mary’s room, waiting for him to go downstairs before I could retrieve the ring from its hiding place.
When I came down, Mr. Place was back with a loan of fifty guineas from someone. An hour later, Papa and Shelley were back with two hundred, borrowed from a trio of book businesses around St. Paul’s.
They went into the bookshop and wrote everything down, so they’d know what additional loans they had taken on. Mary found a little box to put all the coins in after they were carefully counted. Mr. Place went out again to see what else he could raise.
My heart stopped as someone banged on the front door. I glanced out of the bookshop window and saw three men in the street.
I knew the man in the center had been here before. He wore a blue coat and tan breeches, plus the fine black boots that were practically a London gentleman’s uniform. A watch chain stretched across his lean middle, and his top hat was precisely brushed. Dark, straight hair stretched over his skull, flat against his rather pink flesh. He would be the moneyman, and the two much younger ruffians flanking him were his enforcers. Would they hurt Papa? My hand closed around the ring, still in my pocket. I had no idea of its true worth, but handing it over might put my neck in a noose. My lips trembled.
Mary came up next to me as Mamma opened the door. It was unlocked, but any potential customers must have sensed this was an unlucky day, for we’d had no trade since we arrived back from the palace.
“Don’t worry,” she whispered. “This won’t be the end. Find your pride, Jane. Don’t let Mr. Cannon see your distress. Such men feed on emotion. They sense a sinking ship.”
I nodded and wiped my eyes, then blew my nose before following her into the front hall.
“You will pay, or you will go,” Mr. Cannon was saying to Papa. His young men folded their arms across their large chests. What did they do to create such physiques? Carry around barrels filled with nails all day? I doubted that breaking kneecaps could create such bulk.
“I can pay three hundred on account today,” Papa said calmly.
“Where is it?” the moneylender demanded.
Mamma held up the box. Mr. Cannon gestured us into the bookshop, as if he were the proprietor here, then took the box and poured it all out onto the counter.
Mary dropped coins she had taken from somewhere into the mix, in just a moment creating disorder where there had been an amount matching Papa’s sum. But I appreciated it. Mamma produced some silver spoons, confusing things further. Charles’s little stash included a cravat pin. When no one was looking, I added in the little ring with its red stone, along with a few small coins.
Polly, who had returned from pawning the plate, released her coins. They fell right over the ring. Mary glanced at Polly and they both went out, probably to prepare the evening meal. Charles followed, whistling as if he had not a care in the world. I suspected he had kept a few coins back.
As Mr. Cannon counted through everything, estimating the value of the non-money items, I stood rigid, fearing someone would ask where it came from. But no one recognized my sacrifice, perhaps because the ring was valued much lower than I expected. I could hardly speak up and say I didn’t think the stone was semiprecious because it had dropped from the hand of a princess.
Papa stood stony-faced, flanked by his own ruffians, Mr. Place and Shelley. Mamma, next to me, kept applying a handkerchief to her eyes. Mr. Cannon didn’t even look at her or me. Finally, he announced the total.
“Godwin, you have managed it for now,” he said. “This is enough to buy you another two months, but I expect another payment next month, or I will be on your doorstep so early in August that you will not have time to go a-begging.”
Papa didn’t cower, but he didn’t grace the moneylender with an answer, either.
“Do not concern yourself, sir,” Shelley said. “There will be more, and the debt will be paid.”
“I have not given up on the contribution from the Russians yet,” Papa said.
“I do not care where it comes from,” Mr. Cannon said. “This is a business matter, and we will handle it as men of business do.” He poured the last of the coins into the little box and handed it to one of his men, then readjusted his top hat.
