Post by Chelliet on Jul 31, 2008 12:16:48 GMT -5
Chapter Three
“Mother, how nice to see you.” Rachelle was both surprised and perturbed at her mother’s unannounced visit. Hurrying down the stairs, she remembered that it was unseemly to hurry about halfway down and she immediately slowed, taking each step carefully before she reached the landing.
Lady Raine stood in the foyer of her daughter’s townhouse and inspected Rachelle with a critical eye as she untied the delicate bonnet she’d worn and laid it carefully on a side table. Soft, golden hair with traces of gray at the temples sat regally atop her head in a loose bun while clear, hazel eyes took in all the woefully inadequate ways in which her daughter presented herself.
Ink-stained fingers, a dress that was as threadbare as it was out of style, no shoes though she was at least wearing stockings, and her hair was barely contained in the braid that snaked down her back. It made a mother want to sigh in hopelessness.
Rachelle disliked that look on her mother’s face. It had always made her squirm as a child and for the longest time she’d tried to appease that never ending disapproval. But she’d never been able to no matter how hard she tried and eventually she’d given up entirely. But that didn’t mean that look still didn’t make her uneasy. It probably always would.
Lacing fingers together to keep them from fidgeting and to hide the ink stains, Rachelle stood straight and silent while she waited for her mother to acknowledge the greeting. She’d been in the middle of her morning correspondence when her mother had called unexpectedly. It was also a barely decent time of day to be calling, but a part of her knew her mother wouldn’t factor any of that into her silent inspection. She knew she didn’t look the part of the lady of quality she was, but she hoped that just this once her mother would overlook it.
Charlotte Raine was a formidable woman. Even now in her aging years, she was still a great beauty and she held that indescribable feminine grace that was born rather than learned. Every time she looked at her daughter, her heart despaired at the events that had taken place to put them both in such a situation. But even a foolish man will stop beating his head against a brick wall at some point and in this regard, Rachelle was that brick wall and Charlotte was far from foolish. No matter how hard she’d tried, she had never been able to get her youngest to act the part of the lady. Oh there were moments, beautiful moments where she could hope, but they were inevitably destroyed by the next folly or accident.
Eventually she’d stopped hoping. Then she’d stopped pretending.
“You’ve ink on your hands again. And dear, that dress...” Charlotte pressed her lips together into a thin line as if she had to work at not saying anything more derogatory about the matter, but that look and the tone of her voice were enough to have Rachelle’s smile turning brittle at its edges and her spine straightening just a bit more. Whatever hope she’d had that she would meet with even a small amount of approval, withered and died.
After her mother swept past her into the parlor, Rachelle turned and smoothed the faded, sage green skirt along her hips and patted at her hair a bit. The dress was old, but it was comfortable and Rachelle had not been expecting visitors, though none of that seemed to count. No matter how old she got or how independent she became, she was forever the clumsy, ill-behaved child in her mother’s eyes.
“Niles, won’t you bring in some tea? And some of those wonderful cakes if Marie has any left,” Rachelle asked her butler who’d been standing just inside the front door silently. Niles nodded and gave her a supportive smile before bending his tall frame in a slight bow and disappearing off to the kitchen. Niles was skinny as a rail and had come with the house when she’d moved in. His service had quickly become invaluable to her, even if he did threaten her driver concerning her safety.
With one last nervous breath, Rachelle entered the parlor and sat on the chaise across from her mother. The parlor itself was wonderfully pretty. White was the dominating color, but there were accents of rose and spring green to bring life to the room and keep it from being dreadfully dreary. Her mother didn’t seem to approve of that either.
Charlotte sat stiffly and set her gaze on her daughter again.
“You needn’t have worried about tea, dear,” she said in what she thought was a neutral tone. Rachelle’s smile then was small, but tinged with a hint of bitterness.
“Oh, do not worry Mother. It’s not for you, it’s for me. I know you won’t be staying long enough for it. I’m not worth that much time to you.” The minute she said it she was sorry, especially when she saw her mother’s face disappear behind that mask of stony silence that she’d learned to hate. “I’m sorry. That was harsh of me.”
“Yes, yes it was. But I suppose it’s true.” Charlotte let out a heavy breath and let herself lean against the back of the overstuffed chair a bit, raising a hand to silence Rachelle when she would have spoken again. Truth be told, her youngest daughter exhausted her. “It’s one of your greatest flaws. You speak the truth no matter how hurtful or unnecessary it is. But you are right. I won’t be staying long enough for tea. I came by just to see how you were doing.”
Rachelle sat motionless, mildly shocked at her mother’s admission but not truly surprised. She’d already known her penchant for speaking out of turn was one of the things her family lamented about the most. It was almost a relief to hear it spoken aloud despite the dull pain in her heart.
“I assumed the whole purpose of offering me a house of my own was so that you wouldn’t have to clean up after my messes anymore.” It was Rachelle’s turn to hold up her hand when her mother would have spoken. “I know I’m a great disappointment to you. And to Father. You needn’t worry over me anymore. Neither one of us ever enjoy these...visits.” Charlotte’s tense silence in the pause that followed was confirmation enough for Rachelle.
Niles chose that moment to come in with a large silver tray. A matching teapot, two delicate china cups and saucers, and a small plate of pink, frosted cakes sat on it. The smell of warm ginger combined with the slightly orange spice of the tea and it was a scent Rachelle would have lingered over if she’d been alone.
“Thank you Niles.”
“My lady,” he answered before leaving the room.
The silence continued until after Rachelle poured tea, setting a cup for her mother who, surprisingly, took it and balanced it on one knee.
“Why are you really here?” The question would have shocked Charlotte if she weren’t used to such bold things coming from her daughter’s lips, but even so she took her time sipping her tea before answering. A sign of disapproval. Again.
“Just as I said before, I am here to see that you are doing well.”
“Well you can certainly see that I am not wasting away for lack of food or comfort.” Only love. But she would never say that. Her family had made it abundantly clear that her love wasn’t enough for them. They wanted the kind of daughter she could never be. If The Incident had never happened, she might have had a chance, but society is not forgiving for mistakes of any kind, let alone the kind she made 6 years ago.
Charlotte sipped more of her tea before setting it abruptly down onto the low table and standing.
“Yes, I can. You know you need only ask if you have need of anything.” It was a rehearsed line and they both knew it. It was the last thing her mother always said before leaving after her monthly visits and it was an offer Rachelle never took. She stood as well, following her mother to the door.
“You really should pay more attention to your attire, Rachelle. That dress should have been burned years ago.” Pink tinged Rachelle’s cheeks and she looked down and away from her stately mother who continued to tie her bonnet as if she hadn’t just insulted her daughter.
“I try, Mother. Really I do,” she almost whispered in return, her hands fisted within the folds of her skirts. There she stood, looking like a bedraggled orphan while her mother stood so grandly in her blue walking gown like a queen.
Her mother’s look said plainly enough she doubted that Rachelle truly cared about her clothes and she opened the door herself. Like she always did, Rachelle stood in the doorway and watched as her mother descended the stairs to the cobbled streets below.
Charlotte paused for a moment on the second step, and turned back with that haughty face full of judgment and disappointment.
“For all our sakes Rachelle, stop trying. Give up. We already have.” Then she was stepping into the gleaming carriage with the Raine livery emblazoned on the side and she was gone.
Rachelle stood there for a long moment, the fingers holding the door growing white with the force of her grip while she simply stared down the street at the retreating carriage. It was Niles’ hand on her shoulder that broke her reverie and she closed the door quickly, taking a small bit of satisfaction in locking it.
“Thank you again Niles. The tea was delicious.” Then she turned and went up the stairs to her bedroom, each step taken carefully; as if she were afraid that one misstep would have her crashing down them. She had a great many things to finish today and she could not afford to spend time feeling sorry for herself.
Niles stood there and watched her disappear over the stairs, wondering if she knew that she was crying.
* * * * *
Several hours later, Niles found her curled up in the overstuffed, oversized leather chair that sat prominently in front of the hearth in the library. She had her legs tucked up underneath her, her head bend forward, and the book in her lap drew all her attention. The late morning sun streamed through the windows behind her and lit up her hair like flame and the silver rims of her spectacles glinted like mirrors. If Niles had been a fanciful man, he would have said she reminded him of a smart fairy.
She had taken solace in her books, just as she always had. The stories of old where chivalrous knights fought for the honor of innocent, pure maidens soothed her tattered spirit. It wasn’t just the adventure of finding magical swords and slaying fearsome dragons and demons. It was the romance and the ideals of a bygone era that called to her and made her believe that perhaps somewhere there was still a hint of those selfless virtues amongst the people of London. They gave her hope, those books she treasured, and there were days when hope was all that stood between her and insanity.
Already the sting of that morning’s incident had faded and the tears she’d wiped from her cheeks were long forgotten. She still had ink on her fingers and her dress was just as faded and old as it had been four hours ago, but she no longer saw them as flaws. In fact, she didn’t see them at all. Not until the sound of a shuffled footstep at the doorway raised her head. An easy smile touched her lips as she carefully closed the book in her lap.
“I’ve lost track of time again, haven’t I?” she asked. Niles would have answered that, but Rachelle was rising from the chair and already putting the book back in its place. She gave it one last touch, a delicate, tender caress of loving fingers against the spine’s age old leather, and suddenly he felt like an intruder.
“Shall I have the carriage brought around?” Rachelle gave herself one last small sigh over the story she’d set aside and turned to look at her butler.
“Yes, please. It will only take me a minute to change and I have several errands I need to see to.”
“Very good then.” A bare ten minutes later, Rachelle met Niles at the front door. The sage green dress had been replaced with a rich, blue walking gown that matched her eyes and the bonnet she wore hid most of her hair. The brilliantly red curls were subdued into a simple style that sat well beneath the hat and her pelisse was a matching sapphire. She didn’t think she would need it, in fact she knew she wouldn’t need it, but she’d take it. Perhaps her mother’s words had wounded deeper than she’d thought.
“I’ll be gone the rest of the day, but have Marie make ready for tonight. I am going to attend the Faulks’ soiree.” She was fussing with her bonnet and thus missed the surprised arch of severe eyebrows that the butler gave for a moment.
“The Faulks’, madam? But isn’t your family—”
“Yes, my family will be attending as well. I do not plan to change my schedule just because of the unfortunate events of this morning,” she interrupted. She stood straight and proud, her chin held just a bit higher than normal as if she dared the servant to contradict her. Nay, as if she dared the whole world to contradict her. “Lady Faulks has just come into possession of a particularly intriguing manuscript. An Italian copy of The Dragon’s Hoard I believe it is. I have no intention on missing my chance to see it.” Those lips curled into a deliciously wicked kind of smile and Niles couldn’t help but shake his head.
“You mean your chance at obtaining it from her,” he said as he held the door open for her. Her laughter rose from the stairs as she descended to her waiting carriage.
“But of course. Why else would I go?” She laughed again and when she was settled on the comfortable bench inside, she allowed herself another smile before calling out the carriage’s small window. “To Bond Street, Brian.”
* * * * * *
“What do you mean he’s not here?”
It was half past four by the time she was able to return to that small little bookshop on the edges of the Dark District, but it had been a productive day. The letters to Burns, her man of affairs, had been delivered and she’d been able to speak with him at great length concerning a new canal venture. She would have to give it some more thought, but she was inclined to purchase a goodly amount of shares. All under the guise of R. M. Raine of course, her elderly great uncle Riley whose heath was precarious enough that he never left his home on the outskirts of the London.
Burns did not socialize in the same circles as her family so she had no worries that he would see through her ruse. In truth there was no great uncle named Riley who lived on the outskirts of London. There was no great uncle at all, in point of fact. But Burns, no matter his business savvy and competence, would not have dealt with her if he’d known that she was the one telling him which shares to buy and sell. She did not mind the charade, but it did become troublesome sometimes. For instance, she would be forced to wait until the morrow before instructing him to invest in the Compton Canal venture, all because she had to pretend to speak with her uncle first.
Ah well, it mattered not one whit at the moment. The damndable Mr. Ramsey was gone again and his housekeeper, a shrewish looking woman whose hair was a frizz of brown speckled with white, was not inclined to let her in either.
“Oi said, ‘e’s not ‘ere. Store don’t open ‘till after 9 o’ th’ clock.” For once, Rachelle kept in the sound of frustration and instead only frowned at the woman.
“But I was here last night at well past that time and no one was here. Has Mr. Ramsey left on holiday? Perhaps he would be willing to see just me. I’m told he has a particular bo—”
“No, no, and no, Miss. ‘E ain’t on no ‘oliday and ‘e won’t see you neither. You’ll ‘ave to come back when th’ shop is open, and tha’ tain’t till after 9.” That was apparently her last word on the matter because she slammed the door shut hard enough to knock a small cloud of dust from that sad, pathetic window.
“Well good Heavens. How rude.” Rachelle sneezed once and almost knocked the spectacles off her face. Adjusting them, she frowned at how dirty they were and took them off for a moment to clean them. Instantly the street became nothing more than a blur of shapes, colors, and movement and she squinted out of habit until the eyewear was back safely on her face.
Frustrated but unable to do anything but fume, she did just that as she walked back to the carriage. Brian declined to comment on the success of her trip since it was obvious that she’d had none, so instead he wisely kept his tongue and held the door open for her before climbing back up on his seat when she was once more settled inside.
“Home, Brian. I’ve done all my errands for today.” A quick cluck to the horses and a flick of the reins saw them in motion and on their way.
Settled around the small amount of packages she’d bought, she took off her spectacles again and tapped them against her knee in an absent motion. If the shop didn’t open until after 9 o’ clock, then she would have to be there at that time. But she couldn’t miss the Faulks’ soiree, if only for the principle of the thing. She was done letting her mother disapprove her into submission. Well then, there was only one thing she could do.
“Mother, how nice to see you.” Rachelle was both surprised and perturbed at her mother’s unannounced visit. Hurrying down the stairs, she remembered that it was unseemly to hurry about halfway down and she immediately slowed, taking each step carefully before she reached the landing.
Lady Raine stood in the foyer of her daughter’s townhouse and inspected Rachelle with a critical eye as she untied the delicate bonnet she’d worn and laid it carefully on a side table. Soft, golden hair with traces of gray at the temples sat regally atop her head in a loose bun while clear, hazel eyes took in all the woefully inadequate ways in which her daughter presented herself.
Ink-stained fingers, a dress that was as threadbare as it was out of style, no shoes though she was at least wearing stockings, and her hair was barely contained in the braid that snaked down her back. It made a mother want to sigh in hopelessness.
Rachelle disliked that look on her mother’s face. It had always made her squirm as a child and for the longest time she’d tried to appease that never ending disapproval. But she’d never been able to no matter how hard she tried and eventually she’d given up entirely. But that didn’t mean that look still didn’t make her uneasy. It probably always would.
Lacing fingers together to keep them from fidgeting and to hide the ink stains, Rachelle stood straight and silent while she waited for her mother to acknowledge the greeting. She’d been in the middle of her morning correspondence when her mother had called unexpectedly. It was also a barely decent time of day to be calling, but a part of her knew her mother wouldn’t factor any of that into her silent inspection. She knew she didn’t look the part of the lady of quality she was, but she hoped that just this once her mother would overlook it.
Charlotte Raine was a formidable woman. Even now in her aging years, she was still a great beauty and she held that indescribable feminine grace that was born rather than learned. Every time she looked at her daughter, her heart despaired at the events that had taken place to put them both in such a situation. But even a foolish man will stop beating his head against a brick wall at some point and in this regard, Rachelle was that brick wall and Charlotte was far from foolish. No matter how hard she’d tried, she had never been able to get her youngest to act the part of the lady. Oh there were moments, beautiful moments where she could hope, but they were inevitably destroyed by the next folly or accident.
Eventually she’d stopped hoping. Then she’d stopped pretending.
“You’ve ink on your hands again. And dear, that dress...” Charlotte pressed her lips together into a thin line as if she had to work at not saying anything more derogatory about the matter, but that look and the tone of her voice were enough to have Rachelle’s smile turning brittle at its edges and her spine straightening just a bit more. Whatever hope she’d had that she would meet with even a small amount of approval, withered and died.
After her mother swept past her into the parlor, Rachelle turned and smoothed the faded, sage green skirt along her hips and patted at her hair a bit. The dress was old, but it was comfortable and Rachelle had not been expecting visitors, though none of that seemed to count. No matter how old she got or how independent she became, she was forever the clumsy, ill-behaved child in her mother’s eyes.
“Niles, won’t you bring in some tea? And some of those wonderful cakes if Marie has any left,” Rachelle asked her butler who’d been standing just inside the front door silently. Niles nodded and gave her a supportive smile before bending his tall frame in a slight bow and disappearing off to the kitchen. Niles was skinny as a rail and had come with the house when she’d moved in. His service had quickly become invaluable to her, even if he did threaten her driver concerning her safety.
With one last nervous breath, Rachelle entered the parlor and sat on the chaise across from her mother. The parlor itself was wonderfully pretty. White was the dominating color, but there were accents of rose and spring green to bring life to the room and keep it from being dreadfully dreary. Her mother didn’t seem to approve of that either.
Charlotte sat stiffly and set her gaze on her daughter again.
“You needn’t have worried about tea, dear,” she said in what she thought was a neutral tone. Rachelle’s smile then was small, but tinged with a hint of bitterness.
“Oh, do not worry Mother. It’s not for you, it’s for me. I know you won’t be staying long enough for it. I’m not worth that much time to you.” The minute she said it she was sorry, especially when she saw her mother’s face disappear behind that mask of stony silence that she’d learned to hate. “I’m sorry. That was harsh of me.”
“Yes, yes it was. But I suppose it’s true.” Charlotte let out a heavy breath and let herself lean against the back of the overstuffed chair a bit, raising a hand to silence Rachelle when she would have spoken again. Truth be told, her youngest daughter exhausted her. “It’s one of your greatest flaws. You speak the truth no matter how hurtful or unnecessary it is. But you are right. I won’t be staying long enough for tea. I came by just to see how you were doing.”
Rachelle sat motionless, mildly shocked at her mother’s admission but not truly surprised. She’d already known her penchant for speaking out of turn was one of the things her family lamented about the most. It was almost a relief to hear it spoken aloud despite the dull pain in her heart.
“I assumed the whole purpose of offering me a house of my own was so that you wouldn’t have to clean up after my messes anymore.” It was Rachelle’s turn to hold up her hand when her mother would have spoken. “I know I’m a great disappointment to you. And to Father. You needn’t worry over me anymore. Neither one of us ever enjoy these...visits.” Charlotte’s tense silence in the pause that followed was confirmation enough for Rachelle.
Niles chose that moment to come in with a large silver tray. A matching teapot, two delicate china cups and saucers, and a small plate of pink, frosted cakes sat on it. The smell of warm ginger combined with the slightly orange spice of the tea and it was a scent Rachelle would have lingered over if she’d been alone.
“Thank you Niles.”
“My lady,” he answered before leaving the room.
The silence continued until after Rachelle poured tea, setting a cup for her mother who, surprisingly, took it and balanced it on one knee.
“Why are you really here?” The question would have shocked Charlotte if she weren’t used to such bold things coming from her daughter’s lips, but even so she took her time sipping her tea before answering. A sign of disapproval. Again.
“Just as I said before, I am here to see that you are doing well.”
“Well you can certainly see that I am not wasting away for lack of food or comfort.” Only love. But she would never say that. Her family had made it abundantly clear that her love wasn’t enough for them. They wanted the kind of daughter she could never be. If The Incident had never happened, she might have had a chance, but society is not forgiving for mistakes of any kind, let alone the kind she made 6 years ago.
Charlotte sipped more of her tea before setting it abruptly down onto the low table and standing.
“Yes, I can. You know you need only ask if you have need of anything.” It was a rehearsed line and they both knew it. It was the last thing her mother always said before leaving after her monthly visits and it was an offer Rachelle never took. She stood as well, following her mother to the door.
“You really should pay more attention to your attire, Rachelle. That dress should have been burned years ago.” Pink tinged Rachelle’s cheeks and she looked down and away from her stately mother who continued to tie her bonnet as if she hadn’t just insulted her daughter.
“I try, Mother. Really I do,” she almost whispered in return, her hands fisted within the folds of her skirts. There she stood, looking like a bedraggled orphan while her mother stood so grandly in her blue walking gown like a queen.
Her mother’s look said plainly enough she doubted that Rachelle truly cared about her clothes and she opened the door herself. Like she always did, Rachelle stood in the doorway and watched as her mother descended the stairs to the cobbled streets below.
Charlotte paused for a moment on the second step, and turned back with that haughty face full of judgment and disappointment.
“For all our sakes Rachelle, stop trying. Give up. We already have.” Then she was stepping into the gleaming carriage with the Raine livery emblazoned on the side and she was gone.
Rachelle stood there for a long moment, the fingers holding the door growing white with the force of her grip while she simply stared down the street at the retreating carriage. It was Niles’ hand on her shoulder that broke her reverie and she closed the door quickly, taking a small bit of satisfaction in locking it.
“Thank you again Niles. The tea was delicious.” Then she turned and went up the stairs to her bedroom, each step taken carefully; as if she were afraid that one misstep would have her crashing down them. She had a great many things to finish today and she could not afford to spend time feeling sorry for herself.
Niles stood there and watched her disappear over the stairs, wondering if she knew that she was crying.
* * * * *
Several hours later, Niles found her curled up in the overstuffed, oversized leather chair that sat prominently in front of the hearth in the library. She had her legs tucked up underneath her, her head bend forward, and the book in her lap drew all her attention. The late morning sun streamed through the windows behind her and lit up her hair like flame and the silver rims of her spectacles glinted like mirrors. If Niles had been a fanciful man, he would have said she reminded him of a smart fairy.
She had taken solace in her books, just as she always had. The stories of old where chivalrous knights fought for the honor of innocent, pure maidens soothed her tattered spirit. It wasn’t just the adventure of finding magical swords and slaying fearsome dragons and demons. It was the romance and the ideals of a bygone era that called to her and made her believe that perhaps somewhere there was still a hint of those selfless virtues amongst the people of London. They gave her hope, those books she treasured, and there were days when hope was all that stood between her and insanity.
Already the sting of that morning’s incident had faded and the tears she’d wiped from her cheeks were long forgotten. She still had ink on her fingers and her dress was just as faded and old as it had been four hours ago, but she no longer saw them as flaws. In fact, she didn’t see them at all. Not until the sound of a shuffled footstep at the doorway raised her head. An easy smile touched her lips as she carefully closed the book in her lap.
“I’ve lost track of time again, haven’t I?” she asked. Niles would have answered that, but Rachelle was rising from the chair and already putting the book back in its place. She gave it one last touch, a delicate, tender caress of loving fingers against the spine’s age old leather, and suddenly he felt like an intruder.
“Shall I have the carriage brought around?” Rachelle gave herself one last small sigh over the story she’d set aside and turned to look at her butler.
“Yes, please. It will only take me a minute to change and I have several errands I need to see to.”
“Very good then.” A bare ten minutes later, Rachelle met Niles at the front door. The sage green dress had been replaced with a rich, blue walking gown that matched her eyes and the bonnet she wore hid most of her hair. The brilliantly red curls were subdued into a simple style that sat well beneath the hat and her pelisse was a matching sapphire. She didn’t think she would need it, in fact she knew she wouldn’t need it, but she’d take it. Perhaps her mother’s words had wounded deeper than she’d thought.
“I’ll be gone the rest of the day, but have Marie make ready for tonight. I am going to attend the Faulks’ soiree.” She was fussing with her bonnet and thus missed the surprised arch of severe eyebrows that the butler gave for a moment.
“The Faulks’, madam? But isn’t your family—”
“Yes, my family will be attending as well. I do not plan to change my schedule just because of the unfortunate events of this morning,” she interrupted. She stood straight and proud, her chin held just a bit higher than normal as if she dared the servant to contradict her. Nay, as if she dared the whole world to contradict her. “Lady Faulks has just come into possession of a particularly intriguing manuscript. An Italian copy of The Dragon’s Hoard I believe it is. I have no intention on missing my chance to see it.” Those lips curled into a deliciously wicked kind of smile and Niles couldn’t help but shake his head.
“You mean your chance at obtaining it from her,” he said as he held the door open for her. Her laughter rose from the stairs as she descended to her waiting carriage.
“But of course. Why else would I go?” She laughed again and when she was settled on the comfortable bench inside, she allowed herself another smile before calling out the carriage’s small window. “To Bond Street, Brian.”
* * * * * *
“What do you mean he’s not here?”
It was half past four by the time she was able to return to that small little bookshop on the edges of the Dark District, but it had been a productive day. The letters to Burns, her man of affairs, had been delivered and she’d been able to speak with him at great length concerning a new canal venture. She would have to give it some more thought, but she was inclined to purchase a goodly amount of shares. All under the guise of R. M. Raine of course, her elderly great uncle Riley whose heath was precarious enough that he never left his home on the outskirts of the London.
Burns did not socialize in the same circles as her family so she had no worries that he would see through her ruse. In truth there was no great uncle named Riley who lived on the outskirts of London. There was no great uncle at all, in point of fact. But Burns, no matter his business savvy and competence, would not have dealt with her if he’d known that she was the one telling him which shares to buy and sell. She did not mind the charade, but it did become troublesome sometimes. For instance, she would be forced to wait until the morrow before instructing him to invest in the Compton Canal venture, all because she had to pretend to speak with her uncle first.
Ah well, it mattered not one whit at the moment. The damndable Mr. Ramsey was gone again and his housekeeper, a shrewish looking woman whose hair was a frizz of brown speckled with white, was not inclined to let her in either.
“Oi said, ‘e’s not ‘ere. Store don’t open ‘till after 9 o’ th’ clock.” For once, Rachelle kept in the sound of frustration and instead only frowned at the woman.
“But I was here last night at well past that time and no one was here. Has Mr. Ramsey left on holiday? Perhaps he would be willing to see just me. I’m told he has a particular bo—”
“No, no, and no, Miss. ‘E ain’t on no ‘oliday and ‘e won’t see you neither. You’ll ‘ave to come back when th’ shop is open, and tha’ tain’t till after 9.” That was apparently her last word on the matter because she slammed the door shut hard enough to knock a small cloud of dust from that sad, pathetic window.
“Well good Heavens. How rude.” Rachelle sneezed once and almost knocked the spectacles off her face. Adjusting them, she frowned at how dirty they were and took them off for a moment to clean them. Instantly the street became nothing more than a blur of shapes, colors, and movement and she squinted out of habit until the eyewear was back safely on her face.
Frustrated but unable to do anything but fume, she did just that as she walked back to the carriage. Brian declined to comment on the success of her trip since it was obvious that she’d had none, so instead he wisely kept his tongue and held the door open for her before climbing back up on his seat when she was once more settled inside.
“Home, Brian. I’ve done all my errands for today.” A quick cluck to the horses and a flick of the reins saw them in motion and on their way.
Settled around the small amount of packages she’d bought, she took off her spectacles again and tapped them against her knee in an absent motion. If the shop didn’t open until after 9 o’ clock, then she would have to be there at that time. But she couldn’t miss the Faulks’ soiree, if only for the principle of the thing. She was done letting her mother disapprove her into submission. Well then, there was only one thing she could do.