Mr. Talbot-Martin enlisted the help of his cousin, Berenice Hastings, who met them at the station. She stood on the platform, searching the faces of passengers disembarking from the latest train. After twenty years, she hoped she could still recognize Bedford. Or that he, at least, would be able to recognize her. She was also curious about this daughter of his, and wondered if something could be made of the girl.
Linley, her father, and the team shuffled down the aisle along with the rest of the passengers. Mr. Talbot-Martin saw Berenice the moment they pulled into the station. He knew her squared shoulders and the impatient drum of her foot against the tiled floor of the platform, and it was just a matter of getting off the train to go and greet her.
As for Linley, it took Archie and Reginald holding both arms, and Schoville pushing from behind to move her down the aisle and off the train.
“It isn’t like you to be cowardly,” Archie whispered into her ear. “Where is the girl I watched take on half the Zulu nation and not even bat an eye?”
Linley swallowed. “I believe we left her in Natal.”
Her father led them across the platform, ignorant of the conversation taking place behind him. He stopped in front of a stout woman in a stiff alpaca suit, her red-tinged, obviously hennaed, hair partially hidden beneath an enormous feathered hat.
“Berenice?” he asked.
She blinked up at him, recognizing her cousin’s smiling face. “Bedford! How well you look after all this time.” Berenice then studied the group gathered behind him. “Heavens, are these all yours?”
Mr. Talbot-Martin laughed. “No, no. Only one—my daughter, Linley.”
Linley stepped forward and dipped a little curtsey to the older woman. “How do you do?”
Berenice made no effort to hide her scrutinizing glance as she sized Linley up. The girl stood shorter than was desirable, but carried herself well enough to hide it. Her face seemed pleasant—eyes a bit too large, her nose a touch too small, but she had good teeth when she smiled. The only irreparable defect of the girl’s countenance was her skin, which was marred by freckles.
“Have you always had these freckles, young lady?”
Linley was not put off by the woman’s frankness. “I don’t believe I was born with them, ma’am, but I cannot say for certain.”
“Let us hope rice powder can cover them,” Berenice said. “Society still favors a delicate complexion, and too much time in the sun could be seen as improper.”
Linley couldn’t imagine what the condition of her skin could possibly have to do with proper or improper behavior.
“Now,” Berenice said, “I have my motor waiting outside. If you all would please follow me, we can continue this conversation at home, where private matters are always best discussed.”
Mr. Talbot-Martin and the others collected their bags and followed Berenice to her motorcar. Only Reginald did not accompany them. During their time in London, he planned to stay at his family’s townhouse in St. James’s.
“You will behave yourself, won’t you?” Linley asked him as they went their separate ways.
“Of course,” Reginald replied. “My brothers will be in town for the season, and they do a fantastic job of keeping an eye on me. After all, someone has to uphold the dignity of the Bourne family these days.” With a tip of his hat, he disappeared into the busy street.
“Miss Talbot-Martin!” Berenice called from the open door of her automobile. “I hope I do not have to explain that it is quite rude to keep one’s company waiting!”
***
The trip from the station to Bedford Square was like nothing Linley ever saw before. Everywhere she looked, there were motorcars, omnibuses, and horse-drawn carts, not to mention the throngs of pedestrians darting between them and scurrying along the pavement. Advertisements for laundry soaps and bicycle repair shops decorated the streets, hanging from every available space on the sides of the buses and lorries that passed by.
Unable to help herself, Linley stared open-mouthed out the window. When they arrived at Berenice’s gray brick townhouse, she felt dizzy from the shock of the commotion. The busy streets of Cairo or Rome were no match for London. The city was more than she ever expected or could have ever dreamed in a thousand years. How had she gone her entire life and not experienced this place?
“The square and its gardens were named after the Duke of Bedford, who owns them,” her father explained, taking her hand and helping her out of the motorcar. “When your great-grandfather lived here, he thought there was no finer man than His Grace, the Duke. So he insisted I be called Bedford in his honor.” Linley did not seem at all impressed at that tidbit of family history, so he added, “And you’ll be glad to know we are only a short walk from the British Museum.”