Days crept by. Julia occasionally caught a glimpse of her uncle, or heard his footsteps on the stairs, and cringed.
Tuesday came round again and Julia and Felicity left the Wilherns’ fashionable town house in Mayfair to visit Monsieur and Madame Bartholdy. Julia had something very particular to ask the Bartholdys, something that she hardly dared hope for.
Had you been a man, you could have become a world-renowned pianist.
So the great music master, Bartholdy, had said to her two years before. Had she been born in Austria or Germany, or been able to travel to the Continent, she might have been successful as a composer and performer. Vienna and Leipzig, Bartholdy said, would have welcomed a female virtuoso. She might have performed for kings and queens in palaces.
After exiting the carriage, Julia and Felicity walked down Bishopsgate Street toward the Bartholdys’ building.
Nicholas strode purposefully through the East Side; he’d had his coachman let him out so he could walk the last half mile. He had gone to the War Office to report what he’d found—or rather his lack of findings—and they had encouraged him to continue to try to get close to Robert Wilhern and Hugh Edgerton, as they had other people checking into the other three gentlemen. They also encouraged him to go about his normal routine as much as possible.
And that was why Nicholas was walking down Bishopsgate Street on a Tuesday, to keep his regular appointment. He never saw anyone he knew in this part of town, so he was startled to see a well-dressed lady walking toward him, a lady who looked remarkably like Miss Grey. But that was ridiculous. What would she be doing in this part of town?
But the longer he watched her, the more he was convinced it was Miss Grey and her friend, Miss Mayson.
As he approached them, Miss Grey caught sight of him and her eyes widened. “Mr. Langdon! I didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Miss Grey.” He tipped his hat. “I could say the same to you and Miss Mayson. May I escort you?”
“Of course. We are on our way to call on my old music master, Monsieur Bartholdy.”
“But why are you walking? Why not take the carriage?”
“The coachman and I have an . . . um, understanding; I don’t make him drive past the end of Bishopsgate Street, he picks me up in the same spot, and he doesn’t mention to my aunt and uncle where I went.”
Now she was smiling. The only problem was, he could hardly watch where he was going for noticing the way her smile transformed her countenance and made the sunlight, what little there was on this overcast day, sparkle in her eyes.
“Please excuse me,” Miss Mayson said, “but I noticed a broken lace on my half boot when we were in the carriage, and I need to step into this shoe repair shop, just here, so that I might have it repaired.”
“Of course. If I may be of assistance . . .”
“Oh no, I shall be able to take care of it. You and Miss Grey can keep each other company. I shall return in a few moments.”
“Of course.” Nicholas and Miss Grey were left alone on the street in front of the shoe shop.
He was about to try to start a conversation about the weather or the state of the roads, the usual safe topics, when he spotted little Henry Lee coming out of an alley, fixing his gaze on Miss Grey. The poor urchin was as dirty and ragged as usual, and Nicholas held his breath to see if she would react as most well-bred ladies would, with a screech of horror and then an order for the offensive child to get away from her. But as Henry approached, Miss Grey actually turned to him.
“Henry! How is your sister? Is she better?” She reached into her reticule and pulled out some coins before Henry could even ask and pressed them into his hand, obviously unconcerned about soiling her white glove.
“Aye, miss. She’s much better now. No fever for at least a week.”
Nicholas tried to catch the boy’s eye from over Miss Grey’s shoulder. He shook his head and winked at the boy.
“Well, if it ain’t Mr. Lan—”
Nicholas shook his head again, frowning.
“Ah, I mean, who’s the bloke with the shiny top hat, Miss Grey? Looks like a fine dandy gentleman if ever I saw one.” Henry winked at Nicholas when Julia turned to glance his way.
She turned back to the boy. “Henry, do you know—”
“We should go, Miss Grey,” Nicholas said, holding her elbow and urging her forward. “You never know when more of these little street urchins will be lurking, waiting to steal your reticule.”
“That’s true, Miss Grey,” Henry added eagerly—too eagerly. “The bloke knows what he’s talking about. You shouldn’t trust street people like me. G’day, Miss Grey. Thankee for the shilling.” Then Henry winked slyly at Nicholas. He was sure Miss Grey must have seen it.
“All done,” Miss Mayson called out as she left the shop and joined them.
Nicholas hurried them both along until they had left the child behind.
“Do you know that boy, Mr. Langdon?” Miss Grey glanced up at him with suspicious eyes.