“Excuse me, Julia, Mr. Langdon.” Miss Mayson moved away from them. “I want to go in this shop to look for a special sachet for my mother’s birthday. I shall return in a few moments.”
When Miss Mayson had gone, they stood outside the shop, and Miss Grey took a deep breath and said, “I came to ask Mr. Wilson if he knows of a safe place, perhaps some type of charity mission, where a woman might live . . . if she had ruined her reputation and had nowhere else to go.” She spoke so softly, Nicholas found himself leaning down to catch her words as they walked along. But then, when what she had said sank into his consciousness, he tried not to look as surprised as he felt.
“This young woman needs a place to go immediately, or as soon as possible.”
She couldn’t mean herself. Could she? “Has something happened with your uncle? Is he trying to ruin you?”
“Oh no, it isn’t for me.” Miss Grey pressed her hand against her chest and shook her head slightly. She looked him in the eye. “My friend is a kind and loving person, but she made a mistake and is desperate for somewhere to go until she can have her child. She has no relatives to turn to for help. Although it is true that once my uncle finds out what I have been doing and is brought to justice, I will not have anywhere to go either and will be in a similar predicament. But I am not speaking of myself in this instance.”
She looked away, and he realized even more fully what he had been asking of her.
Julia did not want Mr. Langdon to think she was asking for his pity. She knew what she was getting herself into by spying on her uncle, but she wanted to do it. It was her duty to the Crown and to her country. Besides, whether she helped spy or not, once her uncle was found out, she’d have nowhere to go and her reputation would be tainted by association.
Julia spoke swiftly as they walked. “I was hoping that Mr. Wilson, as a clergyman and the head of a charity mission, would know of a place for my friend. But perhaps it was unfair of me to tell you, for you will wonder of whom I am speaking.”
“No, Miss Grey.” He stopped her with a firm hand on her arm and turned to face her. “I am very glad you have told me so that I might be able to help. And as for wondering who she is . . . we all have sinned and fallen short of God’s best. I have no right to pass judgment.”
“That is most kind of you, Mr. Langdon. Thank you. This person is in great need, and I seem to be her only friend in her desperate situation. I don’t want to see her further hurt. I am sorry I had to reveal these things to you and rely upon your secrecy, but her need is urgent and immediate.”
“You may depend upon me to keep this information with the utmost discretion and to share it only with Mr. Wilson. And I can offer this assurance—that although I do not know the particulars, I do believe Mr. Wilson will know exactly where this young lady may find a safe place to live, at least temporarily.”
“Oh, Mr. Langdon, you can’t know how much relief this brings.” Julia pressed her hand to her heart as such a rush of air filled her lungs that she became lightheaded. “I will write to my friend immediately. But how will you—or Mr. Wilson—get the information to me? How must I instruct my friend to act?”
“In our usual place, of course,” Mr. Langdon said, a grave look in his eyes that caused her stomach to flutter. “I will let you know what your friend must do.”
“Thank you, Mr. Langdon.” Tears filled Julia’s eyes, and she swallowed to force them away. “You are very kind.”
He stared at her as if he were trying to discern something from her expression, as if he was looking right through her, into her thoughts. Though, if her aunt and uncle found out that she was helping Sarah and had defied them by coming to the East Side today, she very well could be in need of a place to live.
Felicity exited the shop and came toward them. “They had the very thing.” She smiled, showing her perfect teeth, and held up her wrapped parcel.
Mr. Langdon and Julia congratulated her and turned to walk back toward the place where they would meet the coach.
Julia was staring at Mr. Langdon’s profile when she became aware of snorting horses and a carriage stopping just behind her. Turning, she saw it was the driver who had driven them there.
“Here is our hackney.”
“Allow me.” Mr. Langdon helped Felicity in first, then Julia, holding firmly to her hand and placing his other hand beneath her elbow. He closed the door behind her, and then, out of the window, she saw him pay the driver. As they drove away, he held her gaze with solemn eyes and a grave expression.
Most people would think ill of her simply because she associated with and was trying to help a young woman whose morals had been compromised.
But Nicholas Langdon was not like most people.