“I know that.” Her suitcases had been packed for the rail journey on the morrow that would see her confined to the country for the foreseeable future. “I wish Mamma didn’t have such a bee in her bonnet about my staying put for the rest of the Season. To prove what point? I’d rather we be locked away in the country together.”
“We will neither of us be locked away in the country,” said Charlotte. “Mott is bringing round the carriage. He’ll take me to one of the bigger hotels near Trafalgar Square, where the clerks won’t find it so strange that an unaccompanied woman comes to ask for a room at this hour. Tomorrow I’ll find a place in a boardinghouse.”
Livia shook her head. Was she hearing things? “You can’t be serious. You’re running away?”
“I am not. I am of age. I am free to leave my parents’ home and set up my own establishment. It only appears as if I’m running away because I don’t want our parents interfering with my plans.”
“My God, you’re running away.”
For the first time, Charlotte raised the glass of madeira Livia had poured for her hours ago, an odd little smile on her face. “All right, I’m running away. I prefer being on my own to being locked up in the country.”
“But Charlotte, how will you know where to find a boardinghouse? Or which ones are suitable for a lady?”
“Work and Leisure publishes a curated list from time to time—it’s a magazine aimed at women who work or are seeking employment. I’ve memorized the most recent list, since we only hire a house for the Season and I knew I must live in London year-round if I was to be educated here.”
Of course Charlotte would have committed such a list to memory. But the discussion made Livia feel as if she were suspended high in the air by nothing more than embroidery threads: Neither she nor Charlotte knew anything firsthand about life outside the boundaries of their upbringing. “But—but you’ll have to pay to be lodged, won’t you?”
“Yes. I have a few pounds put away. But I also plan to find work.”
“What kind of work? You’ve become notorious, Charlotte. You won’t ever become the headmistress of a school. You won’t even be able to work as a governess or a lady’s companion.”
“True. But there are positions that do not require me to take charge of other people’s daughters—or pollute someone else’s home with my infamy. Plenty of firms need typists. And more women have become secretaries of late. I can type. I’ve practiced shorthand on my own for when I’d have to transcribe at school. I’m qualified for many positions.”
Livia squeezed her eyes shut for a moment—the idea of Charlotte’s flight into the wilds of London was utterly overwhelming. “I don’t doubt your qualifications, but—”
“Then there’s nothing to fear.” Charlotte stepped out of her summery frock and reached for a traveling dress of russet velvet. “I’ll be fine. I should have done this long ago, as soon as I came of age.”
“But Charlotte, how much money do you have? A few pounds won’t get you very far if you don’t find employment right away.”
Livia hoarded the miniscule allowance she received from Lady Holmes, but Charlotte had a tendency to spend hers on books, bonbons, and odds and ends like a typewriter or a chemistry set. If she had more than five pounds to her name, Livia would be shocked.
“I’ll be fine, Livia. I expect the process to move quickly.”
There wouldn’t be “the woman question” if it were so easy for a female to leave her home and achieve independence. Granted, Charlotte’s mind had to be one of the finest in the land, but she was and would forever be a woman who had lost her respectability. A pariah. That had to be a monumental impediment, even away from the froth and vanity of the Upper Ten Thousand.
That said, Charlotte’s steely confidence was inspiring. Good old Charlotte, who knew everything, observed everything, and deduced the rest, if there were still anything left to be deduced. If anyone could succeed at this mad endeavor and live—no, prosper—to thumb her nose at her hidebound parents, it would be Charlotte Holmes.
However, at the thought of their parents . . . “What about Mamma and Papa? What will they do once they learn that you’ve run away?”
“Mamma will be hysterical. Papa will be furious. Mamma will wish to tear the city apart to find me, so she can slap me some more. Papa will agree with her initially, that I should be brought home to be firmly dealt with.
“But whether he decides to confide his troubles to the police or a private investigator, before he’s dressed to go out, he’ll change his mind. Why should he take the trouble to haul me home when I’ll most likely run away again? Why not let me be defeated by London—and life outside his sphere of protection? That way, when I come knocking, in helpless despair, he’ll be sure I’ll stay put in the country for the rest of my life.”
Livia clutched at her temples. “That’s heartless.”
“That’s logical and our father considers himself a clever man. Besides”—Charlotte marched to the window and peered out, straightening her cuffs as she did so—“Mott’s here. It’s time.”