Silver, page 6
“I have a favour to ask of you, Kate,” Avery stopped and Kate continued past, turning after a few steps so that they were some distance from each other, when Kate replied, “Yes Miss?”
“I have two things to ask of you and I am afraid you may find both strange. The first is an errand that I wish to run in St Giles,” he held up a hand as Kate’s face fell, the area around St Giles being of questionable character. “I will explain what I wish to do in a moment and I shall understand if you will not come with me. However, if you do, I need your assurances that the details of where we go must remain with only the two of us.”
He kept his eyes on Kate’s as she nodded slowly at him, indicating only that she understood. She was hesitant but her curiosity forbade her from denying him.
“Yes, of course, Miss,” she answered. “And the second thing, Miss Silver?” she asked neutrally. She seemed nervous of the serious turn that this conversation had taken but her eyes sparkled with delight. Avery’s cheek twitched as she addressed him and he hesitated, considering again what he was about to ask of her.
“I would like you to stop calling me Miss or Alice.”
Her face lit up in a smile. She seemed relieved that this outlandish request was all that seemed to be vexing her young mistress. However, noticing how solemn Avery’s face became she stifled a laugh and instead enquired. “What am I to call you then?”
He waited nervously and the girl looked confused, her eyebrows knitted together expectantly.
“I should like you to call me, Avery.” He stated simply. “Or perhaps you would like to call me, Sir,” he added. He kept his eyes fixed unblinkingly on her own as he waited for her reaction. His stomach knotted as something like recognition dawned over her face. There was no doubt that she was puzzled and she stepped backwards slightly to look at him.
To anyone who cared to consider it, Avery was a tall and handsome woman who seemed to go to extraordinary lengths to refuse to wear anything which could make him more beautiful. He always chose plain and drab dresses and refused to have either his hair or his face made up, which made him seem much older than his twenty years. Kate had always professed this to be strange and she openly coveted the fine fabrics her mistress refused to take pleasure in. Many supposed that Avery was in want of a mother figure to guide him in the fashionable changes to which a young girl ought to be devoted. Avery watched, almost shyly, as Kate continued to look puzzled by what she was being asked.
“What is the errand in St Giles?” she asked.
“I told you already,” he answered cautiously. “Avery needs some new clothes.”
Avery’s words hung in the air between them as Kate looked at him curiously. As they stood facing each other on the path, a trio of young girls passed them, their arms interlocked, giggling and pointing at a young man asleep down by the pond. A family of ducks was investigating his straw hat and was about to make off with it. The spell of their stare was broken as Avery stepped aside to allow the girls room on the path and he watched until they disappeared beyond earshot. When he looked back at Kate, she was walking away from him towards the gate. With an anxious start, Avery hurried to catch up with her and placed a restraining hand upon her arm.
“Kate?”
She stopped and, looking up at her mistress, smiled nervously.
“If we hurry we can catch the next bus to St Giles, Miss, ” she caught herself from finishing and looked up expectantly at Avery. The dread rush of icy cold surging to his heart was replaced, at once, by a warming pleasure and he smiled broadly. Kate returned his excited beam as she finished her sentence. “…Sir.”
~o~
As the Omnibus rolled off along Shaftesbury Avenue, Avery Silver and Kate Ward appeared fairly ordinary figures by the light of the splendid, summer sun. There were plenty of ladies and gentlemen ambling along towards Piccadilly Circus and few noticed the two drably dressed women as they strayed down Mercer Street. The narrow road was bustling with people intent on making hay whilst the sun shone. Several ramshackle stalls had been thrown up along the side street. Two barrow boys competed for an audience, shouting cheekily to sell their fruit and vegetables. A man in a moth-eaten suit tried to demonstrate something mechanical out of a battered suitcase. He struggled with his sales patter as some parts fell off his machine. His audience stared at him warily with a mixture of curiosity and pity and some openly laughed. A woman, shabbily dressed in the offcuts of what was once a fine dress, paraded around an upturned crate stacked high with parasols. The contents were neither new nor in very good condition and Avery eyed her suspiciously, wondering how such a down-at-heel woman could have acquired so many parasols. Kate too had spotted the woman and she quickly glanced away as the woman noticed her admiring her wares.
“Jus wot you need ter keep yer fair skin shaded from the sun, Miss. Only ‘alf a shilling. Good as new, Miss.” The woman tried to press the parasol she was holding into Kate’s hand. Kate shook her head and Avery was quick to intervene.
“We have no need of a parasol today, good lady. The sun has been a stranger too long and we intend to make the most of what warmth he offers.” He pressed a penny into the woman’s hand and strode onwards more purposefully. Kate smiled at the woman and hurried to catch up with her mistress. As they approached the junction with an even narrower street, Kate glanced down it nervously. The sun did not seem to penetrate this passageway and the number of people in fine clothes had diminished. Instead, the buildings cast a shadow upon a duller palette of colour. The drab grey of those who earned their way from harder means was evident and Kate did not look keen that Avery lead her down that particular passage. Not wishing to appear lost, Avery slowed but did not stop, looking all the while for an indication of the street name. As if drawn by an invisible string, a young girl ambled out of the gloom and Avery beckoned to her.
“What street is this?” he asked.
“Fer a penny, Miss, I’ll tell ya.”
“Tell me first and then we shall see.”
“S’erlam Street, Miss,” the girl offered, holding out her hand expectantly.
“Earlham Street? Do you know the tailor, Mr. Fry?” he asked.
The girl narrowed her eyes at Avery, wondering what this strange looking lady would want with a workman’s tailor. She looked Avery up and down and seemed to weigh up her chances of seeing a penny if she didn’t tell her. The girl noticed a boy out of the corner of her eye, eager to snatch the chance of an easy fee if she herself did not take the opportunity.
“Two pennies, Miss, and I’ll take you there.”
Avery nodded and gestured for the girl to lead on. Avery beckoned to Kate who rolled her eyes as the girl turned on her heel and skipped down the same dirty side street which Kate had been eyeing nervously.
“That’s right, you skip off and take the penny and we’ll just get our throats cut for our troubles,” Kate muttered. Avery laughed out loud and pulled her after him, trying to keep up with the young girl. They followed the girl to a run-down shop set back from the road. Handing the girl two pennies, Avery turned to Kate and put his fingers to his lips, indicating she should stay silent. The door to the shop was open and Avery stepped inside. Despite the gloom of the street, the shop was stuffy and warm. There was only one room that was full to bursting but seemingly had very little to sell. A large cutting table filled most of the space upon which laid a bolt of heavy woollen cloth and over which an elderly man was stooped. He did not glance up as they entered the shop but merely threw a curt greeting at them from his work.
“I’ll be with you in a minute, gents.”
He continued to chalk upon the cloth as he drew around a paper design for sleeves of some sort, a great oil lamp throwing light upon his task. Avery smiled to Kate but she was unable to force her face into a similar gesture and instead she looked around the room. A tailor’s dummy stood beside the small window, blocking out what little of the light had managed to make it up the dark street, and was clothed itself in cobwebs and dust. A couple of crates were stacked against a sidewall, their labels indicating yet more of the same drab cloth. The custom here appeared to be for functional work wear and nothing more besides. The man, still busy at his task, carefully finished off his dusty lines, muttering to himself as he did so. His hair was thinning and a pair of glasses sitting atop his balding pate slipped a little as he leaned ever more forwards across the cloth. Several minutes passed in silence and Kate glanced at Avery again as the man seemed to forget about their presence entirely.
“And, done,” he concluded, straightening up and pushing his glasses back to his nose. “How can I help you, gents?” His mouth dropped open and he peered about his small shop searching for someone else. “Pardon me, ladies, I thought you were gentlemen!” he stammered. He wore a slightly confused expression and scratched his head. Evidently, he did not entertain many unaccompanied ladies at his premises and for a moment he acted stunned. “Have you come to collect something?” he ventured.
“I wish to have a suit made,” Avery announced, fixing the man with an unblinking stare. “I wish to have quite a few fine suits made.”
The tailor looked a little confused and indicated around his shop. “Begging your pardon, Miss, but your husband might prefer to go somewhere a little more…” he smiled, searching for a word that offended neither himself nor Avery “…upmarket.”
“I do not have a husband, Mr. Fry, but I shall pay well and I will pay even better for your absolute discretion.”
Fry’s eyes sparkled at the mention of money but he still looked at Avery warily.
“Discretion about what, Miss? Who are the suits for?”
Avery glanced at Kate and then back towards the open door. Taking his hint, Kate stepped to the entrance, glanced sideways up the street before nodding to Avery that they could speak freely.
“The suits, Mr. Fry, are for myself,” Avery stepped forward and fingered the cloth upon the table, all the while keeping his eyes on the tailor. If the man was shocked by the statement, he did not allow his face to convey it and he waited for Avery to come to the point. This was business and, on the matter of money, Fry was most serious.
“I will provide you with money for good material and I will pay you double your usual rate for a good job. To start, I would like a light summer suit in linen, a formal suit for daywear and a dress suit for the theatre. Do you have any questions?”
The old man glanced at Kate to confirm that this strange young woman spoke in earnest and, seeing her solemn face, he began to add up the sum in his head, eager to calculate this rather odd turn of fortune. He licked his lips.
“Of course I’ll need a deposit, and then there’s the rate for my ‘discretion’,” He smiled slowly at Avery, his hands braced wide on his table. Avery considered him for a moment and then broke into a smile too.
“‘Indeed, Mr. Fry. Shall we say an extra ten percent?”
The old man agreed, rather too hastily for which he would chide himself later, and offered his hand on the bargain. As the young woman took his hand, his eyebrows shot up in surprise. Her grip was firm, the hands dry and large.
“I will need to take some measurements, Miss...?” he fished for a name.
“My maid will take what measurements you need and have them sent to you this evening,” Avery replied, laying out some notes on the table. “A deposit, Mr. Fry. You will not be able to contact me but I shall arrange for the package to be collected a week tomorrow.”
Fry nodded and snatched up the money, stuffing it into a drawer under the table, glancing nervously at the door.
“How do you know I can be trusted?” the old man ventured.
Avery looked at him in surprise and considered the man before stating, matter of factly. “Because, I shall need a whole winter wardrobe too, Mr. Fry, and for that I shall pay handsomely.”
The old tailor’s eyes sparkled with glee. He had not expected half such luck that morning when he had crawled out of bed and opened the doors of his miserable little shop. He wrote out a list of the measurements he would need of Avery and handed it to Kate and then shuffled to the other side of his table to escort the strange lady to the door.
“What shall I call you, Miss?” he asked, his voice soft to acknowledge the price which such information could be worth.
Avery put his head to one side and furrowed his brow.
“You shall call me Mr. Silver,” he whispered conspiratorially, leaning in to the old man.
Kate spun around and threw Avery a look of concern. This errand was dangerous enough as it was and what had seemed exciting in the bright sunlit park that morning now seemed foolish folly. That Avery was now being indiscrete with his name made her especially nervous. Smiling, the old man leaned forwards to watch them disappear back towards the warmth of Mercer Street.
“For what you’re paying me, I’ll call you Mother Mary herself,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head in bemusement.
Chapter Five - Imogen, 1911
Having won some small ground with John that I would stay in London but that the boys should return to Worcester, I gladly slipped out of his office. As the door closed behind me, I was not surprised to see my eldest son, Sebastian lurking in the hallway. As I caught his eye, I tried a smile but it would not break across my face and instead I merely ushered him silently back up to the nursery. On the way up the stairs, he asked me directly.
“Is Grandpapa dead?”
I continued on to the first floor landing and, noticing he had paused behind me, I looked at him directly. At nine, he was a young man in the making. Where his brother still had his infant curls and sported the odd childish frills about his clothes, Sebastian was becoming aware of his future and it wrought upon him a most serious demeanour. I looked at him carefully, knowing he had most likely already been told the news and wondered what more he wanted me to tell him.
“Yes, Sebastian. He is dead.”
He was a few steps below me and the angle of his face thrown up into the light made him appear all at once, much younger than he was. He was fighting his natural childish curiosity to ask more but all too aware that something was wrong. I was weary but in a way I wanted to talk and, at that moment, Sebastian was intent on listening.
“What is it, Sebastian?”
My tone must have been inviting as he stepped up to join me on the landing. As he did so, he looked carefully over the banisters to see into the hallway below. Satisfied that we were alone but with an air of caution, he whispered to me.
“Last night, after Nanny Hewitt had put us to bed, I heard voices from the back stairs. I knew you and Father had gone out urgently so I got out of bed,” he looked from each of my eyes, scanning my face for some hint of reprisal. When none came, he continued. “Thomas was already asleep,” he assured me. “As I said, the voices were coming from the back stairs. They were hushed but angry and I thought perhaps something was wrong. From the top of the stairs, I could hear Mrs. Harkness and Beth below me. I think Beth was crying but Mrs. Harkness was cross. Very cross.”
I opened my mouth to chastise him for eavesdropping but I needed to know what he had heard. Sebastian was waiting for me to reprimand him and he waited nervously, still holding on to whatever information he wanted assurances on. I knew of course that I should be cross with him, for leaving his bed in the night and now for telling tales but my own curiosity was aroused.
“Why was Mrs. Harkness cross, Sebastian?”
My lack of disapproval had broken a dam and the rest of the story spilled out.
“Mrs. Harkness was furious with something Beth had said. She kept saying over and over again that she was a liar and that she would tell the master in the morning. Beth just kept on arguing with her, insisting she had been right and that she didn’t care if the master found out because she was not going to work a minute longer for this house. She called Father a liar and she called you a liar and she called Grandmamma a tom and Grandpa a molly.’
I had not been expecting my mother to be brought into this and the shock of it stung me. All at once, I was filled with ice where my heart was and my head swam. I did not fully understand the words he had used and half imagined that he had misheard them. I doubted very much that they were complimentary all the same. Sebastian hesitated, his pale face rosy cheeked with fury. His voice had risen and I looked up and down the stairs. I could hear a door closing below us and I grabbed Sebastian by his hand and led him quickly to the guest bedroom. I glanced down the corridor again before closing the door behind us. The change in scenery had stemmed Sebastian’s flow and he looked awkward as he recalled the words Beth had used the night before. I bent down before him so I could look up at him. He wore an expression of concern and I knew he was anxious about this secrecy.
“Sebastian,” I started softly. “I don’t know what you overheard or you think you overheard last night.”
He opened his mouth in silent protest but I held up a hand and closed my eyes. The incline of my head made it impossible for him to argue with me. “I don’t need to remind you that you should not be out of your bed and I think this is a perfect example of why one must not eavesdrop. You must be mistaken.”
Again, a defiant look was silenced with a disapproving glance. “Be rest assured that I shall deal with this.”
