Alice shrugged, grateful that Elena never cared when her behavior was strange. “Better to sing than to weep.”
Elena looked at her tenderly, like she was going to embrace her. Alice shook her head and darted over to rummage in her satchel, because Elena’s kindness would make the tears fall down, and once they came they wouldn’t stop.
Elena knew her well enough not to press emotion on her. She tipped up Alice’s chin instead. “In any case,” she said with a sly smile, “don’t let Henry Evesham hear you singing about your pin-box.”
The thought of shocking the judgmental lord lieutenant lifted Alice’s mood. She returned Elena’s mischievous expression and leaned into her ear to sing her favorite verse.
* * *
The Parson and the Vicar,
Though they are holy Men,
Yet no Man e’er is quicker
To use my Pin-Box, when
They think no Man doth know it;
For that is all their Fear
Although that it doth cost them
A hundred Pounds a Year.
* * *
Elena threw back her head and laughed. “Hush! If Evesham hears you, the poor man will go running for the street again.”
“The poor man,” Alice scoffed. “Please. It’s scarcely worse than the filth he wrote in his paper.”
Evesham had found fame as the editor of the evangelical news rag Saints & Satyrs, which he used as a pulpit to decry London’s sins and vices. He’d nearly exposed this club two years before, riding the pressure on their necks to a plum position for himself with the House of Lords, who’d made him a lieutenant tasked with investigating the flesh trade.
“Do you really think it’s wise for me to travel with him? After all he’s done to us?”
Alice had been horrified when her mistress had invited Evesham to the establishment to learn more about their practices. He’d promised them discretion, but the more he knew about this place, the more evidence he had to imperil all their lives.
Elena just smiled in that mysterious way she had, like she’d already read the ending to the story of your life. “He’s the pious sort, Alice, but I suspect he’s a decent man. You’ll be safe with him.”
“I don’t doubt for my safety. Just my sanity, stuck beside a sneering Puritan.”
“I believe he’s a Methodist,” Elena said mildly.
“Whatever he is, he looks at me like rancid meat, and I am too distraught to pretend to be pleasant to him.” Her voice quavered. She was tempted to sing another verse about her pin-box to steady herself.
Elena only shrugged. “Well, you ought to try. He’s traveling to the countryside to write his report, and I sense he’s still undecided on his findings. Perhaps you can help sway him to the merits of reform. You’ll have the advantage of the final word. It could be an opportunity.”
Alice did not need to be reminded that Evesham had the power to make things far more difficult for them if he urged harsher laws. She was flattered her mistress thought her capable of influencing his views. But she did not for a moment believe it to be true.
“I doubt the lofty lord lieutenant would welcome my opinions on the law. He acts like merely breathing the same air as me is sinful.”
“You might be surprised,” Elena said. “You never know what lurks beneath the surface of a man.” She paused, and bit her lip. “Though, perhaps you’ll agree his surface is … remarkable. Ironic, that a man so disdainful of the flesh should be so singularly blessed in its bounty.”
Alice groaned, relieved she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed Evesham’s looks—his burly arms, his lantern jaw, the almost obscene fullness of his thighs beneath his breeches.
She shot Elena the smallest hint of a smile. “It isn’t right, a man like him looking like that.”
Elena’s eyes twinkled. “At least you will be able to enjoy the scenery he provides, if not the company.” She held out the cloak. “Here, take this for the journey. It’s terribly cold.”
Alice took the heavy garment, a lustrous, purple velvet lined with ermine. It was the kind of robe a queen might wear—no doubt one of the many outrageously fine gifts from Lord Avondale that Elena stored unused and unacknowledged in her dressing room. Elena found Avondale’s relentless attempts to win her affection tiresome, but Alice thought the intensity of his devotion to his whipping governess was rather touching.
What do you want, Alice? Mama was always demanding in her letters. You’re never satisfied. Here, she’d found it. She wanted a life like Elena’s. Freedom to rule over a kingdom of her own, surrounded by people who would delight in her eccentricity, rather than wishing it away.
Elena patted her hand. “Come. Evesham is waiting. Write to me as soon as you can and take the time you need with your family. We’ll delay your training until you are able to return.”
Alice nodded. She did not say what she feared: that her training as a governess would never happen, for the life she had been planning would not be possible if her mother died.
She wouldn’t think of that right now. For now, she must simply get home.
She followed Elena down the stairs, pausing at a shelf of books the artisans here passed among themselves. She treasured this modest collection of well-paged tomes on history and philosophy. The presence of ideas had been a second form of payment here, and the one she’d miss the most. She grabbed two volumes she’d not yet read, not much caring what they were, and tucked them in her bag.
Downstairs, Evesham was waiting by the stairs. His bright green eyes rose at the sound of her footsteps. “Ah. There you are. Allow me to take your bag.”
He lifted it as though it were no heavier than a house cat. Perversely, she felt a little thrum at the sight of his long legs ambling toward the door. Perhaps because she had the stature of a dormouse, something in her always lit up in the presence of large men.
She immediately snuffed it out. She would not do Henry Evesham the great honor of lusting after him.
“The groom brought Henry’s curricle around,” Elena said. “And Mary will bring some bricks to warm you.”
Alice stepped out the door to see a vehicle more fit for a fashionable gentleman of leisure than a renegading man of God—a slight, gold-lacquered thing on thin wheels pulled by two elegant horses.
Evesham held out his hand to help her step from the mounting block to the seat. Noting her expression, he let out a sheepish laugh. “Not what you were expecting.”
Alice shook her head, surprised he was perceptive enough to see what she’d been thinking.
“Not my usual conveyance,” he allowed, smiling. “It’s borrowed—but it’s built for speed. We’ll be in Fleetwend by tomorrow night with any luck.”
He stepped up into the curricle, causing the entire seat to shift with his size, and Alice to topple against his shoulders, which were as wide as two of her.
“My apologies,” he murmured, whipping his arm to his side like she might pollute his clothing.
She inched away, offended that he should recoil when it had been him who jostled her. She tucked herself into Elena Brearley’s regal ermine, wishing it could protect her pride from his judgement.