‘I will write, then,’ I said, looking around and speaking to them all. ‘But while we are waiting for a reply, we must find somewhere for you to live where you will all be more comfortable. And Rosie should see a doctor.’

Jimmy and Nat were looking at me with hard sharp looks, wondering if I would keep my word.

‘May I make some arrangements for a lodging-house?’ I asked.

They nodded, wordless.

‘I will go and see what I can do, and then I will come back. Will you still be in this afternoon?’ I asked.

‘Nat will be at work,’ Jimmy said, ‘but Rosie and Julie and me will be here. Julie and me work at nights.’

‘I will be back before dinner,’ I promised. ‘I brought you some money to buy your breakfasts.’ I had put half a crown in the pocket of my jacket and I put my hand in. The pocket was empty.

James shook his head resignedly. ‘I didn’t see a thing,’ he said. ‘It was quickly done, whoever did it.’ He patted the inner jacket of his coat. ‘I brought half a crown in case you had no money with you, Julia.’ He handed it to Jimmy. ‘Bread,’ he said. ‘And milk, especially for Rosie. No gin this morning.’

Jimmy grinned; Nat’s eyes were fixed on the coin.

‘We’ll be back this afternoon,’ I said. I picked up the gloves, wrapped them in the clean cloth, and turned for the half-window and the rickety plank.

The smell of the street was almost sweet after the fetid darkness of the tiny room. The crowd which had followed us had dispersed. James and I exchanged one look and then set off down the mire of the lane to where his phaeton and’ groom and horses were waiting at the fish market.

‘Where first?’ James asked as he helped me into my seat and his groom swung up behind us. ? good lodging-house, or Mrs Williams’s hat-and-glove shop?’

‘Lodgings first,’ I said. ‘I’d like it to be somewhere near here, so it is not too strange for them.’

‘We passed a little inn on this road,’ James said. ‘It looked all right, and it should only be for a few nights.’

He turned the phaeton in a sharp curve and drove us back to it.

‘Will you hold the reins while I ask if they have rooms?’ he said, and he passed the reins to me and went inside.

The sun came out, and it was warm on the box of the phaeton. I looked down at my gloved hands. They were trembling. I was trembling with anger. I was angry at the poverty of that miserable room and at the knowledge that there were rooms like that in every house down that filthy lane, and many and many filthy lanes in this pretty city. I was angry that every exquisite shawl, every embroidered glove had been made by young girls losing their eyesight bent over their work in dirty rooms.

James came out smiling. ‘That’s done,’ he said; but then he paused at the black expression on my face. ‘What is it?’ he asked. ‘You look like a thundercloud.’

‘It’s the children,’ I said. ‘Acre’s children. I am so angry at how they have been treated that I can scarcely speak.’

James nodded. ‘If you had not recognized Jimmy Dart, he would have been a linkboy all his life, unless someone bigger than him fought him for his torch. And that poor little foursome would have been there for ever.’ He paused. ‘Just as well for them that you have the sight,’ he said, and clicked to the horses and we moved off.

Mrs Williams’s shop was in Milsom Street. James pulled up outside the elegant facade with the white and gold swinging sign and waited for me to dismount from the carriage.

‘You’re coming in to speak to her?’ I asked.

‘I thought you would do it,’ he said. I could see some private smile behind his eyes, but his face was serious.

I remembered Airs Williams from when Mama and I had been in her shop. She was an imposing woman, tall, with iron-grey hair and a sharp hard face. When we had decided not to buy her gloves, she had raised one eyebrow as if at some private derogatory thought, and gestured to the serving lady to pack the boxes away. There was always a lady customer or two in the shop taking tea or coffee; there was always a lady in the fitting rooms with a couple of sempstresses taking measurements. And there was a light muslin curtain across the doorway to the workshop at the back where the girls would stop talking and listen when a customer came in.

My heart sank. ‘Please do it, James,’ I said. ‘I’ll come in with you, but I cannot speak to her. I could not stand it if she made a scene.’

‘All right,’ he said equably and nodded to his groom to go to the horses’ heads.

The silver bell over the door tinkled as we went in, and one of the serving ladies came forward with a shallow smile which widened when she recognized James.

‘Mr Fortescue!’ she exclaimed. ‘How delightful! And Miss…Miss Lacey! I shall call Mrs Williams; she would want to serve you herself.’ She twitched back the muslin curtain to the workshop and called sharply to one of the girls. ‘Clarinda! Fetch Mrs Williams, please. Tell her that Mr Fortescue and Miss Lacey are here.’

She left the curtain open and I knew the sewing girls were all staring at me. I had on my oldest pelisse over my plainest gown, for I had not wanted to look too fine visiting Jimmy. Now I flushed scarlet at looking so shabby in this opulent blue-carpeted shop. I knew without glancing down that the hem of my gown was wet and muddy, and I feared very much that the smell of the dirty lane behind the Fish Quay was hanging about me.

A lady I did not know was sitting in the corner of the shop on one of the gilt and white chairs with her daughter. She raised her lorgnette and inspected me, from the top of my plainest bonnet down to my filthy boots, and then she leaned towards her daughter and whispered something behind her gloved hand, and they both laughed.


Mrs Williams came in through a side door, wreathed in smiles. ‘Mr Fortescue! What a pleasure. How is Mrs Fortescue? And your sisters? Please give them my compliments.’

James bowed.

‘And Miss Lacey!’ she said, glancing at me and managing to take in the muddy footprints I had left on the thick blue carpet. ‘How nice to see you again. What can I do for you today?’

I hesitated and glanced towards James. His eyes were on me. I felt a sense of utter relief that it would be his voice which would carry to the girls sewing in the back room, and his words which would be carried to every drawing-room in Bath by the elegant lady who had laughed at my muddy petticoat. AU I had to do was to stand a little behind him and nod my assent as he returned the gloves.

‘Miss Lacey has some business with you,’ he said politely. He turned to me and put his hand in the small of my back and gave me a hard little shove forward. Then he stepped back and left me facing Mrs Williams, who raised her eyebrows as the smile slowly left her face.

The serving lady returned to the little desk which served as a counter, and another came from the fitting rooms with the elegant lady’s other daughter, looking very fine in a walking dress. The seated lady raised a hand to her daughter to warn her to be silent. The whole shop waited to hear what my business might be.

‘I have come to return these,’ I said baldly in a small voice, and I thrust the package of half-finished work towards her.

Mrs Williams gave a puzzled frown and handed it to her assistant; the task of unwrapping it was clearly too menial for her.

The woman opened the parcel and held up a glove for her to see. Mrs Williams looked at me, her face blank, and waited for an explanation.

‘I am sorry,’ I said, ‘but the girl who was doing the sewing is ill and should not work any more. I have brought the gloves back.’

‘How very kind,’ said Mrs Williams, icy.


‘She comes from the village on my estate,’ I said, my voice trembling a little. I could feel that the girls in the workroom had laid down their work and gathered in the doorway to stare at me with unfriendly bright eyes. ‘I am making arrangements for her to go home to the country. She will not be able to work for you again.’

Mrs Williams inclined her head. ‘Unfortunately, she is in debt to these premises,’ she said, as smooth as silk. ‘Unfortunately, I had trusted her with some valuable work which I had to return to be redone. I insist on the highest of standards because my customers are of the highest of the Quality. Unfortunately, I cannot release her from her contract with me until she has repaid her debt.’

‘How much?’ I said.

Mrs Williams sighed as if I were causing a great deal of trouble, and the young lady in the walking dress giggled aloud. Her mama glanced at her and put up a hand to hide her own smile.

‘Mrs Foster?’ Mrs Williams asked languidly.

The serving lady reached into a great drawer in the desk and drew out a ledger. With deliberate slowness she turned over one page and then another. ‘The name of the young person?’ she asked me.

‘Rosie Dench,’ I said.

Mrs Williams looked at the seated lady and her two daughters. ‘My dear Lady Querry, I do apologize for this. I generally see applicants for work at the tradesmen’s entrance, and by appointment only. Miss Lacey has chosen to come in at the customers’ door, during shop hours. I would hate to delay you for this rather complicated inquiry. Is there anything else I can do for you?’

‘We should like to see some shawls,’ said Lady Querry. Mrs Williams nodded to the other serving lady and she brought out a box of fine embroidered shawls. I knew that Lady Querry and her daughters were merely delaying their departure to see my discomfort. I looked around for James. He had taken a seat by the door and was waiting for me, arms folded. He looked as if he had nothing to do with me at all. I shot him a look which was a clear plea for him to help me, but he just smiled politely at me as if we had agreed that he would simply drive me to the shop for my own private business.

‘Dench owes sixty-four shillings,’ Mrs Foster said languidly. ‘And if she is returning these gloves as spoiled, that will be, I suppose, eight pounds and four shillings.’

‘Spoiled!’ I exclaimed. ‘They are beautifully sewn, and all but finished!’

‘Unfinished work is called “spoiled”,’ Mrs Foster said, not raising her eyes from the ledger. ‘It is very hard, Miss Lacey, to persuade flighty young girls to complete work they have undertaken. We have to have a system of fines to encourage them in habits of self-discipline and responsibility. I hope you are certain that you are doing the right thing in encouraging Dench to throw up her work in this way.’

I gasped, and looked around for James. He was watching his horses out of the window. Lady Querry’s daughters were smothering their giggles, bending low over the box of shawls.

‘I hardly think this is the time or the place,’ Mrs Williams said grandly. ‘Tone matters so much to me. I really cannot be dunned in my own premises, Miss Lacey! Forgive me, but may I ask you to send Dench around to the tradesmen’s entrance with the money for her debt, or with the finished gloves? She is late with them already.’

There was a ripple of laughter from the sewing girls in the back room.

‘Was there anything you wished to purchase, Miss Lacey?’ Mrs Williams asked smoothly.

When I said nothing, for I was speechless with rage and frozen with shame at the way I was being treated, she nodded at Mrs Foster, who shut the ledger and glided past me with her nose in the air and opened the door for me to leave.

I could feel my face burning. Lady Querry and her two daughters had abandoned all pretence of looking at shawls and were openly staring at me. James had risen to his feet, ready to leave with me without saying a word. I took two steps, and then I spun around on my heel.

‘No!’ I said fiercely, and as I spoke I felt my anger leap up in me, and I knew I had shed the discipline of being a pretty Bath miss. I was not a pretty young girl. I was the heir to the Laceys, I was a Lacey of Wideacre. And this arrogant woman had been ill-treating one of my people.

‘That is not how I do business,’ I said. ‘I have come to return these gloves to you, which I do not doubt you will get some other poor girl to finish and sell at a usurious price. And I have taken the trouble to come and see you to tell you that Rosie Dench will work for you no more. And if I had the power, no young girl would work for you again. You pay rates which barely keep a worker alive, and then you make them buy their materials from you, and fine them, and keep them in debt so they can work nowhere else. Rosie Dench is coughing blood in a dirty room, trying to sew gloves for you in half-darkness. So don’t tell me that tone is so important to you. You are no better than a madame in a bagnio!’