London Calling Read Free Page A

her hair and cornflower blue eyes, bobbed a curtsy. “There’s hot water for washing, if you want it, miss.”
    She indicated a copper can on the washstand.
    “Shall I pour it out for you?” Her voice held the soft burr of a country accent, and her face had the fresh, healthy glow of the outdoors. A farm girl, no doubt, sent, like so many others, to service in the city so that she might send back what she could to the family left behind.
    “Thank you—” The room was still cold, and Susanna pulled the covers up about her shoulders. “What is your name?”
    “It’s Annie, miss.”
    “Thank you, Annie.”
    The girl bobbed another curtsy, poured water into the basin, and went out, leaving Susanna to rise and bathe in the warm water. When she had washed her face and hands, she turned to the wardrobe where someone‌—‌Annie, it must have been‌—‌had unpacked the contents of her trunk.
    Susanna’s wardrobe had grown substantially from the days when, as a penniless governess, she’d been forced to make do with the old castoffs and outgrown garments of her employers, but she had not lost the trick of waiting on herself and buttoning her own dress up the back. No mistress, however liberal, provides a maidservant for her governess.
    By the time Annie returned, Susanna was standing before the dressing mirror, already dressed in a pale pink muslin dress with long sleeves and a little ruffle of lace about the neck.
    “Ever such a pretty dress, miss,” Annie said.
    “What? Oh, thank you.” Susanna, at that moment, could not have cared any less about what she was wearing. Instinctively her hand had closed around the small gold locket that she wore about her throat.
    A gift from James, on the occasion of their betrothal. He had fastened it about her neck. And then he had bent to kiss the base of her throat, his voice going husky as he said—
    But Susanna would not let herself think about what James had said. Instead, she caught up a paisley shawl against the chill of autumn drafts and went swiftly downstairs to the breakfast room. It was a lofty, spacious room, in the classical style, with walls of pale blue and a white plasterwork frieze around the ceiling. She found her Aunt Ruth already seated at the mahogany table, a cup of chocolate and a plate of hot rolls in the place before her.
    Her aunt was reading a letter, and she looked up as Susanna entered.
    “My dear, what do you think? I’ve already had a reply from Lady Jersey‌—‌I have it here. She is most sympathetic to your plight of a missing betrothed. And she says‌—‌since I have assured her that you dance very gracefully and will bring no disgrace to the atmosphere of the place‌—‌it is all arranged. She is allowing us to purchase a voucher, and we are to attend the assembly at Almack’s this very night.”
     
    #
     
    The day seemed, to Susanna’s stretched nerves, to drag on an eternity. But at last evening fell. Susanna dressed in an evening gown of yellow satin with a net overlay. Her heart pounding with anticipation, she pulled on her gloves, drew her cloak about her shoulders, and went downstairs to where her aunt awaited her in the hall.
    Ruth looked more than ever like some tiny exotic bird in a dress of purple satin, its high waist accented by a band of gold braid, with a matching purple turban wound about her greying curls.
    “There you are, my dear. How pretty you look. Are you ready to go?” The footman helped them into the carriage and put up the steps, robes were tucked around them, the coach driver twitched the reins, and they were off, rolling along the narrow, winding lanes towards King Street.
    The way was very dark, lit only by the carriage lamps and the occasional torch over a costermonger’s barrow. They spoke little, and Susanna stared into the inky blackness, unable to think of anything beyond what awaited her at their destination.
    She had no warning‌—‌no indication that something was wrong—until she