Page 17 of Speculations in Sin

“Afternoon, Mrs. H.,” Cynthia greeted me with enthusiasm. “Off we go.”

Dunstan slammed the door, and the coach listed as he climbed to his place. The carriage eased back a few inches and then jolted forward as Dunstan steered us through Berkeley Square and south toward Piccadilly.

Cynthia had chosen to wear a blue gown trimmed with pink piping along the lapels, collar, and cuffs. Blue silk-covered buttons that held the bodice closed matched the blue of her woolen coat. Pink ruffles on the skirt’s hem gathered to a point, over which drooped a pink cloth rose.

She’d paired the ensemble with a green velvet hat with a high crown covered with ribbons and flowers. Where she’d obtained such headgear, I had no idea. Cynthia’s hats were usually small, quiet affairs that went well with her sensible gowns.

“Fine feathers, aren’t they?” Cynthia moved her head so the flowers would jiggle. “I wanted to appear a frivolous lady needing guidance with her funds. Gents will tell one more if they feel superior, won’t they?”

“Possibly,” I said. The banker might be distracted by a slim figure and fine blue eyes and not notice the gown’s frivolity, but I agreed that the guise might work.

“Thanos appeared at Miss Townsend’s do last night,” Cynthia went on. “We had a lively discussion about investment and Daalman’s. After a long explanation of bonds, market risks, bear market attacks, and the lessons France’s struggling Central American canal company can teach us, he advised me not to let Daalman’s invest my money.”

My brows rose. “Did he tell you why?”

“After another long explanation, most of which was beyond me, he said that they have a history of placating their large investors at the expense of their small investors. Robbing Peter to pay Paul, in other words.”

That adage I understood. I’d often had to resort to paying what I could and making promises to others when I’d been first left on my own.

“In that case, best not make any promises to them,” I said.

“I will not. Thanos is interested. He’s itching to look at Daalman’s books to see where the money is going, but I told him that I couldn’t put their books under my arm and walk out with them. He looked disappointed, the silly man.”

She laughed, but I saw the softening in her eyes that she had whenever we spoke of Elgin Thanos.

As we conversed, the coach bumped around Regent Circus and past Leicester Square into St. Martin’s Lane. The pretty church of St. Martin-in-the-Fields slid past, and we entered Trafalgar Square, with the solemn bulk of the National Gallery on our right. From there, Dunstan moved to the Strand and along that crowded thoroughfare to Fleet Street and so into the City.

The grandeur of St. Paul’s soon filled my vision. To me, its dome would always mean that we were nearing the house where my daughter lived.

The coach jostled past the passageway called Clover Lane that led from Cheapside to Joanna’s home, and I turned my head to keep it in view as long as I could. Dunstan continued through Poultry and past the edifice that was the Bank of England on Threadneedle Street.

Not far beyond the Royal Exchange in Cornhill, Dunstan turned the carriage down a smaller street, which had barelyenough room for the carriage, and halted before a tall stone house. Another enterprising lad sprang out of nowhere to hold the horse. They were everywhere, these boys who loved horses. They knew coachmen might throw them a ha’penny for their assistance and so were ready to pounce whenever one stopped.

Dunstan helped me alight. The triangular pediments over the house’s windows frowned their disapproval as I descended.

Cynthia emerged next, clinging to Dunstan’s hand as though she’d never walk upright on her own. She settled her skirts and hat, lifted her chin, and led me haughtily up a short flight of steps to the front door.

The house, while imposing, did not possess the weight of the Bank of England, which announced its importance from every column. This might have been a private residence, except for the discreet plaque beside the door that more or less whispered the nameDaalman’s.

A doorman in livery opened the door for Cynthia before she could ring the bell and ushered her inside. He bent a cool eye on me as I slid in behind her, then dismissed me as either her maid or an unimportant lady’s companion.

The interior could also have been that of a private house, and I wondered if the building had once been home to the Daalman family itself. A wide hall ran from the front door into dim recesses, with the hint of a staircase at the end. Demilune tables graced the walls, each holding an elegant statuette or bust of some pompous-looking gentleman on its marble top.

The doorman snapped his fingers, and a youth, also in livery, darted from a tiny room off the vestibule and reached for Cynthia’s coat and then, to my consternation, mine. I never felt right turning over my wraps to a stranger. If I never saw them again, I’d be hard-pressed to replace them.

A young gentleman dressed in a suit similar to the sort Mr. Bywater habitually wore emerged from a room not far along the hall. He approached Cynthia as though he was expecting her.

“Welcome, your ladyship.” He gave her a bow and bade us to follow him.

The young man led us to the rear of the shadowy hall, no candles or lamps to cut the gloom. We reached the stairs, which were of polished marble, and ascended into a corridor that held a little more light from wide windows on either end of it.

I heard voices now and footsteps behind the doors to the left and right of the grand corridor. The mundane noises were a relief—human beings actually inhabited this lofty and rather cold edifice. I’d never pictured this as the place where the cheerful Sam Millburn spent his days, but perhaps the rooms on the other side of these carved and polished doors were more cozy.

I wondered if his room was on this floor and what would happen if he spotted me here. I hadn’t sent word to Sam and Joanna that I’d venture into his bank today, as I hadn’t wanted Sam to forbid it. Not that he could forbid me doing as I pleased, but I did not wish him to be angry at Joanna for confessing all to me.

The voices behind one door I passed held some agitation, though their words were muffled. I slowed, trying to hear specifically what the men worried about, but our guide moved at a rapid pace, and I had to rush after him and Cynthia.

The young man led us to the very end of the hall, which put us at the front of the house once more. He tapped diffidently on the last door in the corridor, then opened it at a muted, “Enter.”

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