Page 45 of The Book of Lost Stories
She waved vigorously to attract their attention and, when they came up, said, ‘Why, Letty, I did not think to see you here! I meant to call on you in a day or two, to see how you did, but I can see for myself that you are very well. This is my cousin, Mr Nathaniel Hartwood.’
‘How do you do, sir?’ Letty said, casting a doubtful and flustered glance upwards. ‘The weather was so fine and the children wished to fly their kites, so that when Mr Puncheon offered to escort us … but what am I thinking of? Allow me to introduce Mr Puncheon.’
Mr Puncheon, a portly man with a pleasant, ruddy face and silver hair, bowed, and Alys said, ‘I am pleased to meet you, sir, for Mr Grimshaw mentioned you as an old family friend.’
‘And I have heard much of you, Miss Weston.’ He favoured her with a serious, searching gaze from china-blue eyes, and she wondered quite what Letty had been telling him about her erstwhile charge.
She was surprised to see that Nat acknowledged the introductions with the barest of chilly civility, and soon made an excuse of not wishing to keep his horses standing in the cool breeze to drive on.
‘I have never seen Letty in such looks. Her little holiday must be doing her good. Mr Puncheon seemed very amiable and a great favourite with the children.’
‘He looked to me like a cit,’ Nat said, as his horses took objection to a boy bowling a metal hoop alongside them and showed an alarming tendency to bolt back to their stable.
‘I believe he is a retired tea merchant,’ Alys said, exasperated at her cousin’s pride, which made him look down on anyone connected with trade. ‘But a perfectly respectable man.’
They turned for home, much to her relief, for the outing had not been one of unalloyed pleasure even though Nat professed himself delighted with her company.
‘We are bound for the Misses Berrys’ salon tonight,’ she remarked as he handed her down from the carriage (and how relieved she was to have her feet planted on firm ground again). ‘Might we see you there?’
‘No, I am afraid I have a prior engagement,’ he said, not mentioning that he was instead bound upon a more insalubrious party of pleasure with friends. ‘How I wish, now, that I had not.’
He took her hand and favoured her with that practised smile, looking deeply into her eyes … but this time, strangely, her heart did not race and she was not breathless.
As she ran up the steps and into the house, she thought how brief her dazzlement by a handsome face and charming manner had been. But there was also a lingering regret, for it was as though the sun was still shining brightly, only she could no longer feel the warmth of its rays.
*
Fortunately, Nell, although heavy-eyed, was recovered enough to escort her that evening, and Alys found she was enjoying herself far more than she thought she would, especially once Miss Berry introduced her to a young man who was, she declared, an expert on underground drainage.
‘Miss Weston,’ she told him with a twinkle in her eyes, ‘is exceedingly fond of underground passages, Mr Stevens, so do pray tell her of the many hidden waterways beneath London that you once described to me.’
‘Oh, yes, if you please, for I had no idea such things existed,’ Alys begged him. ‘Are they made by nature or man, and what is their purpose?’
‘I believe they were sewers built by the Romans, who had expertise in such things that we have not. Their hygienic arrangements were far superior to ours. The passages cover many miles and a man may stand upright in parts of them.’
Alys, the picture of demure prettiness in an embroidered cambric dress in a becoming old-rose colour, said longingly, ‘Oh, how much I should like to see those tunnels!’
‘Their construction is certainly worthy of close scrutiny, but I am afraid that would bequiteimpossible for a young lady,’ he said. ‘In fact, I should be ashamed of myself, boring on aboutthings of no possible interest to the fairer sex and, indeed, possibly of too unsavoury a character for their ears.’
‘Not at all. I assure you I am quite fascinated,’ Alys said encouragingly, for it seemed that all the interesting or exciting things in life were to be denied to her by reason of her sex. That some should be denied to her by reason of her encumbering skirts – well,thatshe could understand, for she had often found them a nuisance while clambering through the caverns in Yorkshire. But why being female should in itself preclude her from these delights, she could not fathom.
Lord Rayven, who had arrived late and, having made his way through the room, was now standing unnoticed directly behind her said, ‘Ah, Stevens, but Miss Weston is not your usual delicate and swooning young lady, for she delights in dark underground places.’
Alys started and turned round as he added, ‘She explored my very own cellars at Priory Chase quite thoroughly when she visited some years ago with her aunt and, I am told, penetrated even to their furthest damp and crumbling reaches. She is quite intrepid.’
‘Explored yourcellars, my lord?’ began Mr Stevens, uncertain as to whether he was serious or not.
‘Indeed I did,’ Alys said, her eyes lighting up. ‘The older parts, where they run under the abbey, are quite delightful. I used a description—’
‘Yes?’ Rayven said intently, as she broke off, his dark blue eyes fixed on her face.
‘I used a description of them in a letter to my companion, Miss Grimshaw,’ Alys continued smoothly, aghast at how easily she had almost given herself away. ‘She said it made herfeel that she had been there with me, although she was very glad she had not.’
‘You are singular indeed, Miss Weston,’ Mr Stevens said, looking equally divided between admiration and disapproval; then he bowed and moved off.
Alys gazed after him wistfully: surely, with a little more persuasion, he might have been worked on to enable her to take just a glimpse of this fascinating underground labyrinth?
‘You will not prevail on him to show you the Roman sewers, Miss Weston,’ Rayven said sympathetically. ‘I am afraid Stevens is a very correct young man, who would fear for your delicate sensibilities should he do so.’
