Fallen Grace - Mary Hooper [81]
Dressed in no more than a towel, she fled to the bathroom calling, ‘Come in!’
One of the maids wheeled in a leather suitcase on a trolley. ‘A gentleman brought this case for you, madam,’ she heard. ‘He sends a message to say – begging his pardon and please excuse his presumption – that you may wish to avail yourself of some of his sister’s clothes.’
Grace peered around the bathroom door.
‘He said he was worried that you might not have anything right for the season,’ she continued, ‘what with you being new to town and all.’
Grace hid a smile. How kind of James; how thoughtful. ‘Thank you. And please thank the gentleman very much,’ she added.
‘He left a message to say he would be pleased to see you downstairs in about half an hour,’ said the maid before departing.
Grace opened the suitcase and found that it contained several gowns and matching mantles which she presumed had once been Susannah Solent’s. Looking quickly through the garments, which were all of a style and elegance befitting a young lady, she found a gown, tucked and pearl-buttoned, in a vibrant shade of turquoise. She shook some creases out of the skirt and hesitated a moment about the whys and wherefores of putting on a dead girl’s clothes, but finally came to the conclusion that as Susannah Solent had been such a nice person, she surely wouldn’t mind.
Dressing and looking at the final result in the mirror, Grace almost laughed at her altered appearance. She’d been in black for so long – and before that, only in drab, washed-out colours – that to be in such a bright shade made her feel like a completely different person. There was a matching turquoise bonnet, too, with white flowers sewn around the brim, and she crammed this down over her curls and hoped that she had chosen well for the day ahead. The only thing to mar this stylish outfit was the fact that she had no elegant shoes, so was forced to wear the black lace-up boots she’d been given by the Unwins.
x
James was waiting downstairs in the reception hall, and sprang up as she appeared on the staircase.
‘You didn’t mind?’ he said, after complimenting her appearance. ‘You didn’t think it was too presumptuous of me to send clothes in?’
Grace shook her head. ‘I could not have come out in my mute’s clothes. I really could not!’
‘Then what would you have done if I hadn’t turned up with those?’ he asked, amused.
‘I would have had to cut down the room’s curtains and fashion something to wear!’ she said, laughing.
There were some hackney cabs already waiting outside the hotel and on a porter summoning one, James helped Grace in and tucked a travelling rug around her. As the driver whipped up the horse and Grace leaned back on upholstered cushions, the magnitude of what might happen that morning suddenly washed over her, so that she began trembling.
‘My dear girl, are you cold?’ James asked.
‘Not cold.’ Grace shivered. ‘Frightened. For they will know by now, will they not? About . . . ?’
‘About him?’ James gave a meaningful tilt of his head and she nodded. He brought out a newspaper from under his coat and asked in a normal conversational tone, ‘Have you seen the news this morning?’
She shook her head nervously. ‘I have not.’
He unfolded The Mercury. ‘One of London’s top businessmen has been found dead. Chap who owned a mourning warehouse in Oxford Street.’
‘How . . . how did . . . ?’ But Grace felt herself panting with fear and could not finish the sentence.
‘See for yourself.’ He smoothed out the newspaper and held it in front of her.
Grace saw the words SYLVESTER UNWIN – SUSPECTED HEART ATTACK, and was able to breathe again.
‘Shall I read it to you?’
‘If you wouldn’t mind.’
James read, ‘To the considerable shock of the city of London, Mr Sylvester