‘But your brother is guilty and he’s escaped punishment. That doesn’t seem fair.’
‘Freddie was young and stupid, but he’s no criminal. You would do the same for a brother if you had one, I’m sure.’
Essie’s eyes filled with tears. Memories of long ago flooded back on a tide of emotion – a smiling face, a playful tug at her hair, a paper poke filled with shards of toffee, a piggyback when her little legs were too tired to walk another step – the older brother ousted from the family home when she was a small child. She gulped and swallowed, turning away so that Raven would not see her tears.
‘What’s the matter?’ he demanded. ‘What have I said to upset you?’
The need to tell him was too strong. It was a forbidden subject as far as her father was concerned, but love did not fade away on command, and she had loved George. She had hero-worshipped her elder brother, who had alternately teased and spoiled her, but the feeling ran deep. ‘I have a brother, too,’ she murmured, half-afraid to speak his name in case Pa should hear.
‘You have a brother? Where is this fellow? He ought to be taking care of you now.’
‘I should have said that I had a brother, but George left home when I was very young. Pa won’t allow his name to be spoken, and he blames George for my mother’s death. He says he broke her heart and that’s why she died.’ Essie wiped her eyes on her apron. ‘But I know that’s not true. She died of the fever that she caught from me. I am to blame for her death, not George.’
‘That’s ridiculous, Essie. You couldn’t help being ill, and you certainly weren’t responsible for your mother’s death.’
‘I try to believe that, but George left anyway.’
‘To lose your mother and your brother at such a young age must have been hard for you to bear.’
‘It was – it still is – which is why I will help you. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll try my hardest to help you and your brother.’
Next morning Raven gave Essie the money for a cab and she walked to Commercial Road, waiting until she was safely out of sight of prying eyes before she hailed a passing hansom. The cabby looked askance when she gave him the address and demanded to see her money, but the sight of a silver shilling was enough to convince him that she could pay her way.
‘Hop in, but I hope you know what you’re doing, miss. The toffs don’t take kindly to the likes of you knocking on their door, begging for work.’
‘Drive on, please.’ Essie picked up her skirts and climbed in with as much dignity as she could muster. The cab pulled away from the kerb and she settled down to enjoy the luxury of being driven through the city, but the cabby’s words still rankled, and she was beginning to feel apprehensive, especially when they reached the exclusive world of the West End.
The elegant terraced house in Hill Street was as far removed from Essie’s home in White’s Rents as was possible: both were constructed of bricks and mortar with slate roofs, but here the similarity ended. There were no beggars hanging around in doorways or ragged urchins picking pockets. The street sweepers were hard at work keeping the thoroughfare free from the horse dung, straw and the general detritus that buried the East End roads beneath layers of filth. Maidservants wearing black dresses, spotless white aprons and white mobcaps, were busy buffing up the brass door furniture and shaking dusters out of upstairs windows. Even the air Essie breathed seemed different in this part of London, although the smell of fresh paint and polish did not quite mask the stench from the river on a hot summer day. It was like entering another world and Essie’s hand shook as she raised the gleaming doorknocker and let it fall. Moments later the door was opened by a liveried footman.
He looked her up and down. ‘Tradesman’s entrance is down the area steps.’
She put her foot over the threshold as he was about to close the door. ‘You don’t understand. I am expected. Please tell Lady Alice that Essie Chapman is here.’
He hesitated for a moment, but then he relented and stood aside. ‘You’d better come in. Wait there and don’t move.’ He stalked off, leaving her standing in the marble-tiled vestibule. Shallow steps led into a wide entrance hall with a grand staircase sweeping up to a galleried first floor. From the outside the house did not look enormous, but inside it seemed vast and magnificent. Scantily clad marble statues in artistic poses graced the hall, and frosty-eyed dignitaries stared down at Essie from oil paintings in ornate gilt frames. Long mirrors reflected the dancing prisms of light from crystal chandeliers, and slender plant stands supported urns filled with exotic flowers. Essie felt dwarfed and out of place amongst such opulence and grandeur. She was beginning to think that her offer to help Raven had been a huge mistake, and was about to make her escape when the footman reappeared.
‘Lady Alice will see you in the morning parlour.’
Essie followed him across the black and white tiled floor, stifling a sudden childish impulse to slide on the polished marble as if skating on ice. She managed to restrain herself and was ushered into the morning parlour. If she had been unsure of her welcome her doubts were immediately dispelled when Lady Alice rose from her seat by the window.
‘How good of you to come, Essie. I realise this must be difficult for you. You must be in need of refreshment after that tedious journey from the other side of the city.’ She turned to the footman who was still standing stiffly to attention in the doorway. ‘Bring coffee and cake for Miss Chapman, Fielding.’
‘Yes, my lady.’ Fielding remained stony-faced as he bowed and backed out of the room, closing the door behind him.
‘Now we may speak freely.’ Lady Alice’s smile was replaced by a serious expression, and she motioned Essie to take a seat. ‘I have two appointments today, both of them on Raven’s behalf. The first one is with his lawyer, and the second with his bank. All of this is strictly between you and me, and my servants know nothing of what is going on, and it must be kept that way.’
‘How do I fit in, my lady?’ Essie asked anxiously. ‘I’m sure my presence here must raise questions.’
‘I’ve thought of that. I used to employ a sewing woman but she retired recently. Her eyesight had been failing for some time and her work was quite unacceptable. The sewing room is upstairs on the third floor.’ Lady Alice paused, giving Essie a searching look. ‘You can sew, I suppose?’
‘I can darn a sock, my lady. I can mend a tear, but I can’t do anything fancy.’
‘That will suffice. It’s only the servants’ uniforms that occasionally need a stitch or two, and I don’t really know what Moffatt did all day, but she seemed to keep busy.’
‘I see,’ Essie said slowly, although she was not convinced. ‘Won’t the servants think it’s odd that you’re employing someone like me to do a bit of mending?’
‘It doesn’t matter what they think, the main thing is that they don’t find out the real reason for your being here. I trust you not to gossip, Essie.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it, my lady. But is that all I have to do?’
‘Your main task will be to take the information I gather to Raven. It might be in the form of documents for him to sign, or written notes from me, but secrecy is the most important thing.’ She broke off at the sound of approaching footsteps and the rattle of cups and saucers. Forgetting that she was a guest in Lady Alice’s house, Essie jumped up to open the door. A young maidservant staggered into the room carrying a tray laden