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And what she felt for Will was nothing like that light-headed, romantic dreamy feeling. She liked him, she respected him and she desired him, but she was no longer so naïve that she thought a woman must be in love in order to ache for a man to lie with her. She felt for Will, in short, all those things that a woman making a marriage of convenience would hope that she would come to feel for her husband.
But it was not love. That was just a romantic dream and a sure way to a broken heart, Julia decided. And why should she want to be in love with her husband in any case? If she was fortunate, there would be children who would be healthy and strong and she would experience all the love she could want with them. Julia closed her eyes for a moment in silent supplication that if she was fortunate enough to become pregnant again then all would be well this time.
But even so, when Will looked up and caught her studying him, and his eyes crinkled with amused affection, her heart made that foolish little leap again. ‘Your hair needs cutting,’ she said prosaically. ‘You must add that to the list of things to do in town.’
Chapter Seventeen
Will was as good as his word about the shopping. He gave Julia one day to settle into Grillon’s Hotel in Albemarle Street while he had his hair cut, ordered his boots from Hoby’s, wrote to summon his tailor and sent messages to his lawyers and bankers, then the next day swept her out to, as he put it, discover the lie of the land. With Nancy in attendance, so she knew where she was going when Julia wanted to shop in future, they explored Bond Street, located Harding, Howell and Company in Piccadilly, scanned the myriad of temptations in the Parthenon Bazaar and came home loaded with bandboxes and armed with the latest guidebooks.
Julia was thrilled to discover that King Louis XVIII had stayed at Grillon’s Hotel in 1812 and even more excited to discover they were opposite the offices of James Murray, the publisher. It was only when Will pointed out that she would not recognise any of her favourite authors if she saw them that she could be persuaded away from the window.
‘Would you like to see the City?’ he asked over dinner. ‘St Paul’s Cathedral, the Royal Exchange, the Bank of England? We could even climb up the Monument if you feel really energetic.’
‘Yes, please. All of those are on my list and I am hardly a quarter of the way through the guidebook yet.’
‘I am not certain we can do all of them in one day. I must call on my bankers in the morning and then my lawyer, who is in Amen Corner.’ He grinned at her expression. ‘It is by St Paul’s, which I suppose accounts for the name. We can decide what to do when we see what the time is, but we can certainly fit in the cathedral.’
*
Julia had tried to be patient, but an hour sitting in the banker’s outer office, even sustained with coffee and ratafia biscuits and the copy of La Belle Assemblée, which she had prudently brought with her, was more than enough tedium.
As the hackney carriage made its way along Paternoster Row she asked, ‘Is there any reason why I cannot walk around outside with Nancy while you are with the lawyer? The sun is shining, the shops seem to be cheaper than they are in Mayfair…’
Will nodded as they drew up in a narrow lane. ‘I do not see why not. You can hardly get lost, not with the dome of St Paul’s to act as a landmark. Shall we say you will be back here in an hour?’ He helped them both out, making Nancy blush at the attention, then pointed. ‘Go down Ave Maria Lane there and turn left and you’ll find all the shops around St Paul’s Churchyard.’ He felt in the breast of his coat and handed her some folded banknotes. ‘Do not let anyone see you have that.’
‘Thank you.’ Julia cast a quick look round, found the lane almost deserted and stood on tiptoe to drop a swift kiss on Will’s cheek.
‘Cupboard love,’ he said with a smile and paid off the cab.
The previous day had been unalloyed pleasure. Julia had not felt at all alarmed in the fashionable streets, despite the numbers of people. On Will’s arm, and in such fashionable lounges, her fears seemed foolish. Now she set off with confidence, Nancy at her side. They emerged from Ave Maria Lane to find themselves on a busy street with a pronounced slope. ‘Ludgate Hill,’ Julia said with the certainty of someone who had studied the map.
‘My lord said to go left,’ Nancy said as Julia turned downhill.
‘I know, but see this silversmith’s shop—is that not a delightful ink stand? I think something like that would make an admirable present for Lord Dereham.’
And the next shop down was a print seller with amusing cartoons in the window. And the next a jeweller’s, its window stuffed with enticing oddments.
‘My lady, it is getting rather crowded.’
Julia looked up. In front of them a press of people were heading into a street parallel to Ave Maria Lane. They were noisy
, a motley crowd of working people and tradesmen, men and women. They seemed in good humour, but Julia’s old fears came flooding back to cramp her stomach.
‘Yes, we must turn back.’ As they did so another crowd swept down the hill towards them. ‘Nancy!’ Julia was jostled, caught up. She struggled to find her feet and fight her way back, but she was carried, like driftwood on a stream, down the hill and round the corner.
Julia tried not to panic, knowing if she struggled she would simply exhaust herself or fall and be trampled. She let herself be borne along and tried to think coherently. Nancy would be all right, she was sure, for she had been further up the hill. If she could just get to the end of this street and turn right, go uphill again, keeping St Paul’s in sight and then turn right, surely she’d be back in Ave Maria Lane?
Then the movement began to slow. She was still crushed against unwashed bodies and rough clothing, but at least there was no longer any danger of falling over and being trampled. Julia stared around and found the street had widened into a square shaped like a funnel. The crowd milled about, elbowing for room, but everyone faced the building that towered over them on her right. Wedged in place, she had no option but to turn with them. In front of her was the massive bulk of a grim stone building.
‘What is that?’ she asked the man at her side, a prosperous shopkeeper, she guessed.
‘Why, that is Newgate Prison, ma’am. Aren’t you here for the hanging, then?’ He pointed and her reluctant gaze followed. High above the heads of the mob, the scaffold and the noose stood waiting for their first victim of the day.
‘Let me out!’ Julia turned and burrowed through the tight-packed spectators, fear and desperation lending her strength as she used her elbows and pushed, shoved, wriggled through every tiny gap that opened up, like a mouse through long grass with a hawk hovering above. Her bonnet was dragged off, she lost a shoe, but there was a thinning of the crowd ahead of her and she fought her way towards it.
Laughter, improbable in this mayhem, made her glance up to the right. There was an inn and, surrounding the swinging inn sign, its windows were crowded with people laughing and chatting as if they were in the boxes at a play. Horrible, she thought. How could they? And then a woman turned and nudged her husband and pointed at her and she found herself staring up at Jane and Arthur Prior, her cousins.
Julia gasped, stumbled and when she looked up they had gone. It was imagination, that was all, she told herself as she struggled on, the panic beating in her chest like a trapped bird against a window. With shocking suddenness she was finally out of the press, stumbling on the uneven cobbles. Her unshod foot jarred against a stone and she fell, throwing out her hands in a vain attempt to save herself.
