tenement in which she lived, and, even worse, her equally run-down father, was enough to make her quake. She could imagine his disgust, the tale he would carry to his father. And they would say, ‘We cannot have a person like that working at Harecroft’s. It lowers the whole tone of the establishment and who knows what pestilence she brings with her? I knew it was a mistake to employ her.’ And she was quite sure Lady Hare-croft would not intervene on her behalf a second time.
‘Do you enjoy working for Harecroft’s?’ Richard asked her, breaking in on her thoughts.
‘Very much.’
‘It is a strange occupation for a woman,’ he said, as they turned down the Strand. ‘How did you manage to persuade my father to take you on?’
‘If you are implying that I—’ She started angrily, remembering the disapproving expression on his face when he had entered her office and seen his father’s hand on her arm.
‘Heavens, no!’ He lifted one hand from the reins in a defensive gesture. ‘There was no hidden implication in my question, do not be so quick to rise. I was simply commenting on the fact that I have never heard of a female clerk and I am sure the idea never entered my father’s head of its own accord.’
‘I saw the advertisement for a clerk and applied.’ She laughed suddenly. ‘I do not think he would have even considered me but for your great-grandmother, who arrived while I was talking to him. She told him to give me a trial.’
‘That sounds like Great-Grandmama. How long ago was that?’
‘A year.’
‘And now you are an indispensable adjunct to the business.’
‘Of course not. No one is indispensable, but I pride myself that I have justified Lady Harecroft’s faith in me.’
‘She has rather taken to you, you know. I gather she has invited you to her party.’
‘Yes, it was kind of her, but of course I cannot go.’
‘Why not?’
‘Saturday is a working day, besides, I cannot leave my father for long. He is an invalid.’
‘And your mother?’
‘She died fourteen months ago.’
‘I am sorry to hear that. Is that why you must work?’
‘Only the rich can afford not to work.’
‘True,’ he said. ‘But could you not have found something more suitable than becoming a clerk?’
‘What’s wrong with being a clerk?’ she asked defensively.
‘Nothing at all, for a man, but it is evident you have had an education, you could perhaps have become a teacher or a lady’s companion.’
‘I think, sir, that a companion’s lot is harder than a clerk’s. At least with Mr Harecroft my work is clearly laid out and I do have regular hours and can live at home.’
‘Except when you decide to work late.’
‘Sometimes it is necessary. It is best to be flexible.’
‘And what do you like to do when you are not working?’ Having stopped to pay the toll, he steered the tilbury on to the bridge, but she would have known where they were even with her eyes shut; the overpowering smell of the river assaulted her nostrils, a mixture of stale fish, sewerage, damp coal, rotting vegetation and goodness knew what else.
‘I read to Papa and we go for walks in the park on a Sunday afternoon if he is not too tired.’
‘He is your constant companion?’
‘Yes. He needs me.’
‘But you leave him to go to work.’
‘He is used to that and our housekeeper keeps an eye on him for me. When I am late she cooks him supper.’ Housekeeper was an euphemism; Mrs Beales, their landlady, lived on the ground floor and did as little as possible for them and then only if she was paid.
‘Will he be concerned that you are so late home tonight?’
‘He knows I sometimes work late to finish a particular task.’
‘My goodness, how conscientious you are! No wonder my father sings your praises.’
‘Does he?’
‘Oh, yes. I have heard him using you as an example to the others.’
‘Oh. I wish he would not. I do not like to be singled out.’
He laughed. ‘Too late, you have been. Stephen thinks you are a paragon of virtue and industry and Great-Grandmama has a mischievous gleam in her eye whenever your name is mentioned. She is up to something, I know it.’
‘I cannot think what it could be.’
Neither could he. He did not think it was simply concern that Stephen should not make a mistake in marrying her. ‘Now we are over the bridge, which direction shall I take?’
‘You can let me down here. I am not far from home and can walk the rest.’
‘Certainly not. I am going to take you to your door. What do you think my father would say if I admitted to him I had left you short of your destination?’ He looked about him at the people in the street. Working men and women trudging home, seamen, dockers, costermongers with their empty carts, a brewer’s dray with its heavy horses, a stray dog worrying something it had found in the gutter. It was not the place to leave a young lady on her own and it was obvious that if she was not a lady in the accepted sense, she had been brought up genteelly. She had said she did not want to stand out, but she did. She was well spoken, educated and neatly if not fashionably dressed, so why was she living in an area that was only one degree above a slum? ‘Come, direct me.’
Short of jumping out of a moving vehicle she could do nothing and reluctantly directed him to turn left into the next street, which had a row of tenements on one side and warehouses fronting the river on the other. A hundred yards farther down she asked him to stop. ‘This will do, thank you.’
He looked up at the row of tenements. ‘Which one?’
‘It is round the corner, but the way is narrow and it is difficult to turn a vehicle there.’
‘Very well.’ He drew to a stop and jumped out to hand her down.
She bade him goodnight and turned swiftly to cross the road, hoping he would not follow. A speeding hackney pulled out to overtake the stationary tilbury just as she emerged from behind it, almost under the horse’s hooves. Richard, in one quick stride, grabbed her and pulled her to safety, while the cab driver shook his fist but did not stop.
‘You little fool!’ Richard exclaimed, pulling her against his broad chest. She was shaking like an aspen, unsure whether it was because of the close call she had had or the fact that he still held her in his arms. ‘Is my company so disagreeable you must run away from it?’
‘No,
