If so, I could deliver it on Friday.”
“Where are you going now?”
“To collect Henrietta from her dancing lesson. I expect I’ll spend the rest of the day at the Vicarage.”
Hester suppressed a grin. Lowell had avoided his baby cousin like the plague only months ago, but he was now fascinated by her recent transformation into a very pretty young lady of fashion. She decided not to tease him, but said merely, “I have something but it isn’t quite ready yet. I’ll leave it in your room.”
“What is it this time? Another article?”
“No, it’s a new cipher they sent me, and I’ve finally cracked it. I’m rather pleased with myself, it was quite difficult. You see this line—”
“Don’t try to explain, Hes!” Lowell said hastily. “I’ll take your word for it. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
Hester looked at him in some amusement. “Lowell, however do you convince Garimond that you’re the author of these communications? You must meet him occasionally.”
“Never. He’s a bit of a mysterious bird himself. But I don’t claim to be the author. I just deliver the envelope to an elderly cove at the Society’s office in St James’s Square.”
“Lucky for us! It saves a few explanations—especially as you are so determined not to be another mathematician!”
“Lord, Hes, I wouldn’t know how! But I’d give a lot to know what those clever codgers in St James’s Square would say if they knew Euclid was a woman.”
“It would give them all an apoplectic fit! But do take care not to let it out, Lowell—I don’t give a pin for their apoplectic fits, but it would mean an end to my fun, too.”
“I won’t,” her brother said confidently. “I like a bit of cloak-and-dagger work. When will the new stuff be ready?”
“It only wants a few corrections and then I’ll write it out in my Euclid hand. I’ll put it inside your overcoat before I go to bed.”
“Right-eeo.”
Lowell disappeared with a great deal of clattering down the stairs. Hester shook her head, then smiled fondly. He was a good brother.
She sat down at the bureau, took out her papers and put on her grandfather’s spectacles which she had found with his things, and which she now found useful for close work. They never left the attic. But after a few minutes she took them off again and sat back. She was finding it difficult to concentrate. It was Lowell’s fault for mentioning Dungarran’s name. That and the knowledge that she could not avoid seeing the man again in London…Lowell was right. She hadn’t told him everything. There was one scene that no one knew of. No one but herself and Dungarran. It wasn’t surprising that she had wished never to face him again. He had appeared to be so kind, so interested in her—until she had found him out. It had very nearly broken her heart to find that her idol had feet of such poor clay…And even then she had refused to accept it. Hester’s eyes strayed to the tiny window, but what she saw was not the green fields and trees of Northamptonshire but the drawing-rooms and streets of London in 1806…
Hester Perceval’s preparation for her début at seventeen was unusual. Her talents in the drawing-room were no more than adequate, but Mrs Guarding, a woman with advanced views on the education of women, had taken great pride in Hester’s gift for languages and her agile mind. She had encouraged Hester to believe that an intelligent, informed woman could create interest in badly needed reforms, bring the rich, particularly those in London and the south, to appreciate the difficulties of the poor in the north.
An older and wiser Hester now knew better. Mrs Guarding was usually the most astute of women, but in Hester’s case her enthusiasm had overcome her judgement. Social change has been brought about by intelligent women. But such women have been mature, sophisticated matrons with an established position, women of tact and experience who know their world, not naïve seventeen-year-olds with a strong sense of mission and no idea how to handle it.
All had gone well for the first few weeks after Hester’s arrival in London in the spring of 1806. Her adored brother Hugo was ready to look after her and introduce her to his circle of friends, all of them prominent in the Ton. Feminine enough to enjoy the pretty dresses her mother had provided for her, she accepted with pleased surprise the compliments the gentlemen paid her on her appearance. Fascinated by life in the metropolis, at first she spoke little and observed much. She soon came to the conclusion that Mrs Guarding was right. Though society had been kind to her, it was all too frivolous, too uncaring. As soon as she had found her feet, she would start her campaign…
Meanwhile it was very pleasant to be looked after by Hugo’s friends. It took a little time for her to become accustomed to their languid drawls, their refusal to take anything seriously, but it was flattering to a girl not yet eighteen to be attended by some of the most eligible young men in society. Even Dungarran, famous for his reluctance to put himself out for anyone—“Too fatiguin’!” was his favourite phrase—spent time teaching her the dance steps she had ignored at Mrs Guarding’s. Elegant, handsome, with dark hair and cool grey eyes, he spoke less than the others, seldom paying her the pretty compliments she came to expect, but this did him no harm in Hester’s opinion. There was an occasional glimmer of amusement in his eyes which intrigued her, but it was usually quickly replaced by his normal, indifferent courtesy. Though he evaded all her attempts at serious conversation, Hester was certain that behind the idle man of fashion there was an intelligence, an intellect she could respect. Inevitably, sadly, she was soon on the way to falling in love with him. She found herself listening for his lazy drawl, searching the crowds for a sight of his tall figure, always so immaculately dressed, rivalling Hugo in his calm self-possession. But though he was instantly welcome wherever he went, invited to every function, he was not always to be found. He seemed to come and go very much as he pleased. And as time went on he became even more elusive. Without him, life in London soon became very boring to Hester.
After a month, finding most conversations, even the compliments, tediously repetitive, she began her campaign. She would interrupt a frivolous discussion on the newest fashion for a collar, or Beau Brummell’s latest bon mot, in order to comment on the condition of the workers in the north, or the passage of a bill for reform through Parliament. This was met with blank stares. When invited out for a drive she took to lecturing her companion on the greater role women could, and would, play in public life, or expressing a desire to be taken to the poorer districts of London in order to observe living conditions there. Needless to say, no one ever took her, but even the request caused the lifting of eyebrows…
Her mother saw what was happening but found herself powerless to stop it. Her remonstrances, her pleas to Hester to stop trying to reform society until she was better informed of its manners and customs, fell on deaf ears. Hugo warned her, his closer friends did their best to deflect her, but Hester remained obstinately idealistic, stubbornly sure that intelligent discussion could solve the problems of the world…The result was inevitable. Society began to ignore, then neglect her. The flow of compliments, the invitations to drive or ride, dried up quite suddenly as Miss Perceval was pronounced guilty of the worst sin of all. She was a bore. And not even a pretty one.
Chapter Three
At first Hester was puzzled rather than distressed. The young men around her had listened so charmingly. They had paid her such pretty compliments, taken such pleasure in her company. What was wrong? Why didn’t they want to listen to her?
The awakening
