Sophie looked first at the rapidly fading light outside and then at Mariah, who nodded. “Thank you, ma’am. We’d be most pleased to accept your offer.”
The short man who smelled of tobacco helped them out of the train car, and they thanked him. They followed the matron through the various platforms and train tracks to the exit and saw an endless sky of rooflines and air filled with black smoke. The streets went in every direction like a maze. Sophie was glad that they’d decided to wait until the morning to find Lady Bentley’s house.
The matron led them to a small house on a dark alley. The boardinghouse was run by Mrs. Mangling, a woman with a red face and large hands, and the establishment looked clean enough. Sophie paid the woman all the coins in her purse, but it still wasn’t enough. Mrs. Mangling agreed to let them stay if they shared a bed and left before dawn. For once, Sophie was too tired to argue. She followed Mrs. Mangling up a narrow staircase to a cramped, airless room without any windows.
“It’s very nice,” Mariah said kindly.
Mrs. Mangling harrumphed and took her candle with her as she ambled back down the narrow staircase.
“I suppose we should go in,” Sophie said, stepping into the cramped room.
Mariah followed behind her and closed the door—the room was pitch-black. But they were used to darkness. Mrs. Ellis had never bothered to give them a candle. Trying not to bump into each other, they took off their dresses and lay down on the dusty bed. Sophie pulled at the blanket until it covered them.
“I’m scared,” Mariah whispered. “London is so much bigger than I thought it would be.”
“You have me,” Sophie said, squeezing her sister’s hand, “and I have you and we don’t need anyone else.”
* * *
Mrs. Mangling pounded on their door just before sunrise. Sophie and Mariah cracked the door open for some light. Once dressed, they finished eating the meager food left in their basket. Sophie was terribly thirsty, so she traded Mrs. Mangling the basket for two glasses of water. They left the boardinghouse and walked out into the cobbled street, which despite the early hour was already filled with carriages, merchants selling their wares, and street sweepers cleaning up the muck from horses.
“I know it’s only a few miles, but I think we’d better hire a hansom cab,” Sophie said. “I don’t think we’ll ever find Lady Bentley’s house on our own.”
“How would we pay for it?” Mariah asked.
“I forgot,” Sophie said, pulling a coin out of her dress pocket. “Mr. Ellis gave me a shilling when we left.”
“I just hope it’s enough to get us to Hyde Street.”
Sophie nodded, then took her sister’s arm and walked up to one of the many hansom cabs that waited outside Waterloo Station. A driver, half-asleep, rubbed his eyes as the sisters approached.
“I’m not seein’ double,” he said. “There’s really two of you.”
This comment annoyed Sophie to no end, because it had been said so many times before. Still, she forced herself to smile. “Kind sir, we have only a shilling and must get to number forty-eight Hyde Street. Would you be willing to take us there?”
Mariah smiled sweetly at him and added, “Please, sir?”
The driver accepted their offer with a wink and even jumped off his perch to open the door and assist them into the two-wheeled carriage. The cab smelled of mothballs and horse, but the ride was not too long. They paid the driver their last shilling and stood in front of number forty-eight.
Hyde Street looked like a row of navy officers standing at attention. The white buildings stood erect in an endless line, all sporting black shutters, impeccably clean windows, and tall black doors with brass knockers that sparkled like the buttons of a uniform. Even the trees on the street stood in a perfect row, spaced precisely the same distance apart.
“What do we do now?” Mariah asked.
Sophie gave her sister a small shove toward the front door.
“Knock,” Sophie said. “I’ll walk down the street a bit and come back. Hang my pocket watch in the window of your room and I’ll find a way to get in.”
“What if you can’t get in?” Mariah asked.
Sophie could hear the worry in her voice.
“I’ll find a way in,” Sophie assured her. She gave her sister a quick hug, then turned and walked down the street, trying to swallow her own fears as well as Mariah’s.
TWO
IT TOOK ALL OF MARIAH’S nerve to walk up to the front door. It was still the early hours of the morning, and she feared no one would be up yet. She looked down the street and watched her sister walking away. There was no turning back now.
Mariah picked up the knocker and tapped loudly three times. Several moments later, a man with white wig askew and black coat unevenly buttoned opened the door.
“The servants’ entrance is in the rear,” he said condescendingly. “Through the alley.”
“I’m not a servant,” Mariah said, handing the man her aunt’s letter. “I’m Lady Bentley’s niece. I’ve come to stay with her.”
The man looked her up and down. Mariah could practically feel his narrowed eyes take in every wrinkle of her best dress and dowdy straw bonnet. He sneered at her but took the letter and read it before opening the door wider to allow her in.
“I am Mr. Taylor, the butler. The mistress will not be up for several more hours,” he said in a monotone voice. “I will place you in the care of the housekeeper, Mrs. Kimball. Wait here. And don’t touch anything.”
He turned away, walking down the hall and out of sight, leaving Mariah alone in the grand entry. It seemed as large as Mrs. Ellis’s entire house—larger even—with gleaming white and gray marble floors. The staircase swept up in an elegant curve of crimson carpet.
Subconsciously, Mariah tried to wipe the dust of her journey off her sleeves, but it was a hopeless cause. She was a dirty speck in this perfectly pristine home.
At least a quarter of an hour later, an older woman with graying brown hair tucked underneath a cap tied at her chin came down the hall.
“Miss Carter, I presume?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Mariah said, bobbing a curtsy.
“I am Mrs. Kimball, the housekeeper,” the older woman said. “I cannot allow you to see your aunt thus attired. Have you another dress?”
Mariah felt a blush creep up her neck. She was already wearing her best dress of gray cotton. She opened her bag to show her faded blue work dress.
Mrs. Kimball crinkled her nose. “No. Come with me. You will need to bathe before you meet your aunt. And I will see if Miss Golden will lend you some clothes.”
“Who?” Mariah asked without thinking.
Mrs. Kimball turned back to look at Mariah. “She is your aunt’s lady’s maid,” she said imperiously. “It is the privilege of a lady’s maid to receive her mistress’s old clothes. We must find something suitable for you to wear before your aunt takes you shopping.”
Mariah followed Mrs. Kimball up a flight of stairs to a spacious room with a large four-poster canopy bed, a wardrobe, a chair, and a table with a mirror. The furnishings were a sumptuous peacock blue, and the floor was carpeted in a lovely floral pattern.