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| Piccadilly Circus - Victorian Era |
Piccadilly Circus did not boast any high-flying trapeze dancers or dancing elephants (as its name might imply), but with its many shops, bustling ladies and gentlemen, hansoms and cabbies, stomping of cloven hooves and tinkling street carts, Piccadilly could be called nothing less. Comings and Goings bled together in a graceful and distracted dance around the center of the square, a living and breathing carousel of charming advertisements, bleak features and ruffled parasols. Over it all reined Eros, his figure caught forever in mid-leap above the frenzy. His frozen gaze remained blissfully impassive and his last thoughts as he readied his bow to send his wanton arrow deep into the breast of an unsuspecting lover remained lost.
On the north-east side of the Circus on the corner of Shaftesbury Avenue at the London Pavilion Music Hall, a group of men stood gathered around the back of a large wagon filled with crates marked Delectable Museum of Anatomy. One particularly large fellow grasped the rope handles of the closest crate and pulled it toward himself. The raspy sound of wood scraping wood woke an orange tabby from where he had been taking a nap in the far corner of the wagon-bed.Amber eyes opened slowly and a ponderous yawn followed shortly thereafter. His large eyes assessed his new surroundings lazily. Crates were being pulled from the wagon and carried into the Music Hall; the men muttered to each other and one was humming an Irish ditty. The tabby flicked his tail and uncurled himself languorously. Once on his paws, he shook his head in a way only cats can, and began to clean his face.
“Oi, Seamus! There’s a puss in ‘ere!”
A young man climbed into the back of the wagon. He began to make as much noise as he could as he pushed the crates aside. The tabby’s ears flattened. “Oi, get ou’ o’ ‘ere, ye lazy puss! Who’re you to be takin’ a nap when t’ resto’ us are workin’ ‘isself t’ the bone? SCAT!”
The tabby bolted from the encroaching human-legs and landed gracefully onto the glistening cobblestones below. His pink nose twitched and his hackles rose slightly. London was such a disagreeable place in winter. The sky overhead was grey and cloudless; an occasional gust of winter wind swept across the cobbles underfoot and made the ladies’ hems shiver. The withered, leafy remnants of fall darted in and around the damp stones until they came to rest, pressed and shaking, against the spokes of a courtly carriage. The bridled equines would stomp their hooves at winter’s unwelcome caress over their sweat-slicked backs. Gusts of steamy breath smelling of hay and oats flared from their warm nostrils; the cat flicked his tail.
Yes, the feeling of wet fur between one’s claws was most uncomfortable, thought the cat as he began to make his away across the cobbled square, effortlessly avoiding the clacking wheels of the coaches, heavy hoof-falls of the equines and the pointy ends of the gentlemen canes as they strode past, self-importantly assured of their top-hat status.Upon reached the far side of the square, he stopped at a pair of scuffed, black books and many-times-mended mauve hem. The boots and hem belonged to a female who was not still a girl, but not quite a lady. She was short, and held her pale and moon-shaped face proudly. She had twisted her black hair under her weathered hat to ensure every curl was tucked away.
She stood along the wall leading to a small store which sold men’s fashion, as to be unobtrusive to the constant rush of passersby. This was her first journey into London—she had traveled from her family’s farm in Yorkshire at the urging of her father, who had managed to arrange employment for her at the summer mansion of Lord Edward Croft, Earl of Huntington, who her father served with years earlier in Crimea. The last few months had been a flurry of excitement and anxiety as she adapted to her new roles as a servant to the nobility. She happened to look down and notice a curiously-eyed cat staring up at her.
“Well, good day to you, sir,” she said, bending slightly at the waist to gain a closer look at her new friend. She did not have a fondness for animals, but she did fancy cats. After tucking her package beneath her right arm, she stooped to run her fingers through the warm fur.
“Mary!”
She righted herself at the sound of her name and the tabby went on his way. Searching, she found a smile claim her lips as she found him alighting from a nearby carriage—he was not difficult to miss, as he had the most shocking color of blond-red hair she had ever seen. Lord Ian Croft was son to Earl and Lady Edward Croft, and though he was three years older that her, she sometimes wondered if he was three years younger. Her smile slipped into an expression of shock and amusement; her young lord had mis-buttoned his brocade vest and his collar was clearly lacking starch. He energetically made his way through the crowd until he stood before her.
“My lord, your vest—”
“Never mind that! Were you able to find them?” he asked. His cheeks and nose had already turned pink by the turn in weather. He eyed the package under Mary’s arm in excitement.
“Yes, but—”
“Excellent!” he exclaimed, as he pulled away the twine. Amidst the paper wrapping laid a pair of fine leather gloves. Ian beamed.
“It appears your first mission for me was a success!”
Mary smiled and adjusted her hat against the wind.
“I’m sure your father will be very happy with your gift,” she said encouragingly. She pulled her coat a little tighter around her to ward off a sudden chill and watched Ian as he re-wrapped the gloves and slid them into a pocket inside his overcoat.
“Why, Mary,” he said suddenly, “I do believe you’re wearing a new hat.”
She colored briefly and dismissed his flattery. “It’s not very fancy, but I rather liked the color.” She was not a shy person by nature, but any attention paid to her by Ian Croft was enough to make her pulse stammer. Although he treated her much like he did his younger sister, his doting and kind smiles had unintentionally won the heart of Mary Fields.
“Well, you look very lady-like,” he said proudly.
“Thank you,” she replied.
“Wait here a moment, Mary,” he said, and jogged over to his carriage. He half climbed up the side to have a word with his driver. After a few moments, he jumped down and began his way back to Mary as the coach lurched into movement with the sound of hooves clattering against stone.
“Do you have other business in the city, my lord?” asked Mary as Ian rejoined her side.
“Yes, I do, and I insist you call me Ian.”
“You may be comfortable with informality, my lord, but as a servant in your father’s household, I must protest at your insistence—”
“As a servant, I order you to call me Ian,” interrupted Ian.
“And another thing—it is impolite to interrupt a lady!”
“So which are you—a lady or a servant?” he asked in mock confusion. She squared her shoulders and adjusted her hat primly.
“Both, my lord, and good day to you.” She turned and started down the street at a brisk pace. He stood and watched her go, visibly disturbed that he’d upset her.
“Mary, please!” When she refused to acknowledge him, he sighed and started after her. He was tall for his age, and caught up with her quickly. “Mary!”
“It’s Miss Fields to you, my lord,” she said, stopping and turning briskly to face him. He stumbled slightly as to not bump into her.
“Why do you make everything so difficult?” he whined.
“I don’t make anything difficult, you’re the one who—” Her statement was cut short by a long dramatic sigh from Ian.
“Really now, Miss Fields, I’ve grow weary of this. I merely request your assistance – is it still too much to ask of you?” She gazed at his proffered arm and her jaw fell slack. She thought she must have looked quite silly.
“Your pardon, my lord? I am but a servant in your father’s estate and—“
“Yes, yes, we’ve been through all this already. Normally, I would send my butler out for trivial errands such as these, but this year’s Christmastime presents must be kept secret! I cannot risk utilizing anyone close to my parents for fear my plans might be revealed! Hence why I recruited you! Who better to run my secret missions? Why, it was only two months past that you arrived at Nettlewyte!”
“My Lord—”
“Naturally, I might have asked one of the daughters of the Marquis or Duke or some-such to accompany me, but then,” he paused to chuckle, “people would talk, of course, and I can’t have that. And on my honor as a gentleman, I would be remiss if misappropriated any young woman’s feelings of affection to attain my own selfish goals—”
“Master Ian—”
“So then an amazing thought crossed my mind. Why not accompany my newly appointed spy? Exploring London is always such an adventure, and of course, no one would talk about me accompanying a servant. Brilliant thought that.”
“You are one of the stupidest men I have ever met,” she exclaimed. Her face, previously animated by her smile, hardened in seriousness as she clenched her jaw and gazed levelly at him.
“Hm?”
“You should have asked the Marquis’ daughter! Don’t you understand that the sight you and I in London’s most frequented shops at this time of year will cause more tittle-tattle than an outing with the daughter of a Marquis?! And not only that—look at you! Your hair is a right mess, your collar is curled, your buttons are offset and you forgot your hat!” Ian looked down at his stomach to view the offending buttons.
“Ah. Well, there’s not much I can do about that now,” he grinned in embarrassment as he nonchalantly pulled his overcoat forward and began to button it across his chest.
“Tch, you’re getting the buttons wrong again, my lord,” she said softly. Her hands interrupted his and he stood silently as her fingers deftly slipped the embossed brass buttons into their aligned holes.
“There,” she said. He cleared his throat and laughed lightheartedly.
“You needn’t worry so much about things,” he said, taking her hand and tucking it in the crook of his arm. “But I’m glad I am attended to by such a gracious lady, servant or no.”
“Mary, please try to calm yourself.” He smiled reassuringly at her and she made a conscious effort to relax the muscles in her arm. “I may be the son of an Earl, but I’m not well known. And London is a busy town…too busy to interrupt our afternoon. Today, I am just as any other man.”
Only, you’re not, she thought. They walked in silence for some time, pausing only intermittently to gaze into frosted windows filled with wares of the season.
“Two months, then?” he murmured. “Are you settling comfortably into Nettlewyte?”
“Yes, my lord. Your family was very kind to offer employment to me. I feel there is so much to learn! My father is very thankful.”
“No doubt my father is as well.” Ian smiled. “When I was younger, my father regaled me with many tales of the war and his adventures in Crimea. I know he would not have been able to share such vibrant stories had it not been for your father.” He paused for a moment. “I’m glad you’ve joined us at Nettlewyte.”
“Yes. Me, too.”
“And I notice your accent is fading.”
“I am trying to learn the ways of the nobility and London, my lord. I may only be a simple farmer’s daughter, but I am trying to become a lady.” He reached across at gently flicked the brim of her hat.
“Careful now that you don’t go about giving yourself airs!” She smiled demurely and he chuckled.
“Do you miss Yorkshire?”
“Yes, but I enjoy my work at Nettlewyte. And I—”
“Don’t try to change yourself too greatly, Mary,” he said in sudden seriousness. She laughed lightly.
“Oh aye, m’laurd, but I thin’ a lass o’ me sor’ wouldna be t’ welcome,” she said lyrically, emphasizing the long, round vowels born from her life in Yorkshire. Ian laughed.
“Oh aye,” he replied with a grin, “but I don’t think it would be unwelcome. Rather, I think—Mary?”
She had frozen mid-step and she felt Ian’s concerned glance. She turned her face to his in an attempt to speak, but her gaze remained riveted on a middle-aged gentleman as he stepped from a black carriage in front of Benson Clothiers storefront.
“What is it?”
He was far enough away that Mary hoped they’d be able to change their direction without his noticing, but as the very thought formed in her mind, the gentleman turned and lifted a hand in greeting. Mary took a hesitant step backward.
“Do you know him, Mary?” asked Ian, who squinted his green eyes to ascertain the man’s identity. The man’s features remained obscured and overshadowed by the gloom and brim of his hat.
“Let’s go the other way,” she said hurriedly. She turned away from Ian to return the way they came, but she had only ventured a few steps before a tall, brown-skinned man in a jeweled turban stepped from the side-alley and blocked their path.
“Hello!” Ian exclaimed under his breath. He regarded the Indian in amazement and did not take notice of Mary’s fingers digging into his arm as she clung to his side. She was nearly overtaken by the intense urge to run, but her desire to protect her lord kept her by his side.
“Ian, we need to cross the street quickly.” She tugged at his arm and stepped into the gutter as the Indian man moved towards them. A hansom cab ricketed by and splattered her right side with muddy water.
“Mary!” exclaimed Ian. “What has concerned you? Quit pulling me!”
“Please, Ian,” she begged as he tried to shake her off. She caught a glimpse of the dark gentleman over Ian’s shoulder as he made his way towards them. She tugged roughly on his arm and he staggered into the gutter to regain his balance.
“My lord, please--!” She watched in dismay as a pale hand grasped her lord’s shoulder from behind.© Elise Aydelotte, 2011
