“’Tis an odd sounding name.”
“It’s the name of the family who once owned open fields on the other side of the Tower, past the old Roman walls,” Lorelei replied. “The Huguenots were persecuted in France for not being Catholic and they migrated to London and settled there. My sister said they are excellent silk weavers.”
“We can buy the cloth directly from them?”
“Well, I think they sell mainly to merchants, but that can be our adventure today. We’llpretendwe are planning to open up a new dress shop.” She smiled again. “We will not have to act like debutantes.”
Fiona grinned. “I like that idea.”
They caught a hack on Piccadilly and thirty minutes later got dropped off at Christ Church on Fournier Street. Lorelei looked around. The houses on this street were larger than she’d imagined, most of them three or four floors. They looked like residences.
“Do the weavers do their work in their own houses?” Fiona asked. “Do ye think we can just walk in?”
“I…am not sure.” She had actually expected to see shops. “Why don’t we do a bit of walking first and maybe we can ask someone?”
Fiona nodded and they walked past the church to turn onto Brick Lane. It took only a block or two before the large, well-kept houses gave way to smaller, more ramshackle buildings.
“I would imagine the shops are somewhere in here,” Lorelei said as she made her way down a narrow street. “I would think—”
“Do ya ’ave a copper or two to spare?”
Both Lorelei and Fiona turned to see a small, filthy boy emerge from the shadows, holding out a grubby hand. Behind him, an equally dirty little girl had her thumb stuck in her mouth. Their clothing was bedraggled and their hair hung in greasy strings.
Lorelei felt her heart go out to them. She shared a look with Fiona and opened her reticule to take out a coin. No sooner had she done that than at least a dozen more children materialized from out of nowhere. None of them could have been more than six or seven years. All of them were unkempt and each of them held out their hands.
“Do your parents live nearby?” Lorelei asked. For a moment, she didn’t think they understood her—their accent was quite different—because all they did was stare at her. She tried again. “Where are your homes?”
The first boy, a little cocky now that he held a coin while the others didn’t, answered her. “This street is me home.” He waved his other hand. “And them too.”
He must mean they all lived in different homes around the area. “Do your mothers and fathers know you are out here by yourselves?”
That earned her another silent stare until the little girl started to cry. Fiona dropped down. “Doona cry. A wee bairn like ye shouldna be out here, even if your brother is a big, braw boy.”
The child’s eyes went round and she stopped snuffling. The whole group turned their attention on her as though she were some strange creature. They probably had not understood a word she said. Lorelei tried again.
“Perhaps we should take you home to your mothers?”
The boy spoke again, “We ain’t got no mothers, lady.”
Fiona stood, her expression stricken as she whispered, “They probably doona have homes, either.”
The idea was almost incomprehensible. Lorelei knew there were street urchins. She’d seen some of them working as sweepers, clearing the horse dung so gentlemen’s boots and ladies’ hems wouldn’t get soiled. And there were those who cleaned chimneys and some who would run errands for a pence. But those children were older. Some of these standing around her should still be in leading strings. And they should definitely have mothers.
Fiona exchanged another look with her as she opened her own reticule. “I doona think we need to spend our money on silks today.”
Lorelei nodded. Within seconds, their coins were grabbed by grimy little hands and the children disappeared as silently as they had come.
“I think we’ve had enough adventure for one day,” she said and Fiona nodded.
On the way home, she couldn’t get the plight of those children out of her mind.
…
Alasdair approached White’s on Thursday afternoon with a singular purpose: a dram or two of MacGregor whisky. Based on the way the week had gone, he was seriously suspecting the Fae had been at their mischievous work. More documents kept appearing on his desk in Mount Stuart’s office. He’d no idea how often land had switched owners through the decades. The five hundred hectares were premium land, but there were other parcels scattered over Scotland as well. Some of the titles were for partial holdings, which meant multiple owners were involved beyond what had originally been simply MacGregor land. It was tedious work, since every single line on every document had to be carefully read to make sure he didn’t misconstrue anything. Ian had entrusted him to handle this.
He hadn’t even been able to leave the office on Monday afternoon to follow his sister and Lorelei’s “shopping” excursion which, obviously, it wasn’t, since last time they’d gotten into a hack and driven off. Then, on Tuesday, when he’d finally been able to stop by the Bute house, he’d been informed that Erik Taylor had come calling and he’d taken Fiona and Lorelei for a carriage ride in Hyde Park. And, since there hadn’t been a dance at Almack’s last night, he hadn’t been able to corner the man and have a much-needed discussion about his intentions.
He really needed that drink.
