‘Thérèse! Wait!’

The fair girl had been about to pass them by with no more than an inquiring look, but at Jane’s words she hesitated a moment and her intensely blue eyes rested in puzzlement on Jane’s face.

‘Mam’zelle? I beg your pardon-do I know you?’

‘No…yes!’ Jane found that she seemed out of breath, her thoughts tumbling. It had all happened too quickly. How was she to find the words to explain? The cab driver was listening with unconcealed interest and a couple of passers-by had stopped to watch. Across the street, a portly man, bulging out of an embroidered waistcoat, lounged in a doorway and watched them out of the corner of his eye.

A frown wrinkled the girl’s forehead as she considered Jane’s simple white dress and elegant bonnet. ‘I think you are a long way from home, mam’zelle…Perhaps you would be better to return.’

Jane thought that she was probably right. She suddenly felt very odd, cast adrift in an entirely unfamiliar world. Yet the stubbornness that had brought her this far would not allow her to give up now.

‘I am Jane Verey,’ she said clearly. ‘I believe that you are acquainted with my brother Simon, Miss de Beaurain. I must speak with you.’

The girl’s blue eyes had narrowed. ‘You are his sister? Can he have sent you here? But no, it is impossible!’

She had started to turn away, but Jane caught her arm in desperation. ‘Please! I beg you to listen to me!’

A murmur ran through the growing crowd. Thérèse eyed them with exasperation, her expression becoming even more irritated as it returned to Jane’s flushed but determined face. ‘Very well, Miss Verey! You had better come with me before they tear the clothes from your back! This way…’

She ushered Jane through a narrow doorway and up a steep stair. The air was musty and dim out of the sunshine, and Jane blinked as her eyes accustomed themselves to the comparative darkness.

There was one room only at the top of the stairs, a long room resembling an attic, with bare boards and high windows. To the side of the stairs was a table with materials scattered across it-rich silks and taffetas in red and gold, a contrast to the bare austerity of the room with its single chair and wooden bed pushed up against the wall. The bed was occupied, but Jane did not like to stare with ill-bred curiosity at the recumbent figure.

‘My mother is too ill to be disturbed,’ Thérèse said abruptly. ‘I beg you to speak softly, Miss Verey, and do not wake her! Now, how may I help you?’

Her tone was not encouraging. Jane looked about her helplessly. She wondered suddenly whether she was making a dreadful mistake, then she remembered Alex’s words. The proud daughter of the Vicomte de Beaurain had already rejected one offer of help. She would need every ounce of persuasion she possessed to make Thérèse de Beaurain even listen to her.

Jane sat down on the workbench beside the dress that was clearly Thérèse’s latest commission. The room was spotlessly clean and tidy, the floor swept and the bedclothes neatly folded around the invalid on the bed. Jane dragged her gaze away and found Thérèse watching her with a mixture of pity and exasperation.

‘I do not know what can bring you here, mam’zelle,’ the French girl said impatiently. ‘I have already told your brother, the good Lord Verey, that I do not wish to encourage his interest. He has been here-sitting in the street, begging entry to the house! I cannot believe that he has sent you to plead his case! I repeat, I have no wish be his lordship’s mistress!’

The colour flamed in Jane’s face. Thérèse’s tone had been heavily ironic, but there was anger in her eyes-anger and a kind of hopelessness that Jane did not understand. For two pins she would have rushed from the house, but the memory of Simon’s strained and despairing face was before her eyes. She spoke firmly.

‘Mademoiselle de Beaurain, I beg you to hear me out. Firstly, my brother has no notion that I have sought you out today. I am here because I care about his happiness and I thought-erroneously, perhaps-that you might do so too. Secondly, I do not believe that Simon ever suggested that you should become his mistress! He is far too honourable a man to do such a thing!’ The sincerity in her voice rang out. ‘I thought that if I could see you…explain to you that he was desperately unhappy…you might relent and at least grant him an interview…He loves you!’ she finished desperately.

There was silence. Thérèse had sat, head bent, whilst Jane spoke, but now she looked up with a flash of her blue eyes. ‘Do you know who I am, Miss Verey?’

‘Yes! You are the daughter of the Vicomte de Beaurain, who fled France at the Revolution! You used to do sewing for Celestine and you were at the masquerade ball at Lady Aston’s, which was where my brother fell in love with you! You are related to General Sir John Huntington, who offended you by trying to offer you charity! I assure you that I am offering no such thing!’

This time there was reluctant humour in Thérèse’s voice. ‘I believe you, Miss Verey! You are remarkably well informed! And is your brother similarly aware of my history?’

‘No!’ Jane spoke more hotly than she had intended. ‘Simon knows nothing and cares even less! He is not concerned over your ancestry or current occupation! He would not care if you were a Duchess or a chambermaid! But I cannot convince you of that.’

A bout of coughing from the bed interrupted them and Thérèse jumped up, hurrying across to hold a beaker of water to her mother’s lips. They spoke briefly in French, too softly for Jane to hear, then the Vicomtesse turned on her side, smothering another paroxysm of coughs in her pillow. Thérèse straightened the covers about her mother’s form, then came back to Jane, a deep frown on her brow.

‘Forgive me, Miss Verey, but I must ask you to leave now. My mother has need of more medicines and I was on my way to fetch them when you arrived.’ Her gaze rested on the luxurious silk dress. ‘I have my work to do, as you see. You have done your best for your brother, but-’

‘Will you not see him at the very least?’

Thérèse was shaking her head. There was a mixture of frustration and anger visible on her face. ‘Miss Verey, you do not understand-’

There was a peremptory knocking, then the door burst open to admit a florid man whose yellowing smile Jane immediately distrusted. He was well dressed in a rather gaudy manner, with lace at the throat and wrists, and although he affected the manner and pose of a gentleman, there was something vaguely threatening in his appearance. Jane immediately sensed something defensive in Thérèse’s demeanour as the girl stood up, shielding her from his view.

The man executed a bow. ‘How d’ye do, my lady? I am come as promised to collect my debt!’

‘I told you that the money would not be available before Tuesday,’ Thérèse said calmly, but Jane thought she detected a hint of nervousness in her voice. She gestured towards the table. ‘I have the work to finish before I am paid and only then can I pay you!’

The gentleman did not seem convinced. He paced the boards, walking over to peer with ill-concealed curiosity at the figure on the bed.

‘I see your mother is not in plump currant,’ he observed unctuously. ‘How would it be if I sent out for the medicine for her-at a price?’

Thérèse cast Jane a swift look. She spoke stiffly. ‘I have told you before, sir, that the price is too high for me!’

The gentleman stepped neatly around Thérèse and stopped before Jane. His gooseberry-green eyes, bloodshot and slightly protuberant, appraised her with sharpened interest. With a sudden jump of the heart Jane recognised him. This, she was sure, was the man she had seen at Vauxhall advancing towards Alex with a knife in his hand. He had been with Thérèse when she and Simon had seen them in the gardens, but later he had been alone, creeping down the dark alleys with murder in his mind…She shrank back.

‘Barely saw you there, my dear!’ the man was saying cheerfully. ‘Thérèse, introduce me to you friend!’

‘My friend was just leaving, sir,’ Thérèse said, and this time there was no mistaking the sharp anxiety in her tone.

‘Not so swift, my sweet!’ There was an edge to the unctuous voice now. ‘So charming a companion! Pray make me known to her!’

Thérèse paused. ‘You must excuse us, Mr Samways. Your money will be ready on Tuesday as agreed. Now, by your leave-’

The gentleman stepped forward and grasped Jane’s sleeve. She came to her feet with a gasp of shock. There was no mistaking the cupidity and excitement on his face.

‘I do believe that you have the real thing here, Thérèse, my dear! Who is she-some society lady come to consult about a new dress? But no…’ he peered closely into Jane’s face and she could smell his stale breath ‘…she is too young! A golden child! A pretty pigeon for the plucking!’

‘You mistake, Mr Samways,’ Thérèse spoke hurriedly. ‘My friend is nothing and no one! She cannot interest you-’

‘On the contrary!’ The gentleman’s eyes were avid on Jane’s face. ‘She interests me extremely! There must be an anxious family somewhere and I am determined to take care of her for them!’

‘You will not hurt her!’

There was taut anxiety in Thérèse’s voice. Jane, only part-understanding, grabbed her cloak and tried to step past the gentleman. He was too quick for her, grasping her arm.

‘A moment, my dear! You are too hasty!’ He bent his face close to hers. ‘Who are you, eh?’

‘I am no one, sir, as Miss de Beaurain has said,’ Jane said hurriedly, a catch in her voice. ‘I beg you to let me go now! I will be missed!’

‘Why, that’s just what I’m saying!’ Jane could not mistake the menace underlying his voice now. ‘There’ll be those who’ll pay handsomely to get you back, my dear! Now, be a good girl and tell me who they are! The sooner you do, the sooner you’ll be going home!’