Page 76 of The Marriage Method

“Well, that’s that, then.” Lifting her black parasol, Effie rapped once with it on the ceiling. The carriage slowed to a halt. A young footman jumped down from the box and came to the window. “We’re going to Whitechapel,” she informed him. “Commercial Street.”

The footman’s eyes widened. “But Mrs. Royce, the master wouldn’t—”

A coachman behind them called over him: “Get a move on, guv!”

“You’re blocking the road!” another driver shouted.

“Quickly,” Effie said to her footman. “We haven’t got all day.”

Face set with resignation, the young servant returned to his perch. The carriage rolled on.

“Mr. Royce is ridiculously overprotective of me,” Effie explained to Nell. “As are the servants by extension. One would think I couldn’t take care of myself.”

“You’re fortunate to have someone who cares for you so deeply,” Nell said.

Effie’s expression softened. “Yes. I still sometimes can’t believe it. I do wonder if I deserve it.”

“You deserve to be happy.”

“So do you,” Effie said. “Even if it is with Mr. Quincey.”

Nell managed a faint smile. It didn’t last. She couldn’t think about Miles right now. Not when she was on the verge of returning to the slum. He would be furious with her when he found out. And it wasn’t because he was overprotective of her, or because he was anything like being in love with her. It was because he’d asked her to leave it to Mr. Royce and she’d agreed.

But really, Nell told herself, it hardly mattered. They’d be back before nightfall.

So long as they didn’t encounter any difficulties.

• • • • •

Entering Whitechapel Road some forty minutes later, they were but two turnings away from their destination when the Royces’ carriage slowed to a crawl. Makeshift stalls lined the street where yesterday there had been none, selling everything from meat, fish, and greens to crockery, carpets, and furniture. Noisy crowds gathered round them—women bartering with salesmen and men loading carts with newly purchased items that were too cumbersome to carry.

“The Saturday market,” Effie said. “We shall have to get out and walk if you can manage it.”

Nell peered out the carriage window in dismay. “There are so many people.”

“Saturday is payday,” Effie explained. “People are anxious to make their earnings last the week. It benefits them to get their goods as cheaply as possible.”

“Hence the street market?”

“They pop up all over the city.” Effie rapped on the ceiling. The carriage stopped. This time, there was no one to object to them blocking traffic. It was already obstructed by the teeming crowds.

The footman opened the carriage door for her.

“We shall be stepping out here,” she told him. “You may pull along the roadway and wait for us.”

The footman was unhappy but obedient. “Yes, Mrs. Royce. Shall I accompany you?”

“No need.” Effie allowed him to assist her down.

Nell descended after her. Though her hip was aching, she left her cane behind. Effie was right. It was too recognizable, particularly here in Whitechapel.

Effie tucked her parasol under one arm. She offered Nell her other.

Nell took it gratefully. Together, they stepped into the road, Effie in her blue figured silk jacket and skirt and Nell in her simply cut gray carriage gown. They weren’t the only well-dressed ladies among the shoppers. Women of every sort were patronizing the stalls.

“Miss Jean’s lodgings are in a lane off of Commercial Street,” Nell said. “It shouldn’t be far from here.”

“Are you certain you’re able—”