any other man in England, including Brougham. In fact, Martin was one of Brougham’s principal advisors when he was still just Mr. Henry Brougham, MP. He’ll be a useful chap to have around this session, I don’t doubt.”
“Indeed,” Anders said, nodding politely to the Duke of Wellington.
“Baron Teynham means to bring up the Poor Laws next week. Have you had a chance to read the bill?”
Anders sighed. “I have, Leo, and I think some changes need to be made.”
Leo frowned. “It’s the language, isn’t it? I know it’s rather inflammatory.”
“To say the least. Are you open to changes, then?”
“I suppose I am, though I can’t say we’ll get anywhere with it this year if Brougham has his way. It’ll be the disturbances in Ireland and abolition straight through to July.”
“All the same, I’ll have Ford make some changes and bring it by. It’s a noble cause, Leo, and one we should continue to support.”
“You trust him, then?”
“Who, Ford?”
Leo nodded.
“If Martin did, I don’t see why I can’t.”
“Hard to believe it’s been a year since he died. What a loss to the Commons. Do you know, by the way, whatever became of his daughter?” Leo asked.
“His daughter? I never heard he had one.”
“Hmm,” Leo said. “He did. Pretty little thing, too. I met her at a few parties, and I think I saw her at one of those meetings Brougham arranged a few years ago. Just as passionate an abolitionist as her father, I’d wager.”
“Do you think she’s still in London? I’d like to pay my respects if she is.” Anders honestly could not remember ever meeting Jonah Martin’s daughter, though he had seen the man often enough in society. But if she was still in the city, he thought it only right to look in on her and make sure she and her family were all right. Jonah Martin had not struck him as a man of means.
“No idea.”
“I suppose Ford would know if she is,” Anders said, and he made a mental note to inquire about it the next day. “Ah, there’s Norfolk.”
“Good morning, dearie!” Mrs. Simms cried as Clarissa stepped into the shop. “We didn’t expect to see you back again!”
“Neither did I,” Clarissa admitted. She had originally planned to visit a shop in Knightsbridge, but had decided against it lest someone recognize her. She looked around for Mr. Simms, but he appeared to be absent. “I need a few new suits, Mrs. Simms, and I’m wondering if you’d have anything that would fit.”
Mrs. Simms glanced nervously out the front window. “Come into the back, dearie,” she said, and she put out a hand to usher Clarissa behind the counter.
When they were in the back room, Mrs. Simms disappeared once more into the maze of shelves. While she was gone, Clarissa looked at the dummy in the corner. The beautiful gown she had seen there the other day was gone.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Simms called as she brought a few boxes out. She saw Clarissa looking and the dummy. “You noticed that gown, did you? It was a lovely thing, but it made me sad to look at it, so I put it away.”
“It made you sad?” Clarissa asked rather awkwardly. She was not used to making small talk with women. Even she had her girlhood friend Cynthia had always talked about levers and pulleys and natural laws.
“It was made for a young woman of quality oh, two years ago now. But her fiancé died just before the wedding, and the gown was never worn. It made its way here, and I’ve had it for a few months now. I don’t suppose anyone would buy it. Bad luck, you know.”
“Oh.” Clarissa said. Her father had always disdained such superstitions, but she could not say that to Mrs. Simms.
The shopkeeper’s wife came over and set the boxes down on the desk. “Now, I know I said I don’t like to pry,” she said as she lifted the lid on the first. “But...you’re not in any sort of trouble, are you, dearie?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Simms,” Clarissa promised. “Don’t worry. I know
“Indeed,” Anders said, nodding politely to the Duke of Wellington.
“Baron Teynham means to bring up the Poor Laws next week. Have you had a chance to read the bill?”
Anders sighed. “I have, Leo, and I think some changes need to be made.”
Leo frowned. “It’s the language, isn’t it? I know it’s rather inflammatory.”
“To say the least. Are you open to changes, then?”
“I suppose I am, though I can’t say we’ll get anywhere with it this year if Brougham has his way. It’ll be the disturbances in Ireland and abolition straight through to July.”
“All the same, I’ll have Ford make some changes and bring it by. It’s a noble cause, Leo, and one we should continue to support.”
“You trust him, then?”
“Who, Ford?”
Leo nodded.
“If Martin did, I don’t see why I can’t.”
“Hard to believe it’s been a year since he died. What a loss to the Commons. Do you know, by the way, whatever became of his daughter?” Leo asked.
“His daughter? I never heard he had one.”
“Hmm,” Leo said. “He did. Pretty little thing, too. I met her at a few parties, and I think I saw her at one of those meetings Brougham arranged a few years ago. Just as passionate an abolitionist as her father, I’d wager.”
“Do you think she’s still in London? I’d like to pay my respects if she is.” Anders honestly could not remember ever meeting Jonah Martin’s daughter, though he had seen the man often enough in society. But if she was still in the city, he thought it only right to look in on her and make sure she and her family were all right. Jonah Martin had not struck him as a man of means.
“No idea.”
“I suppose Ford would know if she is,” Anders said, and he made a mental note to inquire about it the next day. “Ah, there’s Norfolk.”
“Good morning, dearie!” Mrs. Simms cried as Clarissa stepped into the shop. “We didn’t expect to see you back again!”
“Neither did I,” Clarissa admitted. She had originally planned to visit a shop in Knightsbridge, but had decided against it lest someone recognize her. She looked around for Mr. Simms, but he appeared to be absent. “I need a few new suits, Mrs. Simms, and I’m wondering if you’d have anything that would fit.”
Mrs. Simms glanced nervously out the front window. “Come into the back, dearie,” she said, and she put out a hand to usher Clarissa behind the counter.
When they were in the back room, Mrs. Simms disappeared once more into the maze of shelves. While she was gone, Clarissa looked at the dummy in the corner. The beautiful gown she had seen there the other day was gone.
“Here we are,” Mrs. Simms called as she brought a few boxes out. She saw Clarissa looking and the dummy. “You noticed that gown, did you? It was a lovely thing, but it made me sad to look at it, so I put it away.”
“It made you sad?” Clarissa asked rather awkwardly. She was not used to making small talk with women. Even she had her girlhood friend Cynthia had always talked about levers and pulleys and natural laws.
“It was made for a young woman of quality oh, two years ago now. But her fiancé died just before the wedding, and the gown was never worn. It made its way here, and I’ve had it for a few months now. I don’t suppose anyone would buy it. Bad luck, you know.”
“Oh.” Clarissa said. Her father had always disdained such superstitions, but she could not say that to Mrs. Simms.
The shopkeeper’s wife came over and set the boxes down on the desk. “Now, I know I said I don’t like to pry,” she said as she lifted the lid on the first. “But...you’re not in any sort of trouble, are you, dearie?”
“Oh, no, Mrs. Simms,” Clarissa promised. “Don’t worry. I know
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