Chapter Text
It had been no small feat, convincing her father to let her travel with him to London. He made regular trips to the city, to collect his dividends, but he had never been willing to take anyone in the family with him.[1] There were too many temptations, he told them. Never dangers; only temptations. Charlotte assured him she wouldn’t be tempted by anything and merely wanted to see what the place she’d read so much about was really like.
She’d almost convinced him before his last trip and was considerably more relentless about it between then and now. As the coach they were riding in made its way through dimly-lit, crowded, presumably filthy streets, she could not imagine why her father thought she – or any of her siblings – would be tempted by in London. Looking out the window she could imagine nothing in this city that could ever spark her interest. It was obvious that the authors’ accounts she’d read were entirely fictional. London on the page was in no way similar to London in reality.
By the time they arrived at The Golden Cross, darkness surrounded them. Charlotte’s father hurried her inside while he waited for the driver to unload the luggage. She glanced around the common area, which looked not unlike the taverns they had in Willingden and neighboring towns. There were several wooden tables with chairs for people eating or drinking, and a fire burning at the far end. A woman Charlotte supposed was the innkeeper’s wife made her way around the room, collecting empty plates and asking if tankards needed refilling.
Her father asked the innkeeper if a meal might be sent up to their room. When the answer was no, they did not have enough staff for that, Charlotte could feel her father’s displeasure. No doubt he had wanted to limit the amount of time she spent around unsavory characters.
Determined not to give him further cause to keep her locked away upstairs, Charlotte resisted the temptation to look more closely at any of the patrons. Her curiosity about the other guests at the inn would need to wait.
X
Their meal the first night at The Golden Cross was uneventful. The stew with brown bread was decent and the atmosphere not nearly as rowdy as it might have been. Indeed, the patrons of this establishment were well behaved, not ruffians.
Knowing her father would take far longer than her to eat his food, Charlotte brought a book along with her to read. They were seated close enough to the fire for her to have sufficient light, though, in all honesty, it was a ruse on her part. She pretended to read, while instead she watched those around her.
On the far side of the room a married couple was in the midst of an argument, the subject of which Charlotte could not quite discern at such a distance. A group of men was playing Puff and Darts in the corner farthest from the fire; none of them was particularly skilled at the game, so they were evenly matched.[2]
The innkeeper’s wife continued making her rounds, stopping and chatting occasionally with those people who must be regular visitors to the establishment. One such gentleman, whom Charlotte could only see in profile, appeared to be asking a fair number of questions. From what Charlotte could tell he was dissatisfied with the responses he got, considering how many times he shook his head in response to whatever he was being told.
Charlotte flipped a page in her book, having not read a single word. Her next target of attention was a table of men – not gentlemen, she didn’t think – who were playing cards. They were the most animated group in the room, the number of empty tankards on their table letting her know why the volume of their voices was steadily increasing. They were not so loud that she could not hear her father set his cutlery down, indicating he had finished his meal.
Turning to speak with him, Charlotte asked the safest question she could think of, “Shall we retire upstairs?” She did not wish for her father to think she enjoyed spending time in the company of strangers. If it were up to him, she would have stayed above stairs for the duration of their time at The Golden Cross.
Her father did not reply immediately, instead fixing his eyes over her shoulder at someone or something. “Yes, my dear,” he said after several moments, “I think that would be for the best.”
As they stood to leave the room, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders protectively. Charlotte told herself he was being overly cautious; she’d seen no one in the inn who was likely to harm her or steal her virtue. Sighing softly to herself, she knew she should have expected as much from her father. He was entirely too wary of people, but she’d need to continue treading lightly if she hoped to ever travel away from Willingden again.
X
Collecting the dividends at her father’s bank was a simple enough process. Why anyone thought women were incapable of such transactions, she would never understand. Not that she’d ever have any money of her own to invest. Her dowry, small as it was, wasn’t truly hers. It was intended as a bribe of sorts for a prospective husband. She rolled her eyes anytime she thought of the custom – it was asinine and archaic.
With as many siblings as she had, her dowry was so small that there was no way it alone would convince anyone to marry her. It was far more likely that she’d wed a local boy, to help him tend to his farm. Not a marriage for money, nor for love. It would be about convenience, and she was content with that. Her parents grew to love each other and Charlotte would grow to love whomever she was paired with as well. It was the way of the world.
After leaving the bank, Charlotte was able to convince her father to ask the driver of their hack to take “the long way” back to The Golden Cross so that she might see more of the city. It felt to Charlotte as if her father had conspired with the driver to intentionally show her the worst of the city. For every famous landmark like St. Paul’s Cathedral they saw, there were twenty dilapidated buildings. For every statue of a former king, there was a pillory to punish the lawless.[3]
By the time they returned to their room at the inn, Charlotte was certain of two things. London was full of filth and she needed a bath, desperately. It was a good thing she didn’t ask her father if they could walk anywhere in the city – he would have laughed uproariously at that suggestion! And though she would be loath to admit it, she was very much looking forward to their return journey to Willingden in the morning.
X
The meal and atmosphere their second night at The Golden Cross were similar to the previous night. Most of the faces were familiar to Charlotte now, prompting her to relax more. The only alteration was that the fire was blazing higher, on account of the unseasonably cold weather that was bringing a dusting of snow to the city.
Her shepherd’s pie finished, she once again opened her book to prevent her father from being aware of her spectating. Once she was confident that he was focused on his meal, she raised her eyes to the room. Unlike last night, her eyes immediately locked with another person’s.
It was the lone gentleman, who had asked the innkeeper’s wife so many questions. He was sitting at the same table as before, but her view of him was now unobstructed. He was handsome and serious, his expression indicating he was assessing her in the same manner that she’d been assessing everyone else. While in another setting she might find his perusal unsettling, she had read enough novels to realize that such prolonged attention was meant to convey attraction, heat… and it did.
Charlotte tugged slightly at her fichu, then shifted her chair farther from the flames in the hearth. In doing so, she realized that perhaps it was not the fire causing her to feel so much warmer than she had the night before. It was this gentleman’s smoldering eyes.
She looked back to her book, making a point to turn not one page but a few of them before once again raising her eyes. The gentleman was still watching her as he took a drink. Now, however, she perceived a hint of amusement in his eyes. Did he think he was flustering her? Was that his intention? She should absolutely not give him the satisfaction if that was the case.
Her father chose that moment to set his cutlery down, prompting her to turn quickly to him. The moment she did, she could tell he’d actually finished some time ago and had been watching her. Watching her watch the gentleman across the room.
“Charlotte,” he said sternly. “We should head upstairs.”
When she spoke, she surprised herself. “Could I not stay and read by the fire a while longer?”
“Read by the fire?” he did not hide the suspicion in his voice. “Is that really what you mean to do?”
Charlotte chose to be affronted by the suggestion. “Of course it is,” she insisted. “Really, it’s not as though anything bad will happen with so many people milling about.” She had a point and she knew it. Her father chose The Golden Cross because the customers were of a good sort and no one, no matter how smoldering their stare, was going to risk violating her virtue in a room full of people.
Her father contemplated his answer for what seemed like several minutes before finally saying, rather loudly, “Take care you don’t remain down here too long, my dear.”
“I won’t,” she assured him, her astonishment that he had acquiesced undoubtedly visible on her face. She watched him walk over to the innkeeper and say a few words, probably insisting that the man and his wife act as chaperone once he went upstairs.
Charlotte returned her focus to her book. Her father was extending his trust to her and she had no intention of making him regret doing so. She kept her eyes on the page, determined not to look at the mysterious gentleman again.
Her solitude lasted about ten minutes, before she was aware of a male figure walking toward her.
“Pardon my interruption,” the handsome man from earlier addressed her, his hands clasped behind his back. She let her gaze move slowly up to his face. “Might I ask your name?”
It was an inappropriate question, Charlotte knew. A gentleman should be introduced to a young lady by a common acquaintance. They likely had none of those, she realized, and she had to admit she was as curious about him and he must be about her.
She began to introduce herself as Miss Heywood, barely getting the ‘M’ out of her mouth when he cut her off. “No,” he said in a half scolding, half knowing tone, “your name, not your father’s name.” Charlotte could tell he was reading her confusion on her face before he continued. “I assume the man you shared your meal with was your father and you haven’t been married off to some old codger.”
Charlotte was stunned by his statement, taking it as some sort of challenge. “You assume he’s my father, yet describe him as an ‘old codger’?” she raised her eyebrows as she spoke. “That’s hardly charitable of you.”
“I wasn’t aiming for charity,” he said with a smirk. There was a tense pause while they assessed each other, the man finally tilting his head to the side as if to say “I’m still waiting for you to answer my question.”
Having taken as much time as she thought she could to weigh her response, Charlotte finally confirmed his conclusion. “Yes, he is my father. And my name is Charlotte.”
“Excellent,” the gentleman appeared more than a little satisfied with her answer. “My name is Sidney.” He bowed, as formally as if they had been properly introduced in a ballroom.
Charlotte didn’t know what the fluttery feeling in her midsection was when he did so, but she found it warmer her further. Casting her eyes around the room, no one seemed to be paying any attention to their exchange. A good thing, too, as her father would be highly displeased if he learned of it.
Coming to her senses, Charlotte decided she had best join her father upstairs. “Well then,” she said with a small smile, “if you’ll excuse me.” She snapped her book shut and rose from her seat.
“Do you have to go so soon?” Sidney asked, clearly wanting to prolong their conversation. There was something almost boyish in the way he questioned her, as if he’d be hurt by her refusal.
“I suppose I could say a little longer,” she agreed, prompting a grin from Sidney she knew could get her into much trouble.
[1] As stated by Austen in her fragment.
[2] The game - https://www.tradgames.org.uk/games/Darts.htm - was actually my inspiration for this story/series... I wonder why? ;)
[3] For more on The Golden Cross and its environs - https://greatnorthroad.co.uk/london-coaching-inns#Golden