Chapter 31

Kitty was not entirely sure what to expect as the carriage rolled onward toward her parents' new home. Previously, they had been comfortably settled at a very ton-y address on Park Lane, in a bright and spacious townhouse covered in white "London stucco," with gilded window frames and a wide front door. Now, the carriage wound through London's streets, which were becoming noisier and more crowded as they went on.

It was easier for her to focus on what she would be going to instead of what she was leaving . If she dwelt too long on that, she would simply break down into tears and possibly never stop. It would do her no good to linger on what she had lost; with a fierce optimism, she was determined to only consider what she had accomplished. In spite of her circumstances, she had made a good match in terms of security and position. Her parents would have a guaranteed place to live. Most importantly, she had secured Seth's future.

The carriage finally pulled to a stop in front of a moderately-sized red brick home. It was nothing compared to the home that she had grown up in, nor the Cluetts' grand town home, but it was not the disintegrating cracker box that she had feared. As she stepped out of the carriage, one hand braced by a footman for balance, she could not help but note that at least one of the upper windows was freshly bricked up. She winced a little, as this was only done by those who could not afford the window tax, and needed to reduce the amount of windows in their home in a hurry.

Though Cheapside was a moderately respectable neighbourhood, it still had the unfavourable whiff of commerce about it. It didn't matter how well-situated the home, nor the wealth of those who lived there; it was simply impossible to rid oneself of the taint of trade once settled there. Certainly some streets and lanes of Cheapside were more favourable than others, but the Johnsons were not so lucky.

With a glance up and down the street, Kitty could see that they were hemmed in by shops, doctors' offices, and solicitors with their names and practices announced with brass plaques on doors. The sharp calls of shopkeepers and grocers echoed up and down all of Cheapside, punctuated by the shouts of those who sold their goods from carts and wagons. It was more than a little overwhelming for poor Kitty, who had grown used to the relative silence of the Cluett house, sequestered both within and without itself.

But then, her mother was opening the front door, and that was all the invitation that Kitty needed to fly up the short front steps and into her mother's arms.

"Kitty, are you quite alright?" Mrs. Johnson asked, pulling back enough to catch sight of Kitty's face.

"I'm just so glad to see you," Kitty said, forcing herself to smile.

This was all the reassurance that Mrs. Johnson needed. Keeping one arm about Kitty, she took her other hand and drew her into their new home. The interior was humble, with a lived-in, shabby elegance that spoke to at one time being aspirational for a previous owner. The wall coverings were faded and dingy in the corners, but still showed beautiful patterns of flowers, stripes, even damask. The furniture, too, was faded but not threadbare.

The biggest change was in Mrs. Johnson's face. The stress and worry of the past year showed itself plainly in the lines about the corners of eyes and the grooves that had deepened next to her mouth. The dreamy serenity that she wore like a dusting of face powder was gone, along with most of her fine jewellery. Kitty knew better than to comment on it, as she knew that she wore a similar raiment now.

Still, Mrs. Johnson welcomed Kitty home with a gentle, familiar warmth that was both strange and welcome. Mrs. Johnson had never been a particularly effusive mother—it was not the Done Thing for mothers of a certain class to be too fond of their children—and this had only been exacerbated by the loss of Kitty's brother, Steven. Mrs. Johnson had not been cold, not precisely, but she had always been sort of distant. It was as if she were viewing the world from the safety of a portrait. Occasionally, she would rouse herself enough to take an interest in Kitty's education or nudge her along regarding society.

Now, however, she petted and hovered about Kitty the whole way through the house and up to her humble room. There was only the one, no more private sitting room or dressing room, forming a whole suite of apartments. However, Mrs. Johnson insisted on keeping Kitty company through the whole thing, gently helping her to unpack and hang her dresses.

"Don't bother unpacking all of them, Mother," Kitty said as Mrs. Johnson was standing before the cedar closet. "They will not fit, and it's not as if I will be here for long."

The moment that Kitty said those words, she regretted them. Mrs. Johnson turned and gave Kitty a stricken look of such pain that Kitty threw down the silk stockings she had been folding neatly together and rushed to her mother.

"I'm sorry, I did not mean to upset you Mother, it's just—well, I returned home to be married," Kitty explained, taking one of her mother's cold hands in her own.

"I know that, darling," Mrs. Johnson said, and then a familiar, misty expression came into her eyes. "It's just…it seems so final, so sudden. You were gone for so long, and—" Mrs. Johnson made a strange little hiccoughing sound, and her eyes cleared a little, though were still glassy with unshed tears. "I just missed you so," she said with plaintive honesty.

Kitty's heart sank. "You missed me?" she asked, feeling a little foolish.

"Oh Kitty," Mrs. Johnson said with a choked laugh. She patted about her skirt, searching for a pocket. Once located, she withdrew a handkerchief. "You must think me rather callous to be so surprised."

"No, not you Mother," Kitty replied hastily. "It's simply that—well, I wasn't sure if you and Father ever noticed me before."

"Maybe we didn't," Mrs. Johnson agreed, placing her other hand over Kitty's. "But it wasn't a week you were gone that I found myself waiting to hear you coming down the stairs, always skipping that last one. Without you here, there was no bright spot in our lives."

Kitty smiled back at Mrs. Johnson, happy on some level that she had been missed so. This little bit of sentiment was all that it took for the gates to Kitty's heart to open up. She had been managing thus far, keeping a tight rein on her finer feelings, but all of her careful work keeping it contained was undone by her mother's simple kindness.

Suddenly, she found her own eyes burning with tears, and all of the anguish she had felt for the past year and three months came bursting out all at once. Without warning, she had thrown her arms about her mother's neck again, nearly overbalancing the pair of them.

Mrs. Johnson's hands made vague but concerned fluttering motions behind Kitty's back, unsure how to respond to this latest outburst. "What ever is the matter, Kitty?"

"I'm going to be married," Kitty said around a sob.

This was not new information to Mrs. Johnson—it was the very reason that Kitty was returning home, after all—but she immediately understood that there was more behind Kitty's words. Kitty knew that she may not have known the specifics, at any rate, it was evident that Mrs. Johnson understood that there was some distress.

Not knowing the full story, Mrs. Johnson instead settled on patting Kitty's back in a manner that she hoped was soothing, and repeated a number of platitudes about all young brides being nervous. It was a perfectly natural state of being, or so Mrs. Johnson said repeatedly.

Kitty only cried harder.

* * *

It was agreed upon by all parties that the sooner the marriage contracts were signed, the better for all involved. Sir Wright was eager to be married; Mr. Johnson was champing at the proverbial bit to not pay rent any longer; Mrs. Johnson was convinced that a husband was all that Kitty needed to feel settled; Kitty wanted to hurry along all the preparations so that she would not have time to listen to her nerves and back out.

Therefore, Kitty was hardly settled back in her parents' house before it was announced that Sir Wright's solicitor would be calling upon them to draw up marriage contracts. This news was met with a listless sort of nod from Kitty, but then, her father did not particularly expect her to participate. Kitty had done her part for the family, marrying well and helping to sort out the family's financial woes.

What was expected from Kitty was that she would assist her mother in attempting to make their residence look as presentable as possible. Thankfully, Kitty had become a dab hand at all manner of domestic chores, and she was grateful to throw herself back into the role. It was good to have her hands busy, as this helped prevent her from thinking too much.

It was a Wednesday when the lawyer came to call, a shockingly mundane day to mark the end of Kitty's youthful freedom. January was sliding into February, and bringing with it grey days of freezing rain and slushy snow in the gutters. There was no fanfare to announce the arrival, no great proclamation; there was only a plain carriage pulled by a plain brown horse, from which alighted a plain man carrying a nondescript folio beneath his arm.

They'd hired a footman for the afternoon, who was standing at attention by the door. He had exactly one job to do today, and that was to announce the arrival, and then to attend them as they spoke for about an hour. The young man, a tall gangly specimen with a flop of brown hair on top of his head, had been given very clear instructions, and Kitty had seen him standing before the hall mirror, mouthing the name of the solicitor over and over again.

Kitty stood next to her mother, her hands folded at her waist, waiting to receive the solicitor. It was hoped that by introducing a little feminine charm and hospitality before the negotiations that they might soften him up a little. Mr. Johnson thought that with a little clever wording, he might even be able to insert a clause about a little cash settlement upon himself as well.

From the moment that Kitty laid eyes upon the lawyer, however, she knew that this was a folly. He was dressed plainly in a brown wool overcoat and a grey jacket beneath it, his cravat tied neatly but simply. He wore a tricorn hat in defiance of the current fashion, which revealed a bald head that was trying desperately to cover its shame with a few locks of brown hair brushed over. This unassuming appearance could not disguise his down-turned mouth, fixed in a perpetual scowl, bringing his brow along for the ride.

"Mr. Alcott," the footman announced at a volume more suited for a Mayfair ballroom. Kitty glanced sideways at her mother, who was busy closing her eyes for a moment, likely praying that Mr. Alcott would not notice.

Kitty, however, was engaged in a frown of her own soon enough. The name of the lawyer jarred something in her, as if his name were something important that she should remember. She was considering if she had met him before in Lady Veronica's service when he stepped aside, gesturing to someone behind him—he had not come alone.

"I've brought my daughter," he said in a thin, reedy voice. "She was most eager to meet Miss Johnson and pay her compliments."

The young lady stepped forward, pushing back the hood of a calash, revealing a face alive with intelligence. Kitty took an involuntary step backward, staring openly at her.

"May I present Miss Magdalena Alcott?" the solicitor continued dully.

Miss Alcott! Kitty cried inwardly, the very same who seemed intent on marrying Seth.

The two young ladies stared at each other, frozen in some sort of silent battle of wills. Kitty, her duties as a kind and gracious hostess completely forgotten, was only dimly aware as her mother swept forward to greet the new arrivals.

"Of course you are both most welcome," Mrs. Johnson said sweetly, punctuating her words with a gentle smile. "How kind of you to bring along Miss Alcott," she continued, "I am sure that Kitty would be most grateful for the company. Would you care to follow me to the drawing room, Mr. Alcott? We have tea already laid for you."

The solicitor made a disgruntled sound. "I am not here to socialise, Mrs. Johnson, merely to ascertain particular facts as relate to the contracts in question."

Mrs. Johnson's smile did not falter, merely becoming more placating and genteel. "Oh of course not, I would never suggest otherwise," she said, gesturing for Mr. Alcott to follow her. "It's simply so cold and damp out there today, I would hate for you to be uncomfortable while you work."

Their voices faded as Mrs. Johnson led Mr. Alcott deeper within the house, leaving Kitty and Miss Alcott alone in the foyer. They merely continued to stare appraisingly at one another, neither one speaking. At last, Kitty lifted her chin proudly.

"Well," she said, refusing to be cowed by the other young lady, "have you come to gloat?"