Chapter 32

"Have you come to gloat?"

Kitty's words hung in the air of the foyer like a challenge. Disconcertingly, Miss Alcott did not respond immediately; instead, she tilted her head to one side, as if Kitty were a new species to be studied. Kitty was not so easily cowed, however, and refused to flinch.

At last, a small smile stretched across Miss Alcott's remarkably symmetrical mouth. "I have not," she said at last, "quite the opposite in fact." A maid appeared, wiping her hands nervously on her apron, and stepped forward to help remove Miss Alcott's calash.

Once her damp outer garment had been dispensed with, she turned her surprisingly calm green-brown eyes upon Kitty again. "Is there somewhere we might speak privately? It is imperative that we not be disturbed, and better if they think we are nothing more than two simple girls discussing nothing more than girlish pursuits."

Kitty stared for a moment, not sure how to respond to such a request. "We might retire to my room, if the notion does not offend you," she allowed at last.

"Not in the least," Miss Alcott replied approvingly. "In fact, that is perfect. I am relieved to find that you are not a dullard, Miss Johnson," she continued as Kitty led her up the narrow stairs.

"I…thank you?" Kitty responded, feeling a little perturbed.

The upstairs was defined by narrow halls and rooms all jammed together. Kitty's room was in the northwest corner, with the advantage of two windows for better light. Unfortunately, this also meant that she had the disadvantage of a persistent little draught which kept her room fairly chill.

"I am sorry I can't offer more hospitable accommodations," she apologised. Miss Alcott waved off her concern, moving instead to peek out the windows, her eyes darting over the neighbouring rooftops and alleys.

Kitty took up the fireplace poker and stirred the embers about, then hooked a small log and laid it carefully over the remains of the morning's fire. She had been admonished severely about the importance of not wasting fuel, but she could not imagine that her parents would begrudge her use now—they could hardly wish the lawyer's daughter to freeze.

When she turned back around, she found Miss Alcott staring at her again in a most curious fashion. It was unsettling, and made Kitty a little peevish. "Why do you stare at me so?" she demanded.

"Because I wish to understand you," Miss Alcott answered immediately. "I live my life according to facts that I can easily observe and then understand. I have not been long in your company, though I have heard much about you. These testimonials were hardly unbiased, however, and I wish to ascertain your character for myself as quickly as possible."

"Testimonials?" Kitty echoed, shifting the poker nervously from hand to hand. "Who do you mean?"

Miss Alcott gave another of her small smiles. "Whom do you suppose would be eager to discuss you?"

"You cannot mean Seth," Kitty said flatly, refusing to believe it.

"I agree, it is a little strange for a man to discuss his former paramour with the woman it appears as if he will marry," Miss Alcott agreed. "May I sit?" she asked, gesturing to the small chair before the fire. Kitty nodded, and Miss Alcott settled herself daintily.

"I'm not sure that I would describe myself as his paramour ," Kitty said, unsure if she should be insulted.

"The semantics of it aren't important," Miss Alcott said, gesturing for Kitty to sit as well.

Kitty obliged, perching herself on the corner of her bed, one hand on the thick wooden post. "I must tell you, Miss Alcott, that this visit is all highly irregular."

"That is true," Miss Alcott agreed. "In fact, this whole business seems highly irregular, does it not?" When Kitty frowned, Miss Alcott held up a calming hand. "Before I go on, I needed to determine the depth of your attachment to Seth. And no, do not bother denying it, for I am quite aware of it, and I admire the depths that you seem willing to go to for him."

"But?" Kitty prompted.

"But," Miss Alcott continued, "if you had given in completely to this scheme and were resigned to your fate, then I should not bother attempting to shed light on the strangeness of it all. Do not mistake me: I have no great amount of feeling for our erstwhile Viscount, but I also have no great objection to marrying him. He is kind and amiable enough, and one could very well do worse."

"True enough," Kitty grudgingly agreed.

"But you were immediately prickly toward me, which is a very good sign indeed," Miss Alcott concluded.

"It is?" Kitty asked, her head spinning a little from the strange direction this conversation was taking.

"Oh yes," Miss Alcott agreed, lacing her fingers together. "It means that you are not entirely content with this scheme. Surely you can see that there is something odd afoot here?"

Kitty simply stared for a moment, blinking rapidly at this odd creature. It was all a little untoward, the way in which she had invited herself along, and then demanded a private audience with Kitty. Still, there was something undeniably honest in her face, in the earnest way in which she spoke. Kitty had no reason to doubt her sincerity, particularly when what she said aligned with a deep-rooted suspicion within Kitty's own mind.

"Yes," Kitty said slowly, "I do find that something is amiss, though I cannot name what it is. I have tried to convince myself that it is all down to nerves before my pending nuptials, but…" She trailed off, looking away.

"This is it precisely. Now, we are clever girls," Miss Alcott said, rising slightly to access the pocket in her skirt, "there is no reason we shouldn't be able to solve this mystery."

"Us?" Kitty asked, her eyebrows shooting up her forehead. "How?"

"For starters, by not underestimating ourselves," Miss Alcott replied with a significant look at Kitty. She fished about in her pocket for a moment, then withdrew a bundle of folded papers. "I have been my father's daughter my whole life," she continued with an inexplicable logic that made Kitty's forehead itch. "I have been surrounded by legal words and debates about law since before I was out of leading strings. I would wager that I know more about property law and Parliamentary procedure than nearly any working solicitor." She turned her level gaze onto Kitty. "I dare say that you have quite a head for business, what with your father's occupation."

"Me?" Kitty nearly squeaked. "What on Earth would make you say that?"

Miss Alcott had stood and had moved to the other side of Kitty's bed, and was in the process of carefully unfolding the papers she had smuggled up to Kitty's room. She glanced up and arched one sharp eyebrow at Kitty. "Are you going to tell me that you've heard nothing at all in all of these years under your father's roof? Not a single thing you've learned when you're taking tea into the men?"

Kitty bit her lip, considering. "Well, I suppose I might know something about credit and interest, but I've never—"

"You are—were—considered one of the most fashionable young ladies in all of London," Miss Alcott continued, straightening a page here, soothing another there, "do you mean to tell me that you've no idea how to ascertain a good bargain? I refuse to believe that you'd set a single dainty boot into a draper's without knowing how to drive a hard bargain." She stood at last, levelling a glare at Kitty that fairly dared her to be contradicted.

Kitty shifted uncomfortably. It had never suited her to believe herself particularly clever, at least when it came to anything other than picking out shoes and dance partners. She had been raised with the certainty that men did not want clever wives, and to attempt to apply that label to herself felt wrong, like biting into an overly ripe apple.

"I suppose you are right," Kitty allowed at last. "But I haven't your... skill at understanding all of that legal jargon. The only real talent I have is for looking at fashion plates and knowing which will be flattering."

Contrarily, Miss Alcott's face lit up a little. "You see shapes," she said, something approaching a smile on her lips. "You can remember how things look, yes? This is good—I have no head for things like that. Here," she said, beckoning Kitty closer with a wave of her hand, "cast your eye over all of this, and tell me what you see."

Obligingly, Kitty leaned over, careful not to upset the careful arrangement. She tilted her head this way and that, trying to understand what she was looking at. A map in the centre caught her attention, and she stood up to come around the other side.

"What is it?" Miss Alcott asked eagerly, as if Kitty were a hound that had caught the scent of a fox.

"I'm not sure," Kitty said, pushing aside a page that was blocking part of the crude map. "Is this significant?" she asked, pointing at the map in question.

"I'm not sure," Miss Alcott admitted. "It's a hasty tracing of a very old bit of paper Father has had on his desk for weeks now. I must own that my skills with a pencil are somewhat lacking, but given its prominence, it seemed important."

Kitty stared down at the page, something tickling at the back of her mind, but she could not bring it into sharp focus. "I've seen this shape before," she said slowly. "I cannot tell you where, but something about it…" Her brows knitted together in thought, and she automatically reached up with one finger to smooth the crease that appeared between them. "I could swear I have seen this somewhere in Father's office."

"That is good," Miss Alcott encouraged. "We have something to work on. Let us see what we might discover as quickly as possible, between the two of us. In the meantime," she said, beginning to fold some of the papers back up, "let us do what we can to delay proceedings as much as possible."

"I suspect both of those things might be easier said than done," Kitty muttered darkly.

* * *

Of course, Kitty was proved quite right about that ominous statement. No sooner had Mr. Alcott and his daughter departed than Kitty was summoned into the tiny alcove that served as a sitting room. Mr. Johnson, clearly feeling quite puffed up and smug, was standing before the fire, one hand inserted into his jacket as if he were posing for a portrait. Mrs. Johnson sat serenely on a sofa with scuffed legs and hideous yellow velvet coverings.

When Kitty entered, Mr. Johnson addressed her directly, which was an odd enough occurrence that Kitty stared openly for a moment. "You are to be congratulated, my dear," he said, "you have managed to secure quite a match. I daresay that it won't be a fortnight before we are removed from these premises. Onward and upward, eh?"

"A fortnight ?" Kitty repeated, her heart dropping. "Surely you cannot mean that I shall be married that quickly."

"Surely I do mean that," Mr. Johnson replied, his plummy expression and tone falling just a little. " You cannot mean for your mother and I to linger here in this dusty hovel any longer than strictly necessary."

"Of course not, but…" Her voice faltered, and she scrambled to find an excuse.

"But what?" Mr. Johnson demanded. "You've managed to snare a husband of means and position, with enough in his coffers to buy you as many ruffled petticoats and ribbons as you could possibly desire. What else could you possibly want from a match?"

Stung, Kitty drew back a little, rocking on her heels. "I am not so shallow as that, Father."

"Kitty, you are not without your charms, but let us not pretend that you have ever wanted anything more than a closet of new frocks and a handsome carriage to ride out in," Mr. Johnson said condescendingly.

Kitty stared for a moment, her eyes darting back and forth between her parents. Mr. Johnson, chin lifted, regarded her with a patronising indulgence, as if she were a little girl to be pacified by a trip to an ice shoppe; Mrs. Johnson, however, watched Kitty silently but with an interested flick of her eyes.

"What is it, Kitty?" Mrs. Johnson asked gently, patting the space on the sofa next to her.

"It's just…it's just so fast ," Kitty answered honestly, accepting her mother's invitation with a flop. (No one cared to mention that as she did so, a puff of dust rose up from the sofa.) "Aren't you in the least worried about the look of the thing? People might talk ," she said, leaning in significantly as if aforementioned People might be listening at keyholes.

"Oh," Mrs. Johnson said, immediately understanding. She nodded slowly, the implication clear to her. "She may have a point, Harold," Mrs. Johnson said to her husband.

"Let them talk," Mr. Johnson countered, "they will have something new to gossip about before the month is out."

"But my dear," Mrs. Johnson said, her tone soft but pleading, "aren't you at all worried that Sir Wright will be put out by such gossip? He travels in such rarified circles, after all."

"I am not," Mr. Johnson snapped. "Particularly when it was his own wish that they be settled as quickly as possible." He turned his attention to Kitty again, pinning her to the sofa with a stern look. "You shall be wed in a fortnight, and I will brook no histrionics, no absurd plots, or any other tomfoolery on the subject." With that, he marched from the room, his head held high as if he had just won a field of victory.

Mrs. Johnson gave a distressed little sigh. "How will we ever manage to make this look respectable? There's barely time to put it into the papers, let alone have you complete your engagement visits."

"And the trousseau," Kitty added absently, her mind whirling.

"The trousseau !" Mrs. Johnson gasped, her face going pale.

I'm living under an axe that will fall in two weeks' time, Kitty thought to herself as her mother began fretting about handkerchiefs and linens and dresses. Can two young ladies solve a mystery with such a deadline? It felt like a preposterous proposal to Kitty, but then, she was becoming rather used to those.