Chapter 4

"There, now, you're all ready," William's mother said, straightening his new overcoat, and looking him up and down with satisfaction.

They were standing outside Burnley Abbey, and a carriage was waiting to take William to London. The duke and duchess were standing close by, and the carriage driver had strapped William's trunk to the back of the carriage. His mother had tears in her eyes, and William was wondering if he was doing the right thing. He wanted desperately to make a name for himself, and to prove himself worthy of the trust his godfather had placed in him, but the thought of leaving everything familiar behind him was daunting, and now he took a deep breath, eager to know he was doing the right thing.

"I'll write to you, Mother, I promise. And I hope I can make you proud," William said, embracing his mother, who began to sob.

The duchess stepped forward and put her arm around her.

"Come now, Teresa. He needs to be on his way," she said.

The duke, too, stepped forward, holding out his hand to William and smiling.

"You've lodgings at The Spaniards Inn. It's a respectable sort of place. I've stayed there before. Spare no expense in settling yourself in. Charge anything you need to me – including new clothes. I want you to have every advantage of a gentleman," the duke said.

He had already paid for William's new overcoat, and a trunk and other items necessary for the journey. William was excited, but daunted, too, and the thought of leaving his mother pained him terribly.

"You've been so very good to me, sir. I promise I'll do all I can to live up to your expectations of me," William said.

The duke shook his by the hand.

"I know you will, William. You always have done. And don't worry about your mother. We'll take good care of her, I promise," he said.

The duchess, too, bid William goodbye, and he kissed his mother, promising he would write to her as soon as he arrived in London. Climbing into the carriage, William could still hardly believe he was setting off for London, with such possibility and opportunity before him.

"I'm so proud of you, William, and your father would've been, too," his mother said.

William was glad to hear these words, and he kissed his mother again, before climbing into the carriage and pulling down the window to wave to them.

"Goodbye, and thank you," he called out, as the carriage driver geed on the horses, and the carriage pulled away.

As they passed along the front of the house, William could see Maximilian standing at the library window watching his departure. He nodded to him, but Maximilian's expression was blank, and William knew his Godfather's heir would not be sorry to see the back of him.

Nor I of him, William thought to himself.

But now was not the time to dwell on the past, or to have regrets about what had been. William's future lay ahead, and he could not have been more excited as to the prospect.

* * *

The bells of Saint Paul's Cathedral were ringing out a full peel as the carriage pulled up outside The Spaniards Inn. William had spent the past hour or so gazing out of the carriage window, marvelling at the unfolding sights of the city around him. They had passed along grand avenues and bustling streets, past the great buildings of state and along the river, finally arriving in the shadow of the cathedral. The journey had taken several days, but at last, William was in London, and a world of opportunity lay before him. He had grown up on the country estate of the Duke of Lancaster, and the hustle and bustle of the city was quite something to behold. Everywhere he looked, William saw people, and he found himself amidst a great market, where sellers plied for trade, their shouts echoing as the bells rang out above.

"Hot chestnuts, roasted fresh," one man was calling out, whilst others sold milk, bread, cakes, meat, and fish.

"Sprats, eels, cockles and whelks," a woman was shouting, and as William clambered down from the carriage, several children came running up to him.

"Penny to carry your trunk, sir, penny to carry your trunk," they cried out in a chorus of unison.

The carriage driver shooed them away, even as William felt quite pleased to be addressed as sir. Here, in London, he could be the man he had always dreamed of being – a gentleman with good prospects, and treated with respect. He was no longer the son of a seamstress, but the sort of man to be called "sir" and in his new clothes and with his letter of recommendation in his coat pocket, William felt proud of himself and all he had worked so hard to achieve.

"Is this the inn?" William asked, looking up at the establishment before him – a fine looking coaching house, with a painted sign and gable ends.

"It is, sir. His Grace always stays here when he comes to London," the carriage driver said.

William thanked him, and wishing him a safe journey back to Lancashire, who took up his cases and stepped through the door of the inn, finding himself in a taproom, where a long counter ran along one side, and several respectable looking gentlemen sat dining at a table at the far end.

"Can I help you, young sir?" a man behind the counter, whom William assumed to be the landlord, said.

He was a large man, with a ruddy face and beard, but with kindly expression, and William nodded, stepping forward and clearing his throat.

"My name's William Baker. I believe I've rooms here for the coming weeks, at the expense of the Duke of Lancaster," he said, and the landlord nodded.

"I thought you might be the young man I'm expecting. Yes, I've got your room all ready, and you're to dine here, too. Will you see your room now?" he asked.

It was just after midday, and William was keen to step out into the city immediately. But he agreed to see his room, and a kitchen boy was called to carry his trunk.

How easily that could've been me, he thought to himself, as the kitchen boy followed the landlord up the stairs.

The room – or rooms, for there was a sitting room, too – were well appointed, and comfortably furnished. They looked out over the river, and William nodded, looking around him approvingly at what would be his home for the coming months.

"Whatever you need, just ask. I'll be only too pleased to help you," the landlord said, as the kitchen boy put down William's trunk.

William's godfather had told him to be generous in his thanks to those who served him, and he handed the boy a penny, and the landlord a shilling.

"Thank you," William replied, glad to have arrived in London, and found everything as the duke had promised.

Having changed out of his travelling clothes, William stepped out of the inn and into the hustle and bustle of the market. The bells of Saint Paul's were still ringing out their merry peel, and William stepped into the cathedral, marvelling at the cavernous interior, with its dome, pillars, and marbled floor. The choir was practicing for evensong, and William sat for a while to listen to them, caught up in the beauty of the music, and feeling astonished at all he had already seen and experienced.

"I can hardly believe I'm here. What marvels lie in store," he thought to himself, watching as the choir filed out along the nave.

William had promised to write to his mother as soon as he arrived in London, but he also wanted to send her something – a gift to celebrate his arrival. Stepping out of the cathedral, he stood on the steps, surveying the myriad of stalls laid out below. William had never seen so many things for sale, and he smiled to himself at the thought of having so much to choose from. His mother would be amazed if only she could see what he himself was seeing now.

"Silks and scarves, embroidered or plain – something for a lady, for a suitor. The finest Persian silks," a woman called out, as William passed a stall piled high with fabrics in every colour and shade imaginable.

"Fresh milk, cream, butter, and cheese – the finest in all of London," another woman called out.

William was caught up in the sights, sounds, and smells of the market. He bought a hot meat pie from a stall, and paused to examine another selling leather bound notebooks and fine quills and ink.

"Something to write your diary with, sir? You could be the next Mr. Pepys," the proprietor said, holding out a black bound notebook.

"Thank you, but no," William said, gazing around him, and feeling overawed by the sight of so many things for sale.

The crowds jostled, and William knew he had to take care against pickpockets – his godfather had warned him as much, and now he checked his lapels, fearful he might already have succumbed to a theft. But his money was still there and having eaten the pie – mutton in a thick gravy – William moved on along the stalls, eager to find something his mother would like.

"A bracelet, sir? A necklace? Something for a lady, is it?" a woman at a jewellery stall said.

The items were gaudy, and not to William's taste. Besides, he had never seen his mother wear jewellery. It was not something she had ever been able to afford, and William shook his head, still looking around him, when an altercation at a bakery stall caught his attention.

"A shilling for a loaf of bread? That's ridiculous. You can't possibly expect anyone to pay that," a shrill voice, indignant with rage, exclaimed.

William looked across with interest, as a tall, elegant young lady, wearing a yellow dress, and with a blue shawl wrapped around her shoulders, remonstrated with the baker. She was exceedingly pretty, with soft, dimpled cheeks, and blonde hair tied up in a bun underneath a blue bonnet to match her shawl. The stall holder was holding the loaf of bread out to her with an imploring look on his face.

"But I've got a family to feed. It's a shilling. A woman like you in fancy clothes and bonnet can afford a shilling for a loaf of bread," he replied, with an angry look on his face.

"But they say it's mainly plaster of Paris in those loaves. Chalk dust and salt," she exclaimed.

The baker glared at her.

"This is the finest bread between here and Greenwich. I was up at four O'clock this morning baking it. It's a shilling, and that's final," he said.

William stepped forward to intervene. A loaf of bread was not worth a shilling, even if it had been baked by the Regent's own baker himself.

"Excuse me – you're charging the young lady here a shilling for a loaf of bread. But I saw you selling them for a few pennies earlier on," William said.

He had not seen anything of the sort, but he knew the price of bread, and the loaf the baker was holding was worth a few pennies at most. The woman turned to him and smiled.

"Oh…is that so?" she said, turning back to the baker with an angry look on her face.

The baker, too, looked perturbed, and he faltered, glaring angrily at William, who raised his eyebrows, not willing to allow the man the upper hand.

"A few pennies. That's all it's worth. Or should we ask the customs and excise officers to see what's in your bags of flour? Chalk dust, is it?" William asked.

"The finest wheat," the baker retorted, and William laughed.

"It would have to be to charge a shilling for a loaf – woven with golden thread, too," he said.

The baker knew he was beaten, and the young woman held out two pennies as he handed the loaf over to her.

"Thank you," the woman said, as they turned away from the stall.

William blushed, pulling out a handkerchief to mop his brow. He had not intended to step in, but he had seen she was in difficulty and had wanted to help.

"He shouldn't have tried to sell you a loaf of bread at such an extortionate price. A shilling? You could buy a dozen loaves and still have change," William replied.

The woman smiled at him.

"I must confess, I'm not used to buying bread. I'm not used to buying anything. But thank you. You've been most kind. I shouldn't keep you any longer," she said.

William would gladly have been kept in her company for longer, but he was unsure of what to say in order to continue the conversation. He found her to be a delightful creature, and so very different from the sort of women he had known in Lancashire. She was beautiful, and had an air about her he found endearing – how glad he was to have helped her.

"It's quite all right. I've only just arrived in London, I don't yet know my way around," he said.

Again, the woman smiled.

"Where have you come from?" she asked.

"From Lancashire. I'm here to secure employment – perhaps with a legal firm," he said.

The woman looked at him as though she did not really know anything about employment or legal firms. William wondered who she was, and realized he had not yet introduced himself, and could hardly expect her to introduce herself to him.

"Then I wish you well. Lancashire…how interesting" she said, nodding to him.

"I'm…William Baker," William said, holding out his hand.

"Anne Miller," she said, and it was she who now held out her hand for William to take.

William smiled at her, taking her hand in his, and wondering again how to prolong the conversation. She was a curious creature, and he wondered who she was – a lady's maid, perhaps, though her naivety at the baker's stall suggested she herself might be a lady of some standing. But if she was, why was she buying her own bread?

"A pleasure to meet you," he replied.

"Likewise. But I really should be going. I'm grateful to you, though I wonder if the bread will prove worth the struggle. Well…good day to you," she said, and nodding to William, she hurried off into the crowd.

William watched her go, filled with curiosity as to who she was and where she had come from. Turning, he caught the gaze of the baker, who scowled at him.

"She was going to pay it, too," he said, and spat on the cobblestones.

"I'm only glad she didn't," William replied, as now he returned to his search for a gift for his mother.

He settled on a woollen shawl, one his mother could wrap around herself during the long winter months, when snow lay on the ground back home in Lancashire, and feeling pleased with his purchase, William returned to The Spaniards Inn. But as he pushed his way through the crowds, where shouts and cries filled the air, and the peel of the cathedral bells rang out, William could not help but think of his encounter with Anne, and wondered if there might be a way of discovering more about her.