He extended his arm forward. "That a way, but we is south of the River Thames. If one wants to go to the proper West End, one crosses the river first, then walks westward that a way. North of the river be a might better place to be walking after dark."
Emma considered leaving her portmanteau in the care of those at the inn, but as it contained all her worldly goods, she could not risk having it stolen. She would haul it herself—even if it would hamper her progress.
As Miss Emma Hastings determined to find Uncle Simon's house, she was equally determined that Aunt Harriett would never learn of her niece's nocturnal foray in the country's wicked Capital.
At least the rain had let up, she assured herself as she left The George. She walked the short distance to the river and stood on the quay for a few minutes, watching the ships and barges float down the busy Thames. All her life she’d wanted to experience this. Fog rose up from the water to obscure from her vision the other side of the waterway.
In spite of the fears which spiraled through her, she was happy to be in London. I don't want to ever go back to Upper Barrington. It wasn't that she didn't love Aunt Harriett and wasn’t grateful to Auntie for raising her orphaned great niece. But after twenty years living with a stern elderly woman who was considerably older than her friends' grandmothers, Emma was ready for adventure.
She crossed the bridge and was soon in a section of London which was even more bustling than the area she'd just left to the south. This was unlike anything she could have imagined. Even though it was night, all the shops along this busy street were open and brightly lighted. There were so many conveyances on the street, they got snarled, and more than one driver was heard saying words that would have sent Aunt Harriett running for her smelling salts.
It was impossible to walk these streets and not recall Aunt Harriett's tales of women being murdered by the madmen who lived in the Capital. "They've fished their strangled bodies out of the Thames and from the Serpentine in Hyde Park," her aunt had warned.
Emma's heart pounded faster. If she walked very fast, surely no madman would try to get her attention. How, though, did one walk fast when dragging a portmanteau slowed her so wretchedly?
Her arms ached from the bones outward, and she found herself panting for breath that most certainly had dissipated. She had to stop every dozen paces to change hands—and to recover her breathing. Even though she wore gloves, she could tell that the strap had etched into the flesh of her hands.
When the rain returned, she could have wept. Every piece of clothing upon her body got drenched, and with the falling temperatures, she shivered so hard her teeth rattled.
The likelihood of perishing from freezing was far greater than dying at the hands of a madman.
Progress was slow.
She had covered at least a mile, possibly two, when she looked up to see Westminster Abbey. She crossed a street and came to stand in front of the towering Gothic edifice. Here, in front of this awe-inspiring building where kings were crowned and poets were buried, a sense of serenity washed over her. After more than a week of travel—some of it spent with distant cousins to spare the cost of a roadside inn—Miss Emma Hastings felt as if she’d found her home. She stood there for several minutes. Somehow, she knew she'd reached the West End. Her sanctuary.
* * *
Adam Birmingham set down his empty brandy glass and with narrowed eyes observed his brother stride into White’s. From the expression on Nick’s face, it was clear he was as out of charity with Adam as Adam was with him. The elder brother stormed up to Adam’s table and spoke with measured anger. “I thought you must have died.”
“A pity a man cannot die of a broken heart,” Adam slurred. “I am compelled to keep drawing breath though I’ve lost the only woman I could ever love.”
Nick lowered his long limbs into a chair across from Adam. “I never for a minute thought you’d perished from a broken heart, but I was concerned when you weren't at the bank today. In more than a decade you've never missed a day there. Your staff was so alarmed, they alerted me.”
“I drank myself into a stupor last night." Adam shrugged. "Woke up in a strange bed quite late thish afternoon.”
Nick eyed the empty brandy glass.
Adam nodded at the waiter, who rushed to replenish it. “Leave the whole bottle.”
Nick shook his head. “I’m not staying.”
“I wasn’t offering. I plan to drink the whole bloody thing. I will drink until I cannot remember the name Maria.”