The cottage was located at the end of a row on the far edge of the village. It had a sunny, south-facing garden, but it was sadly neglected and overgrown with weeds. Though the street appeared deserted, The Procurer had the distinct impression that behind the curtained windows of the other cottages, the occupants were watching intently. As she picked her way up the little path to the front door, the contented buzzing of bees collecting pollen from the thicket of wild roses filled the air.
The cottage looked for all the world as if it was uninhabited. The windows were tightly shuttered. The shape of the door knocker was outlined by the bleached paint, but the mechanism itself had been removed. The Procurer rapped sharply with her knuckles.
‘Please go away, I do not receive or welcome visitors,’ a voice from behind the door urged.
‘That is disappointing to hear, since I have travelled from London to discuss a matter of great import with you.’
‘Then I’m afraid you have had a wasted journey. Whoever you are, and whatever it is you want, I cannot help you.’
‘You mistake my purpose. It is I who have come to help you. But I cannot do that if I am to be left standing on your doorstep. Will you not invite me in and at least hear me out? I am acquainted with your recent history and understand your natural suspiciousness, Miss Galbraith, but I bear you no ill will, I assure you.’
There was no immediate response but The Procurer’s patience was rewarded about thirty seconds later when the door opened just enough for her to slip inside before it slammed shut again.
The woman who stared back at her in confusion bore a clear resemblance to her many newspaper caricatures, though her expression was wary, rather than evil. Her distinctive bright copper hair was tied in a simple chignon, not tumbling wantonly over her shoulders as it was customarily depicted in the press. Her chin was determined, but her mouth was soft and full. Of petite stature, she looked to The Procurer to be twenty-five or six, though she had, according to the gutter press, turned thirty. There were shadows under her big hazel eyes flecked with gold, her skin had the dull, lacklustre look of someone who had been hiding from plain view, skulking in the shadows. ‘Do not look so afraid, Miss Galbraith,’ she said, ‘I truly have come here to help you.’
‘I am sure you mean well, but you are mistaken. No one can help me.’
‘Not if you are determined to let Dr Anthony Merchmont and his medical cronies destroy not only your reputation as London’s pre-eminent herbalist, but your entire life.’
Allison Galbraith’s eyes flashed with anger at this barb. An encouraging sign, The Procurer decided.
‘As you have pointed out, my reputation is already in tatters.’
‘Very true,’ The Procurer conceded. ‘However, six months have elapsed,’ she continued briskly. ‘Time to embrace a new challenge. I can offer you rehabilitation.’
‘Impossible.’ Miss Galbraith’s voice was resigned. ‘Look, I have no idea who you are, but...’
‘I am known, rather fancifully in my opinion, as The Procurer. You may have heard mention of me.’
The revelation was met by a surprised widening of the eyes, a mouth curved into the faintest of smiles. ‘All of London has heard tell of The Procurer, though few have ever encountered you in the flesh. I was not aware you were a fellow Scot. I certainly did not expect—’ Miss Galbraith broke off, blushing. ‘You are so young and nothing like...’
‘The person my reputation would suggest? Then we have that much in common, do we not?’
A dejected little laugh greeted this remark. ‘We might, if I still had a reputation. Your position in society is quite unassailable, while I...’
‘You are a social pariah.’
A harsher laugh greeted this remark. ‘You certainly do not mince your words.’
‘In my business, straight talking is essential.’
‘Then I will reply in a similar vein, madam. I cannot for the life of me comprehend why you should wish to help me.’
‘I know what it is like, Miss Galbraith, to be a woman in a man’s world. To succeed as you did—and as I have—requires an uncommon level of determination and ambition. The sacrifices you have made, the hurdles you have overcome, would have defeated a lesser character.’
‘But not you?’
The remark was intended to be flattering, but provoked a different reaction. ‘I have succeeded on my own terms, but at considerable cost,’ The Procurer said, as much a reminder to herself as a boast. She would not permit herself to wonder whether the sacrifices had been worth it. ‘It is not simply a matter of character, Miss Galbraith. I am in control of my own destiny and answerable to no one, that is true, but it was not always so.’
‘In that sense we differ greatly, madam,’ Miss Galbraith replied wryly, ‘for even at the height of my success, I was beholden to society.’
‘And society chose to condemn you. Now you are choosing to abide by that judgement. Do you agree with it, Miss Galbraith? Or do you think you deserve a second chance?’
‘Is that what you are offering?’
‘I am offering you the opportunity to fashion a second chance for yourself. What you make of it is very much up to you.’
‘Why me?’
The Procurer smiled faintly. ‘We are kindred spirits in more ways than you can know. You are also, as you pointed out, a fellow countrywoman and we Scots must stick together.’
‘Forgive me, but since we are speaking plainly, you do not know me. I cannot believe your motives are entirely philanthropic.’
The Procurer nodded with satisfaction. ‘There, you see, we do understand one another. We are both, in our way, hard-headed businesswomen. As such, you will not be offended, I am sure, if I tell you that I have carried out extensive diligence on you to my satisfaction. I have a business proposition for you, Miss Galbraith, which will be mutually beneficial, as all the best contracts are. Now, shall we make ourselves more comfortable, and I will explain all.’
* * *
Allison spooned camomile leaves into the china teapot and set it down on the table beside the cups and saucers before taking her seat opposite her unexpected and uninvited guest.
‘You were exceedingly difficult to track down,’ The Procurer said, looking perfectly at home, ‘though I can understand your desire to avoid the unwelcome glare of publicity.’
‘Notoriety would be a more apt description. In another few months I will be old news, and the world will find a new scandal, another cause célèbre to salivate over.’
‘Is that what you are hoping for?’
Resentment flared as Allison met her visitor’s challenging look. What could this elegant, haughtily beautiful woman with her flawless complexion, her black-as-night hair and her tall willowy frame, clad in the kind of understated carriage dress that screamed affluence, truly know about shattered dreams, about ravening guilt, about endless, sleepless nights going over and over and over those vital hours and asking, What if? Could I have done something different? Should I have done something different? Would it have made any difference if I had?
‘If you mean, do I think I will be able to re-establish myself, then the answer is no.’
‘So what, precisely, are your aspirations? To avenge yourself on the man who has engineered your spectacular fall from grace, perhaps?’
Allison took her time pouring the tea. There was something about The Procurer’s clear, steady gaze, that made her feel as if the woman could read her innermost thoughts. Even those she didn’t choose to admit to herself. ‘I have no aspirations at all,’ she said, ‘save to be left in peace.’
If she expected compassion, she was destined to be disappointed. ‘If you really mean that,’ The Procurer answered, ‘then I am wasting my time.’
‘As I have already informed you.’
‘But you don’t mean it, do you?’ The Procurer took a sip of the fragrant tea. ‘You are angry, and with just cause, for you have been made a scapegoat, your livelihood stolen, your reputation left in tatters. You have been the subject of lurid headlines, both libellous and slanderous and, I hasten to add, patently false. That is punishment out of all proportion to your alleged crime, if indeed you are culpable?’
Allison’s hands curled into fists, but she could not stop the tears from welling. ‘I committed no crime,’ she said tightly. ‘But to speak in the plain terms you prefer, I will tell you that I cannot be certain I was entirely blameless.’
She was trembling now. The memory of that night, her role in the events that unfolded, however significant or not that role might have been, threatened to overwhelm her. She screwed her eyes shut, opening them only on feeling the fleeting, comforting touch of The Procurer’s hand on hers. ‘How can I not blame myself?’ Allison demanded wretchedly, for the first time, and to this complete stranger, allowing herself to utter the words. ‘I did not believe, did not question—until he did. And now I will never be certain that I was not culpable in some way.’
‘No, but you can ask yourself, Miss Galbraith, what are the odds? Have you ever before miscalculated so badly or made such a catastrophic mistake?’
‘Never! Nature has defeated me on occasion, but I have never precipitated such a tragic outcome.’