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Authors: Madeleine E. Robins
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desirability of Miss Tolerance interesting herself in the business. “I will leave you to your business, aunt, and promise faithfully to dine with you tomorrow evening.”
Mrs. Brereton sniffed. “Go away, then.” She offered her cheek for a kiss, then followed Clara out the door to deal with Messers Creevey and Sainsbury.
Chapter Four
Miss Tolerance woke early, broke her fast, dressed, set her cottage in order, and left Manchester Square on foot. An idea had come to her as she waited to sleep the night before. Mrs. Brown would not give Miss Evadne’s real name, but there was no doubt that possession of it would make finding the girl easier, and she had not forbidden Miss Tolerance to seek that name out. It was a quarter-hour’s walk to Duke of York Street; the morning was fine and the streets full of tradesmen and vendors bent upon provisioning the well-to-do. She enjoyed the walk.
Duke of York Street runs from Jermyn Street to St. James’s Square. Miss Tolerance went past tobacconists and haberdashers on Jermyn Street who at this hour were engaged in taking down the shutters and making ready for the start of business. When she turned the corner onto Duke of York Street she could see, at street’s end, the pleasant greenery of the square beyond. The street itself was lined with substantial houses, a few set back a little from the street but most modern enough to front directly on the flagged sidewalk. If Miss Tolerance had had any doubt that her quarry came from a family of substance, her first stroll down the street put paid to it. The occupants of these houses might not all be wealthy as the rich themselves define the term, but compared to the vast majority of London and the nation they were wealthy enough. The houses were all well kept, of stone or old pink brick, broad enough to admit of parlors on either side of the entry, and climbing three or four stories above the street. In front of two of them footmen had emerged to sweep the sidewalk, causing no little consternation to the crossing-sweeps stationed at the corners, underfed boys too young to be put to better use, who eked out pennies sweeping the ordure and muck from the path of the better fed.
Miss Tolerance strolled leisurely to the corner, made a circuit of St. James’s Square, and walked back up Duke of York again, wondering to which of these houses Miss Evadne belonged. What the Devil was the girl’s surname? Thinking of her as Miss Evadne made the girl sound like a child; it made Miss Tolerance feel like a cross nursemaid to call her so. As she neared the corner her attention was drawn by an altercation between a porter and several of the boys in grimy togs, regarding possession of the sidewalk. Miss Tolerance was seized by inspiration, and paused to admire a wrought iron fence while she waited for the dispute to be resolved.
When at last the porter withdrew from the fray, Miss Tolerance approached the knot of crossing-sweeps who stood gloating in victory. As she neared them the three largest boys broke off celebrating and elbowed each other out of the way, begging to sweep for her. Miss Tolerance shook her head, but before the boys could slink away muttering their hopes that the stingy mort would tread straightaway in a fresh clod of horseshit, she informed them that she might have silver to spend upon a clever boy who kept his eyes open.
In an instant the half-dozen boys assumed expressions of such angelic, open-eyed character that Miss Tolerance was hard put not to laugh. “Do you gentlemen regularly sweep this street?”
There was some snickering at her use of the word gentlemen , but all of the heads bobbed in agreement.
“And do you consider that you are familiar with the people who live here?”
This caused some confusion: none of the boys was rightly certain what they were to make of the word familiar, and several of them feared they were being accused of something. Miss Tolerance cleared up the matter by asking if any of them
Mrs. Brereton sniffed. “Go away, then.” She offered her cheek for a kiss, then followed Clara out the door to deal with Messers Creevey and Sainsbury.
Chapter Four
Miss Tolerance woke early, broke her fast, dressed, set her cottage in order, and left Manchester Square on foot. An idea had come to her as she waited to sleep the night before. Mrs. Brown would not give Miss Evadne’s real name, but there was no doubt that possession of it would make finding the girl easier, and she had not forbidden Miss Tolerance to seek that name out. It was a quarter-hour’s walk to Duke of York Street; the morning was fine and the streets full of tradesmen and vendors bent upon provisioning the well-to-do. She enjoyed the walk.
Duke of York Street runs from Jermyn Street to St. James’s Square. Miss Tolerance went past tobacconists and haberdashers on Jermyn Street who at this hour were engaged in taking down the shutters and making ready for the start of business. When she turned the corner onto Duke of York Street she could see, at street’s end, the pleasant greenery of the square beyond. The street itself was lined with substantial houses, a few set back a little from the street but most modern enough to front directly on the flagged sidewalk. If Miss Tolerance had had any doubt that her quarry came from a family of substance, her first stroll down the street put paid to it. The occupants of these houses might not all be wealthy as the rich themselves define the term, but compared to the vast majority of London and the nation they were wealthy enough. The houses were all well kept, of stone or old pink brick, broad enough to admit of parlors on either side of the entry, and climbing three or four stories above the street. In front of two of them footmen had emerged to sweep the sidewalk, causing no little consternation to the crossing-sweeps stationed at the corners, underfed boys too young to be put to better use, who eked out pennies sweeping the ordure and muck from the path of the better fed.
Miss Tolerance strolled leisurely to the corner, made a circuit of St. James’s Square, and walked back up Duke of York again, wondering to which of these houses Miss Evadne belonged. What the Devil was the girl’s surname? Thinking of her as Miss Evadne made the girl sound like a child; it made Miss Tolerance feel like a cross nursemaid to call her so. As she neared the corner her attention was drawn by an altercation between a porter and several of the boys in grimy togs, regarding possession of the sidewalk. Miss Tolerance was seized by inspiration, and paused to admire a wrought iron fence while she waited for the dispute to be resolved.
When at last the porter withdrew from the fray, Miss Tolerance approached the knot of crossing-sweeps who stood gloating in victory. As she neared them the three largest boys broke off celebrating and elbowed each other out of the way, begging to sweep for her. Miss Tolerance shook her head, but before the boys could slink away muttering their hopes that the stingy mort would tread straightaway in a fresh clod of horseshit, she informed them that she might have silver to spend upon a clever boy who kept his eyes open.
In an instant the half-dozen boys assumed expressions of such angelic, open-eyed character that Miss Tolerance was hard put not to laugh. “Do you gentlemen regularly sweep this street?”
There was some snickering at her use of the word gentlemen , but all of the heads bobbed in agreement.
“And do you consider that you are familiar with the people who live here?”
This caused some confusion: none of the boys was rightly certain what they were to make of the word familiar, and several of them feared they were being accused of something. Miss Tolerance cleared up the matter by asking if any of them
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