that, do you think?”
“I shall go alone,” Randolph said. His parents’ coachman would know how to find the place. He suspected it would be a goodly distance.
“If you think I’ll miss meeting Mrs. Siddons, you’re mad,” said Miss Townsend.
“The journey could take a while,” Randolph replied. And it would be all for nothing if he missed them. He suppressed irritation. He didn’t want a long carriage ride in the company of Miss Townsend.
“I don’t care. It will be an adventure. Verity will come, too. Won’t you, Verity?”
“Yes,” said Miss Sinclair.
Suddenly, the trip seemed less onerous. “About what time did she leave?” Randolph asked.
“She went up to her room hours ago,” said Mrs. Townsend.
Which wasn’t particularly helpful, Randolph thought.
“I must send word to my mother,” said Miss Sinclair.
This note was quickly written, and other necessities attended to. A few minutes later, the trio was in the duke’s carriage heading west around Hyde Park.
“You have to admire Beatrice’s initiative,” said Miss Townsend. “I wouldn’t have thought of such a lark at her age.”
“You didn’t have a coconspirator like Hilda,” Randolph pointed out.
“True. If only we had known each other then, Verity.”
Miss Sinclair made no reply. She was gazing out the window at the passing scene as they veered away from the park. Randolph admired her profile, wondering what she was thinking.
“I’ve never been out this way before,” Miss Townsend commented after a while. “It’s a bit dreary, isn’t it?”
The houses seemed commonplace to Randolph. It wasn’t Mayfair, but neither was it a slum.
Conversation became sporadic as they rattled on. The light grew more golden as afternoon turned to early evening. Randolph thought of requesting more speed, but his father’s coachman knew his business and would be as eager as he was to get this over.
“Wait, stop!” cried Miss Sinclair some time later. “There they are.”
The driver heard and pulled up. When Randolph looked, there indeed were the miscreants, heads down, trudging along the side of the road. The girls eyed the carriage warily, until Hilda perked up and shouted, “It’s Randolph! Thank heaven.”
Randolph jumped out and herded them into the backward-facing seat. The coach made the awkward turn to reverse their direction.
“There are no cabs to be found way out here,” Hilda declared. “And Beatrice wouldn’t go back and ask—” She bit off the sentence as she apparently remembered the clandestine nature of their outing.
“I don’t care,” said Beatrice. “I don’t care if I get a thundering scold. I’ve met the greatest tragedienne of our time.”
It sounded like a quote, Verity thought.
“And she told me I would do very well on the stage.”
“She said you were a dramatic young lady,” Hilda corrected. “Lud, my feet hurt! These new half boots fit dreadfully. And I’m starving. The greatest tragedienne of our time didn’t give us as much as a biscuit with our tea.”
“She is above food,” Beatrice retorted.
More likely she hadn’t wanted to prolong the visit, Verity thought.
Lord Randolph leaned forward and produced a packet of sandwiches from a cloth bag at his feet. “I’ve found that a bit of sustenance comes in handy on rescue missions.”
Verity admired his foresight, as well as his calm assurance—just the sort of attitude one needed to weather the hardships of exploration. This was not, of course, a voyage to the far side of the globe. It barely qualified as a mild adventure. And Lord Randolph was unlikely to have true ones, she reminded herself. Ever. He was a country parson. She really must stop forgetting this crucial point.
“You are a trump,” said Hilda, unwrapping the sandwiches and handing one to Beatrice. “And not ringing a peal over us either.” She bit into her own.
“Not my job,” said Lord Randolph. “You may be sure Georgina will. And Mrs. Townsend.”
“Mama will laugh,” said Beatrice. “And admire my panache.” She made a sweeping gesture with her sandwich.
“No, she won’t,” said her older sister. “She’s very cross with you.” She rather spoiled the effect by adding, “I cannot believe I missed meeting Mrs. Siddons.”
This set Beatrice off on a paean that lasted for the remainder of their journey and left her sandwich largely uneaten.
When Verity reached her lodgings later that evening, her mother was sitting in the drawing room with a book. “Is all well with the girls?” she asked.
“Yes, we found them safely.”
“Oh good. You have a letter from Papa. It was enclosed in one of mine. I didn’t see it until I opened them.”
Verity eyed the packet on the writing desk. “Is he angry about the singing?”
“A little