them; others were bewildered. But somehow the words poured out now. “To leave the familiar behind. To strike out and be bold. Every day some new sight or people or piece of knowledge.”
“Life in England bores you?” the older woman asked.
“No! I’m not some sour critic. I know I’m fortunate to have a comfortable home and all that goes with it. But I can’t help wanting more.”
“Voyages of exploration can be uncomfortable, and hazardous, according to James’s tales.”
“I’d like to hear them,” said Verity wistfully. She grew self-conscious as her surge of enthusiasm ebbed. “You must think me—”
“Rather like myself,” the duchess put in.
Verity turned to stare at her.
“I’ve always had a longing to do great deeds. Cut a swath through the world.” She smiled to herself. “That phrase makes me think of the boys playing pirate.”
“You couldn’t cut swaths once you had them to look after,” Verity said.
The older woman met her gaze. “On the contrary. Very much on the contrary, Miss Sinclair. Despite some wrong turns early on, I discovered that adventures are all around me.”
It was easy to believe that the duchess could see right through her. Verity looked away to hide her skepticism.
The others were approaching. “We should be going,” said Flora. “It’s nearly five.”
Hilda, who’d been looking bored, perked up.
The group went back inside and gathered their things. Miss Fletcher saw them to the door, and the Langford footman who’d accompanied them stepped forward to open it.
Outside, they found the coachman walking his team around the square. A few people had come out of the other houses to watch. One of the boys sat on the box beside him, beaming, while the others skipped and cavorted behind. “A moment, Your Grace,” the man called.
“We’ll come and meet you,” the duchess replied, starting off. The footman hurried ahead of her. Randolph joined the other ladies in following her.
As his mother neared the end of a cramped alleyway, a skinny, raddled woman lurched out of it, heaved the large wooden bucket she held, and threw a stream of slops into the square.
The reeking liquid caught the duchess full on, splashing her fashionable bonnet, her face, the hands she raised in belated defense, her immaculate clothing. Bits of filth hit her with a splat and slid stickily to the ground. Hilda, just behind her, caught a glancing surge that drenched her skirts.
After an eye blink of consternation, Randolph lunged forward. But it was too late. The damage had been done. The perpetrator stood openmouthed and swaying. She was very drunk, Randolph concluded.
Denizens of the square—man, woman, and boy—descended with a torrent of abuse. Tossing slops into the square was forbidden, Randolph gathered, and this was not the woman’s first offense. Only the most shocking one. The woman blinked, bared her teeth in a snarl, and began screaming curses back at them. The noise brought others to doors and windows. Hordle came barreling out of the school gate, ready to break heads. John Coachman and the footman were agape with horror. A full-fledged riot was brewing.
Randolph reached out to his mother. “My God, Mama.”
“Don’t touch me,” she replied with remarkable calm. “I’m filthy.”
The shocked look in her blue eyes belied her tone. The shouting mob pressed closer.
Miss Fletcher ran up, holding out a dampened towel. “Oh, Your Grace, I’m so sorry!”
“Not your fault,” said Randolph’s mother. She took the towel and wiped the dirt from her face.
“Come back,” the teacher urged. “We’ll run a bath and find you—”
“No,” said Randolph. “We must get her home.” She needed her own room and things, he thought. With a preemptory gesture, he got the coachman moving.
“I’ll dirty the seats,” said his mother. “They’ll be ruined.”
“No matter.” The carriage drew up beside them. Randolph held out his hand again.
“No.” She drew back. “Don’t touch me. I can get in.”
The footman had the carriage door open. Slowly, as if she suddenly felt her age, Randolph’s mother climbed up.
“You must go, too, Hilda,” Randolph said. “You need to get out of those clothes.”
Lifting her odoriferous skirts with a grimace, the girl got in the vehicle.
“I’ll go with them,” said Flora, striding past Randolph. “They should have someone to help.”
“I’ll escort—”
“I’m going. I’m accustomed to the reek of the streets. You stay and take Miss Sinclair back to her lodgings.” Flora stepped up into the carriage, pulling the door closed after her. Her clear, cool voice rang from within. “Drive on.”
Randolph pointed at the footman before he could hop on the back. “Find me a hack,