Mrs. Watson.
Then the faces are gone from the window, and Helen lets out a long, shrill wail.
Fido steps out into the rain, to take Helen by the wet sleeves and pull her back into the cab. "Taviton Street," she calls to the driver.
***
The solicitor's name is Few, "But my clients are many," he mentions. The ladies stare at him. "Just a little joke," he says regretfully. Another pause. He smoothes down his chalk-white hair. "Now, to the purpose, Mrs. Codrington. The admiral will of course be liable for an allowance to maintain you until the trial—and for my fees, should you win."
Helen holds up her hand. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Mr. Few," she says with a self-possession that staggers Fido. "It's been two days now since my husband walked out; his temper must have cooled. Why don't you propose to this Mr. Bird that the two of you draw up a deed of private separation? I could live very quietly and economically with the girls, or even on my own, so long as I was allowed to see a good deal of them."
The elderly solicitor blinks at her.
Live quietly and economically with me at Taviton Street, says Fido loudly in her head. She's glimpsing new possibilities: We could both be mothers to Nell and Nan.
"I'm afraid it's too late for any such measure," says Few, shaking his head as if marvelling at female ignorance. "The admiral wants a divorce not simply à mensâ et thoro, that is, a separation from bed and board, but à vinculo matrimonii, from the bond of wedlock itself. Had he simply wanted to reside apart from you, he'd hardly have filed a petition yesterday stating that he believes you guilty of misconduct with—" he puts on his glasses to read it "—one Colonel David Anderson."
Helen's cheeks are pink. Fido wonders suddenly: is she imagining herself and Anderson as Lancelot and Guinevere, accused before the world? But such cases aren't decided by single combat in these civilized times. It's not the man's prowess that will save the lady or fail to, but the facts, the arguments, the oiled machine of the law. So Harry's filed his petition already, thinks Fido with dread. What does that mean? She wishes she knew more of the law. Does Few mean that it's too late for Helen to make a full confession of adultery and come to some arrangement with Harry as to her future?
" That in Malta Anderson frequently and habitually did visit her and commit the act in question with her during the years 1862, 1863, and 1864" Few recites, eyes on the page. "Also that in Malta, one Lieutenant Herbert Alexander St. John Mildmay frequently and habitually did visit her and commit the act in question with her during the years 1860, 1861, and 1862"
Fido sits bolt upright. Who on earth is this Lieutenant Mildmay?
Helen doesn't meet her eyes. Fido answers her own question. So the golden colonel wasn't the first man to whom Helen succumbed, then. Later: I'll get the whole story from her later. Fido feels sick to her stomach, and looks at the floor.
"Unlike Mildmay," Few remarks, "Anderson is a named co-respondent to the petition, and as such the admiral's entitled to ask damages of him, though so far he's not done so. Anderson's solicitor tells me his client is presently in Scotland, and that the intended plea is not guilty."
"As is mine," says Helen hastily. "That—" she gestures at the statement of charges as if at a brimming sewer, "that can all be demolished."
"I'm relieved to hear it." The old solicitor's tone is so habitually dry, Fido can't tell if he's being sardonic. He looks back at his client.
"Mr. Few—I'm in a dreadful state today."
"I understand, and I hate to press a lady. But some hints, some beginnings—"
Helen stares out the window as if for inspiration, then takes a long breath. "Things are so very different beyond these shores! I was raised in India, you see. And in Florence, where I spent the last years of girlhood, it's quite acceptable for a married lady to have an acknowledged escort, don't you know: a cicisbeo."
She's fudging a point, Fido wants to say: quite acceptable for the signore, yes; not for the Anglo ladies.
"Lax but harmless foreign mores," murmurs Few, writing it down.
"I admit I've been foolish," says Helen with an infectious smile, "rather frivolous in my pastimes, unwise in some of my friendships. I shouldn't have allowed either Mildmay or Anderson so