Rescued From Ruin

‘I look forward to speaking with you then.’ She nodded for Theresa to rise, the strain on her cousin’s face striking Cecelia harder than Mr Watkins’s news. It ripped at her to see Theresa so worried instead of carefree and happy like she used to be before Daniel’s death. It reminded her too much of herself at sixteen.

‘I don’t normally recommend this measure, but I sense you may be in need of such services.’ Mr Watkins’s words stopped them and they settled back on the edges of their chairs. He removed a slip of paper from the desk drawer, laid it on the blotter and began to write. ‘This is the name of a gentleman who may be able to help you.’

He handed the paper across the desk. Cecelia took it and looked at the name and address.

Philip Rathbone, 25 Fleet Street.

‘A gentleman? You mean a moneylender.’

Mr Watkins nodded. ‘I would not recommend him except among his class he is exceptional.’

‘You mean he doesn’t ruin people as quickly as the others.’

Mr Watkins steepled his fingers in front of him. ‘He’ll deal fairly with you, more so than any other man in the Fleet.’

‘I’ll take it into consideration.’ She slipped the paper into her reticule. ‘Thank you for your help, Mr Watkins.’

The solicitor escorted them through the front room past two clerks copying documents. ‘I’ll notify you if anything changes.’

She caught a slight sympathy in the older man’s words and, though she appreciated it, hated being in a position to need it. ‘Of course, you’ll be discreet concerning this matter.’

‘I’m always discreet.’

‘Thank you. Good day.’

Cecelia slipped her arm in Theresa’s and guided her down the pavement.

‘What are we going to do?’ Theresa whispered, looking nervously over the passing people as if expecting someone to stop, point and announce their secret.

She didn’t blame her for being nervous. There were many times when she had wondered if everyone already knew and if that’s why they kept their distance.

Cecelia clutched the top of the reticule and the paper inside crinkled. Having Mr Rathbone’s name in the bag made it, along with all the other burdens she carried, seem heavier. She stood up straight, trying not to let this new setback weigh her down, to be brave for Theresa’s sake and ease some of her cousin’s fears. ‘I may have to visit the moneylender.’

‘But you can’t.’ Theresa’s voice rose high with panic before she clamped her mouth closed, leaning in close to Cecelia. ‘We haven’t the means to repay a man like him.’

‘I know, but it’s better to owe one discreet man than to have the butcher and grocer declaring our debts through town. I can make arrangements with Mr Rathbone, then only use the money if things turn dire.’ Though at the moment, they were teetering precariously close to dire.

London was proving far more expensive than she’d anticipated. They reworked old dresses, made do with only Mary, shivered through the night to avoid burning coal and relied on refreshments at soirées and dances to help keep them fed, yet still it wasn’t enough. She’d sold the silver yesterday, the small amount it brought already spent to secure their town house for the next three months. Hopefully, it would be enough time for either her or Theresa to find a husband. If not, she wasn’t sure how they would survive. Except for their simple jewellery, fine clothes and the books, there was little left to sell.

‘Miss Domville told me all sorts of horrible stories about people being threatened by creditors,’ Theresa protested, stepping closer to Cecelia when the pavement narrowed and the crowd thickened. ‘It isn’t safe to deal with them.’

‘What does Miss Domville know except gossip?’ Cecelia scoffed, wondering if Madame de Badeau’s sister was the best influence for Theresa. ‘I’ve dealt with creditors before. I know how they conduct business.’

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