butler, held out a dark reticule and a hat. "Funds to pay your driver, Miss Bliss."
"Thank you," Tempy said. "I'd nearly forgotten." She crammed the hat onto her head, barely paying any attention to it.
Harris didn't say anything, but gave a discreet dip of his head. He always thought of everything, even when she didn't.
A worn-looking black hansom cab stood at the bottom of the front steps, waiting for Tempy as she hurried out the door. Apparently, one of the footmen had managed flag it down and have it waiting for her, which was a relief.
Tempy did her best to keep her full skirts from brushing against the large, dirty wheel as she climbed into the cabin of the cab. Once inside, she put her hand into the reticule and blindly felt for the bills and coins she knew would be there. Yes, there they were, along with her pen-and-ink set and a slim bound notebook. A journalist should always be prepared, and correctly recording pertinent facts was an essential part of the job.
The driver, his long gray hair hanging loose and blowing across his grizzled face, closed the box at the front of the carriage without glancing at her. She didn't like the feeling of being locked up until someone else released her, but she knew it was necessary because the boards would protect her skirts from the mud and muck that would surely be tossed up against the front of the little box by the horse's hooves. At least the upper part of the cab was wide open, and that eased her niggling sense of claustrophobia.
The cab made good time as it stuttered over the rough roads on its way toward the docks. Was it her, or was this ride rougher than usual? When the carriage hit another rut, her teeth clacked together. Tempy sighed. Perhaps she could find a newer hansom for the ride back. This one had a distinctly unpleasant odor about it. There should be plenty of hackneys looking for passengers at the docks. She could find one a bit more comfortable for her ride home.
Tempy's stomach groaned. When had she last eaten anything? Not this morning, and she'd skipped her evening meal. It must have been at tea yesterday. She remembered that there had been sandwiches on the tray, but she couldn't remember eating any. Perhaps she'd stop at a tea room on the way home. In fact, if things went the way she hoped, maybe Ernest would even join her.
Tempy's clutched at her reticule. What if this didn't work? What if Ernest was entirely under that woman's spell? But no. He couldn't be. Tempy was certain that as soon as his gaze met hers, he'd remember their plans for a future together. He'd remember what they had meant to each other.
He had to.
It took the driver two tries before finally depositing Tempy at the correct dock, and by then, she had scooted so far forward on her seat that she was in danger of falling off it.
Once the driver brought the hansom cab to a complete halt, Tempy passed her payment to him through the small trap door above and behind her head.
The wind gusted, briefly clearing away the musty odor of the docks as Tempy tipped her head back to peer at the ship. She clamped her hat to her head with one hand to prevent it from being whipped away by the stiff breeze, and briskly repositioned her hat pin to secure everything more firmly.
Ernest's ship, the SS Spofield , was a large steamship. Tempy much preferred the older sailing ships. They were so much more beautiful and graceful, but the steamships were much faster and more reliable. Sailing ships were rarely seen these days, which seemed a shame. Father had always droned on about the superiority of the steam engine and the inevitable march of progress.
Apparently, the Spofield had just docked, and Tempy watched as a steady stream of porters contributed to the growing piles of luggage at the base of the gangplank. Steerage passengers were already leaving the ship, carrying their own bundles, but it appeared as though the first-class passengers were waiting to disembark until after their luggage had