Great Historical Novels by Fay Weldon Read Free Book Online Page A

least, saved her from the helplessness of her gender and class. She approved of the Quaker view that equality and respect were due to women. The integrity of God’s guidance was, of late, a more difficult ideal to uphold. Without Josiah, how could she now be certain of it?
    Her gaze shifted and she became aware of the passing view. This part of the City of London was always humming with activity. The Gracechurch Meeting House was in between Lloyds Bank and the Bank of England and only two streets away from the Royal Exchange. All along Lombard and Cornhill were coffee houses where bankers, merchants and stock jobbers met to discuss the shipping news and the international marketplace; to buy and sell Jamaican sugar, West Indian tobacco, Australian wool and China tea. Antonia livedin the City and passed through the banking district almost every day, but she never grew tired of it. There was an invigorating briskness to the quarter that may well have as much to do with the amount of coffee consumed as with the nature of its industry.
    As she passed the Jerusalem Coffee House, she was certain that she saw Isaac through the window. It was hard to mistake him. He was a large man; not corpulent, but tall and broad of frame. He was deep in conversation with another gentleman, whom she recognised as one of the bankers at Barings. Josiah had forsaken all ties with this bank upon discovering that currency from the sale of opium was deposited in its vaults. For the use of the Crown. Antonia was startled. Why would her husband’s close friend, a Quaker, have reason to meet with such a man? She turned away, chastising herself for her lack of trust. Of course Isaac would have a perfectly sensible and morally sound reason for his actions. She was not herself.

Calico
    Juliette inspected herself in the only looking-glass in the house. The sight did not cheer her. Mrs Blake only ever used the glass in the hallway to fasten her bonnet or brush lint from her dull costumes. It was a shame for someone like Mrs Blake to be without vanity. To have the purse for silk but to choose wool seemed against the natural order of things. Surely the whole point of wealth was in flaunting it. Her mistress was pleasant-looking, though certainly no stunner, and would look well in India green or Lavinia blue.
    Juliette leaned a little closer to the glass and smoothed her flyaway brown hair. She looked every bit as unquiet as she felt, though she tried so hard not to be anxious. Ever since Beth said fretting made the flesh flee from your bones. If the reverse were also true, then it explained the scullery maid’s contented roundness. Beth’s cheeks were like pink apples and she had a beam as round as a laundry tub beneath her black calico skirts. Black did nothing for Juliette. Today, her narrow face had a red spot high on each cheek and her forehead looked like crumpled linen. She examined her every angle and flaw until her gaze reached her hands. Her knuckles were as white as a boiled joint from the fastness of her grip where she clutched the letter.
    She turned away from the disappointing portrait in the glass and marched the length of the hall. She did this another three times before she heard the jingling and huffing ofcarriage horses, and then the clip of sensible boots on the stone stair.
    Immediately, Mrs Blake looked concerned, which made Juliette feel better.
    ‘Is something amiss, Juliette dear?’
    ‘Not amiss. Not exactly. But the afternoon post has come …’ Juliette took the grey mantle and the grey kid gloves, noticing the unnatural shine to Mrs Blake’s eyes. She had been weeping again. She showed no other sign of it though; she was not one for self-pity.
    ‘It has arrived!’
    ‘Well the postage mark is Sydney Town.’ Juliette’s voice quivered. This letter had been long awaited.
    ‘You’ve not opened it?’
    ‘Oh no, it is addressed to you, and my reading’s no better than my writing.’
    ‘Well, then. Shall we brew some tea and