“I said to Miss Thackery, as the carriage progressed from the polite precincts of Piccadilly into that infamous territory of tumbledown shacks called Long Acre. Yet I dared not pull the draw cord for John Groom to stop. Twilight was falling, and groups of ruffians loitered on the street corners, casting larcenous eyes at our rig. “It is not exactly what I pictured, to be sure,” Miss Thackery replied, with a bemused glance out the window. As we swept past the corner, a shot rang out, and two or t...hree of the loiterers took to their heels. John Groom did not have to be told to spring the horses. For the next ten minutes, we were batted back and forth in the carriage like a pair of shuttlecocks. Even Miss Thackery was shaken out of her customary placidity, and I was frightened out of my wits. Papa had warned me of the horrors of London, but as he is a provincial clergyman who had not been to London himself for twenty years, I paid him scant heed. When Aunt Thalassa, my late mama’s sister, left me a house in London, I had thought my troubles were over.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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