‘Please, take a seat,’ he invited, pulling the spindle-backed chairs away from the desk and offering them to the woman and his uncle. He sat himself on the edge of his bed, the only other available place.
‘Thank you.’ She was perfectly economical in her movements, he noticed, as she tucked her black skirts neatly behind her and lowered herself into the chair. Her spine was straight, her shoulders set a little back, her chin raised to display a slender neck.
The face, with its heart shape and quiet grey eyes, possessed an ageless quality – a stillness. James felt he could look into it endlessly and not tire, like looking out to the silver expanse of a calm sea. He supposed himself to be ten years her junior, or more, but she could be anything from twenty-five to forty-five.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, standing again and holding out his hand. ‘I don’t believe we have met. James Stratton.’
‘Yes,’ she said, failing to reciprocate his gesture. ‘Your uncle told me your name.’
‘And might I ask …’
‘You might ask, but I’m afraid I cannot tell you my name. If you wish, you may address me as “Madame”.’
He looked at his uncle for any clue as to what the purpose of this meeting might be.
‘Let me explain,’ said Madame. ‘Please, sit back down, Mr Stratton.’
He subsided back on to the bed, watching her keenly.
‘I am here on behalf of my mistress. She is a wealthy single lady, a client of yours.’
‘A client?’ For a moment, James could not imagine what she might mean. ‘You cannot intend to tell me that … a lady … commissions my work?’
‘I intend to tell you precisely that, Mr Stratton. Furthermore, this lady has formed a desire to make your acquaintance.’
‘To make … my … acquaintance?’
James looked between his uncle and Madame,increasingly bewildered.
‘Before I extend any invitation, I must impress upon you the requirement for absolute discretion. Nobody should ever be told of this visit. You must sign a document swearing secrecy. Do you agree to these terms?’
‘I, er, well, yes. Yes, I think I do.’
‘You must do more than think,’ she said severely.
James, by now thoroughly itching with curiosity, simply held out a hand again.
‘Give me the document. I will sign it.’
She took from her reticule a small folded paper and gave it over to James, who read it at the desk.
It was clear and simple enough. He, James Stratton, would never speak of what occurred tonight, the 27th inst., to a living soul, the details to include the location of the meeting, the persons met and everything that should transpire.
With a pleasant sense of embarkation on adventure, he signed with a flourish and presented the paper to Madame for her approval.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘You will present yourself on the corner of this street and the Strand at eight o’clock this evening, where My Lady’s carriage will be waiting to convey you to her place of residence. Do not be late. And dress properly.’ She frowned at his shirtsleeves and loosened neckcloth.
‘Oh … of course,’ he said, tightening his collar straight away.
The lady wasted no more time in pleasantry but excused herself, Uncle Thomas Stratton bowing and scraping all the way like a human comic aside.