Free The Russian Concubine by Kate Furnivall

I’ve wanted for years.’
    ‘As if I didn’t know that. You’ve always pestered me to come to the recitals, but now at sixteen years old I think it is time. And it means I won’t have to wear myself out afterward telling you that Sir Edward said this or Colonel Mortimer argued that, and what all the ladies were wearing. Please, sweetheart, do take your sticky fingers away from me.’
    Lydia jumped up and brushed her hands on the sides of her skirt. ‘I’ll make you proud of me, Mama. We can practise this afternoon on Mrs Zarya’s piano. You know how she likes to hear you play.’
    ‘Only if the miserable old dragon hasn’t thrown us out on the street by then.’
    ‘Oh no, I didn’t tell you, I’ve paid the rent we owed. And next month’s is in the blue bowl on the shelf. So don’t worry about Mrs Zarya any more.’
    ‘This work you do for Mr Willoughby must be extraordinarily well paid.’
    Lydia nodded awkwardly. ‘Yes, it is. I’ve been marking the schoolwork of the children in the lower classes, you see. Almost like a teacher really.’ She scooped up her satchel. ‘Thanks again, Mama.’ She rushed for the door.
    Her mother’s voice followed her. ‘And tell that lying rat in the car downstairs to stick his flowers alongside his promises, down in the sewer where they belong.’
    Lydia shut the door quickly before Mr and Mrs Yeoman could hear.

    ‘But it’s only got three wheels,’ Lydia objected.
    ‘It’s a Morgan, so what do you expect?’ Antoine Fourget patted one of the car’s shiny black fenders. ‘She has won the races all over the world.’
    ‘Is it the same as the one Isadora Duncan was killed in last year?’
    ‘Non.’ He crossed himself quickly. ‘That was a Bugatti. But this is a magnifique little lady. I was lucky last night at cards.’ He turned hopeful eyes on Lydia. ‘But am I lucky today? Eh bien , what did your maman say?’
    ‘Not good.’
    ‘She won’t see me?’
    ‘Sorry, no.’
    ‘The flowers?’
    She shook her head.
    Antoine slumped into the driving seat and made a low rumbling sound in the back of his throat. Lydia felt an overwhelming urge to reach out and smooth his ruffled black hair, to feel how soft it was, to do something, anything to ease the misery her mother had inflicted. But she kept her hands to herself.
    ‘Can I have a ride, Antoine?’
    He summoned up a smile, ‘Of course, chérie . A ride to school?’
    ‘Yes, please.’
    He lifted the flowers off the passenger seat and she jumped in, clutching her hat on her lap. ‘It’s my birthday today,’ she said.
    ‘Ah, bonne anniversaire. ’ He leaned across and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘ You shall have the flowers instead. For your birthday, from me.’
    He presented the bouquet to her with a flourish that made her blush and started the car. Lydia knew she was not the one he wanted seated beside him, but nevertheless she enjoyed the ride. What she didn’t tell her mother’s lover was that this was her first time in a car. She’d never even sat in one before. The constant movement of the gear stick and the fiddling with the controls fascinated her, as well as the distortion of the pavement flying past at full speed and the wind rushing into her face over the tiny windshield, tearing at her hair, making her blink and gasp for breath. When the Morgan hooted at a rickshaw, making it dive out of their way, she beamed with delight.
    ‘Lydia.’
    ‘Mmm?’
    The roads were becoming wider now as they left the meaner beggar-ridden streets that made up the Russian Quarter and headed through the better part of town where the shops and cafés were already opening. Sikh policemen in turbans stood on little platforms at each major junction, flapping their white-gloved hands to direct the flow of traffic. Lydia leaned over the low door of the car and waved to one just for the fun of it.
    ‘Lydia,’ Antoine repeated more urgently.
    ‘Yes?’
    ‘Do you think she will forgive me?’
    ‘Oh Antoine, I