A Gentleman’s Promise: A Regency Romance (Gentlemen Book 1)

by Penny Hampson

  The door finally closed behind them.

  ‘Right, I’ll change, then join you in your study. I’ll be but a moment,’ Emma called as she skipped back up the stairs. Richard stood open-mouthed and shook his head. What was he letting himself in for?

  Standing silently by the door, Grimes’ impassive features gave no sign of what he’d witnessed.

  Richard found Phil in the dimly lit study, hunched in one of the leather armchairs close to the fire. He appeared deep in thought, staring into the glowing coals. Richard decided they could both do with some fortification.

  ‘Let’s have a brandy before setting off.’ At Phil’s surprised expression, he added, ‘Only a small one. I know to keep a clear head.’

  Richard checked his pockets as Phil went over to the side table for the decanter. There was a knife secreted in his dress coat, and he intended to carry a pistol in his greatcoat.

  ‘Here you are,’ said Phil, handing him a glass. Richard arched his eyebrow at the small amount, but Phil shook his head. Richard couldn’t blame him for his caution, and Phil only knew part of it.

  After knocking back his brandy in one gulp, he allowed Phil to act as valet and help him on with his greatcoat. The weight of the pistol in his pocket was reassuring, but he prayed he would not be called upon to use it. It was one thing to discuss and plan things. It was something else entirely to carry them out. He wasn’t cut out for a life of danger.

  He watched as Phil drained his glass and wordlessly shrugged on his own coat. Normally a quiet man, tonight Phil was exceptionally taciturn, for which Richard was grateful. Conversation was the last thing he needed.

  There was a light tap on the door, and without waiting to be told, a diminutive figure entered. Richard had to look twice before he realised it was indeed Emma, dressed in David’s breeches, shirt, and waistcoat beneath an unfastened, caped overcoat. A muffler covered the lower part of her face, and a hat was pulled down over her forehead.

  Phil turned his head and frowned. ‘You didn’t mention David was coming with us this night, Richard.’

  ‘Hmm… no. It was a last-minute decision. Thought he needed to see the seedier side of London, you know, to put him on his guard,’ answered Richard, hoping Phil would accept his explanation. ‘I can’t be with him all the time, and he needs to discover what dangerous characters there are out there to snare innocent young, erm, men.’

  The muffled figure nodded and coughed. For good measure, Richard quickly added, ‘Forgot to mention. Poor chap’s got a bit of a raw throat, not able to talk very much.’

  Phil grunted, and after giving the muffled figure a swift, searching glance, silently headed off through the door. Richard let out his breath. Had they got away with it? As Emma started to follow Phil, Richard grabbed her arm and hissed in her ear, ‘Don’t forget. No talking, and run if I say so.’

  He was almost sure she rolled her eyes, not that he could see for certain in the dim light of the passageway, but she tipped her head as if in agreement.

  Some time later, having been dropped off by the hackney they’d hired, the three made their way to the address given by Blake’s informant. It was in one of the streets off St James’s, Bury Street, in fact. Home to several high-class brothels, or so Richard had heard. His eyes darted apprehensively up and down the cobbled street. Fortunately, there weren’t too many birds of paradise parading around for Emma to see. He dreaded what they might find once they entered the intended establishment. At last, he spotted the house he’d been directed to.

  ‘This is it.’

  With Emma close behind him and Phil bringing up the rear, Richard led the way up the steps and pushed at the door. It opened easily on silent hinges, and a large, lumbering figure came towards them. Built like an ox, Richard guessed the fellow had once been a prize fighter, if his squashed nose and cauliflower ears were anything to go by.

  ‘Evenin’ gents. Can I take your coats?’ the large figure rasped. His ham-like arms stretched out to relieve them of their outer garments.

  Richard mentally kicked himself for not thinking to put his pistol in an inner pocket. There was no way he was going to relinquish his coat, and he certainly didn’t want Emma to remove her outer garments. Slightly built as she was, she could easily pass for a youth, but Phil would surely recognise her without the muffler and hat.

  ‘No, I don’t believe we’ll be staying long,’ said Richard in haughty tones. ‘We’re meeting with Mr Downing.’

  The ox tilted his head and stared uncertainly at them. It was apparent that he’d not encountered many customers who didn’t intend to linger awhile. After several gut-churning seconds, he nodded. ‘Go through to the parlour. Mrs Newbody will be with you shortly.’ He pointed to a polished door at one side of the candlelit hall.

  Grateful that they’d passed the first hurdle, Richard sauntered towards the indicated doorway, affecting nonchalance even though his insides were churning. He turned the handle and entered, Emma and Phil on his heels.

  Richard’s eyes took in the sumptuous but gaudily furnished room, a contrast to the austere hallway. Red-velvet sofas and brocaded armchairs were placed around the impressive parlour. Matching swagged curtains adorned the windows, and silver mirrors reflected the subtle light of strategically placed candles. A uniformed maid came forward from one of the darker corners. She’d been almost invisible at her station near a well-stocked sideboard.

  ‘What would you like to drink, gentlemen? First drink is on the house.’ Her eyes flickered over them assessingly. From her relatively demure dress, Richard judged that she was not one who offered her services.

  ‘Claret for me,’ Richard answered. Avoiding strong spirit seemed the wise course.

  ‘Me too, thanks,’ muttered Phil, his eyes appreciatively raking the portraits of scantily clad young women above the fireplace.

  Emma shook her head. Her eyes were wide as she gazed around. Now that she’d lowered the muffler, Richard could see that her lips were pursed. He prayed that she wouldn’t have the vapours. He should have saved his prayers for something more important. She caught his glance and her eyes narrowed in scorn. It hit him. Good Lord, she thought he was in the habit of patronising these sorts of places.

  Before he could tell Emma that she was mistaken, the door opened and a sharp-featured, expensively dressed woman of about fifty years of age swept into the room. She paused at the door for a moment, her keen, dark eyes sweeping over them before her thin lips curved upwards in a parody of a smile. Richard was reminded of a malevolent bird.

  ‘Gentlemen, I don’t believe you’ve patronised my establishment before. I’m Ruth Newbody. I take it you’ve heard of me?’

  Her voice was husky, no doubt a product of nights spent in smoke-filled rooms. Richard judged that her faux-friendly look meant she’d weighed them up and decided they were worth expending some charm on. He stepped forward to answer.

  ‘I’m afraid not, ma’am,’ he said, sending her what he hoped was a winning smile. ‘Though I’m certain we should have done before long. We were directed to your establishment by an acquaintance. He said he would meet us here.’

  Mrs Newbody frowned. ‘Ah, who would that be?’ A speculative look passed over her face as she swept her gaze once more over them, her scrutiny lingering on Emma. ‘Are you planning a… party?'

  Newbody put Richard in mind of a cat about to pounce on an unsuspecting bird.

  ‘No, nothing like that. The gentleman we are meeting is Mr William Downing,’ answered Richard.

  The woman’s aspect and demeanour changed in an instant. Her smile became broader, and there was a hint of calculation in her eyes.

  ‘Billy, eh? I wasn’t sure you looked the type, but you never can tell, can you?’ The woman chuckled and leaned towards Richard to add in a stage whisper, ‘Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.’ She winked. ‘Wouldn’t be good for my business, otherwise, would
it? Everyone knows I’m discreet. I’m privy to many a gentleman’s indiscretions.’

  What on earth was the woman talking about? Richard had no idea, although he was certain that she did indeed know many a gentleman’s indiscretions. It was rumoured that all sorts of underhand matters could be dealt with quietly at particular establishments like this. Richard decided silence was the best option, so he smiled back at Mrs Newbody and nodded his head as if in agreement.

  She gestured to them. ‘Follow me, gentlemen.’

  From the parlour, Ruth Newbody took them across the entrance hall and started to lead them down a passageway to the rear of the house. As they trooped behind her, a door in the passageway was flung open and a young woman in a state of agitation came charging out. With her shabby dress, tumbled hair, and red-rimmed eyes, it looked as if she’d been crying. The girl halted at the sight of Mrs Newbody, who fixed her with a glare.

  ‘Get yourself upstairs and ready, my girl, like I told you. You’ve had long enough. Customers will be arriving soon, and they won’t want to see you looking like that.’

  Mrs Newbody paused, as if recalling her visitors. She snapped round, wiped the scowl from her face, and addressed them in far gentler tones. ‘A moment, gentlemen, if you don’t mind.’

  Signalling for them to wait where they were, she took the girl none too gently by the arm and walked her a few paces away from the three companions.

  Richard, filled with foreboding, made use of the time by examining his surroundings, noting which way they’d come. They might need a quick exit, after all. Keeping an eye on his hostess, his ears caught the words “spent a lot of money on you… ungrateful... owe me… been patient for now… you’ll have to do it”.

  The cowed girl eventually nodded and, with slumped shoulders, started to climb the stairs at the end of the corridor. Phil, who all the while had kept his eyes trained on the harridan and her reluctant charge, watched as the young woman slipped off, a thoughtful expression on his face.

  Phil was definitely not his usual self, thought Richard, putting his friend’s unusually subdued behaviour down to nerves. He turned to Emma and was overcome with a sense of growing unease. With her clenched jaw, narrowed eyes, and twisted mouth, he would swear that she was ready to plant their hostess a facer. Fearing she would actually do so, he gripped her arm and shot her a warning glance. Emma at once assumed a more neutral expression, though her hands were still fisted at her sides and Richard could have sworn he heard her growl. Richard sympathised with her sentiments, but he knew that if they did anything to upset Ruth Newbody, their chance of meeting William Downing would be lost.

  Ruth Newbody bustled back, her expensive silk skirts rustling as she moved. She shrugged apologetically.

  ‘Sorry about that, gentlemen. She’s new, daughter of a… friend. I said I’d give her a chance at working as a maid before she joins the rest of my young ladies.’ She smirked before adding, ‘But you’re not interested in young ladies, are you?’

  Her words jolted Richard. With a sinking feeling, he understood what the old witch thought they were there for.

  Without waiting for a reply, Ruth Newbody continued down the passageway, gesturing for them to follow. Emma forged ahead, but Richard almost had to tug Phil along with him. Oblivious to the bawd’s words, he’d been gazing distractedly in the direction the girl had gone. Richard wondered what was wrong with him and was becoming rather inclined to give him a shake.

  At last, their hostess stopped in front of a large, polished oak door at the end of the corridor and tapped gently.

  ‘Billy. Billy, are you there? There’s some gents to see you.’

  Ruth’s attempt at a whisper grated on Richard’s nerves. He wondered how she’d started in this business – surely ladybirds were expected to entice with dulcet tones? He turned to the other female in their group. Emma was still glaring daggers at the woman’s back. If she had one on her person, he would wager that it wouldn’t take much for it to be embedded between Ruth’s shoulder blades. In fact, it was becoming increasingly difficult for him to recognise the fragile young female who’d turned up at Easterby Hall such a short time ago; she’d transformed into a veritable warrior. Viscount Wellington could use her on his staff. The war with France would surely be speedily dispatched with a few like Emma on the English side. His face softened as he looked at her, then he brought himself up with a jolt. What was he thinking? He preferred docile, submissive females, didn’t he?

  Richard’s thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the door creaking open. Over Ruth’s shoulder, he espied a large, bald head appear in the gap.

  ‘Ruth, what’s that you say?’ a male voice rasped.

  Richard edged forward. ‘My friend Mr Blake sent me, Mr Downing. Said you had some information for me.’

  The door opened wider and the bald head’s owner retreated. ‘You’d better come in then. Thanks, Ruth. I’ll see you later.’

  ‘I’ll leave you gentlemen to it then, shall I?’ said Ruth with a knowing leer.

  Suppressing his revulsion, Richard strolled past the smirking Ruth into the room, tugging Emma firmly by the hand. As Phil closed the door behind them, the clicking of Ruth’s heels could be heard as she returned up the corridor. Richard shook off his feeling of disgust and turned his attention to William Downing, who was now seated in a rustic wooden chair at a small, round table. A single lamp suspended from the ceiling illuminated the room with a gloomy glow.

  Without looking up, William Downing gestured for them to sit down. Richard took the chair across the table from him, while Emma sat a little behind in the shadows. Phil pulled up a chair near the door. Billy, as Mrs Newbody had called him, looked to have been going through his account books. A tankard of ale stood at his elbow on the table and a smoking clay pipe rested near a jar of tobacco. Several thick ledgers lay on the table in front of him, and he swiftly closed the topmost one before Richard could catch a closer look at the lines and columns of figures they contained.

  ‘So,’ said Billy, his eyes darting round nervously, ‘you weren’t followed? And who are your friends? I was only expecting you, my lord.’

  Richard was strongly reminded of a ferret. His gamekeeper used ferrets to keep the rabbit population down on his estate in Cornwall. Ferrets could be nasty, vicious creatures.

  Adopting a haughty tone, Richard answered, ‘Nobody followed us, Mr Downing.’ He crossed his fingers and prayed that was true. ‘These are close friends helping me to sort this matter out. No need for you to be concerned.’ He hoped his clipped explanation would satisfy the man’s suspicious nature. No need to let the man know their identities, assumed or otherwise. He was paying enough for the information, God knows.

  Downing seemed to consider for a moment, then spoke.

  ‘I told Mr Blake that it was dangerous to talk in my line of business. I make my living by being discreet.’ He squinted at Richard. ‘Rogers talked, didn’t he? And now he’s gone into hiding. Haven’t heard from him in a while – used to bring me a lot of good custom.’

  Downing hawked and cleared his throat, an unpleasant sound. Richard wondered what line of business the man was in – smuggling, perhaps? Goodness knows, there were enough people at it these days. But unwilling to spend any more time than necessary in Downing’s company, he decided to come to the point.

  ‘Mr Downing, let’s be quick. What do you know about the Duke of Wheatley?’

  Downing’s eyebrows shot up, and his mouth curved in a vicious grin.

  ‘You mean you really don’t know? Took you for an intelligent cove an’ all.’ He leered at Emma. ‘You seem to share some of his interests, if I’m not mistaken.’

  Richard felt slightly sick, wondering if her disguise had been rumbled. He pretended exasperation.

  ‘Come on, man. I wouldn’t be here otherwise.’ He thumped his fist down on the table. ‘Tell me what you know.’

  O
n his own, he would have grabbed the man by the throat and throttled the information out of him, but even with Phil at his back, it would be unwise to do so with Emma present.

  Downing, looking less sure of himself, shrugged. ‘Just thought with the young gentleman there, you and your friend were going on somewhere else, private like.’ He sent Richard an ingratiating smile. ‘If you wish, I can have a word with Ruth. She doesn’t mind letting a room out for a few hours to gentlemen who share your interests when I’m unable to oblige.’ He nodded to himself. ‘Always ready to do a favour, is Ruth.’

  The bile rose in Richard’s throat.

  ‘This young man is my friend only, and we do not require a room,’ he answered through gritted teeth. ‘You seem to have misunderstood.’ Behind him, Phil cleared his throat, stifling what seemed to have been an expletive. Emma remained silent. Richard prayed that she was ignorant of what Downing had implied.

  Downing started to speak again, his bulbous, thread-veined nose and stained teeth testament to his love of brandy and tobacco.

  ‘Wheatley used to attend my parties, but I haven’t seen him now for several years. Must have found somewhere else to indulge his fancies.’ Downing pulled a face. ‘Now Rogers has disappeared, I thought I’d better tell, seeing as your man was looking for information.’

  Richard leaned forward. ‘What sort of parties?’ He lowered his voice. ‘You mean orgies?’

  He cast a quick sideways glance at Emma. Why had he been foolish enough to permit her to accompany him? This was all getting far too near the knuckle for his liking. But what did Downing mean by parties?

  Downing was grinning again, making it obvious that he considered Richard a bit of a slowtop.

  ‘Orgies? Yes, you could call them that. But these were for men only, no women.’

  ‘I see,’ said Richard. He’d guessed as much, but now Downing was confirming it.