Oh, of all the—!
“Here,” I said impatiently, giving her my own handkerchief, “use mine.”
She took it gratefully, and in another few moments the thing was clean. “There.” Mrs. Burbank exhaled in relief. “Good as new.”
Another glance over the cart told me the warden had gone back inside the prison, and William, who should have stumbled upon us a few moments ago had either changed directions or charged right past, for he was nowhere to be seen. I breathed a sigh.
“Confound it,” I muttered, turning back around. I’d wasted the morning on a goose chase and was now filled with more questions than I had been before. Perhaps if I asked him about it later . . .?
No, what a ridiculous notion. If I asked him about the prison, I’d have to confess that I’d followed him there—an action that was sure to make him unaccountably cross.
“What the devil, Eliza?”
I spun in shock, only to meet William’s angry face. He emerged on the other side of the cart, arms folded and dark eyebrows sloped down at a fierce angle.
“Oh, Sir William!” Mrs. Burbank sputtered.
“Mrs. Burbank,” William said in greeting, but his voice was hard and his eyes were still on me.
“What a coincidence, William,” I tried, licking my lips. “What brings you to this part of town?”
“I could ask you the same thing.”
I cleared my throat. “Mrs. Burbank and I were out shopping for some ribbon, weren’t we Mrs. Burbank?”
She looked nervous, torn between loyalty to me and William’s glare. “Well, I—”
“But none of the shops had the particular shade of green I was looking for,” I plowed on, “so we were forced to look elsewhere. Our search has brought us quite far from home, I’m afraid. In fact, Mrs. Burbank was just telling me how we should turn back, weren’t you Mrs. Burbank?”
That much was true, and Mrs. Burbank gratefully nodded with violent jerks of her head.
“Ribbon?” He cocked his head to one side, as if to bring my attention to our surroundings: grimy, dilapidated buildings, streets so muddy they were nearly impassable, air thick with the sound of bartering and coughing. There was no ribbon to be had here—nothing anyone of my standing would seek to purchase.
But I didn’t care. If he wasn’t going to tell me what he was doing here, why should I be forced to return the favor?
I stared him down and my own face set, this time unwilling to budge. “Yes. Ribbon.”
“Mrs. Burbank,” William said, still looking at me, “let me call you a carriage. I shall escort Eliza and see that she gets home safely.”
At any other time Mrs. Burbank would have insisted she chaperone. But it was evident in the way she glanced nervously at all the beggars that she was eager to be rid of her squalid surroundings. “Thank you, sir. I believe I shall take you up on that offer. Miss Eliza has been quite taxing this morning.”
“Indeed.” He shot me a meaningful look before leaving to presumably call a carriage. He materialized a few moments later and sent Mrs. Burbank on her way.
After untying his cloak, William handed it to me. “Put this on.” Instead of questioning him, I obeyed, wrapping the coat around my shoulders and tying a knot as he adjusted a satchel at his waist. “Now,” he said, turning to me. “What mad idea led you to follow me here?”
“What a notion! Why would I follow you anywhere?”
His eyes had lost some of their anger, but whether it was because he was masking it or not, I didn’t know. “You tell me. Are you trying to find your prince among the rabble?”
The verbal jab was like a punch to the gut. He was calling me childish again, throwing dirt onto my ambition. To him, the idea of a perfect suitor was not only impractical, it was laughable. William believed I’d sooner find him in the dregs of London than find him at all. I felt my own anger rise to the point where pride went out the window.
“Why are you dressed like that?”
“I am starting a new fashion.” William hadn’t even glanced down, didn’t pause for breath in his response. “I think if anyone could pull it off, it is me.”
My frustration rose. “Why will you not tell me the truth?”
“The truth is that if I came to the prison dressed as finely as you are, I’d have a difficult time not getting robbed. It’s a miracle you and Mrs. Burbank made it as long as you did. Honestly Eliza, do you think anything through?”
“How was I to know you were headed here?”
“You should have turned back the moment you knew it was unsafe.”
“Perhaps I should have,” I conceded, wrapping William’s cloak around me tighter and ignoring how pleasant it smelled. “But perhaps I was following you to ensure you were safe.”
That did it. Slowly, all the anger left his face and his cheek creased with the effort of holding back a smile. He regarded me thoughtfully for several, endless moments. “The better part of me knows I ought to take you home and give you the scolding of your life. But if you really want to know what I am up to . . . then keep up.”
He walked down the street as I stood back in shock. Just like that? Was it really to be so easy? Had Peter been the one to catch me, he would have sent me home and locked me in chains for a month. Turning back, William called, “Pick up your feet, Eliza. However did you manage before—and with Mrs. Burbank, no less?”
I hefted my skirts and hurried after him, quickly catching up.
“Don’t mention Lady Prima,” William instructed. “Or society in general. In fact, it’s better if you don’t speak at all. Blast, he’s going to be in a fouler mood than usual because I brought you.”
I didn’t dare ask where we were going or who William meant as we wound around two more streets and ultimately came to our destination. I was surprised to see the door and front of the house was relatively clean. To look at it, one would never guess at the filth that lay just around the corner. William pounded on the door with the knocker. When there was no answer, he pounded again.
“Sidney?” he called.
No answer.
“I know you’re in there, Sid.”
Still no answer. I shifted nervously, rubbing my arms. “Perhaps he is not at home?”
“Oh, he’s home.” William pounded on the door a third time. “Sidney! Come off it, man, it’s dashed cold and I’ve got a lady out here!”
Slowly the knob turned and the door creaked open, revealing a man in a shawl, shielding himself from the wan light of winter. His hair was disheveled and his clothes wrinkled, but all I could make out of his face was his clenched teeth. “Bentley, you cad, I told you never to come back.”
William pushed past him into the house saying, “About time you invited us in.”
“Bentley!” The man named Sidney groaned and drooped against the door, cursing under his breath. He lowered his hand and turned, noticing me for the first time. A scowl entered his young unshaven face and bloodshot eyes as he took me in. Scoffing, he said nothing as he turned and retreated into the dark house, leaving the door ajar.
I suppose I was meant to follow.
Shutting the door as I stepped over the threshold, I waited for my eyes to adjust. There were no candles lit, no un-shuttered windows to immediately illuminate the room. But as my vision cleared, I saw that it was just one room with a few simple furnishings.
A wardrobe, a sideboard, two chairs with a stand between them, and a bed occupied the room, along with several articles of bedding, clothing, and crystal glasses strewn about the floor. A fireplace sat cold and gloomy on one wall, its chimney protruding into the room and stretching to the roof. Other than that, the walls were bare. Peeling wallpaper exposed the brick beneath.
William looked around. “Quite a step up from the prison. How did you get him to agree to it?”
I knew William was referring to the warden. It was a well-known fact that with a few well-placed bribes those in debtor’s prison could receive better treatment than the rest of their inmates, includ
ing better food, frequent outings, and—if the amount was large enough—dwellings outside the prison that were still within a certain perimeter.
Sidney sauntered over and slumped in one of the chairs, then picked up a half-drunken glass of liquor from the stand and took a slug. He was a gentleman, if his clothes were any indication—threadbare and out of date, but good quality. Still, it was hard to see anything genteel about the man under all the stubble and brash manners.
“I told you, you can’t afford this, Sidney.”
“And I told you to leave me alone, so I suppose neither of us is very good at listening.”
William said nothing as he crossed to the sideboard and unloaded items from his satchel—a loaf of bread, spare candles, and several small vials stopped with corks.
“I’ve brought you another weeks’ dose. Don’t dump it in the street again like last time.”
“I don’t want your blasted medicine!” Sidney threw his glass into the fireplace and it shattered with a great crash.
I jumped at the sound, eyes widening.
William’s movements at the sideboard halted. He stalked to the other side of the room and threw the drapes open, before coming to Sidney’s side. Sidney was rubbing his temples as if he regretted causing such a ruckus. William pulled his hair back until they locked eyes.
William sighed and let go. “You’re completely foxed. You spent it all on liquor.” His voice was quiet, disappointed.
“Not all. I have this house, now don’t I?”
“You can’t even afford the medicine! Where did you get the money, Sidney?”
His response was a one-cornered smile and a hiccup. A smile that twisted into a sneer. “There was a time when such possessions were beneath me. This,” he gestured around the room, “this is hardly livable. Might as well toss me into the gutter with the rest of them. If the men at White’s knew I lived in such a state . . .”
“They don’t.” William returned to the sideboard, pouring some of the contents from the vials into a glass and mixing it together.
There was a long moment of silence before Sidney’s gaze travelled to me and he said, “Who’s the girl?”
Again, William’s motions came to a halt, before he continued mixing. He never looked up. “That is Miss Wycliffe.”
“ . . . Ah.” Sidney reclined back in his chair and sniffed like he had a cold. “So you’re Eliza.”
“Don’t call her that.”
I didn’t at all know what to make of this entire conversation—indeed, I barely knew what to make of the man in the chair before me.
“And what is your name, sir?” I said, finding my voice. He regarded me like he hadn’t expected me to speak.
He scoffed. “I need a drink.”
“Mr. Sidney Fortescue,” William answered for him.
The name seemed to reignite the fire in Mr. Fortescue, for he stood and slunk forward until he and I were face to face. “Yes! A man unfit for such humble surroundings. A man of such noble blood, even Lady Prima hesitated to condemn him. And now he daren’t show his face outside, for fear someone might recognize him in his deprecated, wretched state.”
His bloodshot eyes misted over, before he returned to his chair. William appeared at his side, holding a concoction to his lips. I was surprised at the lack of protest from Mr. Fortescue when William tipped the man’s head back and slowly poured the contents in his mouth. He swallowed, eyes glazing at the patchy plastered ceiling.
William returned to the sideboard to clean up the bottles. Quiet tinkling from their jostling broke the silence.
“The boy’s miserable.” Mr. Fortescue’s tone was soft. “Treated like a dog at that school. Whipped within an inch of his life for giving the wrong answer to a question. Or the right one. It’s deplorable. He’s the grandson of a duke, for heaven’s sake.”
“How do you know?” William said.
“Because he’s her son.”
“No, how do you know he’s treated thusly?”
“Because I too attended a school of similar repute as a boy. Parents believe them to be fine establishments, but nothing could be further from the truth. It doesn’t matter your station there, you’re all scrounging in the dirt for a bit of extra bread. It’s a workhouse disguised as a school—a place to rid yourself of unwanted children without the proper censure from society you deserve.”
William said nothing, but his face was solemn.
“There’s nothing I can do about it as long as I am chained up like chattel,” Mr. Fortescue went on.
“You are not chained. You’re a great deal better off than most.”
“Better off?” Mr. Fortescue’s nose wrinkled in a snarl as he stood and cocked his head back. Slowly, he approached William, who had turned at the sound of his friend’s menacing tone. “Better off? Tell that to poor Andrew, abandoned to a hellhole by the only family he knows. And me!” They were toe to toe now. “Left to rot in this pit while you enjoy a glass of port over a game at the tables, lounging around without a care in the world.”
He sneered. “How you must pity me. Take your charity elsewhere, Bentley. I do not want it—nor do I need it. For blasts sake, I am a gentleman!” He shoved William back into the sideboard, toppling a few bottles, but William’s arm caught his shoulder and shook it.
“Then act like it, man!”
There was a long moment of silence. Mr. Fortescue’s lower lip trembled just before he clutched William to him and broke down into sobs. He must be more inebriated than I thought. William’s eyes met mine over Mr. Fortescue’s shoulder, and for just a heartbeat, they were filled with pity. William embraced him back, shushing him. There was a long moment where they held each other, man to man, one weeping pathetically, the other embracing.
Mr. Fortescue composed himself and pushed away. “You shouldn’t come round here. I am a lost cause.”
“No man is a lost cause.” William gripped his shoulder. “Now promise me you’ll stop buying alcohol with your pension.”
Mr. Fortescue pursed his lips, and finally nodded.
“And you’ll take your medicine this time?”
He nodded again.
“Good man.” William squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t lose heart, Sid. You’ll get back on top—and none of the boys will be the wiser. I’ll be back in to check on you, same time next week.”
Mr. Fortescue nodded once more before William slung his satchel over his head and gestured to me that it was time to leave. I considered Mr. Fortescue one last time before following William out of the room and back onto the street.
A blanket of smoke mingling with fog shrouded the city, so thick I could barely see ten feet in any direction. The sun had dipped under the tall buildings. We walked in silence for several minutes more before I dared ask my first question. “Who is Andrew?”
William picked our way through the crowded streets, dodging barrels and carts of potatoes, hazy in the thick London smoke. Up ahead, a lamp-lighter used his pole to ignite a streetlamp overlooking an intersection. Soon it would be dark, and I had no doubt the fact influenced William’s pace. He moved quickly, adeptly, expression uncharacteristically humorless.
“He is the son of the late Amelia Radcliff.”
I thought a moment, but I didn’t recognize the name. “What happened to her?”
“She and her husband drowned three years ago during a terrible storm while crossing the channel. They left the boy in the care of Amelia’s brother. I’m unaware of the uncle’s identity—but whoever he is, he is cruel and in bad taste.”
I was busy forming my next question when William surprised me by answering it. “They were in love—Sid and Amelia—before her family forced her to marry Radcliff. I don’t know if the woman kept on loving Sid, but he remained constant even after she married and had a child. Sid took the news of her death rather hard. He’s been grieving nonstop for three years now—each week seemingly worse than the last.”
William shook his head. “He got drunk thinking of her and took t
o gambling. Made a lot of bets. Lost them all. His entire inheritance was spent in a matter of days.”
A swell of pity rose within me. And now Mr. Fortescue was prevented from caring for the boy, at a time when no one else wished to. I recalled the fierce anger that had shown in Mr. Fortescue’s eyes as he’d told William to leave—and I couldn’t help but wonder if, for some reason, he blamed William for his misfortune.
“Why do you visit him, when he treats you so?”
William thought a moment, his walking speeding up until I was out of breath from concentrating on not falling behind. “I don’t know,” he said. At last, a hackney came into sight and William waved it down.
As the rickety coach rolled along, I studied William’s face each time we passed a streetlamp. His hazel eyes blinked slowly out the window in the silence. His dark blonde hair appeared gray in the dark, and his full lips pulled into a small frown.
The image of William’s eyes full of pity flooded before me—of him storming inside Mr. Fortescue’s house uninvited and pouring medicine down his throat. And then I answered my own question.
William went because he cared more for someone than they themselves did. Because for all his blasé expressions and unconcerned smiles, deep down, behind the mask, must be a man who cared a little too much. And he dressed poorly, disguising himself, because he was utterly afraid of anyone discovering it.
Twenty minutes later, we arrived in Berkley Square and he bid me goodnight. From the warmth and safety of the house I watched him put his topper back on and take off down the street in his drab attire.
No man is a lost cause, he had said. The words were spoken with such resounding conviction, no one could doubt their truth—not even Sidney Fortescue. And yet . . .
A little sliver of doubt had shone in William’s eyes. So small and gone so quickly I was half convinced I’d imagined it. But I hadn’t.
A Lord of Many Masks (Wycliffe Family Book 2) Page 8