The Rake's Unveiling of Lady Belle

by Raven McAllan

  Phillip’s mind whirled as he tried to fathom out what might be going on. Surely it had nothing to do with Rosemary? Try as he might, he couldn’t convince himself of that fact. He remembered the knife and took it out to turn over in his hands. What did it remind him of?

  ‘Stop fiddling and eat.’

  His housekeeper was as tenacious as a cat with a mouse.

  It was ten head-spinning minutes later before Phillip, Clamp, Mrs Clamp, Phillip’s valet Roger, two grooms and a gardener sat around the table and listened to Redding tell his story in full. Phillip had knocked his original idea of the fewer people who knew the tale the better on the head once he realised his staff could help to negate some of the stories that were bound to fly around the gentry. Servants—even in the country—gossiped between themselves and what better way to put lie to the tittle-tattle by planting other seeds? The next county fair wasn’t far off and people from all over the area would gather, and bring each other up to date with the latest news and gossip.

  ‘So I set off again, once it was all revealed to me, and eventually caught his lordship here,’ Redding concluded his tale. ‘It’s been an interesting journey, but may I say one I hope never to undertake again for such reasons.’

  ‘Well I never.’ Mrs Clamp thumped the table. ‘And you didn’t know all this when you set off?’

  ‘No, except Macsporran mentioned a white-haired man had been nosing around lots of mews and stables. The cove had been seeking out grooms and runners, and talking when he could to all and sundry to see if anyone knew who Madame Belle was. Evidently he got short shrift, because as it was put to me, no one wants to bite the hand that feeds them, and no hand wants to alienate the hand that clothes them. The message caught me up at Whiston. Then I knew it was all the more important to find you and tell you what was going on. It seems one of the intruders was a man with white hair.’

  ‘Old or young?’

  Redding shook his head. ‘That I don’t know, my lord. According to the messenger, Darke just got a glimpse before he was pinked in the arm.’

  Phillip stood up so abruptly his chair fell backwards onto the stone floor with a clatter and a thud. ‘That shiv. A white-haired man. Lord Rattenberry’s groom.’ A hard lump of dread and worry lodged in Phillip’s throat. Never before had he experienced that helpless, sick sensation of everything out of reach and unfixable. Up here, in Northumberland, they were so far away from London. It wasn’t a mere hour or so to get back to the capital; they had several days of hard travel ahead.

  ‘That groom has been in trouble before, and I’m damned sure it was a fight with a shiv.’ He peered closely at the engraving. ‘It’s a crest of some sort. No, no it’s not. It’s the letters WBR. What’s that groom’s name? No, no, I get it Willman, Brook, Rattenberry. It’s something he’ll have added to show who he works for. He’s Willman, he used to work for Stephen Brook, and now he works for Rattenberry. His narcissism has caught him out. We’ll get everything ready and set off at first light.’

  ‘I’m all right to go now,’ Redding said and spoiled his assertion with a yawn.

  ‘First light,’ Phillip said firmly. ‘When we can see what we’re doing, for I intend to press on and these roads are not safe in the dark. I’ll take the curricle. It might not be the most comfortable manner in which to travel, but it will be the fastest. Plus I need to pack some things, or Roger does.’

  Roger followed his master to his feet, and dipped his head.

  ‘Of course, my lord, it will be done.’ He spoiled the formality by winking at Mrs Clamp. ‘Or it will be mangled shirts, and I don’t mean to get the moisture out.’

  ‘Don’t I know it; ’twas always the same.’ She waved her spoon at Phillip. ‘I swear he never brought anything home from school or university without it looking like it’d been through a wringer while it was twisted into a rope.’

  Phillip laughed. ‘Then it’s as well I have you two to keep me from looking like an urchin.’ He turned to Redding. ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘One of your small carriages and hired horses, my lord. Your factors paid.’

  ‘Then I’ll sort that and the horses out, or Pinkham will.’ He named one of his grooms who nodded in affirmation. ‘Roger, you’ll need to follow with the carriage, so I’ll just take a small portmanteau. Redding, go to bed and rest. We leave at six.’

  * * *

  Tippen glared and pointed at Belinda. ‘You dare leave that bed and Mrs Lovett and I will tie you to it. That’s a promise not a threat. You haven’t slept, I hear you pacing, and there’s definitely a shortage of milk every morning, and a dirty pan in the sink.’

  ‘At least it’s not whisky,’ Belinda said, comforted by the fierce expression on Tippen’s face. Even after all these years she still felt tearful when she realised how much her adopted family cared about her. Of course she felt the same way about them, but even so. It was, she decided, something she hadn’t known before them, not since her mama died.

  She should really have washed the milk saucepan up after she’d heated hot milk to try and help her sleep, but she’d been too fuzzy-headed. ‘You can reassure yourself I’m not turning into a sot.’

  ‘Don’t interrupt.’ Tippen folded some night-rails and tut-tutted at the rip on one seam. ‘How did you do this? No matter. I’ll get Effie to sew it.’

  It was just as well because the only answer Belinda would have been able to give was, ‘I have no idea’.

  ‘Now, where was I? Ah yes. Of course you’re no gin, oh all right, whisky mistress—you have too much force of character for those shenanigans.’ Tippen warmed to her theme. ‘However, you look like death, your eyes are sunk into their sockets and to all intents and purposes appear as if they have no intention of ever sparkling again. Your mouth turns down not up and you answer every question with, ‘as you think fit’. You’ll scare the customers away if they see you like this. We’ve told everyone you’ve been called to the country, and if you’d agree that’s where you would be now.’

  ‘I can’t.’ Belinda needed to know what was happening. Well as much as any of them knew.

  ‘We thought not,’ Tippen said in an understanding tone, ‘so as far as anyone is concerned, in the country you are and there you will stay until you get some colour in your cheeks.’ She huffed several times. ‘Understand?’

  What could Belinda say? She’d looked in the mirror and had to agree with every word Tippen said. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good. I’m not having that woman coming here to upset you. “She’d better see me or else” my foot. Who does she think she is?’

  ‘Repellent Rodent Rosemary, who wants to do me harm?’

  ‘Exactly, but she forgets rodents can be, and will be squashed. Now I’ll ask Lovett to bring up the water for your bath, and you have a nice long soak whilst I open the salon, and repel all invaders—not just rodent-like ones.’ She whisked around and headed for the door. ‘Oh and don’t worry about the finished gowns that just need a final try on. I can do that.’

  ‘You said I couldn’t leave the bed,’ Belinda said meekly.

  Tippen turned back and grinned. ‘Ah ha, some sauce at last. That’s a good sign. I’ll change my directive then. You shall not leave that bed unless Mrs L or I give you leave.’

  It was strange being the one to receive the orders.

  Belinda settled back against her pillows and considered the events of the previous few days.

  After the middle-of-the-night disturbances she and Tippen, along with Mr and Mrs Lovett, had searched the salon and house thoroughly. The only signs they could see of anything amiss were scratches along the skirting board in the cutting room, and several pictures askew on their hooks. Belinda surmised the intruders had indeed been looking either for a safe or somewhere else she might hide personal papers. Tippen had taken anything they thought might be used to find out Belinda’s background to be lodged in the safe at Coutts Bank.

  However, the events had taken their toll. Belinda had experienced one of her rare blin
ding headaches, where stars danced in front of her eyes for all the wrong reasons, cannons blasted in her head, bright light or noise made her wince, and nausea was uppermost. She began to cough and splutter and her throat was raw. After several attempts to continue as normal, she had reluctantly retired to bed with the shutters closed and taken a tisane of Mrs Lovett’s making. Then she’d tried to sleep.

  If she were honest, Belinda could think of nothing nicer than Honeysuckle Cottage, but the journey in her present state would be impossible. Plus she was scared somehow her family, her birth family, would hear of it and spoil the privacy.

  During those three days, when Belinda was really indisposed, Rosemary had attempted to see her on several occasions. Eventually, after being told yet again that Belinda wasn’t there, she left, with threats and a vague message that she knew all and was about to tell those people to whom it would matter.

  It was no wonder, Belinda thought, that she couldn’t sleep and looked like those images of a vampire she’d seen. She accepted she certainly wouldn’t be a good advertisement for ‘Dressed by Belle’ if her clients saw her as she was at the moment.

  Belinda picked up the sketchpad by her bed and flicked through the pages. The impromptu sketch she’d done after Darke had described the man he’d caught a glimpse of niggled at her mind. White-haired, youngish, roman nose and one ear half missing. Not of the norm was how Darke had described him. Not a gentleman but no common ruffian. He said the sketch was a good likeness. Who did it remind her of?

  She stated at the sketch for several minutes but even though something teased the corner of her mind, nothing else came to her. With a sigh she flicked to a clean page and began setting down her ideas for a new day gown. She might as well do something useful whilst she was nigh on confined to her room. Once Belinda started sketching not much penetrated her brain other than what she was working on.

  Therefore she had no idea how much later it was when she heard raised voices, and the sound of doors slamming. Belinda put down her charcoal, got out of bed and walked across to the window, which looked out onto Bruton Street. She’d chosen to add lacy curtains over the glass so she was able to see out without being observed

  Thank God.

  The man who stood outside her premises with a face like thunder was her father.

  Belinda’s skin crawled, and her mouth became dry. She shuddered as she held on to the windowsill for balance. What was he doing there?

  Lady Rattenberry, it had to be.

  Her father… She might not have seen him close up for many years but there was no mistaking his choleric countenance and air of dissipation. He hadn’t aged well.

  Belinda stood like a moth caught in a beam of light, unable to move, as he said something to someone unseen and shook his fist before he turned on his heel and stomped off down the road. Then she began to shake.

  No and no. I will not be weak. He has caused enough damage. I will not let it continue, the…the…cur.

  She clenched her hands into fists and took deep calming breaths. Enough wallowing. It was time to move forward. Her temper spiked at the thought of all the time she had wasted over the years wondering why she was not what her father wanted in a daughter. Well, no more.

  ‘How has he found me?’ Belinda turned from her wardrobe, as the door opened and Tippen and Mrs Lovett entered. She selected a simple but elegant day gown, and closed the wardrobe. ‘You don’t need to tell me. Rosemary I assume?’

  Tippen nodded. ‘We imagine so.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Now she’d made her decision not to let his attitude and menace rule her, Belinda felt much more able to cope with anything he threw at her.

  ‘Now, you’re not going to do anything he says,’ Mrs Lovett said firmly. ‘He’s a bully.’

  Belinda couldn’t disagree. ‘Yes, but what did he say?’ She slipped her gown over her head and buttoned up the bodice. ‘I imagine he was either gloating or shouting.’

  ‘Both, actually,’ Tippen said. ‘He was haranguing Fairley and demanding he saw you.’

  ‘Lovett gave him a mouthful,’ Mrs Lovett said with satisfaction. ‘He fair enjoyed it. Not one person confirmed you were Lady Belinda either, which annoyed him no end, Lovett said. Mind you before he left he was right venomous, I can tell you. If he carries on like that he’ll cut his own life short.’ She paused. ‘Come to think of it, he may be your father, but I can’t say I think that would be a bad thing. There’s unpleasant and there’s downright nasty. He’s both and a bit more added.’

  The doorbell rang again, and all three women jumped. No one moved except to look at each other.

  ‘This is ridiculous. I’m not skulking around up here any longer.’ Belinda brushed her curls and pinched her chees a few times to make sure she had the colour she’d regained in her temper. ‘Right, I’m going down.’ Belinda moved towards the door. ‘Enough is enough.’

  ‘Not alone.’ Tippen took her place next to Belinda.

  Mrs Lovett nodded. ‘And I’m coming as well. I wish I’d thought to pick up a rolling pin.’

  Belinda blinked and shook her head in amusement. ‘Like a Valkyrie or one of Boudicca’s henchwomen?’

  ‘Like Madame Belle’s champion,’ Mrs Lovett said vehemently. She stood with her arms akimbo and glowered. ‘It’s amazing some of the things you can do with a rolling pin, other than make pastry.’

  ‘Then maybe it’s as well you don’t have one handy,’ Belinda said as they made their way down the first flight of stairs. ‘We want you here, not in Newgate.’

  ‘It’d be worth it to clobber your father,’ Mrs Lovett said darkly. ‘Mind, he’s so thick-skinned it’d probably bounce off him.’

  That much was true, Belinda mused, as they arrived on the landing just above the front door, which was closed. Of Fairley there was nothing to be seen.

  She looked at her companions. ‘Is Fairley usually outside?’

  ‘It depends,’ Tippen said, just as the door below them opened and Fairley entered.

  ‘Fairley is fairly well on his way to committing murder, begging your pardon, Madame.’ He shut the door behind him and strode to the bottom of the stairs. ‘That was a particularly unpleasant specimen who seemed to think you were affianced to him, because your father said so.’

  ‘I…er…’ Belinda sat down on the bottom step with a thump. What was her parent up to? ‘He doesn’t even know for sure Madame Belle is me, does he? He hasn’t to my knowledge seen me, and in all probability is only going by hearsay—or Rosemary-say.’

  He knew she’d run from him once, but she was no frightened child any more. He must know she wouldn’t countenance any such thing. ‘Who?’

  Fairley shook his head. ‘The bounder wouldn’t say. He just said to tell you he’d be back. Oh and he gave me this for you from your father.’ Fairley handed over a letter.

  Belinda looked at the letter as if it was a particularly poisonous reptile. Once she would have scrambled to read it, shaking as she did so. No more. ‘Blow him, it can wait.’ She dropped the missive onto the hall table. ‘He’s insignificant and so are unpleasant specimens who think I dance to my parent’s will. Having spent the last however long with a headache from Hades, I’m going out to blow the cobwebs away.’ She picked up a bonnet and pelisse from a cupboard set in the wall of the hallway, and looked at Tippen and Mrs Lovett. ‘Is anyone joining me? We’ll stick to Green Park, and go there in the carriage.’

  ‘Let me get my coat.’ Mrs Lovett turned on her heel and disappeared down the corridor. ‘Remember your pistol,’ she called over her shoulder as Tippen followed Belinda’s actions and dressed for the outdoors.

  ‘My?’

  ‘Good idea, I’ll pop up and get it for you, whilst you decide on a suitable reticule to hide it in.’ Tippen took the stairs two at a time.

  ‘I’ve ordered the carriage for right away,’ Lovett said, as he appeared from the direction Mrs Lovett had vanished. ‘I’m coming as extra coachman, seeing as we think Fairley should stop here.’ H
is tone dared her to contradict him.

  Just who is in charge here? Well they are of course, all of them. Belinda hummed to herself as she sat on the stairs and waited for the others to rejoin her. As first Tippen and then Mrs L came back. The rumble of wheels over cobbles alerted her to what she presumed was the carriage arriving for them.

  Tippen handed Belinda her pistol, and she put it into her reticule, feeling somewhat foolish. Why on earth would she need a gun in Green Park—unless the milkmaids let the cows run amok, which wasn’t very likely.

  Lovett opened the door and Fairley stood to one side to let them pass. Outside the coach was drawn up tight to the doorway, with Diccon, a long and trusted servant who could turn his hand to anything, at the reins. He’d manoeuvred so it was only a matter of two or three steps for them to climb in.

  As they settled themselves for the short ride to the park, Belinda glanced out of the window, and gasped.

  ‘That man,’ she said, as she tried to quell the erratic beat of her heart. ‘The one on the corner.’

  ‘Where?’ Tippen leaned over Belinda and looked towards the corner as the carriage swung around it. ‘There’s no one there.’ She sat back again. ‘Look.’

  ‘There was.’ Belinda saw for herself that the street was now empty except for an urchin sweeping the cobbles and a dog lifting its leg against a lamppost. ‘And he had white hair.’

  ‘What?’ Mrs Lovett swivelled around and stuck her head and shoulders out of the window with her ample rear blocking the light. Belinda tugged her skirts, until that lady sat down once more.

  ‘If you get stuck in there we’re done for. And he will no doubt be streets away by now. It was but a glimpse. If he heads to the salon Fairley will see him and tell us.’

  ‘Ah, true enough.’ Mrs Lovett sat down again. ‘It’s just so darned annoying. I hate not knowing what’s amiss.’

  Don’t we all.

  ‘Well we’ll walk and hopefully get the fidgets out of us, and then decide what our next steps should be.’ The carriage turned into the less fashionable end of the park, where nursemaids walked their charges, and further on a herd of cows grazed peacefully. In the late morning sunshine it was relatively quiet and the perfect place to perambulate and chat.