by Ann Barker
‘I’m going to Paternoster Row,’ he answered in response to her enquiry. ‘I want to talk to a bookseller there. I’ll gladly take you to where you want to go first.’
The journey initially followed the same path as their route to St George’s, Hanover Square. Jessie was beginning to get used to this walk as she had now visited the church on more than one occasion. It was, however, the first time that she had been alone with Mr Hinder, so she took the opportunity to ask him something about his family and background.
‘I know that you have five sisters,’ she said. ‘That must have been a busy household.’
‘There wasn’t much to go round, so Papa reckoned I would be best off entering the church,’ he disclosed, a piece of information that did not surprise her.
‘Do you think that you might do so in the end?’ she asked him curiously.
‘I don’t think so,’ he answered. ‘I have no calling, you see. I would like to make my living by writing.’
‘Like Mrs Machin,’ Jessie remarked.
As they arrived outside the poor house, Mr Hinder declared himself to be very happy to wait for Miss Warburton, and escort her home again. Jessie knew that he had an errand of his own, so she told him not to trouble. ‘I shall ask the matron to send for a hackney for me,’ she promised.
The quality of the lady visitor was quickly understood by the servant who admitted her, and the matron, a stout dame in a starched apron and cap, soon came down to greet her, and took great pleasure in showing her round the whole premises.
‘It’s been enlarged three times that I know about, miss,’ said the woman. She explained that people who came into the workhouse were separated according to sex and age. Furthermore, the children were taught to read and write and say their Catechism. When the matron heard that Jessie would like to help in this work, she was overjoyed. ‘We do what we can, miss, but it’s very hard to educate them, what with so many other things to do.’
Jessie smiled. ‘My hostess is often occupied in the mornings, so I would be very pleased to help you while I am in London.’
After enjoying a cup of tea in the matron’s sitting-room, Jessie made her farewells, promising to call again soon. She was very well pleased at her morning’s work. It was an activity that she could report upon in her next letter to her fiancé, unlike the visit to the theatre, which she had decided that she would not mention for the time being. Perhaps later, she thought blushingly, she might drop the visit into the conversation, giving the impression that it was a concert of sacred music. Whatever happened, she would certainly not mention how Mr Lusty’s own sister had waggled her fingers at Rake Ashbourne!
It was only after the poor house door had closed behind her that Jessie remembered that she had intended to ask the matron to summon a hackney. She had no idea how to do such a thing, and was reluctant to make herself look foolish by knocking on the door again. She would just have to walk, she decided. It was a fair walk, but well within her capabilities. Then, as luck would have it, it suddenly came on to rain heavily.
She was just contemplating the possibility of arriving back in Sloane Street looking like a drowned rat when a carriage drew up beside her, the door was flung open, and a familiar voice drawled, ‘Climb in, Jez.’ She only hesitated briefly before doing as she was bid. After all, she told herself, it was an emergency.
She watched Ashbourne as he gave the direction to the coachman, then settled back in his place. The contrast between them was almost painful. To visit the poor house, Jessie had worn one of her older gowns, a brown silk with a cream fichu modestly tucked in the neckline. Her cream shawl and her bonnet had fared badly from the sudden onset of the rain, and she felt distinctly shabby as well as damp and rather grubby. Lord Ashbourne, by way of contrast, lounged very much at his ease in the far corner of the carriage, one immaculate buff pantaloon-clad leg crossed negligently over the other. He stared at her quizzically before taking out his snuff box and helping himself to a pinch.
‘Where is your escort?’ he asked her.
‘I am only a stone’s throw from home,’ she told him.
‘That does not answer my question,’ he replied.
‘A lady surely does not need an escort when about charitable business,’ she declared, reminding herself that she was thirty years of age, and not answerable to him or to anyone else for her actions.
‘A lady walking in London needs an escort whatever business she might be about, as I believe I told you before,’ he answered. ‘You appear not to have heeded my warning. Where have you been, anyway?’
‘I went to St George’s poor house,’ Jessie told him. ‘You see, it really was no distance at all, and besides, Mr Hinder walked with me from Sloane Street. I was only walking home on my own.’
‘That, of course, makes it perfectly acceptable,’ replied Ashbourne sarcastically. ‘Rakes such as myself never molest women on their way home, only as they are setting out.’
‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ exclaimed Jessie, exasperated. Then, in tones of real alarm, she added, ‘Raff! What are you doing?’
He had leaned towards her and with one swift movement, whisked her fichu from the neckline of her gown, thereby exposing rather more of her bosom than she had originally intended. He then leaned back in his place, taking up his former position, waving the fichu negligently in front of him like a handkerchief.
‘Give it back at once!’ she demanded, colouring. She half sat forward as if intending to try to take back her property.
Ashbourne uncrossed his legs again, and leaned towards her. ‘Oh, please try to wrest it from me,’ he purred. ‘I would enjoy it so much.’ He glanced down at her neckline. ‘That’s a very attractive view, by the way.’
Immediately, she sat back in her seat, placing as much distance between them as possible. ‘You really are a libertine,’ she declared, her colour still high, her heart beating rather fast. ‘I don’t believe you have any proper feeling.’
‘No I haven’t,’ he agreed. ‘I’m a rake. All proper feeling is drummed out of us at rakes’ training academy.’ She had to laugh, albeit reluctantly, for she was still angry with him. ‘Didn’t you believe it before?’ he asked, raising his brows. ‘Well, next time you obey the dictates of modesty by covering up your excellent shape, remember who uncovered you and take more care in the future. I’m not the only rake in town, but I’m by far the most friendly, at least as far as you are concerned. What would you have done had you met with Wallace Weary rather than with myself?’
‘How can you say such a thing?’ she demanded. ‘It was you who introduced him to us.’
‘Given your friend’s eagerness to claim me as an acquaintance, I had very little choice. Anyway, if we are talking of our encounter in the bookshop, you did not seem at all averse to going aside with him.’
Jessie remembered how offensive the other man had been, and how she had said nothing of it so as not to cause trouble between the two men. Swallowing anything she might have said about the baronet’s behaviour, therefore, she merely replied, ‘He was very amusing.’
‘In that case, I’m surprised you did not wiggle your fingers at him in the theatre in emulation of your friend’s example,’ he answered unsmilingly, and with less of his customary suavity than usual.
‘I would not dream of doing anything so’ – she was about to say vulgar, then she recalled that it would be disloyal to Henrietta – ‘silly,’ she concluded.
He laughed. ‘Egad, I believe you wouldn’t,’ he answered. ‘Has the green silk made up well?’
Jessie smiled. ‘It has, and you should have seen Dilly’s expression. That was very kind of you, Raff.’
He waved a hand dismissively. ‘It was nothing,’ he replied. He laughed derisively. ‘To tell the truth, I couldn’t bear the thought of the wench’s tear-stained face.’
‘Plenty of men would not have bothered,’ she answered, ‘but I know how kind you are.’
‘Pray keep it to yourself, my dear,’ he drawled. ‘Here is your de
stination.’
As the carriage drew up, Jessie made ready to alight. Fortunately, the rain had now eased. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply. ‘You have saved me from a wetting.’
‘The pleasure was mine,’ he responded. ‘And do tell your friend not to wave at me in public. It will tend to give people the wrong impression.’
Seeing at last an opportunity to get her own back, Jessie said, ‘I’ll tell her, but I doubt it would make any difference. No doubt you will find her wiggling her fingers at you everywhere you go. She wants to observe you, you see.’
‘To observe me?’ he echoed, drawing his elegantly shaped brows together.
‘She is writing a book about a rake,’ Jessie replied. ‘I will tell her that you are a perfect specimen. Good day, Raff.’
His brows shot up. Before he could reply, she had gone indoors, feeling satisfied that in the end, it was she who had caught him unawares. It was only after she was inside that she remembered he had not given back her fichu.
Two days later, Jessie visited St George’s poor house again to read with some of the children. This time, she made arrangements with Mr Hinder to take her on his way to transact some business, then collect her on his way back. It was not that she felt the slightest need to obey Lord Ashbourne, she told herself; it was simply that the wretched man was sure to appear if she went abroad alone, contrary to his instructions.
On their arrival back at the house, Jessie invited Mr Hinder to come inside, an invitation which Mrs Machin, putting her head round the door of the book-room, endorsed. ‘I have had a perfectly splendid idea for my next chapter,’ she said, ‘and I want you to help me to carry it out. Hector, you may stay for something to eat if you wish.’
Mr Hinder gratefully accepted – the provisions in his lodging not being of the best – and soon they were sitting down in Henrietta’s dining-room enjoying some bread and cheese followed by fruit whilst she told them about her plan. ‘It has occurred to me,’ she said, as she carefully peeled an apple then cut it into quarters, ‘that if Lady Meredith is a woman of the world then she really ought to visit Vauxhall Gardens. They have just reopened in preparation for the season and I wondered whether we might go one evening. Would you like to go, Jessie?’
Jessie had heard of Vauxhall Gardens, but she had never, ever thought that she might go. She was very curious to see the famous pleasure gardens but had one very strong reservation. ‘What of Henry?’ she asked. ‘Do you think he would approve?’
Henrietta straightened her spine. ‘His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales has been,’ she said with great dignity. ‘How can Henry possibly take exception to anything that his prince might do?’
Thinking that there were a good many things that the prince was said to have done, to which Henry might take great exception, Jessie contended herself with merely looking thoughtful.
‘Anyway,’ Henrietta went on, ‘are you not aware that there is a statue of Handel in the gardens? What could be more proper than Handel, pray? And if there is a statue of him, they will surely perform music that he has composed. You cannot tell me that Henry would disapprove of a concert of sacred music.’ After a brief pause, she completely spoiled the virtuous effect that she had created by saying, ‘He need not know that we are to attend, after all, and what he does not know will not hurt him.’
Soon after this Mr Hinder, who seemed to enter into all of Henrietta’s plans with great enthusiasm, took his leave, promising to find out about the cost of entering the gardens and the best method of travelling to them.
‘Oh, this is such fun,’ said Mrs Machin, her eyes gleaming. ‘I had never thought that I would enjoy myself so much.’
Jessie eyed her curiously. ‘Surely though, ma’am, you must have had many opportunities for visiting Vauxhall Gardens. After all, you have lived in London for some years, now.’
Mrs Machin nodded solemnly. ‘Yes, that is very true,’ she agreed. ‘But you do not really understand my situation. My husband was a clergyman, as you know. His parish was in the country, to the south of London. He had no private means, and I had only a small inheritance from my father, not enough to live on, given that there was no property to go with it. After Percival died, the new vicar who came to take my husband’s place had several children and needed someone to look after them, so I stayed on as a sort of governess.’
‘In what had been your old home?’ asked Jessie incredulously. ‘How awful for you.’
‘They were very kind, but it was not the life that I would have chosen,’ Henrietta admitted. ‘That was when I began to write, as an escape.’
‘For how long did you live there?’ Jessie asked her.
‘For two tedious years. Then the miracle happened. Our old nurse left me this house. There was no income to go with it, but I felt sure that with what my father had left me, I would just be able to manage. I was also hoping that eventually I would be able to make some money by writing. The one difficulty was that I did not have enough money to employ a companion. Dear Henry, who has never, ever said a grudging word about my inheritance, found one for me, the widow of a clergyman who had been helpful to him when he was a raw curate.’
‘Would that be Mrs Smales?’ asked Jessie.
‘Exactly. Mrs Smales, though a very good person in her way, keeps up a regular correspondence with Henry, telling him of all my doings – after all, it is he who employs her – so I have had to be very careful to keep her ignorant of any of my activities of which she might disapprove. I had to be cautious when you arrived as well, which is why I was so unwelcoming to you to start with; for which I must ask your forgiveness, my dear Jessie.’ She leaned over and caught hold of one of Jessie’s hands.
‘Not at all,’ smiled Jessie, returning her grip. ‘I am only glad that you decided I was to be trusted after all.’
‘I knew it at once, when I found that you were friendly with Lord Ashbourne,’ Henrietta explained. ‘Henry would never approve of such a friendship. It therefore followed that you would either have to omit all mention of him in your letters, or say so little that Henry would barely notice it. If you can keep that secret, then you can certainly keep mine.’
‘In any case, you gave yourself away,’ Jessie pointed out. ‘You couldn’t decide whether to make Ashbourne welcome or reprimand me for knowing him.’
‘Yes I did, didn’t I?’ her hostess agreed ruefully. ‘I have to say, I think it a great pity that—’
‘Forgive me, Henrietta, but you don’t know what you are talking about,’ said Jessie bluntly. ‘The less we see of Lord Ashbourne, the better for all of our reputations.’
While she was speaking, the door bell rang, and moments later, a very flustered-looking Dilly appeared. ‘Please, ma’am, it’s Lord Ashbourne,’ she said. Her tone could not have been more reverent had she been announcing the Archbishop of Canterbury.
Raphael strolled into the room and greeted them with his customary elegant bow. ‘Ladies,’ he said. ‘I trust I find you well.’ He was dressed in a lilac wool coat with an embroidered waistcoat and charcoal grey pantaloons with exquisitely shiny black boots. His tall-crowned hat and cane he carried in his left hand, as he took hold of his hostess’s hand in his right. ‘You must forgive me for not calling upon you earlier.’
‘It’s quite all right, Raff,’ said Jessie calmly. ‘We know that you are a man of many affairs.’
He turned his head and looked at her for a long moment. ‘Just so, my dear Jez,’ he replied. ‘You have always understood me so well.’ Before she could guess what he was about, he moved closer to her, took her hand, then leaning across, kissed her on the cheek. While Jessie was still recovering from the shock – for he had never done such a thing before – he turned to Mrs Machin. ‘No doubt Jez has told you that we are old friends,’ he said easily. ‘We have known one another for nearly twenty years.’
Jessie blushed at his effrontery, but to her relief Mrs Machin did not appear to think his behaviour at all out of the ordinary, for after she had begged him to be
seated, she simply remarked how agreeable it must be for Jessie to have a friend in town. ‘May I offer you some refreshment, my lord?’ she asked him. ‘Wine? Coffee? Tea?’
‘A glass of wine would be very welcome,’ Ashbourne replied, with one of his most charming smiles.
‘It is very good of you to call upon us in this way,’ said Mrs Machin.
‘Not at all,’ he responded. ‘I have it on very good authority that you would like to observe me, ma’am.’
‘Observe you?’ Mrs Machin asked.
‘While I am a-raking – for your book,’ he explained kindly.
Jessie turned fiery red for she had not told Henrietta about her encounter with Ashbourne in the rain, or about what she had said to him. She now feared that Henrietta would resent the fact that she had mentioned her hostess’s writing without her permission. Mrs Machin did not seem to take it amiss, however; quite the reverse, for she clapped her hands delightedly. ‘I knew you would help me,’ she exclaimed. ‘I wonder, would you like to go with us to Vauxhall?’
At that moment, Dilly came in with the wine and set it down on a table next to the earl, smiling shyly at him as she did so. Whilst he was setting the glasses out and pouring, Jessie pulled Henrietta to one side. ‘You can’t ask him to go with us just like that,’ she hissed.
‘Why not?’ Henrietta whispered back. ‘I thought from the first that it would be better to have a second gentleman.’
‘Precisely,’ whispered Jessie. ‘A gentleman! Ashbourne is a rake. You heard what he said; and if you want to take him along to Vauxhall then watch him whilst he misbehaves, I, for one, do not.’
‘Would you like me to leave the room?’ Ashbourne asked amiably, as he carried two glasses over to them. ‘You clearly have matters that you wish to discuss.’
‘Yes,’ Jessie said, whilst at the same time, Mrs Machin said, ‘No.’
‘Shall I stand in the doorway, then?’ he asked innocently. His lips twitched, and Jessie could not help laughing. ‘Now what were you saying about Vauxhall?’