Fair Cyprians of London Boxset

by Beverley Oakley

  It was true, but it did not bear up Harkom’s claims. Crispin shook his head as if to clear it. Lies! And yet, an uncomfortable kernel of possibility had taken root. Not only did Crispin look nothing like his father, or indeed, the portrait of his mother that hung in the dining room, Crispin’s temperament was as different from his father’s as it was possible to be.

  Harkom shrugged. “Your father married the woman I loved and blamed her for being barren when clearly the problem lay with him. But he needed a son, didn’t he?” He chuckled. “You only have to read the letter to find out how he managed it. Why, your father bought you, believing you were his, when in fact the girl was already pregnant when she allowed Lord Maxwell to lie with her. Pregnant by a farm labourer!” He burst out laughing. “I can’t imagine where you got your delicate hands from and your fine, painterly sensitivities. Anomalies arise where one least expects them to, don’t they? But yet, it’s all in the letter.”

  Crispin shook his head. “No, I don’t believe it. Show me the letter. Or don’t you have it? Perhaps Faith succeeded in retrieving it, after all. It’s the reason she came here after she learned from her friend, Charity, whom you visited at Madame Chambon’s, that you had information that was damaging to me?”

  Lord Harkom jerked as if he’d been stung, and his eyes glanced to a location somewhere near the base of the bed. Regaining some composure, he said, “Your Faith proved most faithless when she aligned her star with mine. I promise you; she was not thinking of you, or retrieving letters, when we made love this afternoon. I’ve never been with a woman so eager!”

  “How dare you!” Crispin clenched his fists and strode over to Lord Harkom, gripping the man’s collar and forcing his head up. “You lie! Faith has a pure heart and pure motives. She would never have come to you and put herself in danger unless it was to help…me.”

  It was a sobering thought. Whether or not it would prove true, was another matter. But yet, it’s what he wanted to believe.

  To his surprise, Lord Harkom’s head lolled, and he slumped even further down the wall. Crispin was not met with the aggression he’d expected.

  As for the story he’d just told Crispin, it was so far-fetched Crispin couldn’t begin to assimilate how there could be a grain of truth in it.

  And yet, he’d never felt he belonged in the home he’d grown up in. His father had always seemed distant and alien, though wasn’t that normal?

  “Show me the letter,” he demanded once more in a low voice. It couldn’t be true. A father who was a country peasant, and a mother who was an innkeeper’s daughter? Common yeoman stock?

  Perhaps Lord Harkom acceded because he was concerned at Faith’s reasons for coming to his room. He certainly would not have done it on Crispin’s account. He took a couple of staggering steps towards the bed and dropped to his knees, pulling out a small wooden chest.

  Two narrow furrows between his eyes grew deeper as he shuffled the papers and his breathing increased. He appeared not to see Crispin when he turned his head in his direction, his eyes glassy as he muttered, “By God, the wench has taken it.” He thumped his hand on the lid. “The wench has stolen the letter. Why did I not think that might be a possibility?”

  “One might not have thought it necessary to lock a cupboard or a chest containing incriminating documents if peddling lies is such a commonplace event.” Crispin moved towards the door, then, on second thoughts, changed direction and took a few steps towards Lord Harkom. “I was going to leave like a gentleman, but in view of the fact that apparently I am a man of no breeding, let me give you this for your treatment of Faith and all those other poor women you treat like playthings.”

  Striking out with a sharp uppercut, he watched with satisfaction as Lord Harkom crumpled to the floor.

  * * *

  With the letters burning a hole in her bodice, Faith made her way to Madame Chambon’s as quickly as she could, entering through the back door and arriving in Charity’s bedchamber to find it mercifully empty but for Charity.

  “Oh, my dear friend, I was so worried for you,” Charity wept as she threw her arms about Faith. “Did Lord Harkom hurt you? Did Mr Westaway find you?”

  “Mr Westaway?” A thrill of longing travelled through Faith at the sound of his name, but disappointment followed for the fact she’d not seen him. “He really went after me? I mean, he took the trouble…not through vengeance?”

  “Lord, Faith, must you be so suspicious? I’m not and look at the life I lead.” Charity indicated her room with a sweep of her arm. “So, you found what you wanted from Lord Harkom and he didn’t hurt you?” The fact she was so anxious about Faith’s well-being made Faith want to weep on the spot.

  Also, what she’d learned upon reading them.

  “He didn’t hurt me, no. And I have the letters.

  “So, now you know the truth? Or was Lord Harkom nothing but hot air?”

  A tear forced its way out of Faith’s eye as she put her hand to her bodice. “It wasn’t what I wanted to be the truth, but I do have the incriminating letters—and Lord Harkom doesn’t. That’s the main thing.” A spasm of fear made her reassess as she turned towards the door. “Please don’t ask me about it now, Charity. Look, I really should go. I can’t subject you to danger. Now I need to find Miss Eaves. Perhaps she can help me.”

  “Miss Eaves!” Charity scoffed, calling after her friend as Faith ran to the door, “Come back, Faith. I’m perfectly safe. You know Madame Chambon guards us like a wolfhound, and the only reason Anastasia got hurt was because Madame thought she needed teaching a lesson. Please tell me why you want to seek out Miss Eaves? She’s no friend of yours. Unless you want her to print the letter you found!”

  “Dear God, only one of them.” Faith swung around, her jaw set. “I’ll never breathe a word about the other letter, and so I’m not even going to tell you what was in it. But Charity, when Anastasia got hurt, didn’t she leave shortly afterwards?”

  Charity nodded.

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “No, I don’t, Faith. She moved on to another life. That’s how it is with girls like us. No need to look so concerned.”

  “She left with Lady Vernon, didn’t she?”

  “I don’t remember exactly—”

  “Please try.” Faith gripped Charity by both forearms and looked into her friend’s eyes. “Try and remember who took Anastasia away.”

  Charity looked puzzled, and then a look of understanding crept over her face.

  “Yes, I don’t have time to tell you more, Charity, but this is the reason I need to find Miss Eaves. She might not be the one who can reveal this to the world, and although she’s been no friend of mine, she does have connections, both in the newspaper world and in society. And it’s because of her belief that she really was telling a truth the world needed to know, that she printed what she did about me, that I think she’s the person most likely to help me now.”

  “But Faith, you don’t even know where she lives!”

  “No, but I do know where she’ll be tonight.” Faith turned and hurried back, a thought occurring to her. “Charity, I need your masque. The one on a stick. Indeed, it’s fortuitous that Miss Eaves will be attending Lady Ridgeway’s Masquerade. I’m sure she’d not want to talk to me unless we were in disguise.”

  Chapter 30

  Crispin didn’t care that he was damp with evening mist by the time he’d walked to Madame Chambon’s. He needed a bracing walk to clear his head, and he wasn’t going anywhere afterwards. Not after he’d located Faith. What he’d say to her, he wasn’t sure.

  And how she’d react to seeing him after all this time, he had no idea.

  Would she consider he’d let her down? He hadn’t found her in a whole year though it wasn’t for want of trying.

  Was there any truth in Lord Harkom’s claim, earlier, about what he’d done to Faith?

  Not with Faith.

  He couldn’t believe that, and not after Charity’s claims that Faith had gone to see
him because of her concerns over Crispin.

  Her concerns over him?

  What? About the letter regarding his parentage? Or were they other concerns?

  Had Faith read the claims espoused by Harkom? Were they indeed written down as allegations? Letters? Faith had the letters, he suspected, but could there be any truth in them?

  His throat felt dry, and his head was sore. The street lamps looked hazy like his surroundings. Was his father’s coldness predicated upon the fact that Crispin was not his natural-born son? Could he have suspected that he’d had someone else’s bastard foisted on him?

  By an innkeeper’s daughter?

  Crispin swallowed. No, this was Harkom’s way of extracting the maximum from the situation. It couldn’t be true.

  By the time he reached Madame Chambon’s, his outerwear was slick with wet, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to find Faith and sink into her arms. If she could forgive him, it didn’t matter if Harkom’s allegations were true or not.

  Of course, if Harkom’s allegations were given credence, then that was a different matter. But he didn’t want to go there yet. He just wanted Faith.

  “Oh, Mr Westaway; you just missed her.” Charity was lying on her front on her bed, when Crispin entered after knocking briefly and being invited in. She rose onto her knees, her face a picture of delight as her silk peignoir fell away revealing the mounds of her full white breasts over the top of her corset. “I’m so glad it’s you though,” she added, as she covered herself. “I mean, that because it’s you, you don’t want any of my pleasuring.” She blushed, and Crispin could see the flare of colour was real. He was sure he blushed too, as she went on, “I mean, it would be so wrong to be pleasuring the young man whom my best friend is in love with.”

  Crispin felt a stab in his chest cavity and tried to ignore the words that resounded in his head…the young man whom my best friend is in love with. Could that really be true? “Please, Charity, I don’t think I have much time and I need to find her!”

  “She’s gone to Lady Ridgeway’s masquerade,” Charity told him.

  “I can’t believe I was too late!” He raked his hands through his hair. “Was she…all right after her encounter with Lord Harkom?” He could barely push out the question, though it seemed odd that Faith would make her way to further revelry if she were not.

  “She didn’t say. She wanted to find Miss Eaves. She had an important letter to give her.”

  He blinked. “Miss Eaves? She’s going to give the letter to Miss Eaves?”

  Could she really have hated him so much?

  All the hope and expectation he’d built up drained out of him.

  Charity slipped to the floor and went to her dressing table where she began to pin up a curl. “Well, one of the letters. She wouldn’t tell me about the other one. But the letter she was going to give Miss Eaves was the important one, she said.”

  “The one she found in Lord Harkom’s chest?”

  Charity nodded, looking at him in the mirror. “Well, she found them both there. But this one is the one she hopes is going to put things right.”

  “But…Miss Eaves destroyed Faith’s reputation. Faith’s not…planning revenge, is she?”

  Charity turned as she let out a surprised laugh. “What a masculine thing to say. Revenge? Faith would never resort to revenge to harm anyone.” Her forehead wrinkled as she reassessed this statement, looking more closely at Crispin as she added, “I mean, she never intended wreaking revenge on you, Mr Westaway. That was Mrs Gedge’s idea, and you do know that Faith was entirely powerless in that woman’s hands. Just as I’m powerless in Madame Chambon’s. Do you think I like doing what I do to earn a living?” She shrugged. “I simply have no other choice open to me.”

  This was not the time for Crispin to delve further into these murky depths. When he found Faith, he intended asking her a good many questions about her motivations, but there was too much at stake now for him to tarry.

  “Yes, make your way to Lady Ridgeway’s, and I hope you find Faith. And that you’ll be good to her, for I fear what she’s found puts her in very grave danger.”

  “You know?” Crispin moved forward and gripped Charity’s shoulders, forcing her to look at him.

  Charity’s large blue eyes suddenly filled with tears which she brushed away, saying with a shaky laugh, “I try to pretend there’s nothing happening under this roof, and that we’re all safe as long as Madame sees us as bringing in the money, but the truth is, a girl is never safe here. One wrong action and Faith could be next.”

  “Surely you can’t mean it.” He didn’t know what to say. “Are you suggesting there is something more sinister at play than Mrs Gedge’s plan for revenge against me?

  Charity nodded. “It was in a letter Faith found. I think the letter was from Lady Vernon to Lord Harkom, but Faith wouldn’t tell me. She said it would put me in danger to know.”

  “What do you think it’s about, Charity? I need something to go on.”

  “I think it’s about a girl who disappeared from here a few months ago. A girl called Anastasia. Lord Harkom was very cruel to her. He hurt her. And then she disappeared.”

  “And Lady Vernon’s involved?”

  Charity nodded, her lower lip trembling. “Please don’t ask me anything more, Mr Westaway, because it would all be guesswork. It’s only after Faith left that I really began to puzzle it all out. And this is my conclusion. I think Lady Vernon and Lord Harkom are in some evil business together. And unless Faith is very careful, she could find herself in some extremely hot water.”

  * * *

  Faith’s attire was perfectly suited to the evening’s entertainment, while Charity’s demi-masque on a stick provided the necessary anonymity. Her identity would be discovered in due course, but initially, Faith might be able to mingle enough to search out Miss Eaves before she was asked to leave.

  She found the young woman in the midst of a group of ladies all talking about hats.

  Only Miss Eaves was not sufficiently interested, so her eyes were scouring the room in search of greater diversion when Faith dropped her demi-masque and caught her eye.

  Miss Eaves’s mouth fell open, but a subtle crook of her finger had Faith following her into the shadows.

  “Well, well, Miss Montague. I see you are back at your trade.” The young woman’s eyes raked Faith’s ensemble with obvious censure, for the figure-hugging ensemble, while fashionable, was risqué. “I just wonder how you have made your way inside without being recognised. You know you have no place here.”

  Faith had no time to defend herself or try to alter Miss Eaves’s opinion. The young woman had clearly become a great deal more polished and sophisticated since the first time Faith had met her.

  “Read this and tell me what you think.” Faith thrust Lady Vernon’s letter into Miss Eaves’s gloved hand and waited impatiently as the other slowly began to read—with obvious reluctance.

  Finally, she handed it back. “White women snatched from a London brothel into slavery? Sold to a sultan in Constantinople? Really, Miss Montague? You expected everyone to believe you a fine lady when you were nothing but a yeoman’s daughter caught for stealing. A very clever one, obviously, to have entrapped Mr Westaway as you did. But this?” She tapped the letter with her forefinger before handing it back to Faith. “A forgery! You want me to print this as a front-page story so I can be sued for libel?”

  “Only if it were proved untrue.”

  She gave a brittle laugh. “I’m sorry, but I can’t indulge your wild fancies, Miss Montague. Not tonight, or any other night.” She turned, but Faith turned with her, gripping the sleeve of her expensive evening gown.

  “Please, Miss Eaves, you’re the only person I know of with connections that might be able to bring justice to Lady Vernon and Lord Harkom.”

  “How convenient. The very people you claim are the architects of your demise.” Miss Eaves’s smile dripped scepticism.

  Stung, Faith dropped her hand. For a
long moment, the two women stared at one another. Faith looked away first. She had no more time to waste.

  “Then I’ll find Lord Delmore. If you won’t believe me, he will. I should have gone to him in the first place.” Angrily, Faith swept past her, the crowd parting as she made her way to the double doors.

  Chapter 31

  The inclement weather did nothing to aid Crispin’s evening. Although his evening clothes were damp, they were passable enough for him to excite little attention when he entered Lady Ridgeway’s ballroom a little later that evening.

  He managed to bow and nod with sufficient politeness, that his anxiety and hurry to find Miss Eaves and, hopefully Faith, were not too apparent.

  A year had passed, and he’d given a good account of himself in Germany. Society tended to forget a young man’s transgressions and, in time, regard with amusement the fact he might have been hoodwinked by a beautiful girl in order to paint her. If he’d distinguished himself in his consular post, and besides, was ensconced somewhere on the Continent where out of sight meant out of mind until the matter was more or less forgotten, then all to the good.

  So, Crispin found himself nodding and forcing a smile and a greeting to all manner of unexpected past acquaintances of his father and himself as he pushed through the throng.

  How long would that last? he wondered with a stab of discomfort, and then was surprised that the depth of his shock over his own possibly lowly origins didn’t overwrite his fears over Faith to the extent he’d have imagined they would.

  And wasn’t this because, being on more of an equal footing, so to speak, she’d suddenly become so much more accessible to him?

  Of course, it wasn’t as easy to spot her when most people carried a mask on a stick, although in many cases, this was dropped due to the late hour and amount of champagne consumed.

  A pink gown. That’s what Charity had said she was wearing, but none of the women in pink gowns were Faith, and none could hold a candle to her, besides.