The Matchmaker's Marriage

by Meg Alexander

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The Arabs believed that they had been led into a deliberate trap, designed to remove them before one or other decided that a knife in the ribs would settle matters once and for all. The Comte has a sixth sense when it comes to saving his own skin.’

  ‘You are sure that he was responsible for the attack?’

  ‘There can be little doubt of it, my dear. Certainly the other charges against him were all true. Our friend had been present at some of the meetings with the English captains.’

  ‘Then he is a slaver too?’ Amy was indignant.

  ‘No, he is not. He trades in native artefacts, but he is astute. Not much escapes his notice.’

  ‘Then you believe him?’

  ‘I do. I would stake my life upon his honesty. What reason could he have for lying to us? Consider, Amy! The Comte left India under a cloud. In Africa he disappears in questionable circumstances, and now I find him here in Bath, which as you know, is close to Bristol. He has not given up the trade in “black gold”, I fear.’

  ‘I’m not surprised that you were not pleased to see him,’ Amy said quietly.

  ‘Nor he me, I suspect. Am I forgiven for my bluntness, Amy? The slave trade turns my stomach. I could have forgiven him much. A man has his way to make in the world, but to traffic in human lives cannot be excused.’

  ‘You are right. Can nothing be done to stop it?’

  ‘There are those who try, but we are speaking here of the great god “Profit”. Only when people are sickened by the details of how these victims are transported will there be a change in public opinion.’

  ‘Go on,’ Amy whispered. ‘I want to know the whole of it.’

  James hesitated. ‘It is unfit for your ears. Are you quite sure?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Well then, let me be brief. The slaves are shackled and locked below decks, so closely packed together that they have little room to lie or even stand. If danger threatens they are thrown overboard, still manacled, to drown.’

  Amy felt sick. She had grown so pale that James became alarmed.

  ‘I should not have told you, my dear, but I felt that you ought to know.’

  ‘Yes, don’t blame yourself. I asked you for the details and I am glad that you told me, but I won’t believe that the Comte understands what happens to these people when they are taken aboard ship.’

  ‘It is common knowledge, Amy. It causes no distress to those engaged in the trade. Their victims are regarded as sub-human, worth no consideration except as labour for the plantations in the Americas.’

  Amy had had her fill of horrors. It seemed impossible to believe that the handsome Frenchman with his wit, his gaiety, and his charm of manner could be involved in such atrocities. She had danced with him, allowed him to flirt with her, and enjoyed his company without catching a glimpse of the darker side of his nature. Could James be right? He would not lie to her. She knew that well enough, but could he not be mistaken?

  James looked at her face and knew what she was thinking.

  ‘Monsters do not always wear their villainy on their faces, my dear. Would that it were so. We might then be better prepared to deal with them.’

  Amy did not answer him and he was troubled by her silence.

  ‘I am sorry to have saddened you,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I have been selfish in not wishing you to think ill of me.’

  He looked so sad that Amy was stricken to the heart.

  ‘I could never do that!’ she cried impulsively. ‘At least not for very long. Sometimes you make me angry, but you are my dearest friend.’ She turned her face to his and kissed his cheek.

  His reaction startled her. He stiffened, removed her arms from about his neck, and rose to his feet. His smile was ghastly.

  ‘I am an importunate morning caller, I fear. A half-hour visit is the maximum permitted in polite society. I have trespassed upon your good nature, Amy.’

  Amy stared at him. ‘What is the matter?’ she demanded. ‘You are not used to be so formal with your friends. Have I said something to offend you?’

  ‘Not in the least. You will give my compliments to your aunt?’ A few quick strides took him to the door. Then he was gone.

  Amy felt as if she had received a blow in the stomach. It was only in those last few moments that James had changed. She tried to recall the end of their conversation. Was he angry because she had not been quite convinced about Philippe de Vionnet? It could be nothing else unless…unless she should not have hugged and kissed him. That was a ridiculous notion. In the past he had always welcomed any display of affection. Perhaps he had changed in some mysterious way since his return to Bath.

  It would be sad indeed if he had decided to follow the dictates of polite society to the exclusion of all else. Was he trying to remind her that young ladies did not kiss their gentlemen friends in such a forward way?

  The hot colour rose to Amy’s cheeks. She must remember that she was no longer a child. The rules were strict within the closed circle of the ton. A gentleman might not even lay his arm across the back of a sofa if a lady was sitting by his side. It would give rise to unpleasant speculation about such familiarity.

  As for women themselves? Well, they were required to be modest, self-effacing, lacking in opinion upon any serious subject, and forbidden to betray the least sign of affection for members of the opposite sex until an offer had been made.

  Amy grimaced. She had no time for such missish behaviour. She would not disgrace her family, or embarrass her aunt, but her thoughts were her own. Even so, she felt a little twinge of doubt. She valued James’s good opinion and prayed that she hadn’t given him cause to think her wanton.

  Nothing could have been further from the truth. James had been badly shaken, but he knew the cause. With Amy in his arms he had longed to hold her there forever, showering her face with kisses and whispering endearments. Only with a supreme effort of will had he stopped himself from responding to the feel of those warm lips against his cheek. What must she think of him? He had almost spurned her affectionate embrace, but she was still a child. She could not know of the powerful emotions that she had aroused within his breast. In future he must be more careful.

  He longed to make her his own and ask her to become his wife, but it could never be. That loving spirit was worthy of someone closer to her own age…someone unworn by time and care…a man who could offer her the light-hearted love of life which he had lost so long ago.

  Miss Langrishe took him to task several days later as she awaited her dinner guests.

  ‘What have you been saying to Amy?’ she asked without preamble. ‘The child is not herself since you asked to see her alone.’

  ‘We had a misunderstanding, ma’am,’ James replied politely, and with some truth. ‘I’m afraid that the Comte de Vionnet was the subject of our discussion.’

  ‘Yes.’ Miss Langrishe gave him a thoughtful look. ‘Amy told me that you had taken him in dislike. You had good reason, I must suppose?’

  ‘I thought so, but I fear that Amy is unconvinced.’

  ‘Don’t let it trouble you, my dear. Amy is no fool. She will make up her own mind when the time is right.’

  ‘And sooner rather than later, I must hope. Will you tell me what you think of him yourself?’

  ‘A charming young man…if something of a lightweight!’

  James laughed. She had not fooled him for an instant. ‘And you would not trust him further than you could throw him, ma’am?’

  ‘No, I would not, but Amy has not the benefit of my experience, James, and her loyalty to her friends is beyond question.’

  ‘She regards him as a friend of hers?’ James frowned.

  ‘A recent acquaintance only, but he has made himself agreeable…to both of us.’ Her droll look made him smile. ‘That’s better!’ Miss Langrishe patted his hand. ‘Now, let us forget the Comte. This evening we have other personages to concern us.’ She was well aware that there were other, deeper reasons for Amy’s c
hange in manner, but she would not pry. It would serve no useful purpose. For the moment neither of her two young friends would tell her what was in their hearts.

  They had no need to explain. James, as she had soon realised, was deep in love with Amy, but the child herself had no notion of it.

  Miss Langrishe chuckled to herself. Amy’s plans for a match between Charlotte and her dearest friend were doomed to disappointment.

  She watched James closely as her niece entered the room. Much to her relief he greeted her in his usual pleasant manner and, after a moment’s hesitation, Amy responded with a smile. Her mood lifted at once. She had been mistaken. James was his old self, but she would not be so foolish again.

  In the past few days she had given much thought to possible reasons for his coolness towards her. She thought she had the answer. Possibly James was still grieving for his lost love. Her behaviour had been crass. She should have known that a man deprived so cruelly of his wife and son would not welcome light-hearted caresses, even from a friend.

  She was given no time for further speculation. A bustle in the hall announced the arrival of George Skelmersdale and his family. This was their first visit to the house in Laura Place and Amy had determined to put aside her dislike of Charlotte’s mother and her unpleasant son for that one evening at least.

  It was not easy. Emmeline Skelmersdale made no effort to hide her curiosity as she swept into the salon, resplendent in purple silk brocade.

  Amy suppressed an urgent desire to giggle. Their guest appeared to be wearing every item of jewellery she owned, from the sparkling stones which nestled in her tiara, to the brooches gleaming upon her ample bosom.

  Evidently a necklace had failed to complete the ensemble for their guest was wearing rings upon each finger.

  Amy gazed at this vision in awe. Her composure was sorely tried when James whispered in her ear.

  ‘How will she manage to eat?’ he murmured. ‘I doubt if she is able to raise her hands.’

  Amy frowned at him as she tried to hide her amusement. Was this any way to speak of his future mother-in-law? A glance of warning told him that Charlotte was almost within earshot, and he turned at once to draw the girl into the conversation. His graceful compliments brought a blush to her cheeks, although she shook her head in an immediate disclaimer.

  It was Sir William who came to her rescue with a request to examine the book he had been studying.

  Mrs Skelmersdale gave an affected laugh as her daughter retired into a corner with Sir William at her side.

  ‘Is not Sir William Linden the most delightful person in the world?’ she enthused. ‘He sees at once that my poor Charlotte is not at her best in company…’

  Her clarion tones carried clear across the room and succeeded in reducing Charlotte almost to tears. She turned to move away from her companion, but a firm hand upon her own kept her by Sir William’s side.

  ‘You have not given me your opinion, Miss Skelmersdale, and I have so much to ask you. Tell me, do you sketch?’

  Charlotte nodded. She was unable to speak.

  ‘Splendid! We shall need detailed drawings of our excavations.’ He gave her a brilliant smile. ‘Miss Wentworth has already declined the task.’

  Amy had joined them. Now she nodded in agreement. ‘I have no gift for drawing,’ she admitted. ‘Nor for painting, sewing, or any other desirable accomplishments. What tasks will you require of me, Sir William?’

  ‘Sewing is not the first requirement for an archaeologist, Miss Wentworth.’ Sir William’s eyes were twinkling. ‘I believe we shall provide you with a trowel, and set you to digging in the earth.’

  This brought a smile, even from Charlotte.

  ‘Then I shall come in my oldest clothes,’ Amy assured him. ‘You will be ashamed of me.’

  ‘Never!’ came the gallant reply. ‘Ours will be the most elegant expedition in the country.’

  Charlotte drew Amy aside. Her face was anxious. ‘I know that Sir William is joking,’ she whispered. ‘But Mamma intends to send me forth in silks and laces.’

  ‘On a dig?’ Amy was incredulous.

  ‘I’m afraid so. She doesn’t understand, you see. She imagines that you and I will sit beneath a parasol looking…er…’

  ‘Decorative?’ Amy supplied helpfully.

  ‘Yes, that is it. I have tried to explain—’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Amy’s tone was firm. ‘Can you smuggle one of your oldest garments out of the house?’

  ‘I can try.’

  ‘Well then, you shall change here. The alternative would be to wear your riding habit, but much will depend on the weather. We may need to travel in the carriage.’

  ‘Oh, thank you! You always know exactly the right thing to do.’

  Amy hid a smile. ‘There are those who would disagree with you,’ she said darkly.

  ‘And many of them!’ James had been listening to the exchange. ‘Pray do not take Miss Wentworth as your guide,’ he teased. ‘She is a veritable Amazon!’

  Charlotte’s cheeks grew pink. ‘You shall not say that, Sir James. No one shall fault her in my hearing.’ This astonishing statement from the shy Miss Skelmersdale startled her companions, and apparently herself. Charlotte blushed at her own temerity.

  ‘I stand corrected,’ Sir James announced without a trace of sarcasm. ‘Miss Wentworth is fortunate indeed to have a friend such as yourself. We can only agree with you.’

  His remark was accompanied by such a delightful smile that Amy’s heart turned over. Did he really mean it?

  Chapter Seven

  She was given no time for further reflection. A look from Miss Langrishe brought her swiftly to that lady’s side.

  ‘What is it, ma’am?’ she asked anxiously. ‘Are you in pain?’

  ‘Not in the least, my love. It is just that one of my cushions has slipped. Perhaps you could rearrange it for me?’

  As Amy bent towards her Miss Langrishe spoke in an undertone. ‘Pray speak to Mr Skelmersdale, my dear. I think he is not perfectly at ease with us.’

  Amy glanced towards the fireplace. Dwarfed by the tall figures of his wife and son, Charlotte’s father stood a little apart from them, apparently absorbed in studying a portrait of his hostess in her younger days, which stood above the mantelshelf.

  ‘Sorry, Aunt. I should have noticed.’ Amy walked towards the stocky figure, noticing as she did so that although his evening dress was of the finest quality, the prevailing fashion of skin-tight pantaloons, a fitted coat and a high cravat was most unflattering to a gentleman who would have looked more at home in the clothing of a farmer.

  ‘Mr Skelmersdale?’ Amy was a little uncertain of her reception. She had been introduced at the start of the evening, been inspected by a pair of bright blue eyes and favoured with a bow, but otherwise the gentleman had not addressed her.

  Now he turned, took her hand, and shook it warmly.

  ‘I’m right glad to meet you lass,’ he said without preamble. ‘You’ve been good to my girl, and I want to thank you for it.’

  ‘I should be thanking you for allowing Charlotte to spend some time with me, sir. We are becoming the best of friends.’

  He gave her a long, considering look. ‘I don’t ask why, but it has surprised me, ma’am. My girl don’t push herself, looking for notice.’

  ‘She has no need to do so, Mr Skelmersdale. One needs only to spend a little time in Charlotte’s company to appreciate her kind heart.’

  George Skelmersdale looked at her in silence, but she could see that he was moved.

  ‘It is the best of qualities,’ she continued warmly. ‘If I were asked what I should look for in a friend or a husband, it would be kindness above all.’

  ‘And you ain’t short of it yourself, I think, Miss Wentworth. I’m not a fool. Since you’ve taken up Charlotte she don’t suffer the snubs and sneers from some of the fine ladies here in Bath…’

  ‘From people here?’ Amy was startled.

  Her expression bro
ught a wry smile from her companion. ‘You would not know of it yourself, but there is nowt like the smell of trade for putting folk off, especially with a Pa who has been called a “counter-jumper”.’

  ‘Good Heavens! What a strange expression! What does it mean? Oh, I beg your pardon! Pray do not tell me if it is a deadly insult.’

  He laughed. ‘It’s an insult reet enough, but not one as will trouble a Lancashire man.’

  ‘You come from the North, Mr Skelmersdale?’

  ‘Nay, never tell me that you did not guess? There’s them down here as cannot understand my way of talking. Yes, miss, I’m Lancashire-bred, born in Bolton and proud of it, but you won’t have heard of that place.’

  ‘Of course I have. It is full of history. Is it not the home of the man who invented some machine for use in the cotton industry…a spinning mule, I think it was called?’

  To her astonishment George Skelmersdale took her hand and shook it again. ‘Miss Amy, you are a wonder! Most folk south of Watford believe as we are savages, dressed in skins and painting our faces blue.’

  Amy giggled. ‘You are mistaken, sir.’

  ‘But not by much, I reckon! I knew Sam Crompton well. It were he as invented the spinning mule. He lived at Hall i’ th’ Wood in my home town.’

  ‘And were you connected with the cotton trade, Mr Skelmersdale?’

  ‘Oh, aye! I started as a journeyman, tramping the countryside. Then the mills were built. It was all to learn, but I worked and saved my brass. I stepped in smart when I saw my chance and it paid me.’

  ‘Oh, I do admire you,’ Amy said impulsively. ‘You must be proud of your success, especially as it came through your own efforts.’

  Her companion gave her a quizzical look. ‘Why, I believe you mean those words, lass. I’m beginning to understand why my Charlotte thinks the world of you.’