Fair Cyprians of London Boxset: Books 1-5: Five passionate Victorian Romances

by Beverley Oakley

  Mrs Gedge raised her chin and adjusted the fur stole about her neck, no doubt as much to block out the cold as to hide the crepey neck which gave away her age. She squeezed the tips of Faith’s fingers lightly.

  “Enjoy your last evening together with this young man. Make him wring every last drop of joy from it, too. I shall think of you both…and the happiness that my Constancia might have enjoyed had she not died.”

  A vision of the crimson-red rose petals drifted across Faith’s mind. It was Mrs Gedge’s way of calling forth the last image Mr Westaway would have had of her. She realised that now. In a bath filled with the blood that pumped from the wrists Miss Constancia had sliced.

  On the top step outside the hotel as the wind ruffled her hair, Faith finally understood why Mrs Gedge wished for vengeance against Mr Westaway and why she’d chosen Faith.

  It had been Faith who’d shown Miss Constancia Gedge the secret entrance to the guest room that Mr Westaway would be occupying that weekend. Faith’s reward would be Miss Constancia’s gold and garnet bracelet. Miss Constancia had promised.

  Faith had known nothing of any of the guests that were spending the weekend with the Gedge’s, though she’d suspected Miss Constancia had lost her heart to someone on the invitation list. Why else would she ask Faith to help her to slip into a gentleman’s bedchamber wearing nothing but a diaphanous, cream silk peignoir?

  Faith was unaware of the extent to which her mistress was unhinged by her romantic entanglement—her unrequited feelings.

  But when Miss Constancia had been rejected, she’d killed herself in Mr Westaway’s own bathtub.

  Mrs Gedge was already heading towards the carriage, the doors of which had been opened by the footman standing at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Come along now, Faith,” Mrs Gedge exhorted her, and Faith moved forward reluctantly, realising the older woman wished her to take a seat inside the carriage beside her.

  Patting Faith’s hand as they rounded the street corner, and the horses set off at a more even trot, the older woman said upon a sigh, “You must have guessed by now the association between my daughter, Constancia, and Mr Westaway. That I have sought to use you to avenge his poor treatment of her that led to her death.”

  Faith said nothing as she stared into the darkness, turning her head slightly to observe Mrs Gedge’s sharp-featured profile as she listened to the crackling of a piece of parchment the American drew out of her reticule and held up as they passed the glow of a street lamp.

  “I do not need to see to read the last words he penned to her.” Her tone had grown tighter, and there was a bitterness in the delivery that had been absent in her former breezy manner towards Faith.

  “I know your daughter’s death was a great blow, Mrs Gedge.” Faith chose her words with difficulty. “But she died by her own hand.” It was not the moment to declare that Mr Westaway was blameless. Mrs Gedge’s trust in Faith depended upon her belief that Faith would follow through with the long-held agreement between them.

  “My daughter believed she could do nothing else when her honour had been compromised to such a degree, that public shame and humiliation were inevitable after Mr Westaway reneged on the pledge made between them.”

  Mrs Gedge held out the letter for Faith to take while she began to relay its contents.

  “First, he told Constancia that she was charming, every man’s dream, but that he had intended marrying his childhood sweetheart upon her twenty-first birthday, which was four years hence. That is, a few months from now, Faith.”

  Faith tensed at the sympathetic hand Mrs Gedge placed briefly on her thigh before she went on. “When Constancia and Mr Westaway first met, it was like a flame was ignited in both of their hearts. I never wanted Constancia to marry an Englishman. At least, not one who had relatively few expectations and no title, when I knew that with Constancia’s fortune, she could have married a Rockefeller back in America or an earl at the very least.”

  She sent Faith a scornful look. “But Constancia was not one to listen to reason. No, not my beautiful, wilful girl. The two lovers had become far too inflamed by their feelings for one another and their intention to run away together before…I don’t know what happened.” Mrs Gedge’s face was a mask of derision now. “Perhaps his ardour actually did cool overnight. Perhaps he was contacted by his childhood sweetheart and persuaded to adhere to a previous, more compelling promise which prompted this letter.” Snatching it back from Faith, she tapped it with a gloved finger. “But his words scored grooves of the deepest despair in my Constancia, and she, who obviously knew how to gain secret entrance to his chamber, and you will attest to that, Faith, I know! went there to persuade him otherwise. When he remained unmoved, she did what a young woman will do who is compromised, embarrassed…ruined.” The word was a whisper, a half hiss, a half choke, while Mrs Gedge’s face was a mask of malice. “She slit her wrists in his bathtub. Yes, Mr Westaway returned to find his former lover dead…by his hand.”

  Faith didn’t know what to say to this. She remembered that night as if it were written in indelible ink upon her brain. Mrs Gedge had come upon Faith picking up Miss Constancia’s bracelet in the young lady’s bedchamber and gazing at it with indecision. Miss Constancia had promised it to fifteen-year-old Faith in a hurried whisper if Faith could help her gain admittance to a young man’s bedchamber. There had been several young men staying at the house for that particular Friday to Saturday. Faith had not seen Mr Westaway, for she surely would have remembered him.

  Now, Mrs Gedge was declaring, not only that Mr Westaway had once been a faithless lover to her daughter, but that Mr Westaway had all but forced the young woman’s hand in taking her own life.

  “Why did you not tell me this before you instructed me on what I must do with regard to Mr Westaway?” she asked.

  “I felt that if you held him in such aversion, the naturally occurring mutual interest might be inhibited. You knew, of course, that he must be sacrificed, and you were a willing accomplice in this.”

  Faith hated knowing this was true. As much as she hated being so receptive to the woman’s words, right now. A fire was raging in her breast. Had Mr Westaway really seduced and then abandoned an innocent young woman?

  “So, Faith, I cannot have a similar fate befalling you, can I?” Her tone was concerned. “Not the girl I’ve nurtured all these years. My own proxy daughter.”

  Faith blinked. This was hardly what she supposed Mrs Gedge considered her. Mrs Gedge might have paid for an education, a wardrobe of fine clothes, and a roof over her head, but that had all been for her own self-interest. She’d never made a secret, from the beginning, that Faith was nothing more to her than a means to an end—a method of betrayal.

  The way Mrs Gedge now laid out the supposed facts was far more disturbing than Faith might ever have thought.

  If she’d truly thought about it at all.

  They were outside Lady Vernon’s lodgings now, and the door to the old dowager’s house was being opened by a servant. Light spilled over the portico as Faith was helped to disembark, swishing her pink and black swathed skirts behind her.

  She wondered what she’d wear when, tomorrow, Faith stepped out on Mr Westaway’s arm to a no-doubt rapturous welcome from an adoring public.

  Would she quiz him about the letter? About everything Mrs Gedge had told her surrounding his relationship with Miss Constancia? Or would she follow through with their own escape plan, trusting that this time Crispin really was in love with her, and that he would be waiting when it was time for them to slip away? What of this childhood sweetheart? Was she still lurking in the wings? Or was she a figure of Mrs Gedge’s imagination?

  Yet, she had seen the letter briefly, when there was enough light to persuade her that it was Crispin’s handwriting. And she had read the sentence that mentioned Constancia.

  Faith’s heart was heavy, and her mind was in turmoil as she climbed under the covers of her bed that night.

  But as she drifted off to
sleep, she was comforted to recall the light in Crispin’s eyes when he had bid her farewell. And all the other times when he’d gazed upon her with a look that was so real and so intense, she could not entertain a shadow of doubt that he truly loved her and meant every promise he’d ever made.

  Well, tomorrow he would have to make one final pledge for her to believe him. If he truly loved her, he would not promise to run away with her only to then leave her in the lurch.

  If he agreed to run away with her in order to be secretly married before he departed for Germany, she’d know his heart was true.

  Chapter 21

  “Mrs Gedge organised for me to wear this?” Faith stared at the exquisite white and silver gown laid out on the bed in her chamber in Lady Vernon’s house, adorned with swathes of white velvet bows, and compared it to the plain finery she’d worn previously. Wondered, also, if she’d have to give it back.

  But Lady Vernon, who was smiling for a change, said, “Mrs Gedge recognises when a job has been well done. This is your reward. To step out in style so you can compete with the most well-endowed heiresses. Mr Westaway won’t be able to keep his eyes off you. Or his hands.” She sent Faith a beady look. “No doubt he’ll find a way to spirit you away into a back room for a short while. And no doubt you’ll relish the opportunity.”

  Lady Vernon’s mind was like a gutter, Faith decided, though refrained from saying so.

  “It’s your chance to entrench what he’ll miss for the rest of his life. For you will leave him shortly afterwards, and he will forever wonder why. You will break his heart.”

  “While I go on to enjoy the happiness that is my reward, bolstered by a handsome cheque from Mrs Gedge? It’s a fair exchange.” Faith tried to summon enthusiasm as her mind whirled over how she might make her own escape.

  “After tonight, when he is happily thinking of your glorious years ahead together, you will be spirited away to somewhere he can’t find you.” Lady Vernon chuckled at Faith’s blank look and traced a fingertip reverentially down the front of the gown upon the bed. “Ah, I wore a gown such as this, once. Many years ago.” Her expression softened. “It earned me a marriage proposal, too.” She looked up at Faith. “You surely didn’t think we’d simply abandon you, my dear girl. After all you’ve done for us and knowing that Mr Westaway has no intention of keeping true to any pledges he might have made you. He would not have followed through. Indeed, he would not. We are looking after you, as you deserve, and we have a place for you to hide while poor Mr Westaway wonders what has become of you.” She straightened and clapped her hands. In an instant, her dresser had materialised, and Lady Vernon put her hand on the doorknob.

  “You will be a sight for sore eyes, my dear. Tonight will be a special night, indeed.”

  “One could tell she was a beauty when she was floating in that lake wearing what might be mistaken for a nightdress, but look at her now.”

  The chuckle that followed the young reporter’s comment was the first distinct piece of conversation Faith heard as she passed in a seeming daze through the packed reception hall.

  Crispin disengaged himself from his conversation with Miss Eaves and Sir Albion, intercepting Faith a few feet away.

  For a second, they halted and stared at one another while the crowd pulsed around them.

  “I have never seen a woman as stunning as you look tonight,” he whispered, his eyes raking her with unbridled admiration. “And all too soon I have to give you up to all the other people who want to similarly compliment you and be seen with the latest toast to London town.”

  Faith glanced about her and saw they were garnering a good deal of interest and that his words were true. If they were ever to succeed in slipping away together, she’d better not allow him to be too singular in his attentions.

  “People are looking,” she whispered. “Oh Crispin, we won’t have a moment to ourselves this evening, and I’d so wanted to talk to you.” Her chest tightened, and the knot of worry grew.

  “And I to you, my dearest. We must get married before I leave for Germany. You are so right, and I’ve been caught up in this…frenzy, fielding probing questions from father who is hardly delighted, I’m afraid. He threatens to come down to London before I depart for Germany when that had not been the plan.” He glanced about him, his frown creased. The reception hall was a sumptuous location for an event like this, but there were no antechambers where they might be private.

  Faith saw Sir Albion’s wife turn from her conversation with her husband. She was bearing down on her, when Crispin said in a rushed whisper, “Your chaperone seemed only too happy to give us licence to be alone together, before. Is it possible?”

  His words trailed off and Faith tugged his sleeve, urging him to finish his sentence. The suggestion had to come from Crispin. Faith could not be seen to be too desperate.

  He raked back his hair, smiled at the advancing woman and whispered, “There is an inn not far from here that I know can be accessed from a side street so that you might be completely unobserved in entering. The Green Whistle. Could you possibly meet me there when tonight’s proceedings are finished?”

  “Do you mean…we’d run away together, tonight, Crispin?” She was fairly certain he didn’t mean this, but he needed to give her some idea of his plans on the timing of their elopement.

  “I’m not in a position to do that yet, my darling. One more day, and everything will be organised to my satisfaction.”

  “What is so important to organise tomorrow?”

  “I have interviews; my photograph will be taken, and there are many wonderful things that will happen to entrench my reputation as an artist that have been planned for tomorrow. Oh Faith, you have no idea.” His voice caught with emotion, and Faith understood the enormity of achieving one’s life’s ambition. Wasn’t she within a hair’s breadth of achieving hers?

  Yet…

  “I’m sorry, but we can’t do it tonight, Faith.” Concern wiped away his ebullience, and he leaned forward slightly. “It’s too soon, though you surely can’t imagine I’m prevaricating because I’m not sincere.”

  She shook her head, though she wasn’t sure what to think. “I shall be at The Green Whistle later tonight. Somehow, I’ll contrive it.”

  “Tell the servant who lets you in that you have room bespoken in the name of Mrs Emily Hardwicke.” He glanced at her hands as if he would whisk them up and kiss them with an ardour to match that that was in his voice.

  And then Lady Vernon was upon them; her gushing praise of Crispin’s prodigious talent bringing their conversation to an end.

  The soiree seemed to last forever, while Faith did her best to conduct herself appropriately. She was a shy debutante with a modicum of intelligence, as far as the rest of the world was concerned, and her efforts to project that image were aided by Lady Vernon, who made an apparent attempt to draw Faith out of her shyness.

  “Answer Miss Eaves’s question, Faith dearest,” she said with contrived gentleness on one occasion when Faith was faced with a volley of queries on her impressions of London.

  “It can feel overwhelming to a country girl,” Faith said, glancing at Crispin on the other side of the room, in earnest discussion with a group of gentlemen. Her body throbbed at the thought of being alone with him in just a couple of short hours.

  “And you have brothers and sisters, I gather. A few of them. What do they think of your success? What a shame they could not be here.” Miss Eaves’s pencil sped across the page.

  “Everything happened so fast with the announcement of Mr Westaway winning such a grand prize they did not have time to make the journey.” Faith was careful to avoid mentioning anything that might indicate even the location of her family. They were sunk in rusticity and never heard the London news until the greatest events were at least a month old. They certainly would make no connection between their Faith and the glorious creature she’d become.

  The gathering began to disperse towards midnight, and Lady Vernon took Faith’s arm,
drawing her towards the door after they’d said their farewells.

  “You have arranged a final assignation? The moment to cement what you are to him? To exact the greatest revenge when you are whisked away forever tomorrow?” Her beady eyes roamed over Faith’s expression as if she were looking for guile. She gave Faith’s wrist a squeeze. “Ah, but I’m sorry that it had to end this way though there really was no other, was there? The young man is enjoying his greatest moment of glory, and your secret visit to him will fill his heart with triumphant joy. He thinks he is on the cusp of life, the pinnacle of attainment, but that is how Mrs Gedge planned it. There is no more acute suffering than to have reached such dizzy heights before such a crushing fall.”

  Foreboding sliced through Faith. Was this really all Mrs Gedge had planned for Crispin? Was the extent of her loathing for him so great that destroying his happiness was her only plan? Or did she intend Crispin’s descent to be an even greater one?

  She forced a smile. “He will be distraught,” she murmured. “For he loves me greatly. I have done everything Mrs Gedge would have me do. He is enslaved.”

  She had to believe that.

  For if she couldn’t count on the security of his love, she had nothing.

  But in the private room at The Green Whistle, Crispin’s ardour and sincerity could not be in doubt. Instead of swooping upon her with words of enthusiasm as to the astonishing reception he’d received that evening, his words were all for her.

  “I couldn’t have done it without you, Faith! You were the most glittering star in the firmament, my exquisite girl.” He swept her into his embrace and covered her face and neck in kisses. “Because of you, I’m where I’ve always wanted to be in life. My work…my painting has been more important to me than anything. That is, until I met you.” He cupped her face and stared into her eyes. “You think I’m not sincere about running away with you?” He dropped his voice. “We both have good reason to marry in secret, though I believe mine is greater.” Then a smile tugged at his mouth. “I don’t care about your family hounding me for what I can do for them, financially or otherwise, for I would gladly do it. I would do anything that would please you, Faith. But my father would put everything in my way to prevent me marrying you, Faith, and that’s the truth. He’s always wanted me to marry the daughter of his best friend, our neighbour, and there was a time when I thought I could do it. But my heart was not engaged.”