There was his Faith, wearing the simple gown she’d worn when he’d first met her those few short weeks ago, in the arms of a gentleman who looked as if he would like to devour her on the spot. It was little consolation that Faith was looking serious. As if she wanted to be elsewhere. Lord Harkom, as Crispin could now distinguish him, was leering, proprietorial. Like he’d come to the house—yes, Madame Chambon’s nunnery—in expectation of securing a great conquest.
And he’d secured Faith.
“You may go now, Benson,” Crispin said, tracing the picture with his forefinger, lingering on the damning title of the article which had been penned, he now saw, by Miss Eaves.
Meddling, interfering Miss Eaves, who’d come to London to establish her future at the expense of Crispin’s.
The fact that Faith had been ruined in the process was, at this very moment, immaterial. For, in the intensity of this moment of discovery, the enormity of her crimes was laid so bare as to reveal the fact she could have had no real feelings for Crispin.
And that she probably never had.
There was room for one more dress in her carpetbag. Not that Faith had many that would be appropriate for the life she’d soon be living. How would the wife of a diplomat, a future British envoy, be expected to dress? Something modest would be appropriate in the interim, but after that?
Well, Faith was excellent at research. She’d researched everything that would make her beguiling and differently exciting in Mr Westaway’s eyes. Fortunately, it hadn’t been hard to find herself excited over international politics while she’d had to stop herself from overdosing on intrigue. The relationship between Germany and Great Britain at the moment was volatile, to say the least, and she was confident she could be a great asset to Crispin.
She could hear Lady Vernon issuing orders to a servant in the passage. Faith dropped in her tooth powder and brush, a thrill of excitement rippling through her. Lady Vernon planned to whisk Faith away later this evening, but by then, Faith would have been whisked away by someone far more exciting. Yes, Crispin had accepted the truth of her altered situation in his eyes. She’d told him the truth of her humble beginnings, and he had still accepted her.
“Mrs Gedge is looking forward to handing over the cheque you so deserve, Faith.” Lady Vernon stood in the doorway looking like a smudge of something unpleasant, thought Faith as she glanced from the grey-pallored creature with her yellowing teeth, to the smooth line of her own fashionable princess-line pelisse.
“I’m sure she is. I’ve done her bidding thoroughly. Mr Westaway will be bereft.” Faith’s gaze didn’t linger on Lady Vernon’s face. She returned to her packing and wondered why Lady Vernon still lingered in the doorway. Was she Faith’s gaoler now? Faith tried to keep her face impassive. If Lady Vernon wasn’t going to let her out of her sight, then Faith would have to climb out of her bedchamber window in the middle of the night to escape. She would do whatever she had to.
“I believe you still have a few gowns and pieces to collect from Madame Chambon’s.”
Surprised, Faith looked up to see Lady Vernon studying her with interest. “I would be careful of crossing that threshold in daylight. Or any time, for that matter. Perhaps you should send for your possessions.”
Faith pretended to consider the option. The term possessions really encompassed only a few trinkets and a ring given her by her grandmother. In total, they were worth very little, but they were all she had to remind her…of a past she wanted to forget.
The only reason she’d especially want to visit would be to say farewell to Charity. The only other real connection she’d made in her life was with Crispin.
He’d opened her heart and poured music into it. She’d become the person she’d always wanted to be: alive, interested, allowing her intelligence free rein.
However, if she were being allowed to leave the house alone to go to Madame Chambon’s, it was greater good fortune than she could have hoped for.
“Yes, of course I’ll be careful,” she said. She glanced through the window at the sun dipping in the blue sky. Before nightfall, Faith would be out of here. Away from Lady Vernon and her life of pretence and subterfuge.
Soon she’d be with Crispin and, if he entertained any doubts, she’d prove to her new husband that a girl brought up in poverty truly could be worthy of a respected diplomat and a celebrated painter. She relished the challenge. She would be the best, most devoted, most educated wife he could wish for.
A little later, Faith stood up from her chair and faced Lady Vernon across the three feet of Aubusson carpet that separated them in the old lady’s spartan townhouse.
“It’s growing late. Perhaps I should make a quick visit to Madame Chambon’s now.” Her trunk was packed in her bedchamber, ready to be carried into the carriage that would be called later this evening to take her to Mrs Gedge’s, and thence on to an unknown location for an unspecified waiting period. Faith hadn’t asked too many questions for she’d never intended travelling that route.
Lady Vernon’s change in plans, in that she was no longer visiting a friend and was now going to remain indoors, meant Faith would have to arrange to have her trunk collected later. She had a brush, a change of linen, and a few necessities in a small carpetbag so this would have to suffice.
“Send my regards to Madame Chambon.” Lady Vernon looked up from her tatting. “And don’t be too long, my girl.”
Faith shook her head. This would be the last time she’d see Lady Vernon. And what a relief that was.
“Oh, do give her this now that I’ve finished with it. It might entertain her.” Lady Vernon brandished a newspaper as Faith passed her chair. “Don’t stay talking too long. Half an hour is the limit. You’re to come right back, for at eleven o’ clock tonight you’re going on a different journey.”
“Yes, Lady Vernon.” Faith took the newspaper and hurried out of the room and up the stairs, snatching her carpetbag from her bed and shoving in the newspaper as she pushed aside the curtains and saw her hackney waiting in the cobbled street below.
Freedom.
It was exhilarating. Crispin would be pacing the floorboards at The Green Whistle at nine o’ clock, as agreed. They’d parted with regret but excitement too, eager for the new adventure that awaited them both.
With the coins Lady Vernon had given her, Faith paid the driver and pulled her veil down over her face as she entered the premises through the back entrance. Her heart clutched as she remembered the last time she’d come here less than 48 hours before. The night of loving she and Crispin had shared had helped her survive the impatience to be with him.
“Crispin,” she whispered, as she slipped through the open door and into what turned out to be an empty parlour.
She was too impatient to sit, so she went to the window and stared down at the traffic below. London had overwhelmed her when Mrs Gedge had brought her here as little more than a child. She’d grown used to it, though, and come to like the anonymity.
What would Germany be like? She couldn’t wait to explore it with Crispin.
Catching sight of her reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece, she saw the tenseness in her eyes. Little wonder. She’d put her future in Crispin’s hands, and given up her opportunity to find independence through what Mrs Gedge would have been willing to pay her had she chosen a path of revenge rather than love.
The clock on the landing struck the half hour.
Where was Crispin?
Worry niggled at her as she walked restlessly to the window and back. She’d seek occupation in tidying her hair perhaps. Scrabbling in her carpetbag for the ivory comb, she encountered instead the newspaper she’d forgotten she’d taken to give to Madame Chambon. That would divert her.
She pulled it out and lowered herself on a spindly chair at the round table by the window where she could supplement the fading light by lighting the reading lamp.
It was a respectable newspaper, but as Faith glanced at the front page, she decided it must be filled w
ith enough scandal to entertain Madame Chambon.
The old bawd would be titillated by such salacious pickings as the story behind the scandalous young woman who’d clearly been featured on the front page for parading herself as something pure when her heart was full of sin, if the headline was anything to go by. Faith did not even consider a parallel until Crispin’s name caught her eye.
She put her hand over her mouth and gasped. Crispin? What connection did Crispin have to a woman clearly reviled in the press as someone shameless?
And then, as a sensation of stepping into an icy bath passed over her, Faith realised that it was she, herself, who was the subject of the article.
Faith Montague, named and shamed, by a major newspaper. Not only that, photographed in the arms of none other than Lord Harkom. The photograph had been lined up beside a photograph of Crispin’s painting of Faith.
She thought she was going to be sick.
It was the picture taken just before Lord Harkom had tried to force himself on her. Just before Faith had been all but forsaken by Lady Vernon for her failure to win Crispin’s affections before Mrs Gedge had given Faith her reprieve.
Regardless of what Faith might have been, there was no mistaking the kind of company she kept. The revealing costumes of the other prostitutes at Madame Chambon’s proclaimed it brazenly to the world.
Hunched over, she read the article more closely in all its tawdry detail. It detailed her supposed life in scathing detail. Faith had come to London as a penniless country girl; beautiful and cunning. She had fallen quickly into vice, but her exceptional looks and talent for mimicry had earned her the interest of Lord Harkom, who had made her his mistress and, when he’d given her her congè, seen her taken under the wing of a female benefactress who’d set about equipping her with the skills needed to insinuate her way into Mr Westaway’s heart.
And all for what?
For revenge.
Revenge for the loss of a daughter whose death this so-called benefactress laid squarely at Mr Westway’s door.
So close to the truth, in fact, but so far in its most essential details—Faith had never intended to follow through with a plan that would destroy Crispin.
And Faith had never taken up with anyone before she’d met Crispin. Her beloved Crispin had won her entire loyalty. She’d given up her only chance of independence to be with him.
Panic swirled about her as she digested the implications.
She placed her palms down on the newspaper as if to obliterate the pictures and the content while she stared about the room that would remain empty—but for her.
Crispin had read this. Lady Vernon had given it to her as a sign.
What could Faith do now? She was exposed.
She rose quickly and shoved the newspaper into her carpetbag, hurrying to the door and pulling down her veil once again.
Where could she go? She couldn’t return to Lady Vernon’s. The woman had had a part in all this. She’d betrayed Faith. But what about Mrs Gedge? She’d invested heavily in Faith’s education for three years. What would she think to know that her minion, Lady Vernon, had betrayed her too?
Only, Faith had no idea how to contact Mrs Gedge directly. They’d only ever met at Claridges Hotel for tea once a month.
She glanced up at the star-studded sky and shivered in the chilly night air.
She was about to hail a hackney but realised she’d not have the funds to pay for it. She’d used the only coins she had, the ones Lady Vernon had given her, to get here.
So, with heavy footsteps, she began to walk.
In the direction of the place she’d called home for three years, and which she’d sold her soul to leave.
“Faith, what’s brought yer back ‘ere,” squealed the tweeny, Lizabet, who opened the door to her. At least one person didn’t know, she was glad to note.
“Just here to pick up a few belongings and see a few friends. And Madame Chambon.”
“You really want to see ‘er?” Lizabet grimaced as she led Faith through the gloomy passageway to the salon at the back of the house.
It was early for business, but a handful of the girls lounged about in varying states of dress and undress.
A couple whispered as Faith entered, but Charity straightened with a smile of genuine pleasure as Faith caught her eye.
Faith crossed the room and lowered herself onto the seat beside where Charity was pulling on a stocking seated in the informal sitting room.
“What have the girls been saying about me?” she asked her friend in a whisper. “Tell me the truth.”
Charity shook her head as she glanced about, perhaps to see that Madame was nowhere about. “Oh Faith, it’s a bad business, and I don’t know how much is fiction, but the fact is, the photograph is damning enough. What will you do? Will you come back here to live? I’m sure Madame Chambon would take you in. She’d probably consider the notoriety would make you more valuable. And it would, don’t you think? See, there’s always a silver lining.”
“I hardly call that a silver lining and no, I have no intention of—” She broke off at the honeyed tones of her former mistress.
“Ah, Faith, what a pleasant surprise, though I always knew you’d return.”
Madame Chambon loomed over them, a frightening and imposing figure in a gown of lavender and lace, the russet hairpiece intricately interwoven with coils of fake and real hair, her beady eyes gazing at Faith through wire-rimmed spectacles.
“A short visit only,” Faith said, her throat so dry she felt lightheaded. Her legs felt lacking the substance needed to stand up. And yet she needed to leave this place as fast as she could.
“Oh?” Madame’s look of enquiry was tinged with scepticism. “And where could you possibly be going at this time of night? Oh yes, Lady Vernon’s, am I not correct? She had plans to whisk you away in order to complete the terms of Mrs Gedge’s arrangement with her.”
Madame Chambon straightened, patting her large bosom and emitting a waft of cloying patchouli perfume. “But a great deal has changed in the last couple of hours, Faith.” Her brow creased. “Events have fairly run out of control, and…I think you must come to my office in order for me to acquaint you with everything to do with Mrs Gedge and Lady Vernon, whose authority is superior to mine where you are concerned, my dear. Charity, please excuse us.”
Charity’s concerned look made it plain that she understood the menace behind Madame Chambon’s words.
“And please, Charity, do make a little more effort with your appearance tonight. I know you’re tired, but if you can’t attract the gentlemen like you used to, you will have to find somewhere else to lodge. I’m not a charity.” She gave a sudden, short laugh as if only then realising the play on words.
What could Faith do but follow Madame Chambon along the gloomy passage and step into the opulently decorated office, where the brothel madam entertained a range of business associates from her fellow bawds to young gentlemen negotiating a contract to relieve Madame Chambon of one of her girls.
Or a woman like Mrs Gedge, though Faith was certain Mrs Gedge had never set foot in these Soho premises.
“Now, sit down and tell me what has brought you here when I was almost certain you’d run off to be with your lover; the charming Mr Westaway.” Madame’s nostrils flared. “You thought Lady Vernon very credulous if you truly believed you could hide from her the state of your heart. You are a strong-willed young woman, Faith, and Lady Vernon is a sharp-eyed—”
“Gaoler and snitch!” Faith spat.
“Those are singularly unkind terms for a noblewoman who has fallen on hard times and is simply using whatever resources she can to keep a roof over her head.” Madame Chambon twisted in her chair in order to locate a decanter of sherry on a shelf behind her. “When nerves are being tested, I think a little fortification is in order. Faith, a glass?”
“And risk being drugged?” Faith shook her head, and Madame raised one eyebrow.
“I’d be careful of making unfounde
d accusations, Faith, since I think you have precious few options but to come back here.” Madame settled herself in front of Faith and shook her head slowly, her look one of great tragedy. “I never thought it would come to this when Mrs Gedge brought you here, a wide-eyed country girl, though of course the fact that a bit of stealing wasn’t beneath you augured well. I don’t like it when my girls enter my doors with too many scruples. They are the difficult cases, I will admit. But you, Faith, were just perfect for what I had in mind, and to be sure, you have not disappointed me. It has all come to pass exactly as I had hoped.” Her smile stretched to encompass her sharp, yellow eyeteeth. “Mrs Gedge had scruples, though.” She shrugged. “To begin with, that is. And then she met Lady Vernon during the depths of her grief. A fortuitous meeting, indeed.”
“I have never stolen in my life, nor will I,” Faith said softly. “And I will never sleep with a man I do not love. So, I will profit you nothing if you force me to remain here for even one night.”
She rose. “Mrs Gedge might have believed I stole her daughter’s bracelet, and she might be filled with bitterness over losing Miss Constancia, but she cannot blame me for that.” She shook her head. “No, she cannot be so evil that she’d see me sold into slavery because of what happened three years ago. Because I chanced to be holding up the bracelet that Miss Constancia promised would be mine if I helped her enter Mr Westaway’s bedchamber. I was barely fifteen years old. I’d never seen something so valuable. I’d never ever laid eyes on Mr Westaway. I only discovered that Mr Westaway was the man Miss Constancia had killed herself over when he told me so himself.” Faith shook her head again, her desperation rising. “It makes no sense. It’s out of all proportion for a woman like her to do something like this.”
“Like what, Faith? You’re looking around my office in a very disdainful manner. Almost as if you felt yourself my superior. Or were the wife of a diplomat. A person who would never deign to step over my threshold. In fact, who may not know what comforts a house like this offers a husband like the one she’d surely neglect if he failed to give satisfaction. Very easy to do when one has such high expectations.”
Fair Cyprians of London Boxset: Books 1-5: Five passionate Victorian Romances Page 38