Miss Lottie's Christmas Protector

by Sophia James

  ‘As the daughter of a woman who is both proud and respectable you have to take care. A reputation is an easy thing to lose and a hard one to regain.’

  ‘Meaning...?’

  ‘To be alone for that long with a man at your age and station in life is foolish. I know you to be sensible and prudent, but still...with a man like Mr Jasper King there is the propensity to be persuaded.’

  ‘You know of him?’

  ‘I remember him from years ago, when he used to come to the Foundation with Mister Silas. He were good looking and tall then, but I’m sure that he’s even better now for he had that kind of twinkle in his eye that all the girls commented on.’

  Well, that had gone, Lottie thought to herself. Now he was largely silent and cross. But that was a lie as well. He was also beautiful and enigmatic and charming and clever. He was kind, too, to his sister and especially to Rosa O’Brian with her slashed cheek.

  He had not drawn back or looked away, but had faced her directly and spoken to her as if she was whole and pretty. Lottie knew that Rosa had appreciated the kindness because she would never have got into the carriage with him otherwise.

  His limp had seemed to get worse as the hours had passed, the small imbalance a much larger one as they had left Old Pye Street after their sojourn down to the One Tun pub.

  She wondered what had happened to have left him so compromised. But compromised was the wrong word as well. Jasper King’s strength was something one could not fail to notice, the pain he so obviously suffered bent to submission by an iron will.

  She had to admire such a force.

  ‘Mrs Fairclough and Miss Amelia will be pleased to know that Mister Silas is alive and prospering.’ Claire’s words came again through her thoughts.

  Lottie had wanted to simply pack and take a transport to Lady Malverly’s this afternoon when she had first heard the good news about her brother so that her mama and sister could be told of it as soon as possible. But now she tarried.

  Perhaps Mr King might come again tomorrow with more news of Harriet and she needed to be here. There was still a good week before she would be expected at the country party and the small window of freedom was welcomed. She had no one to answer to, no one to tell her what to do and how to do it.

  This moment brought her a gift of time and independence, and a bequest that she did not want to relinquish before she had to. The hope of it all made her breathless.

  ‘Do you think you might be able to fix my hair tomorrow into that style you so often do for Amelia? The one that is upswept with the ribbons.’

  Claire looked perplexed. ‘Your hair is completely different from your sister’s, Miss Lottie. The curls you have are so much a part of you...’

  ‘I know.’ She shook her head and the wildness of her hair was even more pronounced in the candlelight. ‘But...’ She hardly knew how to formulate her needs. ‘It’s just sometimes I would like to look more classical.’

  ‘Well, I certainly can try it and perhaps it would suit you. Your nose isn’t quite as patrician as your sister’s, but your neck is long and slender for all of it. Is Mr King the reason for this change?’

  ‘Oh, I doubt I shall even see him again unless Harriet is somehow miraculously recovered.’ She couldn’t quite bring herself to tell an outright lie for it was, in truth, because of Jasper that these thoughts had arisen. She wanted to appear more worldly and less...young. She wanted to be more like the beautiful woman who had hung on to his arm at the charity event today and made him look right at her.

  So often in her life Lottie had almost felt...invisible. That word made her frown for it was not the sort of magic that conjurors and entertainers wrought on adoring crowds that she ruminated on. No, her invisibility came from the shadows of piety and devotion that left her obscured somehow, buried in the indiscernible goodness of it.

  Concentrating on the appearance was shameful and distasteful, she knew this, the greater needs of those vulnerable and defenceless people they helped so much more important. Great pride had false vulgarity attached to it, a petty non-significance allowing one to believe that the outward beauty was far more important than the inward. Mama said so all the time and so had Nanny Beth.

  Lottie understood well her own limits of beauty, but she just suddenly wanted to make the most of what she did have. Her eyes were an unusual colour and, although her nose did not hold the lines fashion now held as desirable, her own turned-up one did not seem untoward on her face. She would have liked to have been taller, but she was curvy. The positives and the negatives formed a list.

  She wished she could have just gone to his house and knocked on the door, but she had no idea where it was he resided. Jasper had said that he would send her her brother’s letter and this was at least a hope, but Claire’s warnings played on her mind, too.

  Desperation was probably unattractive and if he wanted to come to see her here he could, without comment, for people dropped in all the time.

  She would wait a day or two at the most and if there was no contact whatsoever she would rejoin Mama and Millie.

  The very thought of that made her heart sink, though a small sound outside the door had her turning.

  ‘It’s just the stray, Miss Lottie, the one who Mr Brown brought in a few days ago. The ugly one. Seems it is in need of company and it’s hard to shoo away.’

  ‘I thought that one of the maids said that she might want to take it home.’

  ‘The girl had a mind change, miss, because of its size and now it’s stuck here.’

  ‘Let it in then, Claire. It can join me for the night until we sort out its future.’

  When the door opened the large dog shot in and sat on the floor beside the bed, its dark eyes upon her. The mongrel was many breeds, Lottie thought, and was an indiscriminate white and brown colour with pointy ears and a long nose.

  It looked like a dog who had never fitted in anywhere, but wanted to, for it held the same sort of desperation in its eyes as many of the women who came seeking help from the Foundation did.

  She put her hand down and stroked the short bristly fur, surprised to feel the edge of a warm tongue against her skin.

  ‘Good dog,’ she said and smiled, ignoring Claire’s frown as she took a blanket from the end of her bed and laid it down on the wood for warmth.

  ‘Your mother sneezes all the time in the presence of a dog, Miss Lottie, and will want it gone as soon as she sees it.’

  ‘Then we will have to find it a home quickly.’

  As she said this a thought came on the edge of her words. Jasper King might have need of a dog. He had the means to give it a good home and without family he might welcome a companion.

  A further consideration complicated the last one. He’d probably insist on a thoroughbred, a dog of lineage and pedigree. In which case she would need to introduce him carefully to this stray, hone him in to the animal’s finer points before he only saw the negative. The more she thought about it the more she liked the idea. It would be a way of getting to see Jasper again and of keeping up the connection.

  The dog had curled into a ball now and was quietly snoring with a strange rumble of companionship.

  After Claire said goodnight Lottie lay there in the moonlight. Overall, it had been a most interesting day. She just prayed that they could find Harriet soon and bring her back to safety.

  Chapter Five

  Jasper arrived at his sister’s home just after ten thirty in the morning and as usual the house was full of noise and movement.

  Sarah was sitting on a blanket in the small front parlour, Meghan chasing the toys that she threw in all directions.

  ‘I didn’t expect you today?’

  He knelt by his niece and said hello which gave him time to formulate exactly what it was he wanted to say.

  ‘I have a situation that needs attending to.’

  Meghan’
s interest looked caught.

  ‘I hadn’t told you, but yesterday after I left the party I found Miss Fairclough trudging home through the bad weather alone and so I stopped to offer her a lift back to Howick Place in Westminster.’

  ‘A direction that was the exact opposite to your own?’

  He ignored that and went on. ‘She was grateful to be out of the sleet, but on arrival at the Fairclough Foundation a woman ran up to the conveyance to tell us that one of the girls they helped had been reported as missing.’

  ‘Missing?’

  ‘It is thought she may have found herself embroiled in a prostitution ring.’

  ‘God.’ Meghan never took the name of the Lord in vain so that gave Jasper some idea as to the magnitude of her shock. ‘Did you help look for her?’

  He smiled. His sister’s kindness was why he was here. She wasn’t a person who had much time for social differences and he knew she would not be judgemental.

  ‘Indeed, I did. Miss Fairclough and I went to the area where she was last seen and asked questions. As a result of that we think that she may have got into a carriage with Viscount Harcourt and left town.’

  ‘Harcourt? I have not heard of him.’

  ‘He is having a ball in two days’ time here in London and I have an invitation. If I were to take Miss Fairclough with me as my partner for the occasion, would you agree to be her chaperon?’

  The wide smile hid other thoughts, but at least she nodded. ‘Oh, my goodness, of course I would, Jasper. I would be delighted.’ Standing, she swooped up Sarah into her arms. ‘Does she have a gown that would suffice for such a ball?’

  ‘I don’t know. I had not thought of that.’

  ‘Ask her, then. Will you see her today? If she does not have one, time will be short, though I cannot see why a dress could not be altered and tailored to fit her and I know just the place to go. This is marvellous...’

  Jasper stopped her.

  ‘I am trying to help a woman who may have been kidnapped from Miss Fairclough’s family foundation. Do not read anything else into it, Meg.’

  ‘But you are here in London until Christmas, are you not? You won’t be leaving till after the Yule season?’

  ‘I won’t.’

  ‘Then you have plenty of time to help Miss Fairclough and get to know Sarah.’

  Her sister passed over her daughter and Jasper took her, her mouth dribbling all over him and her nose running. Still, she was warm and small and when she simply stilled and cuddled into him he felt a kind of contentment that he had not known for a very long time.

  Outside it was beginning to sleet again and inside there was a warm fire and decorations that signified the Christmas season. Meghan adhered to the new custom of cutting a tree and hauling it inside and so the room smelt of pine and the outdoors, the frosted paint his sister had run along the green limbs mimicking snow.

  He wished Charlotte Fairclough might have seen such a room, imagining that with her family gone the joy of the season at the Foundation could be much less overt.

  He would send a message over to Howick Place to let her know that he would be visiting in an hour and a half. His eyes went to the large clock on the mantel. It was eleven now. A visitation just after twelve thirty was not too early to be unsettling and, if his sister was right and she had no gown suitable, they would have to get moving to remedy the fact.

  ‘Sarah is growing up right before my eyes, Meg.’

  ‘She is. Stephen wants to try for another child, but...’ She stopped.

  ‘But what?’ He was astonished when he looked around to see his sister crying.

  ‘It was so difficult trying to conceive Sarah that I don’t want to feel like that again. Ever. Besides, my husband barely interacts with her as it is.’

  These words came slowly and Jasper could tell that she waited for his answer.

  ‘Perhaps he is worried he might inadvertently hurt her somehow and after so many miscarriages he knows it would break your heart.’

  Meghan frowned. ‘I had not thought of it like that before.’

  ‘It’s because you are a female. Men think differently.’

  ‘I want to be happy. I want us to be a family. I don’t want this distance.’

  ‘Then tell him, for I promise he won’t know what you are thinking otherwise.’

  ‘I will. Thank you, Jasper, for listening.’

  He shook his head. ‘You dragged me out of the opium dens and nursed me back to health, Meg. The throes of withdrawal can hardly be easy for anyone to watch and I am grateful.’

  ‘You are my brother.’

  A simple truth he smiled at. ‘I will always support you, no matter what happens. You know that?’

  ‘I do.’ She wiped her face and shook her head. ‘But at the moment let us concentrate on the Harcourt ball and in getting Miss Fairclough a dress that will become her.’

  He did not push further. Rather he distracted Sarah with a group of small wooden animals that were down on the floor beside him in order to give his sister some time to compose herself.

  * * *

  At exactly half past twelve a stern-looking servant answered the door at the Foundation and brought him through to a small salon down a long, dark corridor. Jasper remembered the place from years ago, his visits to see Silas and the two calls on the older Miss Fairclough coming to mind. A quick glance up the stairwell to the ornate banisters above reassured him that Charlotte was not there, peering down at him, unbidden.

  The small annex the Faircloughs used as their private accommodation lay at the back of the Foundation. It was quite a humble dwelling with a sitting room and kitchen and three bedrooms, though there was an attic of sorts at the top.

  ‘If you would wait here, I will find Miss Fairclough.’ The man who had answered the door was old and bent over. He wondered if those who worked here had come from straitened circumstances themselves.

  Jasper half-hoped that Harriet White had been located and that she was back safe in her job at the laundry. It would be easier that way, less complex. But sometimes what one wished for and what one got were two very different things.

  If the girl was still missing, he could go to the Harcourt ball alone and accomplish his tasks of finding out more about the Viscount just as easily as he could if Charlotte Fairclough were with him. The whim of his need to see her foxed him, made him agitated. She would probably be wondering what the hell it was he wanted.

  Five minutes later the door opened and she stood there in a plain navy dress with her hair pulled up. Today she looked tired, the dark circles under her eyes noticeable and her dimples nowhere in sight. There was a dog standing next to her, an ugly gangly mongrel who looked him over as he came forward.

  ‘Mr King?’ She managed to imbue a question into the two words, a frown crossing her forehead. Her hair had been done in a different style from yesterday, a far fussier style that he thought did not suit her so well. It seemed as if she might have been feeling the same doubt, because her hand wandered up to the back of her neck as if she were trying to pull some of the wayward tendrils across the bareness of skin.

  Her dress was different, too, more formal and far darker. It also looked a little big, but the shawl she wore covered quite a bit of it, the redness clashing with the tawny brown of her hair and eyes and making her skin look startlingly white.

  ‘Your letter said you had news of Harriet?’

  ‘I do. Mr Twigg from the One Tun sent over a name. Viscount Harcourt. Is this man familiar to you?’

  ‘He is not. We rarely bump into peers of the realm here.’

  Today when she spoke her voice sounded more hoarse than it had yesterday but as yet she had not coughed at all. The smell of camphor had accompanied her in.

  The distance between them seemed larger, the ease felt yesterday lost here in the environs of a house that held no trace of
the season whatsoever. The fire on the far wall was unlit, lending an unwelcome coldness to the room though the dog sauntered over to stand beside him, its nose pressing into his hand, friendship in the gesture.

  A maid had come in with a pot of tea and when she glanced over at him he noticed irritation. Miss Fairclough seemed to pick up on it, too, for as soon as the woman had placed the tray on the table she dismissed her.

  ‘That will be all, Claire.’

  ‘Yes, miss.’ A tone of exasperation was prevalent.

  He was surprised when Charlotte Fairclough walked over and shut the door, any rules of having a chaperon unobserved entirely.

  * * *

  He did not look happy today, Mr Jasper King with all his certitude and sureness. The way Claire had done her hair was biting into her own confidence, the austere style suiting Millie, but lending a sort of gauche plainness to her own face. Lottie could see in his frown that he preferred the curls. She did, too, but had not had the luxury of time to pull it all down and start over. At least the dog was making gains in forming the acquaintance of Jasper King.

  ‘Please do sit down.’ She was glad when he took the chair opposite to her own and smiled when the stray stayed to sprawl out beside him.

  ‘There is to be a ball in two days’ time at the home of Viscount Harcourt and I know I will be able to secure three invitations. If my sister stood as a chaperon, might you be willing to accompany me to this occasion and help in the quest to gather information, Miss Fairclough?’

  The words were not lightly given, but there was no true heart in them either.

  ‘I realise, of course, that you might indeed have made other plans and I can easily manage alone, but people make their own luck and I thought—’

  She interrupted him.

  ‘I would be willing. To help, I mean, as another set of ears and eyes.’

  ‘And you know Miss White. If she were to be somewhere in the house...’

  ‘I could locate her.’

  Business and pragmatism. Mr King was a man who did not waste his emotions.