The Passionate Friends

by Meg Alexander

  “Would you have me add to my tarnished reputation? Must I be considered a fortune-hunter too?”

  “So you will sacrifice your love for pride? I had thought better of you. Mrs Aveton’s evil words were forgotten long ago.”

  “They would be recalled if I did as you suggest. Judith suffered enough before. This time I doubt if she could bear more slurs. I did not think her looking well at all.”

  “She isn’t happy, Dan. At least see her. If nothing more you might persuade her to delay the ceremony. Truscott may yet betray himself.” Prudence rose to her feet, pressing her hands against her aching back, and Dan gave her an anxious look.

  “You shall not worry,” he said. “It can’t be good for you, especially at this present time. I’ll do as you say if it will comfort you, though I think you are mistaken in what you say. Judith no longer cares for me.”

  Prudence let that pass. No words of hers would convince him. Dan must find out for himself. She smiled at him in gratitude.

  “I think I must be carrying twins,” she joked. “By the start of the seventh month I was not as large as this with my other children.”

  “Then you must take extra care. Shall you stay in London for the birth?”

  “I don’t know yet. It can be very hot and noisy in the summer months. Sebastian thinks that we should go down to Hallwood.” She reached out a hand to him. “Dearest Dan, I’ve missed you so. It is so good to have you home again. As for Judith, I knew that you wouldn’t fail me.”

  “Don’t expect too much,” he warned. “My powers of persuasion aren’t as great as yours.”

  He found that he was right. Judith would not be swayed.

  “At least postpone the ceremony,” he urged. “It would give us time to make enquiries.”

  Her voice grew cold. “Are you suggesting that you intend to spy on my betrothed?”

  “Judith, the man appeared from nowhere. I can’t find a soul who knows anything of his background or his antecedents—” He stopped, and looked at her set face. “Forgive me! I, of all people, have no right to say such things. My own background is sneered at by the ton.”

  Judith fired up at that. “I hope you are not suddenly ashamed of it. Your mother and father were good country folk, as Prudence and Sebastian soon discovered.” For the first time she gave him a faint smile. “Your skills must have come from somewhere…”

  “Sadly, they haven’t yet made my fortune but, Judith, we were not discussing my affairs…”

  “Believe me, I prefer that you say no more of mine. Dan, it must be late. Is it not time to pick up Bessie?”

  “Not yet. We still have a few moments. Will you promise me one thing?”

  “If I can.”

  “Don’t cut yourself off from your friends for these next few weeks. Come to Mount Street. The change will do you good. It will be like old times.”

  Her lips began to tremble. “I’m tired,” she said. “I can’t fight my friends as well as Mrs Aveton.”

  “Then they shall say nothing to distress you. I’ll guarantee it. Do you promise?”

  “I’ll try.” With an effort she regained a little of her self-control. “You’ve told me nothing of your own concerns. This voyage has been of some advantage to you?”

  Wisely, Dan accepted the change of subject.

  “I learned much about the operation of a sailing ship, and other vessels too, even to the handling of an outrigger canoe in the South Seas. All are designed to take advantage of certain conditions of wind and weather.”

  “And your own designs? You were always inventing something.”

  “I have a thick sheaf of them. Some I sent back to England for the attention of my Lords of the Admiralty, but I have heard nothing.”

  “Wouldn’t the Earl of Brandon mention your work?” she suggested shyly. “If Lord Wentworth were to ask him…?”

  “I don’t want patronage. My work must stand on its own merit, or not at all.”

  “You’ll get there one day,” she encouraged. “You have plenty of time.”

  “Have I?” His lip curled. “I am twenty-six already.”

  “A very great age indeed,” she twinkled.

  “Pitt was younger when he first became a Member of Parliament…”

  Judith gave him a droll look. “I didn’t know that you had the ambition to become a politician.”

  She’d hoped to cheer him, and was rewarded with a grin.

  “I haven’t, and well you know it.”

  Judith smiled back at him. “That’s a relief! I was beginning to tremble for the future of the country. Oh, there is Bessie! I must leave you now.”

  “Not yet!” he begged. He tried to take her hand but she shook her head. With a sigh he stopped the coachman, and prepared to take up Bessie.

  “We shall walk,” Judith told him hurriedly. “The rain has cleared—”

  “I won’t hear of it. Get in, Bessie!” He rapped on the roof of the carriage to tell the man to drive on. As they entered the street where he had found them, Judith turned to him.

  “Pray set us down here,” she said. “If I am seen in your company there may be trouble.”

  When Dan returned to Mount Street it was to report the failure of his mission.

  “Well, I, for one, will not give up,” Elizabeth cried at once. “Will Judith come to us today?”

  “I doubt it. She fears you will return to the attack.” Dan’s smile robbed his words of all offence.

  “And so I shall.”

  “No, you will not, my darling.” Perry gave his wife an affectionate look. “Subtlety is needed here. You cannot gain your way with confrontation.”

  His words brought a roar of laughter from each member of his family.

  “Subtlety, Perry? Since when are you a master of the art?”

  Perry took Sebastian’s teasing in good part.

  “I can be devious when I choose,” he replied in airy tones. “I may surprise you yet.”

  “You have already done so. I was never more astonished in my life. Tell me, how is this subtle approach to be accomplished?”

  “I haven’t decided yet, but I’ll think of something.”

  “Perry, there is so little time.” Elizabeth’s eyes were anxious. “The days go by so quickly, and Judith’s wedding will be upon us before we know it.”

  Sebastian’s eyes were resting upon his wife’s face, and when he began to speak he chose his words with care.

  “Let us consider this matter sensibly. We have no proof that the Reverend Truscott is other than he claims to be.”

  “We could find out,” Dan said quickly.

  Sebastian held up a hand for silence. “Hear me out. Prudence and Elizabeth both dislike and distrust him. They may be right, but if they are mistaken I must point out to you that Judith’s happiness is at stake. Any interference on our part would be a serious matter.”

  “Sebastian, we have no wish to injure her.” Prudence gave him a pitiful look.

  “Dearest, I know that well enough, but Judith has had an unhappy time since her father died. We must be careful not to make things worse.”

  “They would be much worse if she married that dreadful creature!” Elizabeth was unrepentant.

  “Quiet! The oracle is speaking!” Perry laid a finger against his wife’s lips.

  Sebastian laughed at that. “I’m no oracle, but we must do nothing foolish.”

  “Then what can we do? She may be walking blindfold into a life of misery. I won’t stand by and let that happen.” Dan ran his fingers through his flaming hair. “I’ll abduct her first.”

  “You will do no such thing!” Sebastian’s tone was cutting. “Would you expose her to scandal? Her life would be ruined; she would be cut by society, unable to see her friends and received by none. Let us hear no more of such nonsense.”

  “There’s no need to cut up rough at Dan, old chap. What do you suggest?”

  “There can be no harm in making a few enquiries. I’ll see what I can do.”
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br />   “And I can ask around,” Perry broke in cheerfully. “I ain’t much of a one for church-going, but I could mingle with the Reverend’s congregation and question a few people.”

  “With your well-known subtlety?” His brother’s tone was ironic. “I can hear you now. Would it not be something on the following lines, ‘We think your preacher is a rogue. What do you know against him?’”

  Even Perry was forced to join in the laughter.

  “Perhaps you’re right,” he admitted. “I’d best leave it to you.”

  “I think you had. It should not take above a day or two.”

  “Don’t be too sure,” Elizabeth warned. “That snake will cover his tracks.”

  “Yet even snakes may be trapped and destroyed, my dear.” With these words from Sebastian the rest of the company had to be content.

  Unwittingly, Elizabeth had hit upon the truth, but the past life which the preacher had been at such pains to conceal was, at that moment, in danger of being revealed to the world.

  Truscott had, that very morning, been approached by a filthy urchin in his own church.

  “Out!” He’d eyed the ragged figure with distaste. The child was little better than a scarecrow. “You’ll get no charity here.”

  “Don’t want none, mester. I been paid. I wuz to give you this.” The child held out a grimy scrap of paper, but his eyes were wary. He kept his distance, as if ready to dodge a blow.

  “What’s it about?”

  “Dunno. I was to fetch you with me.”

  A discreet cough drew the preacher’s attention to a small group of ladies advancing down the nave towards him.

  “My dear sir, do you never rest?” one of them asked tenderly. “We’d hoped that you’d take tea with us today. We are raising funds for the Foundling Hospital.”

  “God bless you! Sadly, this little chap is in some kind of trouble.” The Reverend Truscott considered resting a benevolent hand upon the urchin’s spiky hair, but he thought better of it.

  “You ain’t read the note,” the child accused.

  “My little man, you have given me no time to do so.” With the eyes of the ladies upon him, he was forced to open the paper. Drat the child! Had they been alone he would have been well rewarded for his impertinence.

  The words were ill-spelt, and formed in an illiterate hand, but the message was all too clear. As its full enormity sank into his consciousness the colour drained from his face. He swayed, and held himself upright only by clutching at the back of the nearest pew.

  “Bad news? Mr Truscott, you must sit down. Let me get you a glass of water.”

  He could have struck the speaker. What he needed at that moment was a glass of brandy. If only these ridiculous old biddies would go away! He raised a hand to cover his eyes.

  “Thank you, pray don’t trouble yourself,” he murmured. “This is but a momentary faintness.”

  “It is exhaustion, sir. You do too much. This child must not trouble you today.” She tried to shoo the boy away. “Your bride-to-be will scold you.”

  “Let him be! The Lord will sustain me in his work. I will accompany the child. I fear it is to a deathbed.”

  If only it were, he thought savagely. So many of his problems would be solved. With a brave smile he ushered the ladies from the church. Then he returned to the vestry to draw on a voluminous cloak, and cram a wide-brimmed hat low on his brow.

  The boy’s eyes never left him. A child indeed! There was cynicism in that look, and a quick intelligence which, he knew well enough, stemmed from a life of survival on the streets.

  He spared no sympathy for the lad. The strong survived, and the weak went under. He’d been lucky. No, that wasn’t true! Luck had played no part in his rise to fame. Say rather that a ruthless streak had helped him climb the ladder to success.

  And was he to lose it now? The words of the message burned in his brain like letters of fire.

  “‘My friend seen your notice in the paper, Charlie. Time yore pore old mother had a share. The boy will fetch you to me. Best come, or you’ll be sorry.’”

  It was unsigned, but no signature was needed. The letter was authentic. Only his mother had ever called him Charlie.

  “Is it far?” He spat out the question to the boy.

  “Not far. I allus walks it, rain or shine.” The child inspected him with critical eyes. “Best hide that ticker, guv’nor, and the chain. You’ll lose it, certain sure.”

  The preacher said nothing. He never walked abroad without his knife, a long and narrow blade, honed to razor sharpness. As a child, he’d learned to take care of himself. His lips drew back in a snarl. He was more than a match for any ruffian.

  Now anger threatened to choke him. It was sheer ill-luck that had revealed his whereabouts. The Gazette, which had carried the announcement of his betrothal, was unlikely to fall into his mother’s hands. In any case, she could not read. He’d thought himself safe. Yet some cruel trick of fate had given her a friend who was sharper than herself.

  He glanced about him, and was not surprised to find that he was being led towards the parish of St Giles. He knew the area well, but he had not thought to enter it again.

  Preoccupied with the scarce-veiled threat contained in the message, he was unaware that he was being followed. Even so, he pulled his cloak close, sinking the lower part of his face deep within its folds. Then he glanced about him before he entered the maze of alleys which led far into that part of London known as “The Rookery.”

  Behind him, Dan prepared to follow, but his way was blocked by a thick-set individual wearing a slouch hat and a rough jacket out-at-elbows.

  “Not in there, sir, if you please! You wouldn’t come out alive.”

  Dan stared at the man. He was an unprepossessing individual. His broken nose and battered ears suggested a previous career as a pugilist. When he smiled his missing teeth confirmed it.

  “Out of my way, man!” Dan snapped impatiently. The figure of the Reverend Truscott had already disappeared.

  “Now, sir, you wouldn’t want me to plant you a facer, as I must do if you intend to be a foolish gentleman? I has my orders from his lordship…”

  “Who are you?”

  “A Redbreast, sir.”

  “You mean you are a Bow Street Runner?”

  The man threw his eyes to heaven, and dragged Dan into a doorway. “Not so loud!” he begged. “You’ll get my throat slit.”

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “No, you won’t, young sir. You’ll slow me down. This ain’t the place for you. Now be a good gentleman, and leave this job to me.” His tone was respectful, but extremely firm.

  Dan thought of pushing past him, but the Runner was already on his toes, ready for any sudden move. “We’re wasting time,” he said significantly.

  “Then I’ll wait for you here.”

  “Best go back to Mount Street, sir. I may be some time.” He turned quickly and disappeared into an alley way.

  Wild with frustration, Dan retraced his steps. The delay had lost him his quarry.

  Damn Sebastian! Why must he always be one step ahead? Then common sense returned. At least his lordship had wasted no time in setting enquiries afoot. The Runner had seemed competent enough. His very appearance would make him inconspicuous in that nefarious area.

  Dan himself was unarmed. It hadn’t occurred to him to carry a weapon. Now, on reflection, he knew that the Runner had been right to stop him.

  Always a poor parish, in the previous century the Church Lane rookery had reached the depths of squalor with its population of hawkers, beggars and thieves. Every fourth building was a gin shop, where the verminous inhabitants could drink themselves into oblivion for a copper or two. Stupefied with liquor, they could forget the filthy decaying lodging houses in which they lived under wretched conditions.

  The narrow warrens and dimly lit courts had always attracted a transient population. Overcrowding was rife, and it was easy enough for the worst of criminals to cover their tracks, h
iding in perfect safety among the teeming masses. They issued forth only to rob the unwary, and murder was a commonplace.

  Dan shuddered. He didn’t lack courage, but, unarmed, he’d be no match for a mob. He’d been a fool to think of entering that slum alone. His very appearance made him a tempting target. An attack might, at best, have left him injured. He could be of no possible service to Judith then.

  Meantime, the Reverend Charles Truscott had penetrated to the very heart of the thieves’ den. As a child he’d grown accustomed to the sight of the tumbledown hovels, the piles of rotting garbage in the streets, and the all-pervading stench.

  Now he had grown fastidious, and the smell which assailed his nostrils made him want to gag. Then his guide pushed open a door which swung drunkenly on its broken hinges, and beckoned him inside.

  “Up there!” The boy jerked a thumb towards a rickety flight of stairs and vanished.

  The preacher found that his stomach was churning, and he could taste bile in his throat. He was tempted to turn and flee, but he dared not risk the loss of all that had been so hard-won.

  He schooled his features into an expression of smooth benevolence, mounted the stairs, and knocked at the door which faced him.

  It swung open at his touch, and for a moment he thought the room was empty. He looked about him in disgust. He’d seen squalor in his time, but this was beyond all. Flies swarmed over a broken bowl of half-eaten food, and looking down, he saw that they had laid their eggs. The place was bare, except for a single chair without a back, and a battered wooden crate. A heap of rags lay upon the floor, but there was neither bed nor mattress.

  “Well, Charlie, how do you like it? A regular palace, ain’t it?” A face peered out at him from beneath the heap of rags.

  The preacher stared at his mother without affection.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “I thought you’d be long gone.”

  “In a wooden box? That would have suited you…”

  He was in full agreement with this sentiment, but he must not antagonise her.

  “I meant only that I thought you would have found a better place.”

  “Ho, yus? Look at me, Charlie!” With a swift movement she thrust aside the rags, and staggered to her feet. He was aware of the strong smell of gin.