Undoing One's Enemy

by Camille Oster

  She heard him walk away and felt the atmosphere lighten at his absence. She wondered if everyone felt that way when he left.

  He considered whether to ask the girl to dine with him, but decided against it. It was obviously not in character with how he’d established their relationship; he just felt the solitariness a bit more keenly here, the centre of his family’s life. Now his family was gone and he was dining in this large room alone, with the only sounds being his cutlery on the fine bone china plate.

  He had, prior to coming here, attended his first gathering within society, a dinner party at Mrs. Marchmart’s home in Grosvenor Square. She was an influential lady, who had a special friendship with one of the gentlemen he’d become acquainted with at his club. It had been a typical event, much as he expected. The conversation was dry, the surroundings were elegant, and there was much talk of the weather, other dinner party plans and plans for the summer. It was mind-numbingly boring and he was constantly questioned discreetly about things that may indicate how much wealth he had; he had been questioned about what kind of house he had, what the maker of his carriage was, whether he stabled any racehorses. The men were more interested in his investments, which he didn’t mind so much—he was interested in hearing about investments.

  It was in Mrs. Marchmart’s rooms, or others just like it, that the important business decisions were made, sometime including the important points of government policy. Being privy to those conversations, even decisions, would stand him in good stead. It was just a shame that the rest of the evening was painfully dull. The women talked of nothing of consequence; most of the banter was pure manners and no substance. At one point he felt like the evening, with its artificial smiles and practiced laughs, would never end.

  His current surroundings turned his thoughts to the future. Eventually he would have to choose a bride. He had on the whole been too busy over the last twenty years to pay much attention to the female sex, other than the ones that came to his rooms late at night. Those women did not talk much, which he had never underappreciated. Their transaction was never complicated, with little discussion needed. The celebrated society ladies talked, but said very little.

  He mentally reviewed the invitations he would accept in the coming week. These choices were made with regards to the business connections he could make. He was not quite masochistic enough to accept any of the invitations to the ton’s meat markets, where matron tried with pervasive desperation to offload their wards onto any eligible man with means.

  The girl was ordering the loading of a trunk onto the carriage when he made his way outside just past dawn the next day.

  “Stealing the silver?”

  “Just more of my dresses,” she said sharply. “Unless you have a use for them.”

  He shrugged his shoulders in disinterest. A wrapped parcel was already loaded. He assumed it was the painting of the girl’s mother. He didn’t bother to check. If the girl stole from him, it would only assure him, but somehow he doubted she would. He imagined she would on principle meticulously weed out any objects she wasn’t one hundred per cent sure she had complete rights to; and although her clothes did technically belong to him, he had already informed her that she may take them.

  She was dressed in a riding costume, not the simple dress she’d arrived in. The rich red material was warm and flattering. He was fairly certain her opportunities for riding would be limited in Hoxton, unless of course she took a lover.

  The idea instantly annoyed him. He would of course cut her off if she did. He felt it was well beyond his mandate to support another man’s mistress. He had made an offer to her, but it had been made in spite and jest.

  As she sat down in the carriage and clasped her leather clad hands on her lap as she stared out the window. He recognized that she would be an attractive prospect on the mistress market. Some liked their mistresses to be of former high standing, and there were a number of them around. Women who had let themselves be seduced, to then be discarded—of all the idiotic things for a girl to risk.

  He wondered if she had ever been tempted. Her form was appealing. He could only see the outlines of it as she was covered from head to toe. Only her neck showed any exposed skin, which was creamy white. Her form suggested a flat stomach, a pleasing flare of her hips and long slim legs. Not that any of it was on show, only the tips of the brown riding boots. She kept all hidden, which was sometimes more confronting than any attempts to beguile.

  In fact, he could see her being the object of lust for a young buck who didn’t know any better. He knew she’d had marriage proposals that she’d not accepted. The stupid girl had waited too long and now her prospects were exhausted, which had in essence had the same end result as if she had stupidly taken a man into her bed.

  The unbidden images of secret chamber assignations flooding his mind were not helpful; he did not want to have urges for the girl—it would be beneath him. He decided to focus on the landscape outside to distract from the sights inside the carriage, but it was going to be a long trip.

  Chapter 4

  Life in the East End was scary. It was incredibly noisy all the time and she couldn’t get used to it. They had managed to clean the kitchen and were achieving regular meals. A form of routine was developing in their lives. After the most pressing needs were met, life in Hoxton settled down to a regular pace.

  Amelia wasn’t sure how she felt about missing out on the social life of her circle of acquaintances. They would have all heard about her fate by now. She could well imagine the gossip, much of which would not be generous. The competition for status and husbands could take brutal forms at times.

  She just wasn’t sure what her life was now. She felt lost. She didn’t know anyone here, or anyone who would accept her now. Her old circle of acquaintances certainly wouldn’t. She knew she needed to build a new life, she just wasn’t sure how one went about it. She had no idea if there were any sorts of people out there that would accept her or if she was just expected to live in the margins for the rest of her life. That particular outcome did not bear thinking about.

  There was one upside, however, as there was no one to note or care whether she was chaperoned; she could leave the house whenever she wanted to. She didn’t need to take anyone with her, it was quite liberating. It was a bit frightening at first, but she got used to it and the frantic activity around her. She didn’t venture far to begin with, but her familiar area slowly grew bigger.

  While their small rooms weren’t home, they were getting more familiar as well. The markets served most of their needs. Edna sometimes chose to come along, other times she didn’t want to go outside. The change had been upsetting to her and her reaction to it varied day by day.

  Amelia did her best to be positive and to hide the nerves she felt about their future and prospects. In truth, she would lose her mind if her whole future consisted of playing cards and reading old tatty novels from the market.

  “I can’t find Miss Hessworth,” Abigail said breaking through Amelia’s worried musings.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I can’t find her,” Abigail reiterated. “She went to her room for a nap, but when I went to check on her, she’s not there.”

  “Where is she?” Amelia said with increasing panic.

  “She must have gone out,” Abigail said tentatively.

  “She must be at the market.” Amelia ran out the door to the market, as always the streets were full of people, carts and vendors going about their business. It was difficult to spot anyone in the throng of people. The market now seemed much larger than ever before, and she couldn’t spot her aunt anywhere.

  After searching the whole market three times over, she returned to their rooms. Abigail was standing outside the doorway.

  “She’s not at the market,” Amelia checked.

  “I looked in the bookstore down the road. She’s not there either,” Abigail confirmed.

  “Where else could she have gone?”

  “I’ll check
the bath house. We went there a few days ago. She seemed to like it, maybe she’s returned.”

  “No, stay here, I’ll go. Someone needs to be here in case she returns.”

  Amelia ran to the bath house a few streets away. After explaining the situation to the attendant, she checked the entire bath house as well. The heat of the place reminded her that she should have brought her coat, she hadn’t thought of it in her panic.

  She wondered if Edna had her coat—she hoped she did. True panic was starting to set in now. She had searched all the places that Edna was familiar with and she had to concede that perhaps her aunt was truly lost in a large city, in a part of it that she was completely unfamiliar with.

  Amelia was fighting tears of worry. Crying would in no way help the situation, it only highlighted a weak mind, or so her father always insisted. She felt terrible, this was all her fault. Why had she not watched her aunt more closely? Why had she gotten them in this situation in the first place? She should have married one of the suitors that offered to her when she had the chance. If she had been smart, she would have foreseen that her father’s death could have happened. Why hadn’t she realized that his affairs were as dire as they were? She should have paid more attention.

  Now Aunt Edna was lost and probably distressed somewhere—or maybe even hurt. Amelia turned around without knowing what direction to walk in. Who did one turn to in such cases? She couldn’t think of anyone that could help, maybe the hospitals. If she could find a constable, maybe she could beseech him to help. There were none around and she had no idea how to find them.

  Her only hope would be that Edna hadn’t walked too far. Amelia decided to just walk down every street nearby, maybe she would stumble across her. Perhaps she could let some of the vendors know that she is searching for her aunt so they could keep an eye out.

  The vendors were mostly obliging and sympathetic which gave Amelia hope—not that any of them had seen an elderly woman fitting Edna’s description.

  She walked around the corner and down yet another street that looked pretty much the same as the last. She had to be careful or she would get lost as well. At least she knew her address, she wasn’t sure that Edna did. Her eyes prickled again. This was absolutely awful.

  “Miss Hessworth,” a sharp tone interrupted her. She looked up at the figure on a horse and was astonished to see Lord Eldridge, for a second she thought help had arrived before her senses got the better of her. She really didn’t want to see him right now, or deal with whatever he wanted. Why was he even here anyway when his usual method was to send notes ordering her appearance.

  “Your aunt,” he started, looking down his nose at her, “seems to have taken up residence in my house.”

  “She’s there? You have her?” Amelia said with instant relief. Suddenly she had never been so glad to see him. She could clap her hands and jump for joy but she restrained herself.

  “I am glad to hear it,” she followed up. “We were starting to worry.”

  “Perhaps you should take better care of your aunt instead of having her wander across half of London,” he said coldly. “I suggest you come and collect her.”

  “I’ll come now.”

  “It might be prudent to wear something warmer, Miss Hessworth. You’re going to be even less useful to your aunt if you perish from a fever. I am assuming you have a coat or have you hawked it?”

  “Of course I haven’t,” she said offended at his implications. “I was rather in a hurry.”

  “I suggest you go get it, it’s a long walk back to Mayfair, Miss Hessworth,” he said and turned the large grey horse around. “If I had thought of it, I would have brought the carriage, but I wasn’t at home at the time. Would you like me to secure you a hack?”

  Amelia desperately wanted to tell him to take his hack and go to hell, but it really was a long and time consuming walk to Mayfair, so she gritted her teeth.

  “That would be most kind of you.” She said with a tight smile that manners required.

  He waved a hack over and she climbed inside as he ordered the man to take her to her rooms then to his address in Mayfair. He then rode off without further word or acknowledgement of her. She watched him as he rode down the street on the beautiful horse—his back was straight in the dark coat. She seethed with dislike for the man; he was such a lout.

  The carriage took off with a start. It actually took some time to get back to her rooms. When there, she got out and retrieved her coat. The man driving the hack looked her over as she returned. It was obvious he thought she was a certain type of woman going for an assignation with a gentleman. Amelia itched to set the man straight, but she also knew that he would believe whatever he wanted no matter of what she said. Not that it mattered, this hack driver had no real purpose in her life and it shouldn’t matter to her that he thought she was that type of person.

  From his study, Richard heard the girl arrive. He did not like having her here, it only highlighted the twinge of conscience he felt about the elderly woman who was clearly not adjusting to the changes in her life. He saw the girl’s head as she ascended the stairs to the front door.

  “I understand Miss Hessworth is here,” she said after Granson granted her entry.

  “She is in her room,” Granson responded. “I mean the guest room.”

  “Thank you, Granson,” she said. “I think I recall the way.”

  “Very well, Miss Hessworth.”

  Miss Hessworth then proceeded up the stairs and Granson knocked on the study door.

  “Miss Hessworth has arrived to collect Miss Hessworth,” Granson said. “My Lord, if you don’t mind me saying, I think she might have some difficultly.”

  Richard tapped his pen on the desk as he considered what to do. He wasn’t quite brutish enough to manhandle an elderly senile woman out of his house, but he struggled to think of how they might tempt her to leave. So far she seemed adamant that she was in her proper place, and she’d gone so far as to demand he state who he was and what he was doing there.

  Perhaps Miss Hessworth can coax the woman to do as she must. It was an unpleasantness he could do without. He considered leaving for a while as he imagined there was little he could do to assist. The carriage would, of course, be available to them.

  There was a further knock on the door and Granson entered.

  “Miss Hessworth is refusing to leave,” the butler said. “She appears to have taken ill.”

  Richard swore under his breath. “She is ill?”

  “Fainted,” Granson said. “She is elderly and has always had a weak constitution.”

  “She has been taken to bed?”

  “Miss Hessworth is seeing to her comfort.”

  “Very well,” Richard said. He didn’t know what else to do. The woman refused to leave, and there was a good chance that she would keep on traipsing through London to appear on his doorstep. Heaven knew how she had found her way the first time. He considered the thought of just leaving it to deal with some other time as there were no easy ways of resolving it. Perhaps if the woman stayed in her rooms, he wouldn’t notice an invalid living in his house.

  He didn’t like the idea, but he could not be responsible for the woman coming to harm as she repeatedly returned like a homing pigeon. If only the younger Miss Hessworth was capable of dealing with the woman, he wouldn’t be in this situation; although he did grudgingly accept that dealing with such disability could be difficult.

  Before long, it had grown dark outside and it was approaching dinner time. He ate in the dining room accompanied by the ticking of the large clock. He had an engagement that evening with Lord Rasmussen. He hoped it might prove a diverting evening, but he suspected it would not. His foray back into society was being met with success. He had his pick of invitations to accept and there were no real obstacles. Money and power forgave many sins in this society.

  After his brief meal, he called for his mount and dressed for the cold outside. The house was quiet as if there had been no upset. It was an enco
uraging sign, he guessed, but he left the drama within his household behind as he left.

  Lord Rasmussen’s event was typical; there was polite banter from the men, awkward vacant chatter from the unattached girls and barely veiled compliments from the married women. Cavorting with married women was not to his tastes; although the opportunity seemed to be present. He had seen the dramatics that sometimes resulted from such activities. There were definitely persons who lived for such dramatics, but he couldn’t understand why.

  In truth, there was little that held his interest. Occasionally there would be discussions amongst the men that proved informative, but it might be a stretch to call it interesting.

  His mind travelled to the problem in his house and the young woman he’d had to fetch. She had obviously been distressed when he found her, ill prepared to deal with the situation judging from her state of dress. The weather was much too cold for the muslin day gown she was wearing, which the girl seemed to not have noticed. He did not fail to notice the look of contempt she gave him when she saw him.

  Her contempt for him fed anger in him. While he could understand that the girl might not be his most enthusiastic supporter, it still annoyed him. Particularly the way she stuck up her little chin in defiance—not that she had anything to be defiant about, she’s well and truly lost this battle, he thought.

  On one level, however, it amused him that the ton were so utterly forgiving and welcoming now that he came with a fortune attached. They even commended him on his treatment of Amelia Hessworth. He remembered well what it was like to have their contempt, which he did at a time when he was much more innocent. It seemed that wealth, or the absence thereof, was the driver of their approval as opposed to loss or protection of innocence.