by Mary Nichols
He left Jack muttering that he didn’t know what the world was coming to, and peeped out to see there was no one about. The coast was clear and he was soon out and hurrying down a side road and out on to Piccadilly. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Ash’s phaeton standing outside the Admiral’s house and, unusually, no one in attendance. At once he went into character, sidling along, looking shifty. The street was still busy with pedestrians, a cab or two and a couple chairs being escorted by linkmen.
He had half his body in the carriage when Ash came out of the house to raise the hue and cry. He was too early or Harry was too late, but he could not retreat and there was nothing for it but for Ash to pretend outrage and grab the offender. ‘You were late,’ he muttered as they pretended to struggle. ‘Now what am I supposed to do?’
‘Let me get away and fall over your own feet coming after me.’
Ash obeyed, but others had seen the robbery and gave chase. This was not in Harry’s plan, but there was nothing for it but to run for all he was worth. His closest pursuer dived for his legs and brought him down, making him hit his face on the cobbles. Desperation lent him strength and, after a brief but intense struggle, during which his neckerchief was torn from him, he squirmed away, scrambled to his feet and set off again. The man made a half-hearted attempt to follow, but gave up and went back to Ash, who had gathered the witnesses about him and was loudly lamenting the loss of his purse.
Harry could not go back to Lord Trentham’s house until he was sure he was not being followed. He turned the corner into Tyburn Lane and risked a look behind him. There was no one on his tail. Another turn and then another and he was at the mews behind Trentham House. Making sure there was no one to see him, he slipped back into the house and rejoined Jack.
‘My lord, what has happened to you?’ the valet asked, shocked by the sight of him.
Harry was so breathless he had to sit down before he could answer. ‘Nothing of any moment.’
‘Nearly got caught, didn’t you?’ Jack said. ‘I knew no good would come of it.’
‘Come of what?’ Harry demanded, stripping off the dirty coat and noticing there was blood on it. ‘Where did that come from?’
‘Your nose, my lord. You look as though you have been in a mill.’ He sighed and wrung a cloth out in a bowl of water set ready to wash off the make-up and began dabbing at Harry’s nose. ‘It was a wager, I doubt not. I only hope it was worth it, though what Lady Portman will say when she sees you, I can but guess.’
‘Ouch! That hurt.’
‘I must clean the blood off, my lord, and get rid of this brown make-up, but you will have to use the lighter make-up to cover the bruise. I assume you mean to rejoin the company.’
‘Of course I do.’ He brushed the valet aside and stood up to look in the hand mirror, which he kept with his box of make-up. ‘Good Lord, I did not know it was as bad as that.’ He fingered the end of his nose tenderly. ‘That comes from not looking where I was going and walking into doors.’
‘You don’t say,’ Jack commented laconically, handing him a pot of make-up.
Harry could easily have admonished him for that but, busy smearing the paint over the bruise and blending it in, decided not to. Then he took off the rest of Housman’s clothes and dressed again as the foppish Lord Portman, cramming his hair back under the white wig and sitting down again to put on his shoes. Restoring his fob and quizzing glass to his neck and the rings to his fingers, he left Jack to bundle up the other garments and return with them to Portman House.
‘Where has Harry has got to?’ Francis murmured, leading Rosamund down the line of dancers. ‘Deserted you already, has he?’
‘He is about somewhere. I saw him dancing not two minutes ago.’ It had been considerably longer than two minutes, but she did not intend to let Francis know she had wondered the same thing herself. ‘He might have gone to the card room.’
‘Ah, yes,’ he said, with an oily smile. ‘Harry does so like a gamble.’
Why did everything the man said sound as if he meant something more than the words he was uttering? ‘He is no different from most other men and I do not think he risks too much.’
‘Oh, he risks a great deal,’ Francis said enigmatically.
‘I cannot think what.’
‘No?’ He stepped away from her and down the outside of the double line of dancers to find her again at its head. He bowed and took her hands to duck beneath the arch of outstretched arms. ‘Marrying you was a risk and embroiling himself in your affairs an even greater one,’ he murmured so only she could hear.
‘Whatever do you mean?’
‘I blame that play acting he was so keen on before he inherited. Thinks he’s another David Garrick, I shouldn’t wonder. It wouldn’t be so bad if he confined his acting to the stage and didn’t enjoy dressing up like a muckworm and consorting with the low life in the stews.’
‘I am sure you are mistaken,’ she said, as an image of Harry creeping from the house in that strange garb came to her. This was all to do with Papa and that mining company and Max and those coins, she was sure of it.
‘I’ve seen him myself. Funny that, after your brother passed me a clipped guinea the other day.’
‘That was an innocent mistake, you know that.’ She tried to sound convincing but was not sure she had succeeded.
‘Oh, undoubtedly it was a mistake,’ he said airily. ‘A big mistake.’ He stopped suddenly because Harry was waiting for them at the end of the line.
‘I will take over now,’ he told Francis, holding out his hands to Rosamund. ‘Do find something else to do.’ Defeated, Francis left them.
‘My lord,’ she said, taking his hands and stepping to the side and then back again. ‘That was discourteous of you.’
He matched her steps with his. ‘I have no doubt he was filling your head with nonsense.’
‘I took no note of what he was saying,’ she said.
‘Good.’
The dance ended, he gave her a flourishing bow and she curtsied. It was when he held out his hand to raise her and she looked up into his face, she noticed his nose was swollen and there was the beginning of a bruise on the end of it. ‘Harry, what has happened?’
‘Happened, my dear?’ He was at his most infuriating as he tucked her hand beneath his arm and strolled to the side of the ballroom. ‘Why, I have been dancing with you. I know it ain’t done to dance with one’s wife, but I don’t care for that custom when the wife I have is making the whole population of London green with envy of me.’
‘That is a foolish thing to say,’ she said, unaccountably pleased with the compliment. ‘I did not mean that.’
‘Oh?’ A dark eyebrow was raised towards her.
‘You look as though you have been fighting.’ It was said in a whisper.
‘Fighting, my dear? Me?’ He feigned astonishment. ‘I am the world’s worst coward. Besides, it would ruin my clothes.’ These were as pristine as they had been when they arrived, but he ran the back of his hand down the lapel of his coat as if stroking it in affection.
‘But your nose is swollen and I do believe I can see a bruise.’
‘Oh, that,’ he said nonchalantly. ‘Silly me, I walked into a door. Not looking where I was going. A little foxed, perhaps.’
She did not believe him, but could hardly call him a liar; still, something had happened when he absented himself, she was sure of it. The company was too wrapped up in the dancing and their own conversations to notice when someone disappeared, which often happened at functions like this: a call of nature, a stroll in the garden, the lure of the card room, a little flirtation. But she had missed him. It had not worried her until Francis Portman started filling her ears with his innuendo and Harry had come back with a bloodied nose.
‘Then perhaps we should take our leave and return home before other people notice it,’ she said. ‘I will put some salve on it. You cannot go about looking as though you had been in a prize fight and come off worse.’
&n
bsp; ‘If I had been in a fight, I would not have come of worse,’ he said, attempting humour. ‘But, by all means, let us make our excuses and go home.’
Their carriage was sent for while they took their leave of their host and hostess. James and Jonathan, who knew about the supposed robbery, pretended to believe the story of the door and chaffed him unmercifully, so that he was glad to escape.
They were silent in the carriage going home. Rosamund was worried. If Harry had not returned with that bruise on his face so soon after Francis regaling her with his tales, she might not have been concerned. What had Francis meant by ‘embroiling himself in your affairs’? She did not think for a moment that Harry would confide in his cousin about Mr O’Keefe. Or had Max been so foolish as to tell him the truth about those coins? And where had Harry got that bruise?
He would have gone straight to his room as soon as they entered the house if she had not taken his arm and propelled him towards her boudoir. Here she pushed him into a chair. ‘Sit still while I find that salve. It is a recipe my mother used when my brother used to hurt himself as a boy and I always keep some by me.’
‘There really is no need,’ he said, watching her go to her dressing table and wring a cloth out in water, and then fetch out a pot of ointment. ‘It’s nothing. It will be gone by the morning.’
‘It is already spreading,’ she said, coming back to him and surveying him critically. ‘It was only faint before, now it is a rainbow of colours. You must have run into that door full tilt.’ She began dabbing at it with the cloth. It came away stained with make-up. ‘Oh, Harry, do you have to wear this stuff, you really do not need to, you know. You have a very good complexion.’
‘Too good,’ he said, grinning. ‘The fashion is to be pale.’
‘I do not care for that fashion. You do not wear makeup at Bishop’s Court.’
‘That’s different.’
‘I like you best without it.’
‘Do you, my dear?’ he asked softly.
‘Yes.’ She was standing over him, carefully smearing the salve on his nose. As her hand came close to his lips, he caught her finger in his mouth. Startled, she pulled it away. ‘Harry, I can’t do this if you don’t behave.’
‘I am not sure I want to behave.’ He put his arm about her waist and pulled her on to his knee. The pot went flying from her grasp. She heard it break, but could do nothing about it because he was kissing her. Her worries about Max and Frances and how he had come by that bruise flew from her head. He did want her, after all. Her heart began to thump in anticipation, but then he seemed to shudder, as if coming out of a deep sleep, and stood up, depositing her back on her feet. She stood and waited expectantly. Now, surely he would consummate their marriage?
Her hope dwindled to nothing as he murmured, ‘Thank you for the salve, my dear. I shall be as good as new in the morning.’ Then he dropped a kiss on her forehead and was gone, leaving her in tears to clear up the broken glass and ointment. They seemed as far apart as ever. But something had to be done, if she was not to lose the happiness the last few months had brought her.
Harry stumbled up to his room. He must have been more foxed that he realised. Good God, he had nearly succumbed to temptation. She had looked up at him, lovely eyes searching his face, her lips slightly parted as if in invitation. It was becoming unbearable, this longing to make love to his wife. Every time they were alone together, he felt himself spinning ever closer towards a whirlpool, which pulled him in and down. He must resist. Not only because of what had happened to Beth, but because of O’Keefe and the coiners.
It was not only his duty to the Piccadilly Gentlemen driving him, but the need to find out about Rosamund’s involvement with O’Keefe, to discover if it was anything more than her father’s foolishness. That was what Mr Tetley had assured him was the case. He would have been satisfied with that, if the lawyer had not also mentioned a bag of counterfeit guineas that had been found in the old man’s room and which he believed had been handed over to the Excise. It had confirmed Harry in his belief that Max Chalmers had been passing them. He needed a clear head to bring that business to a conclusion and, more importantly now, keep her safe.
He slept fitfully and rose next morning, more determined than ever to try to distance himself from her. It was too early to go calling, so he took a gallop in the park and then, instead of going home, went on to Ashley’s bachelor apartments in Lincoln’s Inn Fields.
Ash, who was suffering from overindulgence at the Admiral’s the night before, was wearing a quilted dressing gown and a wet cloth on his forehead. Having offered his early visitor a cup of coffee, they sat down to discuss the events of the night before. ‘I made enough fuss to be sure word of it would be all round town,’ Ash told him. ‘According to the witnesses, I very nearly caught you in the act, but you are slippery as an eel and managed to escape, in spite of being pursued by half the population of London. It is strange how stories become more exaggerated with each telling.’ He paused, surveying his friend’s swollen nose with interest. The bruise had come out, red, yellow and purple, and he looked like a prize fighter. ‘I didn’t do that, did I?’
‘No, it was that linkman who came after me. Put me down on the cobbles, curse him.’
‘How did you explain it to your lovely wife?’
‘I walked into a door when I was foxed.’
Ash laughed. ‘You foxed! I never met a man who could hold his drink better. Did she believe you?’
‘I am not sure. She pretended she did.’
‘I sincerely hope that is the last time you set up a caper like that. You were as near as dammit caught. James would not have liked that. You know he is a stickler for keeping above the law and he would not be happy if he were forced to defend you by explaining that you were working for the Piccadilly Gentlemen. It would do the Society’s reputation no good at all.’
‘I know. I would not ask it of him. And it would not help to catch the coiners.’
‘Now what?’
‘Off to the Nag’s Head and this time I think I will be taken to the farm.’
‘Let me come with you.’
‘No, I have to go alone, but you could follow and keep watch, in case anything goes wrong.’ He paused. ‘But keep well back and do not interfere unless I give you the signal.’
‘You cannot arrest them all single-handed.’
‘I am not going to try. Arresting people is the job of the Runners; besides, I do not want my disguise penetrated. It is too convenient and might be needed again. Once I have located the farm and told Sir John Fielding where it is, my work is done.’ Then he could concentrate on his wife, he told himself. There were still problems to be overcome, not least the not-so-little matter of consummating the marriage. And then there was her brother and the clipped coins. Both seemed insurmountable.
‘Speaking of disguise,’ he said to Ash, ‘I could not leave Portman House in broad daylight as Gus Housman, so I brought his clothes with me. I would deem it a favour if I could change here.’
Ash laughed. ‘That would have caused some raised eyebrows. I’ll send my valet out to collect my new waistcoat from the tailor and take you up to my dressing room.’
This was soon accomplished and Harry emerged in his usual disguise, though the spotted handkerchief was missing; it had done its work and was needed no more. He clamped his greasy black hat back on his head and rejoined Ash, who had dressed in his bedchamber and was wearing the dark blue coat of a naval officer.
‘You look even more disgusting by the light of day,’ Ash commented, wrinkling his nose.
‘Good,’ Harry said, filling his coat pockets with small coins from the bag he had brought with him. ‘I had better be off.’
‘Leave your horse in my mews,’Ash suggested. ‘We must not make the mistake we made before and risk it being recognised.’
‘Horse?’ Harry laughed. ‘Gus Housman could never afford a mount. He must walk, but it would help if you could have Hector on hand in case I need to make a swi
ft getaway.’
O’Keefe was waiting for him in his usual place. He had a tankard of ale on the table in front of him and was in no hurry to leave until he had finished it and his cohorts had established that Housman had not been followed. Seeing Harry’s face, he chuckled. ‘Nearly had you, did they? Heard all about it. Serves you right for working alone.’
Harry fingered his nose as he slipped into the chair opposite the coiner. ‘Tha’s the way I like it.’
‘So, what have you brought me?’
Harry emptied one of his pockets. There were half-guineas, shilling and sixpences, plus a few copper coins. O’Keefe picked them up and examined them one by one, biting into each with blackened teeth. ‘Good,’ he said, putting them in a leather pouch he wore about his waist. ‘But I asked for yeller boys, too.’
Harry dipped into the other pocket and produced a bag, which he jingled enticingly. ‘There’s fifty ’ere, but it comes at a price.’
‘I could tek it off yer.’
‘Yer could,’ Harry conceded thoughtfully. ‘But you ain’t goin’ to, are yer? I know too much.’ That was a risky ploy, he knew. They’d kill him as soon as not, but he didn’t think they would attempt it in the Nag’s Head in broad daylight. And he hoped Ash was not far away.
‘Right.’ O’Keefe drained his tankard and stood up. ‘Let’s be goin’ then.’
Harry followed him out of the tavern down to the river, where the mudlarks paddled about in bare feet retrieving flotsam and jetsam, like coal and timber, to use or sell to make a few pennies to spend on food. The Thames was still the main artery of the capital and full of shipping of all kinds, sea-going sailing ships, small yachts, barges and hundreds of rowing boats, both privately owned and those for hire.
O’Keefe made his way down to the water’s edge where two men sat in a boat, resting on their oars. When they saw O’Keefe and Harry they picked up the oars and began pushing the boat off the mud with them. O’Keefe and Harry clambered in. No one spoke.
Going by water was something Harry had not considered and he wondered if they would go straight across, upstream or downstream; unless Ash was close by and could see them, he would not know which way they had gone. The two oarsmen pulled out into deeper water and turned upstream, sending the craft skimming along, helped by the incoming tide. Harry, pretending to be unconcerned, looked about him at the houses, shops and warehouses that lined the river, trying to catch a glimpse of Ash, but there was no sign of his friend. He had a feeling he was on his own.