‘For God’s sake, madam!’ ground out Richard who, having witnessed her flagrant disregard for propriety, was now becoming thoroughly revolted, not only with Lady Cummings, but also with himself for ever having allowed himself to be captivated by what he had lately come to realise were decidedly overblown charms. ‘You go too far!’
In reply, she simply let out a throaty chuckle and then, leaning much too close for decency, she bade him a whispered ‘Au revoir, my sweet!’, after which, exhibiting the most provocative sway of her hips, she sauntered casually back to the hapless Viscount Ruskin.
As his eyes followed her progress across the floor, Richard’s face was tight with anger. Apparently quite impervious to the disdainful looks and low mutterings of disapproval being cast in her direction, she rather gave the appearance of one who had grown bored by the whole proceedings. Having reached the doorway, where her highly embarrassed sister had been doing her best to entertain her abandoned escort, the unabashed Lady Cummings merely offered her a swift peck on the cheek and, after waving an ostentatious ‘farewell’ to the now stunned assembly, took hold of her cicisbeo’s arm and exited the room.
A pensive frown upon his face, Richard did his utmost to ignore the speculative stares that were being cast in his direction, as he found himself reflecting that, all things considered, perhaps it was just as well he had been in a position to view the creature’s true nature, since it had been his intention to visit her later that same evening, in order to terminate their relationship. Now, however, thanks to her blatant disregard for propriety, the woman had earned herself no more than a curt note informing her of his decision. What the devil he had ever seen in her, he was hard pressed to bring to mind.
Rather to his surprise, the anticipated reproach from his grandmother failed to materialise, although the dowager’s manner towards him for the remainder of the evening was noticeably lukewarm. A good deal more disconcerting, perhaps, was Helena’s failure to respond to any of his resolute attempts to engage her in conversation in anything other than a polite but somewhat preoccupied manner, causing him to suspect that it would not be long before his name was added to her growing list of failed suitors, an outcome that, for reasons that had nothing whatsoever to do with his monetary problems, the earl shrank from dwelling upon. Fortunately for his increasing sense of unease—owing to the fact that Lady Cummings’s unexpected attendance seemed to have put rather a damper on the whole proceedings—the party broke up shortly afterwards.
As it happened, Lady Isobel had counselled Helena to refrain from making any mention of the incident and, after pointing out that ‘we females have ever been obliged to accept the unaccountable proclivities of the opposite sex! It is the way of the world and, as such, is unlikely to change’, had urged her to try to put the matter out of her mind.
Which was all very well, Helena could not help thinking, as the countess’s barouche wended its way through the late-evening traffic back to Cadogan Place. Whilst it was true that the event had given her cause to view Markfield in a rather different light, she still found it difficult to visualise him in the role of out-and-out libertine. Not that she was actually conversant with the precise meaning of the term, since her entire experience in that area was restricted to what she had picked up during her occasional perusals of Lottie’s somewhat lurid taste in literature!
Nevertheless, one thing of which she was quite certain was that, having already been subjected to some rather discourteous treatment by one such rackety individual, she was quite determined never to find herself obliged to suffer such humiliating indignity again! And yet, setting aside the fact that Markfield had always treated her with the utmost respect, the rather disconcerting discovery that he was in the habit of forming associations with women such as the atrocious Lady Cummings had the effect of bringing about the most peculiar constriction of her throat, not to mention an odd stinging sensation at the back of her eyes.
Contrary to what the earl might have supposed, Helena’s education in worldly matters had not been entirely confined to her time at Miss Haversham’s Seminary for Gentlewomen. Indeed, having spent much of the past two years in constant contact with a class of individuals whose lives ran on very different lines from those of her present companions, it would have been almost impossible for her not to have picked up a certain amount of information about the parlous conditions in which these people existed. Miscarriage, rape and abortion were terms she came across on an almost daily basis and she could hardly help but be aware of the fact that the sickening bruises that appeared, with depressing regularity, on the arms and faces of the likes of Bet Mooney and Cissie Pritchard had come about as a result of the rough handling that they had received at the hands of their dockside clientele.
Unfortunately, however, whilst it was true that a good many of the ‘facts of life’ were much less of a mystery to her than might have been imagined, Helena’s understanding of what actually took place between a man and a woman was still rather vague. Added to which, since the browbeaten apathy of the women who queued at the kitchen daily bore no resemblance to the close and loving nature that had always formed part of her own parents’ relationship, she had been forced to conclude that this rather questionable type of activity must be something peculiar to the lower orders, brought about as a result of their being forced to scrape a pitiful existence in such hopeless and straitened circumstances. To discover that those whose lives lacked for nothing should also choose to indulge in these doubtful practices was quite beyond her understanding. And that Markfield, for whom she was beginning to form such a high regard, might also be included in this number was something that she could scarcely bear to contemplate. On the other hand—if her ladyship were to be believed—this type of behaviour appeared to be regarded as perfectly commonplace within their circle!
She sighed, wishing with all her heart that her mother had still been there to offer her the wise and friendly counsel that had always been of such comfort to her in the past. But then, as she strove to find some sort of answer to her quandary, it suddenly crossed her mind that perhaps Jenny Redfern, who was several years her senior and a good deal more worldly wise than she was, might be able to shed some light on the vexing subject and vowed to tackle her friend on her very next visit to Justice Walk.
Apart from the occasional comment from the countess with regard to the rather poor selection of refreshments on offer at the soirée, along with the observation that, in her opinion, one of the fiddlers had been sadly out of tune, all three passengers were singularly quiet throughout the return journey.
However, no sooner had the carriage drawn to a halt outside Helena’s house than Richard had thrown open the door and leapt nimbly down, thus enabling him to be in a position to offer his assistance to Helena well before the footman had managed to scramble from his perch.
At his sudden and unexpected action, a glimmer of amusement lit up her eyes and she might well have laughed out loud, had she not been conscious of his extremely sober expression. Thanking the countess prettily, she bade her ‘goodnight’, then, placing her hand into Richard’s, she allowed him to assist her down from the carriage.
Although he had spent the whole of the short journey from the Kettlesham mansion in Ennismore Gardens to Cadogan Place beset by the most inexplicable urge to assure Helena that any relationship that he might once have had with Lady Cummings was now over and done with, the earl still managed to retain sufficient aplomb to realise that this was hardly the moment for a discussion of that sort.
‘I should like to call on you tomorrow morning, if I may,’ he said, as he escorted her up the shallow flight of steps that led to the front door, which was opened almost as soon as his hand touched the knocker.
At his words, a wave of regret washed over Helena. ‘I’m most dreadfully sorry, my lord, but I fear that I shall be otherwise engaged until well after luncheon tomorrow.’
Although his heart seemed to drop into his shoes at her reply, the earl gave a little shrug. ‘No matte
r,’ he replied, carefully assuming an air of nonchalance. ‘It is of no importance.’ Pausing briefly, he then went on, ‘You will be available in the evening to attend the supper dance at Almack’s, I trust—given that Lady Jersey sends the vouchers as promised, of course.’
To his relief, she inclined her head in affirmation, saying, ‘Perhaps you would be good enough to ask Lady Isobel to send me a note advising me of their arrival and at what hour I might expect her carriage?’
‘It will be my pleasure,’ he replied, executing a swift bow then, bidding her ‘goodnight’, he turned smartly on his heel and made his way back to the waiting barouche.
As she watched the carriage disappear round the corner into Pont Street, a pensive frown appeared on Helena’s face and, for several minutes, she stood silently mulling over the possible reasons for his proposed visit. Could he have been going to inform her of his intention to curtail their arrangement? she wondered. Or, perhaps his colourful lady friend had expressed her disapproval of his involvement in the scheme and ordered him to bring it to an end? However, having given a little more consideration to that particular option, she was obliged to concede that it was highly unlikely that anyone, either male or female, would be able to persuade Markfield into doing anything that he chose not to do.
A discreet cough from the open doorway, where Hay ward was still waiting to help her off with her evening cloak, caused her to spin round in some confusion.
‘Oh, do forgive me, Hayward,’ she said, giving him a bright smile as she stepped over the threshold. ‘I’m afraid I was miles away!’
Richard’s difficulties, it would seem, were not yet over. No sooner had he taken his seat in the barouche than his grandmother leaned forwards and, tapping him sharply on his knee with her folded fan, insisted that she should be given an explanation of his part in the ‘disgraceful display of bad manners’ that she had had the misfortune to witness at the soirée. ‘And, please don’t try to fob me off with some feeble Banbury tale!’ she begged him. ‘For I was not born yesterday, as you are well aware! Surely that dreadful creature cannot be one of your fancy pieces?’
Fixing the dowager with a steely glare, Richard took a deep breath. ‘In the first place,’ he ground out, ‘I would like to make it clear that I do not have “fancy pieces”, as you term them. Whilst it may be true that I did once number Lady Cummings among my acquaintances in the past, any such association is now at an end. Furthermore, any display of bad manners you may have witnessed was not on my part. In fact, all things considered, I believe I exercised sufficient diplomacy to defuse a situation that might well have developed into something a sight more distasteful—rather successfully, as it turned out!’
‘Humph!’ returned his grandmother, suitably chastened, but only very slightly mollified. ‘It is highly fortunate that the Kettlesham rout did not loom large on the social calendar. I only chose to accept the invitation because I felt that it would provide a suitably gentle stepping stone for Helena’s entry into society. I can only pray that this evening’s débâcle has done nothing to damage all our carefully laid plans!’
Ruefully echoing a silent ‘Amen’ to her prayer, Richard leaned back against the squabs and devoted the rest of the journey back to Standish House to wondering whether Helena did indeed have a prior engagement for the following morning or if it was just simply a ploy to avoid having any sort of direct confrontation with him. Given that their initially quite amicable relationship had already foundered, due to his clumsy mishandling of the situation, he could not help feeling that this evening’s unfortunate débâcle could only have worsened matters. Added to which, it was gradually beginning to dawn upon him that, despite his determination not to allow his heart to rule his head, it was beginning to look as if the damage had already been done. How to deal with this highly disturbing circumstance was yet another problem to add to his growing list!
Chapter Eleven
The Wesleyan Chapel in Justice Walk had formerly been used as a court of law by the much revered Fielding brothers, John and Henry, for the trial and sentencing of the various felons of their day. The basement of the building, which had, at that time, been used to house those unfortunate prisoners who were waiting to be tried, was now in use as a centre for the dispensation of a daily allotment of simple provender to the neighbourhood’s growing number of homeless and destitute.
Owing to the fact that the chamber was without windows, apart from a small barred opening situated on the wall some three feet away from the entrance, it had been necessary to restrict its use to mornings only, since the elected committee in charge of the scheme had agreed that to spend even a single penny of their pitifully small resources on the purchase of candles to light up the dark and gloomy atmosphere of the room’s cavernous interior would be a shocking waste. Hence, thanks to some considerable ingenuity on the part of one of their number, the good ladies had hit on the reasonably satisfactory method of having a pair of trestle tables set up just inside the open doorway and adjacent to the small barred aperture. By positioning themselves behind these tables they managed to dole out ladles of the hearty soup that, for a suitable remuneration, was prepared on a daily basis in the kitchens of the Swallow, a small inn across the alleyway. The barred opening, barely two feet square, also managed to serve a useful purpose, since it had been discovered that the gaps between the iron bars were just wide enough apart to enable sizeable chunks of bread to be passed through to the, seemingly, never-ending queue of ravenous clients.
Whilst the lack of light and heat did not present much of a problem at this time of the year, the working conditions gradually deteriorated as the days grew shorter. Nevertheless, there were seldom any complaints from the dedicated team of volunteers since, no matter how cold their toes and fingers grew, every last one of them was only too aware that, unlike their impoverished clientele, they had warm and comfortable homes to which they would shortly be returning following the completion of their tasks.
On Helena’s first visit to the soup kitchen, her immediate reaction to the plight of the desperate individuals who had held out their battered mugs and bowls for her to fill would have been to distribute the contents of her own purse before sending home for further supplies. Jenny Redfern, however, had very quickly prevented her from doing any such thing, warning her that, no matter how well intentioned her motives were, since she could not possibly give a share of her own largesse to every one of the waiting crowd, to single out even a few of them for preferential treatment would merely cause resentment amongst the others and could well lead to ugly scenes. In the beginning, Helena had considered this edict somewhat harsh and unfeeling, but had very soon grown to appreciate its necessity. And so, whilst it had been impossible for her not to develop soft spots for certain of the regulars over the years, both she and her cousin had learned to execute their duties with as much dexterity and benevolence as the unprepossessing conditions would allow.
Owing to the increasing press of humanity that arrived well before the kitchen was ready to begin its daily business, the alleyway, being a cul-de-sac, had been deemed too narrow to accommodate the influx of carriages that brought the volunteers to their destination. Most of the ladies, therefore, had adopted the habit of alighting from their vehicles in Cheyne Walk and covering the remaining short distance on foot, having instructed their various coachmen to return at one o’clock to collect them.
This morning, the two girls arrived to find the basement in the usual hubbub of activity, with the same half a dozen or so of the waiting men more than willing to involve themselves in the setting up of the trestle tables and the fetching and carrying of the first cauldron of soup and the baskets of freshly baked loaves that were supplied by a nearby bakery.
‘Good morning, ladies!’ one of the men called out, as Helena and her cousin approached.
‘Good morning, Mr Corrigan!’ returned Helena, with a smiling nod. She had warmed to Rueben Corrigan from his very first appearance at the counter for, despite the man’s imp
overished state, he always remained determinedly cheerful and did his best to keep himself clean and tidy. Unfortunately, due to his having walked all the way to London from Dover, following the disembarkation and disbanding of the army unit with which he had served, the soles of his boots had virtually disintegrated and, although he regularly replaced the makeshift cardboard inners, it was clear that, until he could find a way to earn some money and have his boots properly attended to, all thoughts of continuing his journey to his home in the north of England would have to be postponed.
In addition to providing a substantial meal for these unfortunates, the ladies of the trust also made it their business to seek out positions of gainful employment for as many returning ex-soldiers as they possibly could since, like Helena, most of them had lost close relatives in the war. Having already coaxed her father into taking on two fairly superfluous extra hands to help out in the garden and stables that were situated at the rear of her Cadogan Place home before Rueben had shown up, Helena continually found herself wishing that she could find some suitable employment for him, especially since he, unlike a good many others in his position, continued to make every effort to find himself work.
‘Still no luck, I take it, Mr Corrigan?’ she asked, giving him a sympathetic smile.
‘’Fraid not, miss,’ he replied, with a regretful shake of his head. ‘Heard they was taking men on at Chelsea Wharf yesterday morning but, even though I were down there well before six o’clock, the place was already swarming. In the event, it were only four they wanted so I weren’t the only one disappointed.’ Grinning ruefully, he then added, ‘Cost me my place in the queue, though, and soup were all gone by the time I got to the counter!’
A Marriageable Miss Page 13