by Heather Boyd
He burst out of his home, crossed the roadway with little thought to the traffic, and pinned the turnkey with a cold, hard stare. To his credit, Fitzhugh stood his ground until Martin drew near. The man bobbed his head deferentially. “My lord.”
Fitzhugh was half a head shorter, slightly rounded in the middle and clearly wearing his best clothing. “You’ve no reason to come here.”
“I was wanting a word with Mr. Hedley but the knocker’s gone from the door.”
“Yes, it is.” He wanted no callers at all today.
“I’m Mr. Fitzhugh, if you don’t remember. From the Marshalsea Prison.” He smiled widely as if such a place was a credit to him rather than a disadvantage, revealing unshapely, stained teeth.
Martin gritted his. This man had allowed Talbot access to the prison and to blackmail his wife. “I know who you are.”
“I trust Mr. Hedley, and his daughter, are in good health?”
Martin narrowed his eyes and used his bulk to intimidate. “My wife’s health is none of your concern, sir. Be off with you.”
“You really did marry her?” Fitzhugh appeared stunned. He thrust his hand into his pocket then held out a grubby, folded square of paper. “You should have this.”
Martin stared at the note in disgust. “What does that concern?”
“It’s a private matter, my lord. Best not discussed on the street.”
The envelope could only contain one of two things—a note of blackmail or a threat against her life. Martin snatched the note away before anyone noticed and shoved it in his pocket. “If you come here again, I’ll set my dogs on you.” He didn’t keep dogs in London, too much fuss and noise, but he’d get some for the townhouse if the bastard dared to come back into this neighborhood. A dog with nice sharp teeth that could ensure the man walked with a permanent limp for life.
The man shrugged. “Dogs are only loyal to the one that hands them their next meal. Men are like that, too. Good day, my lord.”
He turned away before Martin could respond, getting in the last word and leaving Martin seething with anger. He headed home immediately. Once inside, he peeked into the library to check on Mr. Hedley but found him napping. The man had an uncanny knack of falling asleep whenever a lull in conversation occurred for longer than a few minutes. Today he was grateful of it, and backed away from the man before he disturbed him.
Gibbs joined him in the hall, his gaze darting to the library doorway. “Is everything all right, my lord?”
He urged Gibbs into the drawing room. “Did you by chance notice the man I was speaking with in the square?”
Gibbs nodded slowly. “Yes, my lord. I didn’t recognize him though.”
“You shouldn’t have, but remember his face, will you?” Martin sighed. He needed Gibbs’ help so Iris would remain safe. “Keep an eye out for him and let me know if the fellow returns. He is not to be admitted to Holly House, he is not welcome here, and make sure that my wife remains unaware of his visit should he ever dare darken our door.”
Gibbs nodded but then he frowned in confusion. “Is he an acquaintance of hers?”
“That is no friend to any decent woman.”
“Oh.” Gibbs moved to a window and peeked out. “He’s gone now.”
“Good.” Martin touched the note in his pocket but didn’t reveal it. “I don’t wish to be disturbed until dinner.”
“Of course. I will make sure Mr. Hedley has everything he needs.”
Martin paused a moment. “Is he an easy guest?”
“Yes, my lord. The most trouble he gives anyone so far is asking for second helpings of everything we set before him.”
Martin glanced toward the library. “He does need to eat.”
“And rest too,” Gibbs murmured in full agreement. “He’s nothing but skin and bones.”
“He’ll recover,” Martin insisted, wondering silently if that were true or not. How did one mend a mind that refused to remember?
“He will, my lord, with you watching over him.” Gibbs nodded in approval and headed toward the butler’s pantry.
Martin retreated to his study and examined the paper he’d shoved in his pocket from Fitzhugh. He wasn’t about to pass it over without knowing what it contained first.
He scanned the sheet, expecting to read the worst sorts of demands for money. However, the poorly scrawled note contained a warning from Fitzhugh. Talbot was in a rage over Hedley’s removal from the Marshalsea and had promised to make Iris pay dearly for what he considered a betrayal of their agreement.
He shoved the note in his pocket as Iris tapped on his open door. “Mrs. Clayton agreed to move dinner to an earlier hour.”
“Good. Thank you.”
She moved closer. “Did you have a pleasant day?”
“Somewhat. Helena Ward is still causing all sorts of problems for my man of business.”
The smile slipped from Iris’s face. “You saw her?”
“No, I saw Mr. Barker at his offices and that was enough. He describes her as a frivolous spendthrift with no self-control whatsoever.” Martin laughed at the memory. “Poor man might be in over his head, but I’m sure he’ll sort her out eventually.”
“I see.” She bit her lip and turned away. “Where else did you go?”
He’d gone to see his daughter but he would not mention that fact yet. Not until the business of catching Talbot red-handed was over and the danger he presented was past. The situation had to be handled very carefully.
He stood and crossed to a portrait of his grandparents that was made shortly after their marriage. “There is something I would like you to have.”
He removed the painting and fumbled with the lock of the safe hidden behind, then removed a heavy jewelry box. He smiled at the contents. “These jewels belonged to my grandmother and I think they may be sufficient for the upcoming ball.” He turned and held out the open box that, on first glance, appeared to contain a fortune in rubies and diamond.
Unfortunately his wife had covered her face and couldn’t see them.
“Iris?”
She kept her face covered. “I can’t take them.”
Concerned by the breathless quality of her voice, he set the box aside on his desk and pulled Iris into his arms. She buried her face against his chest and trembled. “Talbot will want them. He wants everything he sees.”
He smoothed a hand down her back, understanding her concern all too well. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you about my grandmother yet, have I? Clever old duck. Hated to wear fine gems for the envy they caused in others, so she had the real family jewels copied. These are paste, an exact replica of the set worn in that painting I took down. She wore them everywhere, and it was not until she’d passed away that we discovered the real set hidden inside an old hat box on the top of her cupboard. My grandfather was never sure when she commissioned the copies.”
Iris drew back. “You are wise not trust me with the real gems.”
“I do trust you.” He kissed the top of her head. “But I don’t trust Talbot and I didn’t want to add to your worry, should he attempt to take your gems from you by force.”
“He will try.” She shuddered. “His rage is terrifying.”
“Shh, love.” He hugged her close. “You’re safe now. I won’t let him hurt you again. All you have to do is drop a note tomorrow on your way back from your outing with Lady Heathcote and the rest will happen without you.”
He released her to pick up the gems, and placed the heavy pieces around her neck and wrists. She held her hand up to the light to better see the stones. “They’re very good. I’d never have believed them copies if you hadn’t told me.”
“The trap will be sprung at Acton House.”
Iris covered her wrist as if afraid to lose the gems adorning her arm. “I thought Acton’s invitation was to be a smaller event?”
“That was true at first but since he has just announced his engagement to Miss Quartermane, the event will be considerably grander in celebration of the
match.”
“Miss Quartermane and Lord Acton?” She frowned. “I had no idea they were involved.”
“Neither did I. It’s a very odd pairing indeed, but it’s exactly what we need to catch Talbot red-handed. The guest list is said to be staggering and his invitation assured.”
“Yes, of course.” She bit her lip. “Let us hope Talbot is convinced there is nothing untoward going on.”
“He will be.” For the moment, Martin cared not for anything but making his wife happy, so he claimed her lips in a searing kiss and tugged her into the nearest armchair so he could distract her from their troubles.
Twenty-Three
Iris tapped on the faded blue door on Pollen Street with a determined heart, Esme at her side. The girl living here would be her daughter if she had her way, and she wanted to assure herself that everything required for her comfort had been taken care of properly.
An older gentleman greeted her, the same man she’d seen that first meeting with Louth’s daughter in the park. “Good afternoon, sir. Might we come in?”
He recognized Iris then eased back to allow her entry. The house was hushed and he directed her to a sitting room and then excused himself. A moment later, Mrs. Hughes poked her head around the doorway with a nervous smile. “I didn’t expect to see you again, miss.”
“I’m sure it seemed that way but I had to come.” She held out her hand. “I should introduce myself properly. I am Lady Louth and this is my close friend, Lady Heathcote. I married your employer three days ago.”
“Yes, the master mentioned he’d wed and we had wondered if it were you he’d taken for a wife.” Mrs. Hughes scraped her palms down her dress. “He still doesn’t know you visited this house, does he?”
“No. I thought to allow my husband the opportunity to do so on his own but he has not mentioned the girl so far in conversation.”
“He should have by now,” Esme grumbled quietly.
“Shh,” Iris warned. Esme was only here because she’d insisted on accompanying her again. “You promised.”
“I see.” The housekeeper frowned. “Then how can I help you? Why have you come back?”
“I would very much like to hear about the lady who gave birth to Lord Louth’s daughter. You said she died in childbirth.” A gentleman’s footsteps could be heard leading away from the doorway. She did not like the idea that he’d been listening to their conversation but she could understand his concern over her visit.
“It is not done to speak of the dead. My lady was beautiful and Lord Louth is a fine man. Kind, so gentle and understanding.” Mrs. Hughes’s gaze dropped to her hands and she winced. “But my mistress never did deserve his generosity. She hid the pregnancy from him quite deliberately, insisting the child belonged to her new protector.”
Iris blinked at the idea her husband had been kept in the dark about the pregnancy. She swallowed nervously. “I see. When did my husband learn of the child?”
“Not for several days after my lady’s death.” Mrs. Hughes sighed. “The other gentleman took care of my mistress’s burial and then suddenly abandoned the child to my care. I didn’t know what to do. I had no choice but to contact the earl.”
“So no matter what he might have done if he’d but known of the impending birth, Vivian Rose had denied the child the chance to her father’s name.” Anger filled her at such obvious selfishness. “I see. Mrs. Hughes, I find myself in a difficult position and need your help. Lord Louth will not agree to us having children. I fear he blames himself, and his greater proportions, for your mistress’s death.”
“She did die straight after the birth, my lady. One moment there, the next gone.”
Iris swallowed her anxiety. “A sudden death can be the hardest to understand. Had she been in good health before the birth?”
Mrs. Hughes frowned. “My mistress always claimed her health was delicate as a means of ensuring she was taken care of by her protectors, but now that you mention it, she had been listless in the preceding weeks. I thought it only impatience and suggested bed rest.”
“A sensible precaution,” Esme agreed, nodding in approval. “Did she take your advice?”
“No. My mistress was always somewhat contrary. She took picnics with Lord Fallon because he insisted she needed a change of scenery, and returned late, often well after dark on most occasions. The morning following such an outing, she had pains and her daughter was delivered later that night.”
“Was a physician in attendance, or a midwife of skill and experience, perhaps?”
“A midwife was sent for in the late afternoon, and my mistress was very tired by then.”
“Not surprising.” It did not sound entirely sensible to Iris that the woman was traipsing about London so late in her pregnancy and keeping irregular hours. “So it is possible that the size of the child wasn’t the cause of her death entirely. There might have been other influences at play. Exhaustion, perhaps. An illness.”
“I suppose so, but I couldn’t say for sure. My mistress did not care much for physician’s and such.”
Iris nodded. Her husband’s last mistress had been a fool to put her health and that of her unborn child at risk by running about Town. She shared a long glance with her friend. Esme’s answering smile was reassuring. “That is enough for me. If I am careful, take sensible precautions to remain in good health, there might be no reason I cannot give my husband an heir. Now where is my daughter?”
“Your daughter?” Mrs. Hughes gaped.
“Well, I certainly intend to be a mother to the child.” Iris stood, disliking the mourning colors surrounding her. “What is she named, by the way?”
“She has no name still.” Mrs. Hughes sighed and gestured across the hall. “The earl will not decide.”
“I see. Well, that must be addressed as soon as possible.”
Esme remained seated. “I will wait here until you are ready to return home.”
She paused at the doorway upon seeing a woman with frizzy blonde hair seated with her back to the door. The woman was rocking to and fro, singing a lullaby. She turned to Mrs. Hughes. “And this is?”
“The wet-nurse, my lady.”
“She’s not done yet,” the unknown woman complained without bothering to turn. The coarse accent and possessive tone set Iris aback but she swiftly recovered her poise and stepped forward to be acknowledged.
Mrs. Hughes made the introductions. “Martha Blake, this is Lady Louth. A countess. She’s come to claim the child as her own.”
Iris smiled at the woman clutching the babe to her bare breast. “I married the earl three days ago. I wanted to see for myself how the girl does.”
“She’s perfect,” Martha claimed.
“I thought so too when I first met her. Might I sit?” She skirted Mrs. Hughes when Martha nodded and took a chair opposite. “I did so want to meet you.”
The woman squinted at her, suspicion clear on her face. “Why?”
“Well, you are the most important woman in my daughter’s life right now. I can learn a great deal about her from you.”
That brought a smile to Mrs. Blake’s face. “She’s an appetite, this one. And a temper. Always hungry when I come.”
Iris frowned. “I thought you would have lived in.”
“I could if it were offered.” Martha glanced up at Mrs. Hughes with a scowl and received one from the housekeeper in return.
Iris noted the friction between the women and wondered at the cause. “Perhaps tea for us both, Mrs. Hughes, and for Lady Heathcote while I become better acquainted with my daughter. And biscuits if you have some, thank you.”
Although Mrs. Hughes appeared hesitant to go, she did as asked and retreated toward the kitchens. Left alone with Mrs. Blake, Iris made herself comfortable and glanced about. The mourning colors were absent from this room. “Lovely.”
“It’s too gloomy elsewhere.” Martha patted her frizzy locks self-consciously and threw a pained look in her direction. “Mrs. Hughes’s beau doesn’t like
me for saying so.”
Iris laughed softly in response. “At least the child is too young to notice colors but it seems she likes you very much.”
The babe had released the woman’s nipple on her own and was staring up at Mrs. Blake with a sweet smile.
Martha cuddled her against her chest. “And I like her, too. She’s such a good girl.”
Although she ached to ask for the babe, Iris held back. “Do you leave because you have children at home to look after?”
“I did. They’re gone now. My husband sent them away to his family.”
Iris’s heart ached. “That’s horrible, and where is it that you live?”
“Southwark. It’s good money coming here.”
As far as the Marshalsea, in fact. “But a very long and tiring walk to make several times a day.”
“Sometimes I wander round the fine homes during the day and peek inside the windows instead when Mrs. Hughes doesn’t want me around.” Martha stroked the child’s head with a gentleness that surprised her. Martha must have come to care for the child as if she were her own. Iris smiled in approval. For an illegitimate child, this girl already had so much love.
The child’s immediate needs were important so she decided to ensure the girl’s happiness and health were assured. “Would you be willing to stay here at night, too?”
“Mrs. Hughes won’t like me underfoot. She doesn’t think I’m good enough.”
Mrs. Hughes returned, arms laden with tea and biscuits. “It’s your husband I don’t care for, Martha.”
Iris winced. “Mrs. Hughes, I’m sure you will agree that the child requires a stable environment. I should like Martha to stay close to the child and take over as many aspects of her care as possible.”
Mrs. Hughes stiffened and almost dropped the tray to the tabletop. “Are you unhappy with how I run this house, my lady?”
“Of course not. But the child does need a nursemaid too. That is not a job for a housekeeper. Your time and experience is better used on other matters, where firm decisions are required for the running of the household.”