Rough Gentleman

by Maggie Carpenter

  “I see.”

  “She’s skin and bone, sir, but when I was helping her it was obvious she’s used to having a lady’s maid. Whatever could have happened to her?”

  “I don’t know, Mrs. Melville, but I intend to find out.”

  “What would you like me to do, sir?”

  “Let me think for a minute. It’s essential she have something to eat. Take her up a tray, and when you wake her, say the clothes haven’t dried and you have nothing for her to wear. Make sure she has wine with her dinner. That will help her to relax, but I want you to stay with her while she has her meal. Don’t ask her anything directly, but do your best to remember whatever she might tell you. When she’s finished, make sure she knows she’s welcome to rest as long as she needs.”

  “Yes, sir. Poor lamb,” Mrs. Melville muttered, hurrying away.

  In need of a drink himself, Malcolm settled into his chair at the dining table and waited patiently as Corbin poured a rich cabernet into the wineglass.

  “The cook has roast pork and vegetables for you tonight, sir, and to start, she made her excellent oxtail soup.”

  “That should help our visitor get some strength back,” Malcolm remarked, taking a drink as the butler placed the bowl of soup in front of him. “Thank you, Corbin,” then pausing, he added, “Please bring me the wallets and bracelet you found in her coat.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  As Malcolm supped the rich broth and drank the fine wine, he could feel his heart pumping. His life, though full of obligations and business interests, was predictable. Now a mysterious, beautiful, bedraggled young woman was a guest in his home. She was running from something—or someone, but what, or whom? Would her presence stir up trouble? How could he keep her in the house without gossip? The questions burned through his brain as he finished his soup and Corbin returned.

  “Sir, a letter was just delivered,” he declared, presenting it on a silver tray, along with the wallets and bracelet.

  “Place the tray on the table, please.”

  Recognizing Edith’s handwriting, he picked up the envelope and pulled out the note.

  Dearest Malcolm,

  I read your message about your unexpected visitor with great interest. I’m sorry to say I have never met a young woman named Connie, though the name does ring a bell. Will you be available in the morning? I could stop by for tea and we could talk about it. If Connie is willing, I could meet her and I might recognize her. Rest assured I won’t breathe a word.

  Awaiting your answer and remaining very curious,

  Edith

  Malcolm let out a disappointed breath. Unlike him, his de facto sister was socially active, and he’d held high hopes she would have recalled a young woman fitting the description of his unexpected guest. As much as he wanted to confide in Edith’s mother, the widow of his generous benefactor and a woman who knew everyone, she couldn’t be trusted. The countess was a terrible gossip, and inside the social elite the tongues wagged faster and more often than a dog’s tail.

  Corbin had taken the soup bowl and placed his dinner on the table. Returning the folded piece of paper to the envelope, Malcolm placed it safely in his pocket and began to eat. The food was delicious, but his mind wouldn’t let him rest. After only a few bites he placed his knife and fork on either side of his plate and picked up the wallets. They contained a considerable amount of cash and a small identity card. Malcolm recognized the names. He’d crossed paths with the men at various times. Both were members of the aristocracy.

  “Do you wish me to contact the owners of the wallets, sir?” Corbin asked, stepping forward.

  “Not yet,” Malcolm replied, putting them back on the tray and reaching for the bracelet. “I’ll return them of course, but in the meantime I’ll put them in my safe. This is truly beautiful,” he murmured, holding the jewelry to the light and watching the diamonds sparkle.

  “Indeed, sir. I imagine it would be worth a great deal. I wonder why the young woman didn’t sell it to one of those criminal traders. Probably afraid of being caught.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Malcolm said thoughtfully, slipping it into his pocket. “I believe it’s from her former life.”

  The piece was unique, as though custom made, and initials were engraved on the clasp. There was a private jeweler he knew to be trustworthy, and he decided to visit him first thing in the morning, but the unexpected sound of the doorbell broke into his thoughts.

  “I can’t imagine who would be calling at this hour in such bad weather,” Corbin remarked. “Should I say you’re not available, sir?”

  “That depends. I’ll see Lady Edith, but anyone else please have them wait and check with me.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Returning to his dinner, Malcolm could hear the muffled voices from the foyer. The conversation seemed unusually long, and as he was about to leave the table to find out who it was and why they were there, Corbin’s heavy footfalls announced his return.

  “I’m sorry, sir, but it’s Lord Cavendish. He’s with a constable. They’re asking for information about the young woman.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I claimed ignorance, sir, but they insisted I disturb you, even though I made it clear you were having dinner.”

  “Very well! Better to deal with them now than later.”

  “Shall I show them into the drawing room, sir?”

  “No. I don’t want his lordship to get comfortable. He could talk the ear off a donkey, and I’ll let him wait a minute. It will serve him right for bothering a man while he’s eating.”

  Casually taking another drink of his wine, Malcolm removed the serviette from his lap, set it on the table, then slowly pushed back his chair and rose to his feet.

  “I’ll make this short, Corbin, but please cover my plate so my meal doesn’t get cold.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  Marching down the hall, with Corbin hurrying to catch up, Malcolm entered the foyer to find Lord Cavendish pacing, and a young constable standing nervously near the door.

  “Ah, there you are!” Lord Cavendish exclaimed.

  “Terribly sorry to keep you waiting, Percy,” Malcolm said politely. “What brings you here in this dreadful weather?”

  “That girl, the one who tried to steal my wallet.”

  “What about her?”

  “When I returned home and told my good wife what happened, she insisted I contact the authorities. After I changed into dry clothes I decided she was right. We can’t have street urchins bothering us as we come and go. She must be dealt with.”

  “I quite agree, but I’m not sure how I can be of help.”

  “You can turn her over to the constable here.”

  “I would, but I’m afraid she’s gone.”

  “Gone!” Percy exclaimed. “What do you mean gone?”

  “When I brought her inside, Corbin was downstairs. I had no assistance. She got away from me and bolted out the door. I certainly had no intention of running after her in the pouring rain.”

  “Damn and blast!”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it, old chap. I doubt she’ll be back.”

  “I certainly hope not, but if she shows her face around here again, I’ll march her down to the station myself. I’d recognize that girl anywhere.”

  Malcolm felt a pang of concern.

  “Even though you saw her in that dreadful downpour?”

  “She didn’t bump into me while it was raining. I got a jolly good look at her. Pretty little thing, she was.”

  “But surely things must have happened quickly.”

  “Not so quickly I wouldn’t know her again. When we first ran into each other, and I mean that literally, I apologized. That’s when I felt her hand in my pocket. When I grabbed her wrist she was staring right at me, smiling a toothsome smile. A crafty creature, that’s what she is. Mark my words, I’ll be watching for her.”

  “I noticed she was attractive as well,” Malcolm remarked, “but th
ere are many appealing young women in these parts.”

  “True, but—”

  “But they’re refined and mannerly,” Malcolm said, interrupting him, “not running around the street picking pockets.”

  “Indeed. No self-respecting young lady from any of these houses would do such a thing.”

  “No, of course not. After such a close call I doubt we’ll see her again. If there’s nothing further, Percy, I’d quite like to return to my dinner.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Percy muttered. “My apologies. I thought she’d still be here under lock and key while you waited for the weather to pass.”

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  “May I see you out, my lord?” Corbin asked, gesturing to the door.

  “Yes, I’ll take my leave. Come along, constable. Goodbye, Malcolm. I’ll see you again soon, I’m sure.”

  “I’m sure you will, Percy. My best to your wife.”

  Waiting until Corbin closed the door behind them, Malcolm walked quickly back to the dining room with his butler following, but Percy’s remark had him in its clutches.

  I’d know that girl anywhere.

  “Would you indeed?” Malcolm muttered, taking his seat and staring down at his dinner plate covered with a silver dome. “Corbin, I’ve lost my appetite. I’m taking these wallets into my office and writing a note to Lady Edith. I’ll leave it on the hall tray and I want it delivered this evening.”

  “Of course, sir.”

  “Then I’ll be heading into the library and I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Striding through the door and moving quickly down the hall, he stepped into his study, locked up the contraband in his safe, and wrote the letter.

  My dear Edith:

  Please come by for tea in the morning, but I have an enormous favor to ask. If you have any dresses, undergarments, or shoes you no longer wear, can you please pack them in a box and bring them with you? This destitute young lady has absolutely nothing but the clothes on her back, and they were drenched through when she entered the house.

  This must be kept absolutely secret. If your mother asks, and she probably will, you must tell her you’re bringing me clothes for my charity work. I know how you long for intrigue and excitement. Now you have it.

  Unless I hear otherwise, I will expect you at ten-thirty tomorrow morning.

  Fondly, and thank you,

  M.

  Sealing the envelope, he hurried it out to the foyer and left it on the tray, then marched down the hall ready to nurse a brandy. Entering the masculine, wood-paneled library, its walls lined with rows of books, and a bust of William Shakespeare sitting nobly by the window, he noticed the fire was low. Picking up a fresh log, he added it to the dying flames, then moved to the drinks cabinet, poured cognac into a snifter, and settled into the burgundy wing-backed chair.

  Lifting the glass to his lips, the warm, spicy liquor slid across his tongue and down his throat. He knew nothing about his surprising guest, and by rights, he should have turned her over to the constable, but he was convinced she was more a victim than a villain. He could easily imagine her a sought-after young woman attending balls and receiving admiring glances of eligible young men.

  Then a thought occurred to him.

  Lord Cavendish claimed to have seen her clearly, but if she’d once traveled in the small circles of London society, he should have recognized her.

  “Unless it was the circumstances,” Malcolm muttered to himself. “Context. It can have a profound effect. He didn’t expect her to be from society, so his mind refused to accept she was.”

  As the clock on the mantel ticked, and he sipped the rich brandy, he felt the tension leave his body, and his mind began to settle. Yawning as he picked up the book on the side table next to him, he opened it to the bookmarked page, but just as he settled in to read there was a tap on the door.

  “Enter,” he said, his voice tinged with annoyance.

  “Sorry to bother you, but I need my clothes, and there’s no one around to help me find them.”

  Chapter Three

  For a moment Malcolm couldn’t speak. The disheveled, filthy girl he’d brought into his home bore little resemblance to the beautiful young lady standing in the doorway. The fire’s light caught the reddish hues in her long, wavy, glossy brown hair, her complexion carried the pale glaze of porcelain, and her green eyes were framed by long, dark lashes. Wrapped in a simple pink robe tied at the waist, in spite of her thin frame, her comely figure was evident.

  “My goodness,” he murmured. “I confess you’ve taken me by surprise.”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. I looked for a bell cord in my room but I couldn’t find one, and when I pulled the cord in the drawing room nobody came.”

  “This is a quiet house. The servants will be in bed by now,” he replied, managing to regain his composure. “How did you know I was in here?”

  “I didn’t. The passage was dark, but I noticed the light under the door.”

  “Why are you up? Were you unable to sleep because of the storm? It is making a frightful noise. Forgive me, please come in and sit down.”

  “Uh, thank you, but I can’t stay,” she said earnestly, though she did step forward. “By chance do you know where Mrs. Melville put my clothes?”

  “Your clothes? It’s almost ten o’clock,” he replied, glancing at the clock on the mantel. “Why do you wish to dress at this hour?”

  “I have to leave.”

  “Leave?” he repeated, incredulous she’d consider such a thing. “Connie, why would you want to set out at this dark hour, especially in such dreadful weather?”

  “I wish I didn’t have to, but I must.”

  “Sit by the fire and I’ll pour you a brandy,” he offered, waving his arm at an easy chair by the hearth. “You must be chilly wandering around in that thin robe.”

  “Uh, yes, I am a bit, but just for a moment.”

  As he stepped across to the liquor cabinet, he watched her move slowly to the chair. Her vulnerability made him catch his breath, and she was slowly melting his heart. Trying to shake off the profound effect, he focused on pouring the liquor into a glass, but when he turned to take it across to her, he discovered she was perched straight-backed and poised on the edge of the cushion. There was no doubt Connie had been raised in a dignified house.

  “There you are,” he said with a warm smile, handing her the snifter, “that will help to relax you and bring some warmth to your bones.”

  “Thank you. I am rather chilled.”

  “Connie, besides the lateness of the hour and the pouring rain,” he began, returning to his seat opposite her, “I think it would be unwise for you to leave. I had a visit from Lord Cavendish. That’s the man you ran into on the street. He had a constable with him.”

  “Oh, no,” she said, her face crinkling with worry. “What did you tell them? Do they know I’m here?”

  “I would never give you away,” he said solemnly. “I told them you’d given me the slip.”

  “You did? Thank goodness. How can I ever thank you?”

  “By letting me help you.”

  “But, uh, oh, dear.”

  Though he knew nothing about her plight, the compulsion he’d felt earlier, to sweep her into his arms, returned with a vengeance.

  “I must go right away,” she suddenly blurted out. “No one will be on the street now.”

  “But Connie, Lord Cavendish could have paid a man to keep watch,” Malcolm suggested hastily, grateful for the last-minute thought. “I’m not sure he believed me.”

  “Do you think he’d do something like that?”

  “It’s a possibility. He went to the trouble of sending for a constable and braved the storm to come here. I’ve heard he can be quite determined, and apparently that reputation is well-earned.”

  With a heavy frown she lifted the snifter to her lips, took a sip, then leaned slightly forward and fixed him with a steady gaz
e.

  “Sir, I must ask, why did you lie for me, and why are you being so kind?”

  “Malcolm,” he said, also leaning forward as he corrected her. “I insist you call me by my name.”

  “Sorry, uh, Malcolm, but please tell me. Why are you giving me shelter?”

  “I believe you were raised in a fine home, but somehow ended up on the street, and no, you don’t have to say anything,” he said, raising his hand, “not until you’re ready. You’ve made it clear you cannot tell me your story, but Connie,” he continued, lowering his voice dramatically, “picking the pockets of wealthy men isn’t a good idea.”

  “Probably not,” she replied, looking back at him with unexpected challenge blazing from her eyes, “but if you believe I’m doing it for their money you’re mistaken. Have I used the pounds they carried? Yes, to survive as best I can, but that is not my motivation.”

  Taken aback by her abrupt change in attitude and surprising statement, he found himself at a loss for words.

  “I may appear to be weak and frail, and physically I suppose I am, but I can assure you my heart and soul are as strong as they have ever been.”

  “You have caught me unawares yet again,” he managed, “but whatever your reasons for stealing you’re obviously not very good at it, and where would you go if you left here now? I wonder if you even have a place to sleep that offers warmth and safety.”

  She started to speak, then appeared to change her mind, and turned her head to gaze down at the dying fire.

  “Connie, won’t you at least stay the night?” he continued. “Wouldn’t you like to sleep in that comfortable bed with its clean sheets, and wake up to a good breakfast?”

  “Of course I would,” she muttered with a heavy sigh, shifting her eyes back to him. “More than you could possibly know.”

  “Things always look better in the morning. I’m sure you’ve heard that before.”

  “Yes, but in my case, the mornings are all the same. I try to...”

  “Try to what, Connie?”

  “Never mind.”

  “I give you my word I’m not going to turn you over to the police or toss you out regardless of what you might tell me, and I always keep my promises. You’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.”