As the two made their way to their rooms, passing the stairway that led down to the public room, Charity was surprised at how quiet the inn had become. When she turned to ask Fuller why that might be, she heard the rattle of the mail coach leaving the inn yard. “Tell me, Fuller,” the countess murmured, “How often does this inn see a mail coach?” she wondered.
Fuller stopped in front of the corner room’s door and slid the key into the lock. “Why, every afternoon, my lady,” she replied, wondering at the question.
Charity Wellingham gave her maid an arched eyebrow. “How convenient,” she replied. “How very convenient.”
Chapter 32
Witnessing a Secret Assignation
Lord Chamberlain’s ancient town coach, pulled by a team of matched Friesians, pulled into traffic in Park Lane and headed in the direction of the park. Samantha had been sure to keep the driver busy with a number of small requests until Julia deemed the time right for them to make their way past Harrington House and the outlet for the alley on which the stables were located.
“Do you see him?” Samantha wondered as she lifted the curtains from her side of the coach and took a peek.
“No,” Julia replied with a shake of head. She angled herself so she could see farther up the street. “Wait!” she whispered loudly. “There he is! He’s just come from the alley.” A frisson passed through her, the sensation so unexpected, she was forced to sit up straight.
“Did he see you?” Samantha asked, incredulous. The coach windows were so smeared, she wondered how Julia could see anything beyond the glass, let alone how anyone could see into the darkened interior.
“No,” Julia whispered, pushing the curtain to one side. Bright afternoon sunshine filled the side of the coach in which Julia sat, and she had to close her eyes against the sudden glare. “But he’s in the traffic somewhere up ahead of us now,” she said with a hint of worry.
Samantha used the handle of her parasol to knock on the overhead door. The driver’s head soon appeared. “Yes, milady?” he wondered, his attention mostly on the road ahead.
Julia leaned over. “Follow the man wearing the brown coat on the brown horse. He’s just ahead,” she ordered. “And do keep up. We don’t want to lose track of him,” she added when the driver nodded.
“I see him,” he said when it was apparent he was looking up ahead. The door suddenly closed.
Another block or two of travel and the coach took a right turn into Oxford Street.
“We could be shopping,” Samantha said with an arched eyebrow.
“But you dislike shopping,” Julia countered, her attention still on the traffic outside her window. Fashionable shops lined the street, interrupted by the occasional office. “Besides, ’tis a beautiful day for a drive,” she added, rather enjoying the anonymity the old, unmarked equipage offered. No one gave their coach a second glance as they passed shoppers, costermongers and other coaches.
After nearly an hour of stop-and-go traffic, the coach took a right turn and headed toward the older area of London. Despite the bright sunshine, Julia was forced to pull a hanky from her reticule and hold it over her nose as the odors of a more crowded city center made their way into the coach.
“What is that smell?” she wondered as she felt more than saw the coach turn again.
Samantha pulled her own hanky from her pocket. “That would be the charming scents of manure and garbage,” she replied, wondering how much longer she would have to endure what had become a rather boring trip. And just as she was about to ask the driver for an update, the coach seemed to veer sharply to the curb before coming to a sudden halt.
Julia dared a glance out the window, wondering in which street they were parked. From her vantage, she could see down the entire length of two streets. “Monmouth?” she guessed when she noticed the name on a shabby storefront.
“We’re in the Dials!” Samantha nearly shouted, her own view showing two streets angling off from where they were stopped. She was about to tap on the ceiling with her parasol, intending to order the driver to continue through the slums as quickly as possible when he opened the trap door and dared a glance down. “Your man is off his horse and heading for that building, just there. Gave a caddy some blunt to hold his horse,” he added, his comment suggesting the man they followed was either wise to do so, or a fool. Julia couldn’t be certain.
Samantha glanced over at Julia, wondering if she would take her leave of the coach and follow the groom. But to leave the coach would certainly be a mistake, given how well she was dressed compared to those who populated this section of London. “You cannot go out there,” she warned in a frightened voice. “You’ll be ruined for certain!”
Julia straightened, thinking it was the middle of the afternoon and still quite light despite the two-and three-story buildings that lined the series of seven streets that intersected near where they were parked. Surely it would be safe enough if she and Samantha walked together.
As if she could read Julia’s thoughts, Samantha shook her head. “I am not leaving this coach,” she announced, now quite glad they had taken an old coach. The equipage looked like it belonged in the neighborhood.
“He’s just knocked on a door,” the driver suddenly said. After a moment, he glanced back down at the girls. “A woman just opened the door. Couple of urchins …”
A woman? Children? Julia’s heart beat faster as she imagined who they were – and why Mr. Comber would be calling on them. Julia pushed the curtains away from the window and dared a glance out, finally able to make out where Mr. Comber stood.
“Woman looks a bit distraught,” the driver said just as Julia saw the young woman’s face suddenly pressed against Mr. Comber’s chest. And then Mr. Comber’s arms wrapped around her shoulders.
Julia sat back a moment, taking a breath when she realized she’d been holding it whilst she watched.
Samantha quickly moved to the window. “Two children … and a babe!” she reported in a hushed voice. “They’re all crying … and your groom is pulling something out of his pocket.”
“He’s giving her a purse,” the driver spoke from above. “Pretty full purse, if I do say,” he said with a degree of awe. “Now the woman is really bawlin’, as are the urchins.”
“That will be quite enough, Mr. Gray,” Samantha said as she continued to watch from the window.
“Do you suppose that’s his wife?” Julia whispered, her face pale.
Samantha angled her body a bit to get a better view. “Can’t say just yet,” she responded. The purse meant Mr. Comber could be arranging a liaison with the woman. They were in the slums, after all, where most of the women had to prostitute themselves for enough money to get by. Or he was just passing along his earnings to his wife. Either way, it meant Mr. Comber really shouldn’t have been engaging in kissing her best friend.
As Samantha continued to watch, the group suddenly disappeared into the building. For a very quiet ten minutes, no one said anything. Julia was about to order the driver to take them home when Samantha inhaled sharply. “Mr. Comber just came out,” she said in hoarse whisper. “And now the woman has come out. She’s carrying the babe.”
“How old?” Julia wondered, angling her head so that she could get a glimpse of the tableau unfolding in Monmouth Street.
“A year or so,” Samantha guessed. “He’s taking her hand and kissing the back of it,’ she added, her tone suggesting she was impressed by the groom’s manners.
“She kissed him.” Julia sank back into the worn leather squabs. A sense of utter disappointment settled over her then. What had she expected, though? When Mr. Comber announced he had a previous engagement, shouldn’t she have figured it would be something like this? He was using his afternoon off to pay a call on his family.
Julia fought back a tear, blinking rapidly in an effort to clear any evidence that she might be more heartbroken than she let on.
Samantha suddenly turned in her direction. “He’s walking back to his horse,” she
said, wide-eyed.
Julia took an experimental breath. “Does he seem … happy?” she wondered, willing her voice not to break from a sob.
Glancing out the window again, Samantha shook her head. “Not particularly,” she said carefully. “But he’s not sad, either. And I believe he just gave the boy another coin for seeing to his horse,” she said, apparently surprised by the groom’s generosity. Samantha continued to watch as Mr. Comber mounted the horse and turned it around. Before she could move away from the window, Mr. Comber had managed to ride past and give her a glance as he did so.
Samantha’s eyes widened. “He saw me!” she said in surprise.
Julia, who had made sure she was away from the window when the groom rode by, rolled her eyes. “Wouldn’t be the first time,” she murmured, her thoughts still on whom the woman might be. His wife, no doubt. Given his position as a groom, with only a room above the stables in which to live, meant his family had to live in separate quarters. Such squalor, though, she thought as she took in the general poor condition of the buildings that lined the streets that made up the Seven Dials. Soot clung to the exteriors, making everything appear gray and dingy. The children who played in the street or who were clustered on the pavement in small groups looked as if they hadn’t bathed in weeks. Others who walked about on the streets weren’t much cleaner. At least the woman who had kissed Mr. Comber seemed … well, poor, but not destitute.
The door above them opened and the driver’s face appeared. “I do believe we should be taking our leave of this place, my ladies,” he said in a hoarse whisper. Indeed, even as he said the words, Julia became aware of a group of children making their way to the coach. Beggars, she thought. She was at once appalled and at the same time felt a bit sorry for their situation. After all, it was a mere accident of birth that had her the daughter of an earl whilst the poor street urchins were borne of the lower classes.
“Agreed, Mr. Gray. Home, but take us by a different route if you would,” Samantha suggested. Should they manage to catch up to Mr. Comber, she didn’t want the groom thinking they were following him.
In a moment, the driver had the coach pulling away from the curb, the children voicing their disappointment at not getting to the coach doors before it pulled away. As they passed the open door of the run-down dwelling that apparently housed Mr. Comber’s family, Julia wondered if she would be able to see any of the children. She was surprised when she realized the woman was standing just inside the threshold, tears flowing down her cheeks as she looked into the fabric purse the groom had given her, and wearing a smile that belied her circumstances.
“There must have been a good deal of money in that purse,” Samantha whispered as the coach turned a sharp corner and headed south.
“Indeed,” Julia agreed, wondering if the groom had just been paid. When did the servants in her father’s household get their pay? she wondered. Mr. Comber hadn’t been a servant very long, so it was doubtful he could have made that much money working for her father. Did he win the money gambling? She chided herself. When would he have had time to gamble? He is always in the stables or in lessons with me, she considered.
“I’m sorry,” Samantha said from across the coach. “I didn’t realize you felt affection for him,” she added carefully.
Julia raised her head in alarm and stared at her friend. “Whatever do you mean?” she questioned, about to deny Samantha’s conclusion. Mr. Comber was a servant, a mere groom in her father’s stable! She couldn’t be feeling affection for the man.
She couldn’t!
But a tear fell from her cheek and Julia stilled herself. Her chest felt heavy, her heart suddenly in pain, as if it were breaking. A sob escaped before she could swallow it. “I didn’t … I didn’t either,” she whispered, lifting a gloved hand to wipe away the tears.
A hanky was suddenly pressed into her other hand as Samantha moved to sit next to her. “Surely a single kiss didn’t cause this,” Samantha whispered as she wrapped an arm around Julia’s shoulders.
Julia shook her head, dabbing at her eyes with the handkerchief. “Of course, not,” she agreed, wondering from where the sudden sense of loss had come. Why would she have thought Mr. Comber was unattached? Why would she have believed such a handsome man to be unmarried? Because he kissed me, she thought, a sudden feeling of anger replacing some of the sorrow she felt. The despicable man! she suddenly thought. Damn him! How could the man kiss her when he had a wife and … and children … just a few miles away? Her sadness now entirely replaced with indignation, Julia announced, “He’s a rake. A rake, I tell you,” she added for good measure.
Samantha frowned at the change in her friend’s countenance. “I was not aware a woman could have such a sudden change of heart,” she murmured in awe. “One moment, you’re feeling affection for the man …” She held up a finger to stave off Julia’s protest … “And the next, you’re accusing him of being a rake.”
“That’s because he is!” Julia nearly shouted, tears still streaming down her cheeks. Her eyes, red-rimmed from crying, were suddenly ablaze with anger. “He would make me an … an adulteress!” she whispered hoarsely, not wanting to be heard by anyone but Samantha.
Her eyes wide, Samantha removed her arm from around Julia’s shoulders. “Did he … did Mr. Comber … bed you?” she countered in alarm.
“No!” Julia shouted, her denial loud enough to be heard by anyone within five feet of the ancient coach. “But he … he kissed me,” she reminded her friend, not adding that she had kissed him, too.
Samantha sighed, not sure what to say to Julia to calm the poor girl. “The woman back there,” she started to say and then stopped. “She may have been his sister,” she offered quietly. “Or just a destitute friend,” she added, realizing there weren’t any other excuses she could make for the man.
“Oh, do you really think so?” Julia replied, her eyes widening as if she favored the suggestion over the woman being the groom’s wife.
Suppressing the urge to smile at her friend’s sudden change in mood, Samantha found she couldn’t decide what she believed. Either Mr. Comber was a married man, or he wasn’t. And either way, she realized, Julia Harrington was probably in love with him.
“I really don’t know what to think,” Samantha replied with a shake of her head. “Perhaps you should just ask him.”
Julia turned to regard her friend with a look of shock. “Ask him?” she repeated, incredulous.
Samantha nodded. “Yes,” she replied.
Staring at her friend, Julia shook her head. “I couldn’t do that,” she argued, wondering how Samantha could have made the suggestion.
“Of course, you can,” Samantha argued. “You don’t even have to ask directly.”
Julia frowned. “Then … how do I ask him?” she wondered.
“Like this. ‘How are you today, Mr. Comber? And how is your family? It must be terribly difficult to have to live apart from them,’” Samantha said with a sad expression followed by a shake of her head.
Julia’s eyebrows arched up. “Of course. That is exactly what I shall do,” she agreed, her spirits suddenly raised. “Thank you, Sam,” she said with a nod.
Samantha beamed, satisfied that she had come up with a workable solution.
She suddenly realized the downside to her solution, however, and her smile disappeared.
“Now, if he agrees with your statements, then you’ll know he is married,” Samantha warned carefully. “And you have to promise not to beat him if that should be the case.” Pity the poor groom should he be married, Samantha realized just then.
Her mouth dropping open in astonishment, Julia shook her head. “If he agrees, then I won’t beat him. But I think I shall slap him across the face very hard,” she claimed, her chin raised in defiance.
Samantha sighed. Pity the poor groom.
When Alistair found Michael Regan’s widow, a task Alistair realized was easier than he expected given the number of townhouses clustered together in the Seven
Dials, he saw a woman whose drawn and pale face made her appear as if she were twice as old as she really was. So he took a bit of satisfaction in how the joy of meeting him changed her countenance to that of a much younger woman. Certainly he was a reminder of her husband’s death, he thought, surprised that she would seem glad to see him. But she was.
“He mentioned you in his last letter,” Faith Regan explained as she pulled the missive from a pocket in her gown. Apparently she kept the note on her person at all times, because it appeared rather worn, the folds nearly torn from having been unfolded multiple times. “He was honored to have been under your command, even if you couldn’t reveal your true identity,” she whispered, as if she’d been charged with keeping his secret and would continue to do so. One of her children had joined her then, wondering who the stranger was. Soon, two more were tugging at her skirts. “Will you come in for a moment?” she asked.
Not sure if he should – proprietary didn’t allow him to enter a woman’s house without a companion or maid present – Alistair finally entered the townhouse when Faith urged him inside. Despite the horrible conditions outside the tiny townhouse, the inside was in better repair. “Are you … safe here?” Alistair wondered, thinking a widow would be an easy target for thieves or worse on any of the seven roads that converged in the center of the Dials.
“We look out for one another,” Faith answered with a shrug. “I work as a seamstress for a nearby modiste – here,” she said as she motioned toward a chair in the best lit corner of the main floor room. “So I don’t have to leave the children – and we … we get by,” she said with a nod. “Would you like some tea?” she offered as she moved toward a stove and water pump that made up the kitchen. A worn teakettle and several chipped cups were lined up on a shelf.
Alistair shook his head. “I should take my leave. I … I am expected back at my employer’s house within the hour,” he explained. As he moved to the door, he remembered his reason for finding the widow. “I have something for you, Mrs. Regan,” he said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out the purse filled with fifteen pounds. “If for any reason you no longer feel safe here in the Dials, please send word to me at Harrington House, and I’ll see to if you’re moved to a more hospitable neighborhood,” he promised.
My Fair Groom (The Sons of the Aristocracy) Page 22