by Joan Smith
“Oh. And why would he not let her have one?”
“Because he had lost a thousand pounds at the card table the evening before, and naturally his wife was the one who had to pay for his sins. That is the way we are treated, Sissie. Shocking! It’s not all roses, being married to a rich lord, you must know.”
“Lost a thousand pounds in one evening!”
“That’s nothing,” Meg said. “Fairly once lost five hundred in two minutes. He and Atherly were betting on whether Lady Caroline Lamb would attend a dinner party after Byron had jilted her. She appeared at the door not two minutes later. I swear Atherly had seen her carriage draw up before he made the bet. Fairly tried to reneg on his promise to buy me a pair of cream ponies for my carriage after he lost his bet, but I made him go to the cents-percenter and borrow the money.”
“How did you make him?” Cicely asked, her eyes wide.
“I made his life a living hell,” Meg replied with a glinting smile at the memory. “I stayed in my room for twenty-four hours. Every time I heard him approach the door, I took a deep whiff of my hartshorn, and he found me in tears. Gentlemen can’t bear to see ladies cry.”
Papa says it is folly to borrow from the usurers.”
“Oh, everyone does it in London. It is the latest thing.”
“Money is money in London, the same as in the country. What’s borrowed must be paid—with interest. I cannot think it wise for you to encourage Fairly to borrow.”
“He needs no encouragement, goose!”
“It would be horrid if he squandered all his fortune and ended up poor.”
“Shocking,” Meg agreed, undismayed.
“I wouldn’t do as everyone else does, just to make them like me. That can easily happen in a place like London.” To give her friend a foretaste of the doom awaiting her if she continued on this profligate course, Cicely asked Meg to accompany her and Fairly to the slums that afternoon.
“I’ve already seen them. They are very boring. Bedlam was much more amusing. Perhaps Fairly will take you there to see the lunatics tomorrow. It’s kind of you to entertain him for me. It leaves me free for more interesting amusements,” she said daringly.
“You aren’t seeing another gentleman!” Sissie gasped.
“No, I am having my portrait painted as a surprise for Fairly.” She didn’t mention that the artist was an exceedingly pretty young fellow and an excellent flirt, even if he was not much of a painter.
“Then you do still love Fairly?” Sissie said, relieved to hear it.
“Of course I do, goose!” Meg said and frowned to realize she meant it. “It’s just that he hasn’t turned out to be the sort of husband I imagined. His first ardor faded too quickly. When new gowns and bonnets didn’t quicken his love, I tried making him jealous, but he was not at all jealous of my flirts. He didn’t command me to stop seeing my cicisbeo; he reciprocated by acquiring flirts of his own. If a man doesn’t take charge, then he must not expect his wife to behave as he wishes.” She pouted and tossed her curls. “It’s nothing to get in a pelter about. It’s the way everyone goes on in London. Married couples are not shackled leg and wing here. We’d be a laughingstock if we went about together.”
“If I had a husband I loved I wouldn’t spend so much time in London, if that’s the way folks go on.”
“You’re a country mouse, Sissie. You will marry some stout squire and have a nurseryful of children. To each her own.”
“Fairly would like a son.”
“One would never guess it by the way he behaves,” Meg snipped, dipping her fingers into the rouge pot, for her mirror told her she looked like a corpse beside Sissie.
Fairly did not return for lunch. Meg waited for a quarter of an hour, and when it was clear he was not coming, she and Cicely went into the dining room without him.
“It’s typical!” Meg scolded. “And I had Cook make his favorite luncheon, too. I should think that when I have company he might return, or at least tell me he would not be here. Perhaps you can find out where he was—but discreetly. I wouldn’t want him to think I was prying.”
“I would hardly call it prying,” Cicely replied. “Surely a wife has a right to know. Papa always sends word if he’s going to be even ten minutes late.”
Fairly returned at three. He made a curt bow to his wife before turning a smile in Cicely’s direction. “All set for our trip to the slums?” he asked. “I see you have dressed for the occasion. Very wise.”
He assumed her modest gown had been chosen to avoid ostentation and lessen the risk of being robbed. The bonnet and mantle she put on were of the same provincial cut as the gown. Meg’s stylish high-poke bonnet with clusters of fruit around the base of the crown rested on the banister post. He picked it up as they left the house, for he wanted to go on the strut with Cicely after they had visited Seven Dials. His reputation demanded that she appear more modish.
“Are you not bringing any footmen?” she asked when she saw only the coachman. “Montaigne thought we ought to take a couple in case we’re attacked.”
“I wager I can handle anything that comes along.” He handed her into the carriage and arranged a fur blanket over her knees.
“Why did you bring Meg’s bonnet?” she asked as the carriage lurched forward.
“Is it Meg’s? I’ve never seen her in it. I thought it was yours. No matter. It will look dashed pretty on you later.”
“I hope Meg was not planning to wear it herself.”
“Going out then, is she?” he asked, with some interest. “Did she happen to mention where .. .”
“Shopping, I believe,” she prevaricated. Having her portrait done was shopping for his birthday present. “And what marvelous things were you doing all morning, milord?”
“Demme, I wish you will call me Fairly.” His morning had consisted of rounding up a pair of bruisers to accost him and Cicely at Seven Dials, to allow him to appear heroic. Naturally he couldn’t tell Cicely that, but her bright eyes were looking at him expectantly.
“I had business matters to attend to,” he said.
“It must be very dear to live in London,” she said leadingly.
“M’dear, you don’t know the half of it. Meg has spent a thousand pounds on gewgaws this month,” he exaggerated, to impress her. “Three new bonnets! To say nothing of that bill from her modiste. She has ample pin money, but I am sent her bills. I should like to know how she expects me to pay for it all, on top of running the house.”
“You can run into real trouble if you go to the cents-per-center. Why don’t you rusticate for a few months?” she suggested.
“Ho, try to convince Meg of that! There’s no one to flirt with in the country.”
“Then it would leave her more time for you,” she said with a playful smile.
“She is weary of my company, Sissie.”
“I cannot think so, for she has very little of it, from what I have seen.”
“More than she wants, I warrant.”
“On the contrary. She was disappointed that you could not come home for luncheon. Meg ordered your favorite raised pigeon pie.”
“She never said so!” A small smile grew on his face.
“Meg is not the type to complain.”
This was news to Fairly. “And did you miss me, Sissie?” he asked with a conning smile, which Cicely ignored entirely.
“I enjoyed having Meg to myself. Selfish of me, but we had a great deal to get caught up on. How far away is Seven Dials?” she asked, to avoid the coming flirtation.
“Just past Charing Cross Road—not prime real estate. I’ll drive you along Piccadilly first to see the real London.”
The west end of Piccadilly was impressive, even in November. Green Park was still green. This idyllic spot with cattle grazing seemed out of place in the heart of London. As they turned north, the greenery and fine buildings petered out into commercial establishments, finally degenerating into hovels.
“I have never see
n anything like this!” Cicely exclaimed, staring around her in disbelief when Fairly announced uncertainly that he figured they were now at Seven Dials.
It made the poorhouse at home look opulent by comparison. The doors on the hovels hung crookedly, some of them on one hinge. The holes where windows had once rested were covered in oilskin or rags or brown paper. Clusters of bedraggled humanity sat on the doorsteps, huddled together for warmth, their very postures a picture of despair. What must the interior of those hovels be like, that they braved the wintry blasts to escape them? Perhaps it was the daylight that drew them, as the shacks had no glazed windows.
Some of the women had children in their arms. Most of them held a bottle of what Fairly assured her was Blue Ruin, from which they took frequent drinks. Blue Ruin shops abounded. Children roamed the streets in packs, too dispirited to play. They had the feral air of wild animals, as they slouched along, looking over their shoulders. Several fully grown men were also there.
Fairly had his ruffians waiting at the corner of Neal Street, the location chosen because of its proximity to Bow Street. He would let the lads escape, of course, but he might report them to Bow Street, to lend an air of authenticity to the attack. If, on the other hand, as he hoped, Cicely was completely overwrought, he would stay with her in the carriage, comforting her in his arms until she was sufficiently recovered to don Meg’s bonnet and go for a strut on New Bond Street, where she was bound to relate his heroism to anyone they met.
“Shall we get out and have a look around?” he asked as the carriage approached Neal Street.
“I fear that would not be wise,” Cicely said. “A cutpurse would have your money before we’d gone two steps.”
“I came prepared,” he said, lifting a stout cudgel from the floor.
She was surprised at the dandy’s willingness to involve himself in a brawl. “We might be outnumbered,” she said. “I just wanted to see the place. It’s worse than I imagined.” Certainly her heroine’s courage would be put to the test in this domestic hell.
“You need not fear, Cicely. I shall protect you,” he said and pulled the drawstring, against her repeated opposition.
“No, really. This is most unwise, Fairly.”
“It will provide excellent research for you, seeing how a gentleman handles these fellows,” he insisted.
“But how will they handle a lady?”
“Ha-ha. Come along,” he said, his patience wearing thin.
Cicely stuffed her reticule in the pocket of the carriage, picked up Fairly’s malacca cane and got out, looking all around her. Fairly spotted his hired henchmen and began strutting toward them. The men exchanged a quiet word and began advancing.
“Come, Fairly,” Cicely said, tugging at his elbow. “This is folly. I have seen how brave you are.”
“There are only two of them,” he said with an air of braggadocio as he quickened his pace, winking at his cohorts.
“But they’re huge!”
He had paid them a pound each, in advance. They were Lord Henry Milvern’s prize bruisers. Henry had assured him they would do as agreed. Fairly raised his cudgel menacingly and said, “Stand aside, lads.”
“Who gave you the street, mister?” one of them answered.
The bigger of the men raised his fists and feinted a blow at Fairly’s chin. Fairly dodged, lifted his cudgel, and lowered it lightly on the bruiser’s shoulder. The other bruiser grabbed Fairly’s left arm, yanked it behind his back, and said, “Hand over your rhino and we’ll not kill you.”
“Scoundrel!” Fairly said, tearing his arm free. “Desist, I say. Out of my way.”
He flailed his cudgel in the air, landing the second attacker a grazing blow on the elbow. The first made another attack. Fairly fought it off with ease. A scuffle ensued. Cicely raised the cane but the ruffians jerked about so quickly she couldn’t be sure of striking them without hurting Fairly.
After a short tussle, the larger man said, “All right. You can pass, but we’ll keep an eye out for you another time.”
Cicely was quite simply astonished that the two brutes caved in so quickly. “Let us go,” she said, pulling at Fairly’s coattails as he shouted brave abuse at the fleeing scoundrels.
“You have only to be firm with them,” he said, his chest swelling.
As they hurried back to their waiting carriage, John Groom shouted to Fairly. “Here, milord! There’s another pair of the rascals.” As he spoke, he scrambled down from his perch, raising his horsewhip.
The second pair came as a dreadful surprise to Fairly. They had not been arranged for in advance. His heart quaked to see they were every bit as big and strong as the bruisers, and with mean faces besides. Fairly had the slight advantage as one of them was entering the carriage. He grabbed him by his collar and swung him around. As the man turned, his right hand rose, bunched into a fist, with which he landed Fairly a facer. Fairly went sprawling in the dust, blood spouting from his nose. The man made a quick lunge at his pockets.
“Help, Hawkins!” Fairly called weakly to his groom.
The groom advanced, lashing his horsewhip. It was not until then Cicely noticed that the other man had gotten into the carriage and was emerging with her reticule and Meg’s bonnet in his left hand. She lifted the malacca cane and aimed it at the side of his head.
“Take that, villain!” she exclaimed, snatching at her reticule. It fell open and the contents scattered in the dust, just as Hawkins snapped his whip over the second man’s shoulder.
“Well done, mistress!” Hawkins congratulated her.
The pair of attackers took to their heels, one of them still holding Cicely’s reticule and Meg’s bonnet. She had lost her reticule, but John Groom gathered up her belongings from the street as she tended to Fairly’s bloodied nose.
“I told you we shouldn’t get out of the carriage,” she scolded. “Does it hurt very much?”
Fairly held his handkerchief to his nose, with his head back, as Cicely and the groom herded him into his carriage.
“It’s a good thing the young lady kept her wits about her, or you would have lost your purse,” Hawkins said, shaking his head at Fairly’s stupidity in coming here.
“Drive home at once,” Cicely said.
“Bow Street is just around the corner,” he advised her.
“What is the point of notifying Bow Street? Fairly will only look a fool for having got out of the carriage. No doubt there are hundreds of ruffians matching the description of those who attacked us. Just get us home.”
“Aye, aye, mistress,” Hawkins replied and jumped up to his perch. With another crack of his whip, they were off.
“I am terribly sorry this happened, Fairly,” Cicely said. “It was really foolish of you to go on foot amid such men. But you were right about it being excellent for my research. I see now that these fellows work in pairs. One crew keeps you busy while another rifles your carriage. It’s shameful that men are sunk to this sort of life. You should do something about it in Parliament.”
This was not what Fairly had expected to hear, but he heard a deal more of the same as he was driven home with his aching nose ignominiously buried in his handkerchief.
“It is really not right that such poverty is allowed to exist cheek by jowl with such wealth,” Cicely continued as they proceeded along Piccadilly. “Men having to rob to feed their families, while people like you enjoy a second dinner at an expensive hotel. I shall mention it to Montaigne. He is active in the House.”
It was another blow to Fairly’s pride that Montaigne was seen as the gentleman to do something about the situation.
“I shall certainly have a word about this with my member of Parliament,” he said.
“You’re a member of the House of Lords. Why do you not raise the question in the House yourself?”
“I shall, by the living jingo. It’s intolerable. A man is not safe on the streets.”
As they drew nigh to Berkeley Square h
e said sheepishly, “There is no need to mention this to Meg.”
She gave him a long look. “As I shall have to borrow a reticule from her this evening, I fear I must mention it, to say nothing of her bonnet being lost. I shall be sure to tell her how you sent that first pair of bruisers running.”
“Bruisers?” he exclaimed. “Why do you call them bruisers? They were not bruisers.”
“I only meant great hulking brutes,” she replied, surprised at his outburst.
He accepted that she was unaware that they were hired bruisers.
It was not long, however, before she began to suspect the whole. Fairly’s blows had been mere taps, and those two big men had retreated with suspicious alacrity. He had arranged that first attack to make himself look brave. Was there no bottom to his vanity and stupidity?
More excellent research for her novel, but Fairly was no longer a plausible hero. He would have to be only a suitor for the heroine’s hand, and some other character found to carry the burden of love interest.
* * *
Chapter 7
Cicely and Fairly reached home an hour before Meg. Cicely spent the time jotting down notes on her adventure while Fairly put himself in the hands of his valet to repair the ravages of his afternoon. They had just returned to the saloon to enjoy a restorative cup of tea when Meg landed in, fire blazing in her eyes.
“I should like to know why you took my new bonnet, Fairly,” she said. “What have you done with it, eh? Given it to a light-skirt? You shall buy me two bonnets, to make up for it. You don’t fool me with this excuse of showing Sissie the slums. You dumped her on your Aunt Sophronia while you went visiting one of your bits of muslin.”
“Oh indeed, Meg, we were at Seven Dials,” Cicely said, “and were attacked by two sets of villains. We would not have come out alive had it not been for Fairly’s quick thinking and bravery in attacking them. Can you not see how red his nose is? It’s been pouring blood all afternoon.” She laid it on with a trowel to make Meg admire her husband.
Meg was distracted by this tale of dangerous doings. “Attacked by villains! I wish I had gone with you. What happened?”