by Mary Brendan
Joan slapped away the hand that had reached for her. She was not satisfied yet. ‘You have the bishop’s ear?’ She sounded dubious. Important clergy were not likely to take orders from street fighters.
‘I still have friends from my army days...high-ranking people who have influence over such matters.’ He smiled ruefully when Joan continued staring at him, wordlessly demanding more information. ‘The Duke of Wellington was once my commanding officer. We have kept in touch.’
He was right, Joan realised despairingly; there was no future for them while he cherished that dark and secret side to his nature. And, noble motive or not, she was furious that he had arranged to have the school closed, depriving children of an opportunity to better themselves. ‘There is a lot I do not know about you, isn’t there?’ Joan said in a fatalistic tone.
‘Indeed, there is.’ His toneless statement emerged as he grasped her by the hand, leading her and the stallion back towards the road.
‘You just want to be rid of me now you’ve had your kisses, don’t you?’ she choked out, attempting to wrench herself free. He allowed her to do so, shaking his head in mock despair.
Joan moved away a distance, but continued walking beside him and a short while later the carriage came into view. ‘Forget what I said about love,’ she uttered in a stilted tone, rushing ahead. ‘I’m sorry to have embarrassed you. It won’t happen again.’ She took his silence as proof that he had indeed nothing more to say on the subject of her heartfelt declaration.
‘Would you wait out of sight until I have got aboard, please?’
Anna had spotted her mistress approaching and was already hurrying to accompany Joan to the protection of the carriage.
Joan didn’t once turn to look at him as he walked behind her. The soft clop of the horse’s hooves stopped and she knew he had granted her request to let her set off before he came into view.
Almost before Joan had settled against the squabs the coach pulled away as though Pip was conscious of the need to put distance between his mistress and the man in the woods who could ruin her. Joan was aware of Anna’s concerned look fixed on her face, but the young woman dutifully kept her thoughts to herself. Turning to the window, Joan gazed out, the tears that she’d dammed behind pride no longer containable. Warm salty water bathed her cheeks as the vehicle hurtled on towards Upper Brook Street.
Chapter Fifteen
‘Is it true?’
‘It’s none of your concern, Connie.’ Drew pulled from his pocket a wad of banknotes and put them down on the dirty tabletop.
‘Nothing’s ever been my concern, has it?’ Constance cried, but she pocketed her generous pension money. ‘Now you’ve done with me and this place you’re ready to turn your back on us all...even if you are no better than we are.’ She flung that last at him with a toss of her flaxen curls.
‘Find lodgings somewhere decent for yourself and Benny. You’re a good girl and will get a shop position if that’s what you want.’
‘I want you!’ Connie cried. ‘I deserve you, too!’ she said more forcefully. ‘I’ve been warming your bed and tending your cuts—’
‘And I’m grateful to you,’ Drew interrupted. ‘But it’s over now.’
‘Why must it be over? Old Blackie was right, wasn’t he? We’re cut from the same cloth.’
‘You said he was delirious and talking rot.’ Drew approached her and gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze. ‘At the start you accepted that it would be a fleeting affair and we’d simply enjoy one another’s company for a short while.’
‘That was then.’ Constance sniffed, rubbing her watery eyes. She couldn’t deny that Drew had told her not to expect anything from him because he would up and go when the time was right. She couldn’t deny either that she’d readily accepted his terms when he’d set them out. But men like Drew Rockleigh, with his handsome face and thrilling virility, were few and far between for the likes of Constance and she wanted to hold on to him for as long as possible.
When she’d sat soothing Old Blackie he’d croaked out that she and the Squire were a good match. The dying man had said he’d recognised him as being a lad who’d lived in the neighbourhood decades ago. Constance had barely paid attention, thinking the old fellow raving with the effort of drawing his last breaths. In the days that had followed she’d mulled things over. From the start Drew had seemed to know the area like the back of his hand and there was a dark and dangerous side to his character that was at odds with his cultured voice and sharp intelligence. It was obvious he was Quality, but he fought dirty and had the cunning and strength of a demon. His fighting prowess came courtesy of his time spent in the military, he’d explained. Genteel folk brought low usually floundered in the Ratcliffe Highway. Drew had inhabited the slum like a natural. So Constance had asked him outright about where he’d spent his early life...and he’d avoided answering her...as he always did.
Something else troubled Connie and pricked at her pride. She’d thought she’d beguiled Drew when he chose her as his mistress. But lately she’d wondered if he’d picked her over those others who’d tried to catch him because she worked at the Cock and Hen tavern. Drew spent a lot of time there with her, even though he wasn’t a big drinker. Because Connie’s attention rarely left him she’d noticed who he watched...and it wasn’t her or the fellows who flirted with her. The coves who sneaked Charlie Clarke his cut-price provisions drew the Squire’s eyes, carefully concealed beneath his lashes.
‘Don’t brood on it, Connie,’ Drew said kindly. ‘Whatever the truth about my past, there’s no benefit in you knowing it. I wish you well, but I’m going away for good and I won’t be back—’
‘Not very gallant, Rockleigh, when you’ve been tumbling the wench for months.’ Stokes had burst into the cottage with his entourage. He gave Constance a lustful look. ‘And comely she is, too. Far better suited to such as you than that high-bred harlot you favour. Your sister told me you were an ambitious guttersnipe, but she didn’t know that you were bedding the Duke of Thornley’s daughter as well as this slut.’
Drew backed away, dragging Constance behind him to protect her. ‘I hope Bertha has told you more besides, Stokes. I imagine you’re aware I paid her a visit as you’ve come out of your way to say hello.’
‘I’m here to say goodbye, not hello.’ Stokes’s bloodless lips parted to expose a set of gritting teeth. ‘You’ll not best me when I’ve already relished victory. And now I shall watch you die.’
Constance squealed in fright, digging her rigid fingers into Drew’s bicep as the gypsies lunged forward.
‘I’ll do a deal with you, Stokes. But only if you let Miss Cook go.’ Drew whipped up a rickety chair by its back and held it out as a barrier while bargaining for his mistress’s safety. ‘She’s no need to be here and you’ll not want witnesses to a murder.’
‘Sentimental about her after all, are you?’ Stokes mocked. ‘Very well...’ He beckoned to Constance and she hesitantly approached. ‘Perhaps you’d like a final kiss from him, would you?’ he taunted. ‘You won’t get one.’ Tugging the terrified blonde against him, he plunged his mouth spitefully on hers. ‘I’ll come and find you when I’m done with him, sweet.’ He shoved Constance out of the door with a threat. ‘Keep your mouth shut about this or you’ll suffer when I do catch up with you.’
Despite his bluster Stokes wasn’t certain he had Rockleigh beaten. But he took heart from catching his foe by surprise and from knowing the odds were stacked greatly in his favour.
He’d not expected the Duke’s daughter to tell anybody she was being blackmailed. With her father gravely ill Saul had been confident the little hussy would pay up rather than risk her poor papa finding out about her liaison with a street fighter. But instead of banishing the Squire, Lady Joan had summoned him.
A message had been waiting for Saul at his attorney’s office. On breaking the seal h
e’d learned that Rockleigh wanted to meet him to discuss the matter of a lady’s reputation. Saul had recognised it as a threat and, sensing something else was wrong, too, had pelted home to speak to Bertha. She had confirmed his suspicions, telling him agitatedly that Drew had called, looking in suspiciously fine fettle.
‘Before I let loose these two brutes, tell me how you’ve managed to turn your fortunes around. Bertha maintained you’d too much pride to go cap in hand to any fellow...but it seems you have,’ he sneered.
‘I haven’t needed to beg; my fortunes have always been well guarded and safe from your scheming.’
The uneasiness that had been building within Stokes ignited into rage. Bertha had told him all along not to underestimate her brother because nobody ever had got the better of him. Stokes had been arrogantly certain he could change that. But there was something about Rockleigh’s cool confidence that troubled him more than any of the man’s bragging would have done. Saul feared he’d not duped Bertha’s brother well enough and had somehow been outwitted. But he still held the upper hand...
‘You spoke of a deal?’ he barked, gesturing brusquely that he’d hear more about it.
‘Oh...that was a lie. I don’t deal with the likes of you, Stokes.’
Saul snarled an order at his two henchmen to attack, then held up a hand to stop them before they could strike.
‘I’ve an inkling that you still hold the original documents,’ Saul said. ‘Where are they? Tell me and I’ll have them despatch you quickly rather than draw out their sport.’ Stokes craftily stroked his chin, peering sideway at his quarry.
‘Documents?’
‘Don’t act the dolt, Rockleigh. You know very well that I refer to the original bills of lading and the estate deeds that I copied; and copied so well, I might add, that I hoodwinked the lot of you.’
‘Hoodwinked me?’ Drew tutted. ‘Why do you think I took so long bringing Cecilia back from her jaunt to Gretna Green?’ He smiled mockingly. ‘It was to give you and Bertha time to do your dirty work while digging yourself a hole to fall into.’
‘You’re lying!’ Stokes spluttered. ‘I counterfeited them and I could again, but I’d sooner be rid of you than go to the bother of it.’
‘If you do it again, take care not to leave a clause out next time. Careless...’ Drew deliberately provoked him.
‘There was no mistake! I’m a master forger.’ Stokes’s lips frothed in rage. ‘Where are the originals? I’ll check them and make you eat your words, and the parchments, too.’
‘Those parchments? Oh, they’re safe and sound in Mayfair.’
‘And pray where exactly might that be in Mayfair?’ Stokes prowled to and fro. He knew Rockleigh was purposely aggravating him, but found it impossible to ignore the bait.
Drew shrugged. ‘I’d be a fool to tell you.’
‘You’d be a fool not to in the circumstances,’ Stokes snarled and signalled to the bruisers.
Drew blocked the first punch aimed at his face with the chair, but the blow had been hard enough to split the seat in two. The other thug hit low at his belly and Drew countered the worst of it with a savage kick to his assailant’s kneecap. The man stumbled back with a howl, giving Drew time to smash the stool against the wall and break free a length of jagged timber to use as a makeshift dagger.
‘You’re a good fighter, Rockleigh, but you’re outnumbered. You might just as well give me what I want and save yourself unnecessary pain.’ Stokes was panting in frustration. He felt in his pocket for the comforting weight of the blade he’d brought with him. If his two henchmen failed to overcome Rockleigh, he’d pitch in as well although he’d sooner keep clear of the Squire’s granite fists.
Drew had seen his enemy’s sly movement and knew he’d no option but to quickly end it now before Stokes had a chance to use his weapon. ‘You’re right, Stokes; against these odds I’ve little chance of winning.’ Drew let the timber fall to his side. ‘Do you swear to leave my women alone and give me time to leave London in return for the original documents?’
‘Well, naturally...’ Stokes purred nastily. ‘What do you take me for, a mean devil, such as yourself?’
Drew could tell that Stokes wasn’t convinced he’d got so easy a victory but his henchmen were distracted, waiting for instructions. Drew plunged a hand into a pocket and in a fluid movement jerked the stubby duck’s-foot pistol up, shooting through wool. He’d aimed at the legs of the two itinerants and they fell together like cut corn, roaring in agony.
Drew sprang forward and one-handedly grabbed Stokes by the throat, dragging him upright. Despite his military background the coward had crouched, cowering, the moment he’d recognised gunshot.
‘Regrettably ungentlemanly tactics, I know,’ Drew said between his teeth. He removed his hand from the spent pistol in his smouldering pocket and it joined the other one about Stokes’s throat. ‘But in the circumstances...fair play be damned, don’t you think?’ Drew narrowed his eyes on his captive’s florid physiognomy. ‘There is some information I need from you, actually, and you’d do well to let me have it.’ Drew tightened his fingers.
‘What?’ Stokes croaked, confused.
‘I want the names of your army cohorts.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Stokes coughed out, renewing his efforts to break free.
Drew jerked his head at the injured henchmen. ‘They’ll sing like birds and implicate you as soon as the dragoons get here. The game’s up, Stokes. Tell what you know about the embezzlement and thefts and perhaps the courts will take that into consideration when sentencing you.’
‘Never forget I have that niece of yours within my power,’ Stokes wheezed through his crushed windpipe. ‘Let me go and I’ll not harm her. I know you’re fond of the pretty chit.’
‘I am...that’s why I’ve removed her, and my sister, from your clutches. Not that Bertha merits consideration, but she’s blood, I suppose.’
Stokes’s eyes bulged up at his captor. ‘You’ve done what?’ he spluttered.
‘They’ll be well into their journey by now. I’ve persuaded your old business partner, Pryke, to accompany them to ensure their safety.’ Drew shoved Stokes away from him and paced to and fro. ‘You jeopardised your cousin’s livelihood and his liberty with your pathetic blackmail plot.’
Stokes was enraged to hear that he’d lost his mistress and his meal ticket. He’d had expectations of extorting more cash from Lord Regan. ‘A pathetic plot, was it?’ He began massaging his bruised neck. ‘It hit you where it hurt, didn’t it. Lady Joan Morland is the ruthless Squire’s Achilles’ heel,’ he scoffed. ‘When her father finds out you’ve bedded her, you’ll wish I’d finished you off here instead.’
Drew swung a fist at Stokes’s mouth. ‘Keep quiet,’ he growled. ‘You’re not fit to mention her name.’ Forcing him towards the door, Drew added calmly, ‘The magistrate is expecting us. I’m obliged that you sought me out and saved me the bother of hunting you down.’
‘Get up and fight!’ Stokes bawled through ragged lips at the men bleeding on the floor, struggling to escape from Rockleigh’s brutal imprisonment.
But he got no response from his mercenaries other than a groan from one and a foul curse from the other.
* * *
‘Your papa said he will get up for an hour or two now he is feeling so much better.’
‘Is that wise?’ Joan had been curled up on her bedspread, reflecting sadly on her meeting with Drew earlier on Poacher’s Lane, when her stepmother entered her chamber.
‘Well, you know your papa, Joan...what is wise is not always what he wants to do.’ The Duchess sighed. ‘I have told him another whole day in bed would benefit him. But he says he’d sooner starve than take another spoon of gruel; he is getting up to dine with us.’ Maude’s wry smile faded. ‘Have you been crying, my dear?’ She wipe
d smudges from Joan’s face with her fingertips.
‘Oh, I’ve just had a fit of the doldrums, that’s all.’ Joan slid her feet to the floor. ‘It is good news that Papa feels well enough to come downstairs. Perhaps a little stroll in the conservatory after supper might do him good.’
‘Is it just your papa’s health worrying you?’ Maude took Joan’s hands. ‘It has been a trying time for us all these past weeks. Your father has been harried by something he’s been reluctant to discuss with me. Thankfully he seems to have forgotten about it now, though.’
Joan knew Rockleigh’s trustworthiness had been on her father’s mind. But there was nothing to worry about on that score and Joan would tell her father so. Drew was leaving town, and even if he were not, Joan knew that he’d keep her secrets as firmly hidden as he kept his own. ‘I’ll freshen up and join you downstairs.’ Joan brushed crumples from her skirts.
Maude had been gone from the room just a few minutes when Anna slipped in as Joan was untangling her thick locks with a brush.
‘I shall wear something quite simple this evening,’ she told Anna, assuming the maid had quickly arrived to help her dress.
‘I have a message for you, my lady,’ Anna whispered, eyes wide in apprehensiveness.
Joan swivelled on her stool. ‘Message? From whom?’ Her heart soared as her mind pounced on the possibility of Drew having sent her a note.
Anna quickly approached. ‘A young woman came to the back door, asking for the Duke of Thornley’s daughter. By lucky chance Pip and I were chatting in the courtyard and managed to intercept her before anybody else knew her business.’
Joan got to her feet, her stomach lurching. ‘And who is she? What did she say?’
Anna glanced at the closed door, fearful of somebody overhearing. ‘She gave her name as Miss Constance Cook; she said she had urgent news of Mr Rockleigh.’ Anna moved her head in consternation. ‘She would give no more details. I was for sending her away; she is polite enough but of obviously low class. Pip said you must have her message because of the friendship between you and Mr Rockleigh.’