by Mary Brendan
‘Pip was right to tell me of it,’ Joan said hoarsely. ‘Where is Miss Cook now?’
‘She is waiting by the side gate.’
Joan was already pulling on her cloak with nervous fingers. ‘I must speak to her directly.’ She rushed to the door, then spun about. ‘Oh...please tell them that I have a migraine or some such. My stepmother knows that I have been feeling low, so it is plausible. Say I shall join them later in the drawing room, after supper.’
Anna nodded. ‘I must accompany you, my lady if you are going out to see her.’
‘There’s no need; I know of her through the Reverend Walters. I shall stay out of sight.’ Joan was soon darting into the corridor. As she flew down the stairs she wondered what on earth the young woman had to say that was so vital it had brought her from Wapping to Mayfair. And how did Constance Cook know her name and address?
A cloudy sky had brought dusk down early, but Joan immediately spotted Constance’s buxom figure pressed against the brick wall. As she rapidly approached, the young woman tipped back her cloak’s hood, exposing a bright blonde fringe of curls. For what seemed an interminable moment the two of them simply exchanged a stare.
Drew’s mistress was uncommonly pretty, Joan obliquely realised, but a combatant glint in Constance’s eyes begged a question. Joan was certain that Drew would not have mentioned their affair to his paramour, so how had she found out? ‘You wanted to speak to me urgently, I believe,’ Joan said briskly, moving further into the shadows cast by the shrubbery.
‘I know that you are fond of Mr Rockleigh and beg you will help him, my lady,’ Constance rattled off.
‘What’s happened to him?’ Joan’s alarm increased on noticing that the young woman’s eyes were glistening. This was no meeting planned by a jealous woman set on confronting her rival; if Constance Cook wasn’t genuinely worried and frightened, she was a consummate actress.
‘Drew has been set upon by three fellows. The ringleader of the gang spoke of you and Mr Rockleigh in the same breath, so I’ve come to beg you to do what you can to stop them killing him. The bruisers will likely turncoat for anybody offering a better payment. I’ve nothing to give but myself. A duke’s daughter such as you has riches to tempt them to spare him and I reckon it’s money they’re after, not tumbling a tavern wench.’
Joan felt in equal part terrified and astonished by what she’d heard, but retained sense enough to grip the hysterical young woman’s shoulders and shake her into silence so she might have more facts. ‘Who spoke my name? Where is the gang?’
‘Drew called him Stokes. Drew made the fiend let me go and I ran to Mr Pryke’s office in Cheapside to find out where to find the Duke of Thornley’s residence.’ Constance frowned. ‘I’d guessed that the detective had delivered your message, you see. I hoped Mr Pryke would oblige with your direction.’
‘Did Mr Pryke not go back with you to fight off those brutes?’ Joan sounded infuriated.
‘He wasn’t there. An older fellow was alone in the office.’ Constance despairingly shook her head. ‘Nobody wants to help if you live around Ratcliffe Highway. Mr Pryke’s brother told me where you lived just to be rid of me.’ Constance lifted misty eyes to Joan, in wordless appeal.
‘I’ll help,’ Joan said forcefully. ‘We must go immediately.’
Constance choked back a sob. ‘Drew might already be dead...beaten to a pulp in my lodgings.’ She turned a blameful gaze on Joan. ‘Is it your fault? Are they fighting over you?’
‘I don’t know,’ Joan murmured, tense with anxiety. She didn’t know if the plot to blackmail her had brought matters to a head between the two men, or whether Stokes was out for Drew’s blood because his fraud had been thwarted.
‘Wait here while I fetch a carriage,’ Joan said shakily. She turned and sprinted towards the stables, finding Pip easily as he had been standing at a distance observing them.
It took Pip less than five minutes to prepare the small rig, yet Joan paced to and fro impatiently as though she had waited an hour for the journey to begin. When aboard the two young women travelled in silence, both lost in their own frantic thoughts, although Joan had sensed Constance darting glances at her profile.
‘Have you some money to give them?’ Constance blurted.
Joan had also been concentrating hard on how she must barter for Drew’s life. Not wanting to waste precious time, or risk being stopped by her stepmother, she had not returned to the house. She had little ready cash, in any case, and would need to visit the bank to obtain a ransom. She raised a finger to her ear, flicking the gold-and-amethyst drop dangling there. ‘Stokes can have these. They are valuable.’ Inwardly she prayed that it was an exchange the evil villain would accept. Joan glanced at the woman sitting opposite. She looked young...perhaps not yet twenty and her large glossy eyes and sweet snub nose gave her an air of innocence and vulnerability. ‘Would you really have let those beasts ravish you to save Mr Rockleigh?’
Constance nodded. ‘I’d do that for him.’ A challenge was back in her eyes and voice. ‘He’d not think badly of me for it either. He knows I love him.’
‘And does he love you?’ Joan asked before she could stop herself. She noted the proud tilt to Constance’s chin and anticipated having her worst fears confirmed.
But the blonde smiled sourly. ‘He’s leaving me.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Joan said and felt a fraud.
‘You’re not!’ Constance snapped. ‘You’re the one that’s stolen him off me. Fine lady like you could have any man you wanted. Why take mine? He’s suited to me...gutter born and bred. Why d’you want him when your papa could buy you an earl?’
‘What do you mean...gutter born and bred?’ Joan echoed, ignoring the rest of Constance’s argument. ‘Mr Rockleigh has had bad luck, but is from good family.’
‘That’s what he’s told you, is it?’ Constance snorted. ‘I believed him a nob, too, then Old Blackie told me the Squire had been reared in the neighbourhood. That beast Stokes said something that proved the old fellow hadn’t been gibbering as he shuffled off.’ Constance pressed together her lips. She knew she’d said far too much and regretted doing so. Drew would never forgive her for betraying him to his lady love. And Constance knew in her heart that he did love the Duke’s daughter.
‘What did Stokes say to make you believe it true?’ Joan’s voice was trembling. ‘Tell me!’ she demanded when the young woman turned away, pulling her hood forward to conceal her guilty expression.
‘He said I was far better suited to Rockleigh than the high-bred harlot he favoured.’ Constance peeked at Joan to see how she’d taken that insult. ‘Stokes had learned from Drew’s sister that he was an ambitious guttersnipe,’ she continued. ‘Stokes said, too, that Bertha didn’t know her brother was bedding the Duke of Thornley’s daughter.’ Constance’s chin drooped towards her chest. A glance sideways told her that Lady Joan had been shocked to the core by what she’d heard. But Constance wasn’t feeling triumphant; even if the woman he loved shunned him, she knew there was no hope of Drew coming back to her. She wished now she’d kept her mouth shut.
Joan sat very still, coldness seeping slowly through her as she went over and over in her mind what she’d heard. The names she’d been called didn’t bother her. But she wondered why she had not realised sooner about the rest. The secret that she’d believed Rockleigh kept so closely concealed, he had in fact disclosed to her earlier that day, on Poacher’s Lane:
‘It’s not thoughts of Constance that torment me...it’s thoughts of you...wanting you and knowing I’m not worthy to touch the hem of your skirt.’
‘You’ll still help him, won’t you?’ Constance begged quietly. ‘He’s a good man, wherever he sprung from.’
‘I know he is,’ Joan replied in a ragged whisper. ‘I won’t desert him...I swear.’ She leapt up and rapped loudly on the roof for Pip to increase pace. He
r driver immediately cracked the whip, jolting her back against the squabs.
Joan gripped the leather seat either side of her, her heart drumming crazily, but she refused to think about the astonishing revelation of Rockleigh’s early life. She concentrated on the fact that he was in danger and she must help him...whoever he might be and however large the chasm between them. Just as in the past he had helped her without hesitation.
Chapter Sixteen
‘Which dwelling is yours?’ Joan demanded as soon as Miss Cook called out that they had arrived in her neighbourhood. Her companion had travelled with her head poked out of the open coach window for the last few minutes, shouting directions to Pip to guide him through the quickest route to her home.
Constance pointed to a cottage with a crumbling entrance that nevertheless appeared sturdier than those set either side. ‘That’s it, there! My room is the first on the left,’ she breathlessly informed.
Having shouted at Pip to pull up, Joan alighted nimbly, her skirts held away from clogged gutters, and dashed towards the house. The door whined open and she sped through a grimy corridor, tripping over debris while trying to block out a permeating odour of decay. Plunging into Constance’s lodgings, she sensed the room was empty even though it was too dark for her vision to penetrate the inky shadows.
Constance had soon entered behind and found a match to put to the oil lamp on the table. The young woman lifted it immediately, allowing its weak beam to play on every wall.
Joan blinked at the strangeness of her surroundings. Unsavoury, indeed they were, and the wavering flame daubing giants on the ceiling did nothing but add to an eerie atmosphere. Yet oddly Joan was not disgusted; rather she felt an overwhelming and shameful sense of her own privilege to inhabit a property whose cupboards were larger and finer than this dingy sitting room.
‘They’ve taken him.’ Constance swung about and deposited the light on the table.
Joan immediately took it up and marched to and fro with it, examining the dilapidated nooks and crannies. Suddenly the lamplight passed over something that dragged her eyes back for a second look. She hurried to a corner and crouched down. ‘There’s a lot of blood on the floor.’ She gingerly touched a finger to a viscous dark pool on bare boards, then used her skirt to wipe the digit clean.
Constance sagged against the table, clapping a hand to her mouth. ‘They’ve killed him then,’ she wailed.
‘No! No, they have not.’ Joan was determined to believe Drew still alive. ‘Stokes would have left his victim here and bolted had he committed a murder. Mr Rockleigh might be injured but he still lives, I know it...I know it!’ she exclaimed, dropping her forehead to her palms. ‘I’d know if he were dead...I would know...’ she keened quietly to herself.
Slowly her fingers slid from her eyes and she turned on a heel, aware of another person’s presence. Or perhaps it was the familiar smoky aroma overlaid with a hint of sandalwood that had filled her nostrils, blocking out the damp.
Slowly, she rose to her feet, her eyes entangled with a dark brooding gaze that came and went as the lamp flickered.
‘Are you hurt?’ she eventually croaked out.
He shook his head just once.
‘Are you?’ he asked sardonically.
Joan swallowed. They both knew to what he referred—was she hurt by the knowing the truth about him.
‘No...did you imagine I would be?’ Joan glanced at Constance; the young woman was standing, watching the tense interaction between her lover and the interloper who could have any man she wanted.
But Joan knew that wasn’t true. If it had been, she might have succumbed a year or more ago to one of the fellows who besieged her at balls and parties, imploring to be allowed to call on her father. Yes, at times, she’d danced and flirted with them...but she’d sent them all away. Because in a recess of her mind remained the precious memory of a tall, fair-haired stranger who had brought her home safely one dark Devon night and had stopped her father from chastising her with a slap...though she’d deserved it.
And he was the only man she wanted.
‘As you are unhurt I shall go home,’ Joan said with admirable composure.
‘I’m very sorry I bothered you, my lady,’ Constance said in a small voice. ‘I should have known he’d get away. He’s got the devil’s own luck...’ She shot a wary glance at Drew, expecting his rebuke for interfering in his affairs. Constance sighed in resignation; he’d forgotten her and was watching the Duke’s daughter as if they were alone.
‘I’m glad you did come and get me, Miss Cook; better to be safe than sorry.’ Joan tore her eyes away from the bewitching intensity of Drew’s stare. ‘As all is well with Mr Rockleigh, I must return home immediately, or all will not be well for me.’
‘All is not well for either of us, as you know,’ Drew corrected quietly. ‘So for the moment you stay.’ He glanced at Constance. ‘Go to work now, Connie, you’re late for your shift. Tomorrow you should pack your things and find yourself and your brother a better place.’
For a fleeting moment it seemed that Constance might object, but her pout softened as her fingers tightened about the banknotes in her pocket. She cheered herself up, accepting it was all she could do when the fellow she wanted desired someone who just happened to be a beauty and an aristocrat’s daughter. Constance knew the Squire wasn’t a fortune hunter; he was a man who was in turmoil because he’d fallen in love unwisely. And as she was fond of him Constance found herself feeling sorry for the ill-starred lovers.
‘All is not well for either of us...’ he’d just said to Lady Joan. Constance could only agree and sympathise; there was no consolation in knowing they had a rocky road in front of them.
Being a pragmatic character Constance realised she could chase a daydream and end up bitterly disappointed, or she could take good advice and keep herself and Benny out of trouble on the Squire’s generosity. With the cash he’d given her she could get a respectable address, then obtain a position working in a swanky shop. She’d always fancied being an apprentice seamstress, learning to fashion beautiful clothes from silks and satins. And she’d always wanted to properly learn her letters so she could read and write. When she’d sat with the vicar at Old Blackie’s bedside, they’d talked to while away the time and the Reverend Walters had said he’d gladly educate her. The vicar was a nice fellow in Constance’s opinion.
‘Don’t take any notice of anything I said earlier, my lady.’ Constance had turned to go and the comment drifted over her shoulder. ‘It was just me talking daft ’cos I got frightened witless over what went on. But I’m all right now.’
Once they were alone Joan attempted to slip past Drew, feeling awkward for having believed he’d need her help. Obviously he did not. He blocked her path, making her skitter back as his rock-like body collided with hers.
‘Your friend is a fine young woman,’ Joan blurted the first thing that came into her head. ‘She was brave and loyal in trying to help you.’
‘And so were you...’ Drew’s eyes were relentlessly steady, watching every nuance of emotion shaping her delicate features.
‘I hope the future is kind to Miss Cook wherever she may go,’ Joan said simply.
‘As do I...despite the fact that she was unforgivably stupid to have drawn you into such danger.’
‘If she were prepared to face those perils, then so was I!’ Joan returned.
‘Your strength of character isn’t in question...in fact, considering your pampered upbringing you’re quite a marvel, Lady Joan Morland.’
‘And now you’re mocking me.’
‘No...I wouldn’t do that.’
The note of husky sincerity in his voice made Joan’s heart skip a beat. She had grown used to him teasing and provoking her, but not this time, it seemed.
‘Where does Miss Cook work?’ she asked, curious about Drew
’s paramour.
‘At the Cock and Hen tavern, although I imagine she’ll quit tonight.’
‘Will she be able to afford a nicer place to live if she does that?’ Joan feared she sounded too inquisitive.
‘I’ve provided her with the means to better herself. It’s up to her whether she chooses to do so.’
Joan was itching to ask him whether he had just cut ties with his mistress, or whether he would follow her and resume their liaison. She swallowed the urge, attending instead to practicalities niggling at the back of her mind. ‘I have to get home; my papa is feeling much better and is coming down to dine with us this evening. I don’t want to miss seeing him.’
‘You risked not seeing him...for me. You risked a dangerous encounter with Stokes and his men...for me. Though I’m furious that you acted so foolhardy, I want you to at least give me a chance to thank you and to explain myself.’
‘I would have tried to help any person in such awful danger. Miss Cook said it was an unfair fight: three against one.’ Joan sighed. ‘I had no idea how I might intervene other than to buy the thugs off with these.’ She touched her eardrops. ‘Miss Cook thought they might be avaricious enough to accept a bribe and turn on Stokes.’
‘Possibly she is right, but it’s more likely that they would have stolen the jewellery and assaulted you while remaining in Stokes’s pay. You should not have come here under any circumstances, Joan,’ Drew said, his tone harshening.
‘I acted on instinct. There was no time to consider finer points!’ Joan retorted.
‘I know...and I’m grateful to you.’
‘Miss Cook must love you very much,’ Joan blurted. ‘She was prepared to suffer their lechery to save you.’
Drew traced a thumb softly on her mouth. ‘Hush... I would have not wanted her to do that and there was no need in any case.’
‘But she does love you.’