by Sophia James
‘I’ve seldom ventured into this part of London. It’s like a different world. So leafy and tidy.’
‘Mrs Selena Greene is the wife of a successful businessman.’
‘And how did you find her?’
‘She is the cousin of my valet. He heard me mention Leonard Carvall and said he had never liked the man. It seems Mrs Greene does not either.’
A few moments later they arrived at the home of the Greenes and were shepherded through to a small room on one side of the entranceway. Mrs Greene stood just inside.
She was a handsome woman of about forty, accompanied today by a younger version of herself, right down to the red hair they both sported.
‘Mr King. Miss Fairclough. Let me introduce to you my niece, Miss Annette de la Fauvre. She works in a pub Mr Carvall often frequents.’
‘I am very pleased to meet you both.’ The French name of the girl sat oddly across her West Yorkshire accent as Lottie hurried in with her questions.
‘My friend, Miss Harriet White, has gone missing from Horseferry Road in the Irish Rookery, but we think she goes by the name of Caroline now. Would you know of her?’
Annette looked thoughtful. ‘There are a number of young women in the employ of Leonard Carvall. I hear them talk, you see, sometimes in the pub when they accompany him and it seems that they are treated almost as slaves.’
Lottie’s face paled.
‘They are not allowed outside and are shifted from place to place where the need arises. There is talk they may have been taken against their will and can never escape. Mr Carvall is a man who is both dangerous and ill tempered, so I should not like him to know I have been here speaking with you.’
‘He will not, you have my word upon it.’ Jasper made that promise and the two women relaxed somewhat.
‘Where is the pub you speak of, Miss de la Fauvre?’ He needed a place to begin, a location that could be checked out.
‘In Vine Street. It is called the Marquis of Granby and I am one of the barmaids. It is a well-paying job for what it is I have to do, but lately—’ She stopped.
‘Tell them, Annette. Tell them what you have told me.’ Mrs Greene was insistent.
‘Lately Mr Carvall has been watching me in particular and he has said things which have made me feel uncomfortable. I also think he is drugging the younger girls to make them docile and I think that many are there against their will. My aunt has offered to pay my passage to the Americas to get me out of harm and I have accepted. I leave England next week.’
‘Well, that is wonderful news and I wish you the very best of luck.’ Lottie said this and clasped the girl’s hand, eliciting a smile from Mrs Greene.
‘A woman should have the rights to her own body and no man should take that permission from her. If you observe him, Mr King, you might also be able to find the missing girl, though he surrounds himself with less-than-moral people so I would watch your back.’
‘You have been most helpful, Mrs Greene.’
‘Tom, your valet, is my favourite cousin and he was insistent we could trust you.’
‘Which you most certainly can.’
Five moments later they were back in the carriage and Charlotte looked furious. Well, it was better than sorrow, Jasper thought, and bade the driver on.
* * *
If Mr Carvall had drugged Harriet, Lottie thought, then it just made the finding of her all the more difficult. Drugs and alcohol and their effects were a big part of the misery in the Rookery and it was seldom those who had been under their influence were ever removed from them.
‘After the work at the Foundation I thought I might be immune to the evil things one person does to another, but I find, after all, I am not.’
‘I shouldn’t have brought you with me. It was a mistake.’
Jasper was going back to being controlling again and Lottie had had enough.
‘I do know what happens between a man and a woman in the sale of flesh, Mr King. I understand those implications, but drugs are something else entirely. I am unsure if we would be able to extract Harriet from their persuasive grasp.’
‘It’s early days. If we can find her before a dependency settles—’
She broke across him. ‘You cannot know what I have seen when people take them for any time. It is an indescribable horror and poor Harriet will be much changed because of it.’
He shook his head. ‘Carvall will likely be using laudanum. At first it’s almost a joy to feel nothing, it’s only later the rot sets in.’
The truth surged through her.
‘You are speaking about yourself? You know what it is like to be addicted to the laudanum?’
‘I do.’
The words made her start and she did not quite know how to go on from here. The iniquitous opium dens came to mind, places of immorality and depravity. Had he been in those?
‘Do you still use it?’ Stiffening, she waited for his answer.
‘No.’
A simple and small word encapsulating a thousand hours of agony. It took a soul far braver than any she’d ever known to wrench themselves free and live.
‘It was for the pain in my leg, you understand. I went for months when I could not sleep and any oblivion was welcomed.’
Secrets. Hidden in sorrow.
‘But I was able to pull myself free with the help of my sister. She came and rescued me when I had given up on hope. I offer my own poor history to you as a way of courage, Charlotte.’
The use of her name came unexpectedly, a small intimacy that made her draw in breath.
‘Harriet White is young and fit, I presume. If we find her soon, she will recover, I give you my word upon it.’
‘Thank you.’
She wanted to ask him more questions, about his leg, about his pain, about the hopelessness that might drive a man like him to depend on a drug and about Meghan’s part in making certain he stayed safe. But he had been more than forthcoming today and she did not wish to ruin such directness by pushing things further.
He had given her a gift and his candour and frankness warmed her.
‘My town house is only a few streets away. If you would like something to eat and drink, we could go there. It’s more difficult in public to be alone.’
Alone.
A feeling of excitement shot through her, the kiss from the other day still very much on her mind.
Should she say yes? Would he kiss her again if she did so? Would there be staff there who might censure her or members of his family? Claire, her maid, would tell her to return home immediately if she were present, but suddenly Lottie didn’t want to. She wanted to take a risk and live. She was twenty-two, after all, and this could be her very last chance of feeling free.
She had sent a message to her mother yesterday explaining that she was still recovering from her cough and would need another three or four days to make the journey without problems. She had phrased the letter in a way that would not make Lilian worry and return to London. She hoped it would suffice.
‘Thank you. I would like that.’
A thrill of consequence shivered through her though when she looked up at Jasper he did not seem to be feeling the same. If anything, he looked more severe, more stern, the injuries to his face adding to the danger.
After a quick word to his driver they were on their way and it took only a few minutes before they were pulling up to the imposing façade of his town house in Piccadilly. It was much bigger than she might have imagined it to be, the road it sat on beautiful and quiet.
‘Are your parents here?’ She had to ask this, because if they were she would not go in.
‘My father died almost three years ago and my mother when I was very young.’
‘My papa died of typhus when I was a girl. There was an epidemic of it that raced through the Foundation and everyone was sick. Mam
a said it was a miracle that our family had survived it intact and then the very next week my father was gone. Quickly and without much of a goodbye, as if some celestial being had heard Mama use the words and wanted to smite our family for gloating.’
‘Charlotte?’
‘Yes?’
‘You talk a lot when you are nervous. Did you know that?’
Swallowing, she shook her head.
‘I would never hurt you. I promise it.’
And she believed him. Implicitly and absolutely.
She wished just then that she might have been able to put her glasses on to see his eyes in clear detail, but they were left at home on her bedside table because she had not wished to show him again her broken spectacles. Perhaps that was a vanity that she would be punished for. Perhaps she should be honest.
‘We are not a wealthy family, Mr King. At the moment my mother and sister and I are hanging on to our existence by our fingernails and unless Silas returns some time soon after the New Year we will need to close the Foundation, for the rent is excessive and the money is dwindling.’
‘Why are you telling me this?’
‘Because you are wealthy and you have said your resources are many and my family holds none of the largesse that yours does. I cannot even afford to have my glasses fixed, so if this invitation to eat should allude to other things as well then it is far better to put an honest foot forward than be rebuffed for a false one and regret it later.’
‘Other things?’
He had shepherded her in now past a man who had opened the door and into a side salon. He closed the door behind them.
Oh, my goodness, he looked so beautiful standing there, strong and damaged and magnificent. Was he playing with her? Surely it should have been her exquisite sister here before him, all auburn hair and glittering green eyes.
‘I am not beautiful like my sister, Mr King, I know it, but still a woman like me has her dreams and hopes and if—’
He stepped forward and his mouth covered her own.
* * *
God, he wanted her. He wanted Charlotte Fairclough like he’d never desired any woman before, with a desperate burning need, and he knew it had been a huge mistake on his part to bring her here.
She would be a virgin and the expectations she had of a dalliance were nothing like the ones a more experienced woman might harbour.
But he couldn’t stop his tongue seeking entrance and one hand turning her head so that he could taste her deeper. Ambrosia. The softness of her curves moulded to his body, full breasts felt through the wool of her gown where the cloak she wore had fallen back, his fingers there cupping the flesh, flicking across a nipple standing proud under his ministrations, her curls all escaped now and descending in gold-brown waves down her back.
How could she think she was not beautiful? How could she not see that her beauty was so much more than the insipid version society had deemed to favour? She was like fire in his arms with those whisky eyes and pale skin and a mouth that was swollen and reddened.
He never lost control; discipline, limit and constraint always held firm in the face of what he had been through and yet here his self-professed restrictions were a weak nothing compared to Charlotte’s sultry and honest sensuality.
He could not stop, his leg riding between her thighs, bringing her closer, edging into his hardness, feeling his way. The warmth of her centre was only the thickness of wool from him and she was clutching him closer in her want for more.
The knock on the door had him turning as he pushed her behind him, trying to find reality, the blood thundering in his ears like drums, every single fibre in his body burning in shock.
‘Your sister Mrs Gibson has called by, Mr King. She is waiting to be seen in.’
‘Thank you, Larkin.’
The door shut behind his departing butler.
‘Hell.’
Her expression looked as flabbergasted as his probably did and he took in breath.
‘I will have to see her.’ He hardly knew what to say.
Charlotte was tidying her hair, her fingers then on the line of her gown, straightening the skirt. She looked small and brave and alarmed.
‘It will be all right. I promise.’
‘Will it?’ Her answer came back quickly, thrown into the mix without thought, and then Meghan was there, her countenance sharp and perplexed both at the same time.
‘Miss Fairclough? I did not expect you to be here.’
‘We have just come from the house of a woman with a knowledge of where Miss Harriet White might be, Meg.’
‘Business, then?’
Jasper did not like the smile that accompanied his sister’s query and his eyes clashed with hers.
‘Exactly.’ He did not have her inclination for humour given his body ached with the incompletion of what Charlotte and he had started and which had been so abruptly stopped. ‘Would you like a drink, Meghan?’
‘Not today, for I have a meeting at the Women’s Temperance League this afternoon. I just called in to say hello. Your face looks damaged, Brother.’
‘The result of a run in with the self-styled protectors of the prostitution racket in Old Pye Street.’
‘What do their faces look like?’
‘Worse.’
‘You are playing with fire, Jasper. Make sure you are not further burnt.’ Her glance took in them both in a single knowing stare. ‘Well, I have to go or I shall be late.’
Jasper laughed, almost certain that she would not be. Meghan always left hours between appointments so that she would not be tardy.
‘Would you like me to drop you off somewhere on my way, Miss Fairclough?’ His sister had changed tack now and he cursed her for doing so. A simple query infused with a great deal of meaning. But Lottie stood her ground.
‘No, but thank you. There are a few things I still need to ask your brother about.’
‘Well, good for you. My advice would be to make sure he is aware of your intentions.’
Then she was gone, the door closing behind her, only the perfume she used still in the air left behind. Wild roses and musk.
* * *
‘Your sister knows.’
Lottie felt breathless and uncertain, the play between Jasper and Meghan unlike anything her family ever indulged in. Half-truths and innuendo. Warnings and a ribald humour. She could not understand it.
‘She won’t say anything.’
‘You are sure?’
‘I am. She wants me to be happy. She is constantly worrying about me.’
‘And are you that? Happy?’
‘Yes.’
A hard core of worry melted and she felt herself relax.
What was it between them that made sense fly right out of the door when he kissed her? Was this normal, this strange tear in time and place so that they both fell through to somewhere else entirely? She thought of Millie. Should she believe him when he said he was not interested in her sister? He had also said that he would not marry and that was another worry.
She did not want him to touch her again, not now, not here, not after an almost-discovery. She felt frightened by her reactions and panicked by their implications.
A few moments before she would have laid down with Jasper here on the floor in a room with an unlocked door and allowed him everything. Just like in the ballroom.
Unbelievable.
Incendiary.
Like a harlot.
If Mrs Gibson had not arrived when she had...
‘I am sorry...’ he began to apologise, but she held up her hand.
‘It was not just your fault, Mr King.’
‘Jasper. I think we are long past the other.’
‘Jasper,’ she repeated and felt an unhealthy need to laugh. Which she didn’t, of course, the seriousness of their near-disaster still close. I
f Meghan had arrived ten minutes later, what could have happened, then? Would she now be the sort of girl who often came calling at the Foundation? Pregnant and alone, the realisation of her foolishness barely believable and the future in front of her dim.
Ladies of worth did not make love after one kiss with a man they hardly knew. They kept a suitor dangling for weeks or months and made him promise things that would not leave them high and dry. Sensible options. Alternatives that gave them purchase to bargain with, things like promises of marriage and for ever.
How often had Mama drilled this into both her and Amelia?
‘Do not give your virginity away for free, girls. Make sure it means something and is treasured by the man you love.’
The man you love.
Did she love him? Jasper King? Could it happen this quickly with just a week’s worth of being together?
Yes.
Her world spun with the possibility of it, but he hardly looked as if he might suddenly proclaim his undying devotion to her. No, he looked distracted, if anything, and wary, the kiss of a moment ago forgotten in the unexpected visit by his sister.
He was a man of the world, with a trail of lovers behind him. Meghan Gibson had told her that as they had prepared for the Harcourt ball. His next words confirmed his indifference.
‘The Marquis of Granby tavern Miss de la Fauvre mentioned is known to me. I shall go tonight and see if Mr Carvall is drinking there.’
‘I could accompany you if it would help.’
‘Absolutely not.’
Lottie wished she might have argued otherwise, but she knew that her lack of any skills in the art of self-defence would put them both at risk.
Still, she didn’t quite give up.
‘I could stay in the carriage with the driver and the footmen just to make sure you returned safely? I would not move from the conveyance, I promise it.’ She held her hand above her heart.