Lady Sarah's Redemption

by Beverley Eikli

  With dismay Sarah watched the skittering shards of the porcelain urn which the jarvey’s head had collected on his way to the ground roll across the floor.

  “Can’t hold his liquor, poor feller,” sighed Mrs Hollingsworth, looking sadly at the body slumped against the wall. “Thank you, Barnabus! Take the gentleman out. Lady Sarah, you mustn’t worry about your friend. Barnabus’ll take care of him. Now sit down and drink up. I’m enjoying our little chat.”

  “No.” The walls were closing in on her. The Hollingsworths with their speculative smiles and Miss Morecroft in her trance-like state threatened all she held dear. They would keep her here against her will. They would take Mr Hawthorne, too, and then she had no idea what they planned. They were evil.

  She tried to force her way past the door and into the passageway where she hoped for a clear run but Mr Hollingsworth’s hand was upon her elbow.

  “Lady Sarah, you can’t possibly rush into the darkness, in a neighbourhood like this. Mr Hawthorne would never forgive us. Ah, good evening, Caro.” His smile was very different from the one he’d reserved for Caro’s birthday, as he ushered the terrified girl into the room.

  Caro’s wan, pale face lit up when she saw Sarah. With a sob she threw herself into her arms.

  “Very touching,” observed Mr Hollingsworth, closing the door firmly behind them and leading them to a green settee. “Now, I must dispatch one more note. There is a gentleman who has, for the past six weeks, been all eagerness to meet the lovely Miss Caro. The fact that a lovely imposter” - he looked pointedly at Sarah – “has sweetened the dish is sure to garnish my reward. Now, let us have another drink while we wait for our happy little gathering to be complete.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  ROLAND WOKE WITH a raging thirst.

  He needed water, or he would die. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed he attempted to rise. But his legs buckled and he landed on his face upon the floor.

  It took him all his energy to struggle back onto the mattress where he sat a few minutes, his head reeling, as he tried to recollect what had brought him to this indifferent London posting inn. If he was in London, as he believed he was, he ought to be enjoying the rarefied atmosphere of his club. This place smelled of musty linen and cheap candles.

  He noticed his boots were off and he was shirtless. But there was a basin of water and a sponge still damp on the washstand. His valet had not accompanied him on this apparently hasty, clandestine trip and yet he had been attended to.

  A vision of Lady Sarah swam before him, though he couldn’t imagine why. While he searched in the gloom for the water jug, wisps of memory drifted through his muddled brain. The image of her was so very strong.

  When he lit a candle and saw her veil upon the bed, he put his hands to his head and groaned.

  Dear Lord, if she’d been with him last night what atrocities might he have committed? If – as clearly had been the case – he was not in full charge of his mental faculties, the beast within would have taken over. He’d have given free reign to the lustful desires she inspired and which had consumed him during the past six weeks.

  He groaned again. If she had been here last night, where was she, now?

  Caro!

  Guilty fear galvanised him into action, but as he reached for his shirt, nausea gripped him and he fell to his knees on the wooden boards.

  First Caro had disappeared. Now Sarah was gone. It was starting to come back to him. Sarah’s tender ministrations, but there had been an urgency about her, too. Yes, something about Caro. What was it she had said? Something about knowing Caro’s whereabouts? Surely he hadn’t dreamed that?

  If she really had been here at all? Surely Lord Miles would never have released her to travel, unescorted, to London? Surely Sarah would never have been so reckless as to have come, alone and unchaperoned, to his bed chamber?

  Never! he reaffirmed, nodding decisively in part to shake his disappointment. The veil belonged to someone else and had inadvertently appeared on his bed. It was as simple as that.

  He pulled his shirt over his head. He was feeling a little better, though he had no idea where he’d start his search. It was all so hopeless.

  Then he saw the note pushed under the door with his name written clearly on the outside. Thank the Lord, he thought as he struggled to cross the room and pick it up. It must contain news regarding Caro’s whereabouts. Perhaps, even, that she’d been found safe.

  But all it contained was a single address.

  Twenty minutes later he stared with revulsion at the two-storied residence. No gentleman of fashion could be ignorant of the notorious Sally Hollingsworth’s nunnery. That his daughter — and Sarah — might be inside was almost more than he could bear.

  He shuddered, stepping up to grip the brass door knocker. What would he say? He’d never been in a bawdy house before. When he’d told Venetia something to this effect, she’d laughed and said, well then, wasn’t he the lucky one since out of the goodness of her heart she’d show him all the things girls in bawdy houses did. He didn’t want to dwell, right now, on what she’d taught him.

  He was still hesitating as to whether this direct approach was even advisable when a metal grill slid open.

  “What’s yer business, then?” asked the owner of a pair of eyes that regarded him with suspicion.

  “That which brings most gentlemen to a house like this,” he said, in bored, clipped tones.

  The door opened a crack and stepping inside Roland found himself in a dimly lit vestibule.

  “Yer won’t find better’n this, then. Come,” said an old man with lank, shoulder-length grey hair. Holding aloft a tallow candle, he led the way down a narrow passageway, dragging his club foot.

  It was the early hours of the morning. A pretty girl in yellow and mauve was descending a flight of stairs, yawning. She caught herself up when she saw Roland, and smiled. She had nice teeth, he noticed. Like Sarah, he thought, and his heart contracted with fear and longing.

  “Don’t tell the missus,” she said in a collaborative whisper as she lounged against the newel post and waited for Roland to draw level, “but would the fine gennelmun like a glass of sommat?”

  Roland did not answer – he guessed he looked as dazed as he felt.

  “Now my ’andsome,” she said, taking his arm. “You don’t look at all the thing. Just come from a ruckus with the missus? Needin’ someone to love yer? Well, Kitty’s yer girl. A nice drink to start us orf? No? So it’s right down to business, is it? Well, ain’t so often I’m lucky enough to snag such a ’andsome fella, and I don’t say that lightly. Come along a’ me and Kitty’ll look after yer.”

  Roland’s first instinct was to recoil, just as he did regularly from the lightskirts who plied their trade in the haymarket and the streets near his club. But a combination of his reeling head and the sudden hazy thought that perhaps he could pry information more easily from this young woman than he could from the brothel madam – and that the truth was more likely to be reliable – made him surrender his arm and allow himself to be led up the stairs to her room.

  “There now, if you’d like to make yerself comfortable and tell us yer fancy,” she said.

  Dazedly, he watched her preen in front of a small tarnished looking glass. The room was comfortably furnished, dominated by a large bed with a thick pink feather bolster.

  He must have been frowning unconsciously and fingering the satin cover with unusual concentration for she said in her pert, friendly voice, “Like it, then? Stitched it meself. Makes things a bit more homely, like. Not that ’ome’s a place I’m likely to visit ever agin.”

  “Why?” he asked, distracted.

  “Well, now …” Kitty looked at him, startled. “Daren’t darken the doorstep now, do I? Not now I’ve taken to a life of … of bringing pleasure to gennelmun what can do with a mite cheering up.”

  The next moment she was on his lap, coiling her arms around his neck and nuzzling his cheek, easing his coat from his shoulder
s and marvelling in a low, intimate murmur at his muscles, his fine and handsome physique.

  It was not until she took his hand and guided it under her chemise, that he jerked into awareness.

  Rising abruptly, he was unable to prevent the girl from falling to the floor with a thud. She looked up from where she lay amid a tangle of skirts, her face full of fear.

  “Now sir, playing rough ain’t my game,” she said. “I’m ’appy to pleasure you any way you want, sir, but I don’t like playin’ rough.”

  “Forgive me,” he said, helping her up. “I … I … you’ve got to help me.”

  She must have seen the genuine anguish in his eyes for her fear appeared to abate. Smoothing her dress and putting a hand to her hair she curved her small body against his and nuzzled his neck. “Course I’ll ’elp yer, sir,” she purred, leading him to the bed and gently pushing him down.

  “No, no, not like that,” protested Roland as she began undoing the buttons of his waistcoat.

  “Oh, I’ll give no cause for complaint, sir, if yer just bide yer time a wee bit,” she said.

  Taking a steadying breath Roland gripped her wrists and put her away.

  “Well, if yer want to do all the work, that’s fine by me,” she said, lying back and starting to pull up her skirts.

  Averting his eyes Roland blurted out, “I’m looking for my daughter. Please … I need to know if she’s here. I’ll pay you handsomely.”

  He was conscious of her sudden stillness. When he turned, her eyes were black with terror. “Lower yer voice, sir.” Her own was thick with fear as she sat up and smoothed her gown. “You don’t know what yer askin’.”

  “I believe my daughter has been tricked by a scoundrel who gained her trust and—”

  “You mean ’ticed?” Kitty asked, rising. “But a girl what’s been ’ticed ain’t got no respectability left and can’t possibly go ’ome. ’Oo’ll ’ave a girl like that? I suggest you just leave ’er be. Might even take to the life … like me.” Regaining her composure, Kitty draped herself over his shoulders.

  He shuddered as he felt her small tongue dart into his ear and was about to shake her off when he realized she was whispering. “There’s spies everywhere,” she hissed. “Every word is listened to and there’s eyeholes in the walls and door. I suggest you let me tend to you like you was any gennulman takin’ yer pleasure and we’ll ’ope your words of just now weren’t overheard.”

  “Please, I don’t want—” he started to protest as she pushed him back down.

  “S’orright, sir,” she soothed, loud enough for any listeners to overhear. And then, lowering her head she again whispered, “Pity, cos yer just the kind of genulman a girl like me could fancy.” Then more loudly, “Oooh, yes, sir, very nice,” before adding in another undertone, “Tell me her name. Madam’s got all sorts of gals, and we’re not all common like me.”

  The situation was surreal. Good God, it had been so long since he had had a woman, and to have one so willing, squirming on top of him …

  But she was not Sarah.

  “Sure you don’t want what yer paid for, since yer goin’ to ’ave to pay for it anyway?” Her breath tickled his ear but it was not hard to decline. Only Sarah had the power to make him feel like a man.

  “I’m looking for two women,” he whispered against her neck, pretending to embrace her. “Caro, my daughter and her governess, Lady Sarah, or perhaps she might go by the name of Miss Morecroft. She came here about two hours ago.”

  He felt the girl go rigid.

  “You’re the gennulman, then, they’s bin waitin’ fer,” she whispered. He had to pinion her with both arms to keep her on top of him for if there should be spies to interpret her terror …

  “I’ll pay you well for your information,” he managed, hoarsely. “Obviously you know something-”

  “Yeah? I know a lot, but I ain’t spilling nothin’, for it ain’t worth me pretty neck. And money won’t buy me, fer I get searched, and so does this room. Ain’t nuffink I can keep from the missus.” She seemed more angry now, than frightened.

  “Just ask what it is you want, then?”

  “I want to get out of ’ere, but you certainly ain’t goin’ to be able to ’elp me do that!”

  “Of course I could-”

  “No, I signed a piece of paper wot gives madam and Mr Hollingsworth ’normous power over me,” she whispered. “And I’d rather be here than Newgate, for that’s where I’ll go if I don’t do what I agrees to in that there piece of paper.”

  Relief mingled with horror. “So, Mr Hollingsworth is part of all this?”

  “Mr Hollingsworth is madam’s son and they’s downstairs waitin’ fer ya. There’ll be hell to pay when they realize you’re up here with me an’ all, ’stead of frontin’ up to them direct.”

  “Stop! Please don’t go.” Roland struggled to hold her in his embrace. “I must find Caro and Sarah. Tell me where they are and I’ll do all within my power to help you.”

  “I’s well past savin’, sir, and ’sides, t’ain’t no good since your precious Caro and that other gal’s wiv ’em as we speak. So you got no choice.” She paused as she buttoned her dress, then followed up a rather assessing look with a coy smile. “Sure you don’t want to get yer money’s worth, now?” Frowning, she added in a more concerned tone, “You orright, sir?”

  Ignoring her, Roland tried to ignore the reeling of his brain as he steadied himself with his hand on the door knob. “I presume I’ll find the people I’m after if I continue down the passage and through to the back?”

  “S’right. And thank yer, sir,” she said, pocketing the money he placed on her dresser. “You bin most generous.” Kitty’s words filtered through the open doorway as he hastened towards the stairs.

  Chapter Fifteen

  BLINKING AT THE sudden brightness of the gaudily decorated room, Roland found himself the focus of a small party seated around a cosy fire.

  An enormously fat woman was seated on an Egyptian sofa decorated with gilt winged sphinxes. Her garb screamed her calling. Dear God, Caro didn’t even know of such practices! Or, she hadn’t two days before.

  But it was the man next to her who caused the bile to rise up in his throat and his weakened frame to almost buckle. This time he was not taken in by the charm of his boyish smile as he had been when the personable Mr Hollingsworth had requested permission to lead his daughter into the next dance.

  “Mr Hawthorne, so delighted you could join us. We are quite a crowd,” Mr Hollingsworth’s caramel tones penetrated. “Pray, allow me to introduce to you my wife, the fair Mrs Hollingsworth …”

  Relief that the lady in question was not his daughter was short-lived. For when he opened his eyes again, there was Caro, in the gloom where the light cast by the oil lamp barely penetrated, huddled on a green velvet-upholstered settee.

  She did not greet him but stared, unfocussed, like a frightened animal, her hand clasped in Sarah’s. Beautiful Sarah who regarded him calmly through liquid hazel eyes, which clearly conveyed her relief.

  Dear Lord, the two of them looked to him to save them from this hellish situation, yet he could barely keep them in focus. He found the back of a chair for support and his gaze returned to the young woman introduced as Mrs Hollingsworth.

  “Good evening, Mr Hawthorne, it’s been a long time,” she murmured.

  At first he did not recognize her; he had not seen her since she was a child, after all. Then Sarah’s words drifted into his consciousness. Miss Morecroft. Godby’s daughter, for it could be none other. His heart turned to stone. She was behind all this. Back to haunt the next Hawthorne generation as her father had bedevilled his. He held her gaze before she looked away, her face an impassive mask.

  She had her father’s grey eyes fringed with jet black lashes, and his mouth set in a pretty, round face framed by light brown hair. But she looked a pale, irresolute imitation of the Godby he remembered, and he felt a pang of disappointment. For her father? For what this had all come to?


  Disappointment, however, was an insubstantial word for the way he felt as he returned his gaze to Caro and Sarah. Motivated by the determination to fight to the death to save them both, he was almost felled the next minute by another wave of dizziness.

  Using the manner of one gentleman to another, the effete, self-assured Mr Hollingsworth introduced his mother, the fat evil woman who regarded him speculatively, her eyes tiny pinpricks of steel in their folds of fat.

  The sight of her made his skin crawl. She had grown fat on the profits of the flesh trade, on human misery. How many fallen women like Kitty upstairs would willingly have embraced lives of bondage, slaves to the lusts of men and the greed of people like the Hollingsworths?

  “How much do you want for the girls?” Roland did not trouble to hide his disgust.

  Mrs Hollingsworth’s hand fluttered to her throat. “Why, the language of common bartering sits ill with the likes ’o us,” she said. “We was just protectin’ your dear ’uns, now, weren’t we, Mr Hollingsworth? Til you got ’ere, though I must say you’ve taken yer time about it.”

  “I’m not in the mood for games. Name your sum,” muttered Roland. The relief in Sarah’s eyes only made him more wretched.

  “Is pecuniary reimbursement for the care of your daughter? Or for the governess, also?” asked Mr Hollingsworth. “Leaving Lady Sarah out of the transaction I’m sure we’d soon come to some mutually agreeable negotiation. But you see, Lady Sarah’s style of beauty is particularly sought after at the moment.” He smiled. “She is beyond any price.”

  “Don’t insult Lady Sarah unless you wish to earn more than my anger.” Though he spoke through gritted teeth, Roland feared his anger was something that would be difficult to translate into overt action in his current state.

  “Ah, now, isn’t it wonderful when a real gentleman champions his lady-love in our establishment?” crowed the fat old crone. “If I were ten years younger-”

  Her son cut in. “The problem, my dear fellow, is this-”