Harriet, still smarting from the unusually stern set down, interpreted her mother’s apparent agitation as a sign of herself still not being back in favour, and excused herself as soon as she politely could, claiming to have a letter to write to a friend of hers.
Charlton and his mother lingered a bit longer over their coffee and then retired to her parlour for their usual, pleasant after-dinner coze.
As soon as they were comfortably ensconced in their armchairs, with glasses of dark ruby port waiting on the small, mother-of-pearl inlaid table in front of them, Charlton took his mother’s hands into his and looked her straight in the eyes.
“What is it, Mother? What is the matter with you? You have not been yourself these past hours…”
A radiant smile lit up her face.
“He found them, Charlton! He found them! He is sure it is them!”
Charlton kissed his mother’s cheek, embracing her briefly.
“I feel that I do not need to ask who ‘he’ is and who ‘they’ are, but would you care to expatiate? Just a little, for your dull boy’s sake?”
Lady Pendholm laughed, a silvery, happy sound which Charlton had not heard for a long time.
“Of course, how silly of me! I told you about Mr Starling, did I not? Well, he sent me a note and we met this afternoon. He gave me a detailed written account of his activities and told me that Mary and her baby – a little girl, it seems - are living in a dilapidated tenement house near St. Giles in the Fields’ church. They went to stay with Rose, Mary’s older sister, a childless widow. She is a seamstress, and supports Mary and her baby with her work.”
Charlton frowned.
“At the current rates, I do not see how they can make ends meet. It must be very difficult for them.”
She looked at him with eyes brimming with tears.
“Mr Starling told me that they are very poor, but very respectable. He told me that many unfortunate young women, mainly housemaids dismissed without a character, sell their virtue as their only option if they are not to starve… He told me that he had spoken with Rose: she was taking home a heavy basket full of gown material and he offered to help her carry it. Charlton - the poor woman’s fingers were swollen with cold and bleeding from needle pricks! And she did not have mittens, only rags wound around her hands! We must go at once! We must save them!”
Lady Pendholm rose, agitated, and went to look out of the window.
“Look, Charlton, it is snowing. And they have no coal, they cannot afford to buy it. And they live in a rented room full of drafts, in a disreputable neighbourhood. Who knows what they eat - or even if they have anything to eat? How can I stay here, snug in my beautiful home, replete from a lavish meal, sipping port and looking at the logs crackling in the fireplace, while they lack even the most elementary creature comforts? I cannot stand it!”
“Easy, Mother dear, easy. Of course, we must go, and we shall do so as soon as possible, but we must plan. St. Giles in the Fields is a dangerous part of London. We cannot barge in there with a crested carriage, decked out in our finery. We would be bait for every cutthroat for ten miles around. It would be sheer folly, and I will not risk your safety for anybody’s sake. We could not help Mary if we were, ourselves, hurt or robbed.”
She gave him a self-conscious smile, recognising the wisdom of his words, but unhappy with the delay regardless.
“You are right, of course. We must plan. What do you suggest?”
“With your permission, I would like to take my friend Geoff into our confidence. He is the best shot that I know and a devil of a swordsman as well. I would ask him to come with us.”
“Geoff? Do I know him?”
Charlton smiled, realising how natural it was for him to think of the Hounds by their familiar names, rather than their formal titles.
“Sorry, Mother. You probably know him as Lord Geoffrey Clarence, heir to his brother Alfred Clarence, Marquess Woodford. He is one of the Hounds, you know, I told you about them…”
“Of course, I should have made the connection at once. I am not usually so slow-witted, but I am scared and exhilarated at the same time, and that does not bode well for rational thought. Yes, tell him to come, he sounds like exactly the right man for the job.”
“We shall go in a rented hansom, and I will provide suitably shabby clothes for us all. What do you think, Mother, should we ask Mr Starling to come with us?”
“Why yes, of course, Charlton. He knows the address, he is already acquainted with Rose and he is familiar with the neighbourhood. I could ask Gwennie, the scullery maid, to come with us as well. She was Mary’s close friend, it should reassure the poor girl to see her.”
“Good idea. I will ask Geoff tomorrow morning. Better, I will ask him here for lunch. We shall talk it over together. Could you ask Mr Starling to call in the afternoon? Around half past three, maybe?”
“I shall do so. Also, I shall speak with Gwennie. If you can provide our disguise by tomorrow, we could go that afternoon. Mr Starling told me that Rose is usually back home by five o’clock. I know that it will be already dark, but I would rather they were all there…”
“Perfect. If you think of something else, let me know. I shall do the same.” Charlton found himself looking forward to taking action.
It was most pleasant to consider actually being able to begin to put right the terrible results of Michael’s behaviour.
Lady Pendholm smiled happily.
“Oh, Charlton, I can hardly wait. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow, I shall see my little one, my grandchild… And all will be well, will it not?”
Charlton hugged his mother and kissed her on her shining silver blonde hair.
“Now let us retire and try to sleep. A long day awaits us tomorrow.”
Once in bed, though, Charlton found it impossible to sleep.
His mother’s impassioned description of Mary’s situation had given him a fresh insight into how dangerous the Comte of Vierzon’s conspiracy really was. It reminded him of just how desperate the plight of many of the common people was.
What if the Comte’s rag tag collection of romantic fools, discontented and impoverished noblemen, and assorted riff raff, should rouse London’s populace to join them? What if a nasty, but circumscribed coup should escalate into a full-blown riot? After all, the French revolution had started like that.
Charlton shivered. While trying to understand how the social situation really stood, he had prowled London’s slums, seeing hunger, ignorance, filth, desolation, desperation. What if, fuelled by some demagogue’s rhetoric, desperation turned into anger? He had to discover exactly what the Comte was planning, nip his plot in the bud and do it soon.
But what about Lady Odette?
Charlton longed to be with her, to get to know her better, to spend time with her. He would like to take her riding in Hyde Park, take her to visit the British Museum and explore London with her – even with the requisite chaperone, it would be most pleasant to do so.
Lady Odette’s sparkling intelligence, her interesting conversation, her outstanding beauty and her gentle wit had captivated him. But her despicable father cast an ominous shade on their friendship. Even if she were innocent of any wrongdoing, and he was certain that she was, once her father was discovered to have treasonously conspired against Britain, she would be disgraced. Even her unimpeachable aunt could be besmirched by such a scandal. The ton would surely shun poor Lady Odette, through no fault of her own.
How could he spare her that trauma? How could he keep her from suffering?
Saturday dawned cold and clear, after a day of heavy snow. Odette, who had read late into the night, was awakened by a whispered, but vehement argument taking place under her windows. In the clear crisp air, the sound carried.
She left her bed, put on her heavy velvet wrap, and padded to the window, opening the curtains slightly.
She saw her father, as usual impeccable in the unrelieved black he had worn since her mother’s death, arguing forcefully with a po
rtly young man who was unknown to her.
“Never, ever again try to come and harass me at my sister-in-law’s home. We have assignments, we have places to meet, we have an overwhelming need for secrecy. If you do not understand these simple facts, you are out. I will not have a young imbécile blundering about and imperilling us all.”
Feeling disturbed, and somewhat puzzled, Odette closed the curtains and went back to bed.
She picked up, and tried to resume reading, the novel ‘The Antiquary’, by the same author as ‘Waverley’, which she had hugely enjoyed, but she could not concentrate on the previously absorbing plot.
What was her father up to? Who was the portly young man? And why was there a need for secrecy? She could not, for the life of her, find an answer to these questions, and was deeply disquieted. Her father was a man of passion: what if he had been led, by his resentment and pain, to some irresponsible enterprise? And why did she feel that Lord Pendholm – Charlton – had something to do with it? Although, perhaps she was simply being imaginative – Lord Pendholm seemed always in her thoughts of late, and she smiled wryly, because she could not help putting Charlton’s face to the heroes of each novel she read: Mr Darcy, Major Neville, Edmund Bertram…
‘Will I meet him again soon? I do hope so…’ she thought, recalling his warm, gold flecked chocolate eyes. ‘But Father does not like me being friendly with him… Does father know something bad about him, which makes him unsuitable? After all, as on-dit has it, his brother Michael was a very wicked man…’
~~~~~
It was four o’clock in the afternoon and, even if the day had been clear and sunny, the cold winter night was already falling. Charlton, his mother, Geoff and Gwennie, the scullery maid, were waiting for Mr Starling, who was going to pick them up in a rented hansom cab.
Gwennie was looking round-eyed with shock at her mistress, who was usually dressed with simple but exquisite elegance, but was now bundled up in a drab grey gown, a moth-eaten woollen shawl, a shapeless bonnet, and black boots which were worn at the heels. Lady Pendholm looked at her son and his friend and smiled. “You two look like a pair of out and out ruffians, if I may say so. I would be afraid to meet two such as you in a dark alley.”
Geoff laughed. “We must blend with the landscape, Lady Pendholm. Out and out ruffians come a ha’pence a score in the St. Giles in the Fields’ neighbourhood.
Charlton spied a hansom cab approaching.
“Here is our ride, ladies and gentlemen. Let’s go.”
Moments later, the cab rolled on, leaving the animated central streets and heading into the poorer parts of London, to St. Giles in The Fields.
Lady Pendholm looked out of the grimy windows of the cab with increasing distress. “How far do we have to go, Mr Starling?” she asked.
“Not far now, my Lady. Here, lad, turn left now!” he shouted to the hansom driver. “Stop before the arch!”
After a few minutes, the hansom reached its destination and stopped. Geoff and Charlton alighted first, their hands on the very visible hilts of their daggers; Gwennie followed and helped lady Pendholm down. Mr Starling went and sat with the hansom driver, to ensure that he stayed and waited, ready to leave as soon as possible.
“Hope they don’t dawdle, lad…” he muttered “The earlier we leave, the happier I’ll be.”
~~~~~
Mary was sitting on her pallet, with her little girl on her lap. Rose had just returned and she had brought with her some fresh milk, a loaf of bread and a small lump of sugar, which she, greatly daring, had actually filched from her employer’s sugar bowl, when she had deigned to offer Rose some hot tea before seeing her out. Using their last coal, they had warmed the milk on a brazier and sopped the bread in it. The sugar was a treat for the baby, who ate the sweet mush with messy relish, then fell into a deep sleep, curled like a kitten in her cocoon of rags..
‘We have made it last as long as possible, but now it has ended,’ thought Mary, looking at the flickering embers. ‘I have no choice: without coal, my daughter will sicken and die before the winter is over. I’ll go and speak with Mrs Grafton. Honour and virtue are luxuries I cannot afford anymore.’
~~~~~
They climbed the rickety stairs, which creaked ominously under their feet. The stairwell was very cold and very dirty, the stench of cheap cooking, refuse and unwashed bodies hanging heavy in the air. Even Gwennie grimaced.
“What an awful place, my lady…” she whispered. “How can poor Mary live here? And with a baby? How can she stand it?”
“We are here to rescue her, Gwennie”, Lady Pendholm answered. “Here we are, this is the door Mr Starling described to us. You knock on the door, my girl, she will not worry if she sees a known, friendly face.”
Lady Pendholm stood at Gwennie’s back, heard the sound of steps approaching and saw the door opening just a slit. Charlton and Geoff were waiting in the shadows of the landing.
“Who goes there?” asked a wary voice from within.
“I’m Gwennie, ma’m, a friend of Mary’s that was scullery maid at Lady Pendholm’s. Will you let me in?”
Other steps. A baby whimpering. A whispered exchange. Then the door opened completely.
“Gwennie! It really is you! How did you find me?” Mary exclaimed, hugging her friend. Lady Pendholm answered, speaking from behind Gwennie.
“I have been looking for you for a long time, and at last I have found you, Mary, God be thanked.”
Mary looked at the shabbily dressed woman beside Gwennie and gasped in surprise, recognising her past employer.
“Lady Pendholm?” Mary’s voice was shaky, uncertain.
Hearing that name and seeing two menacing male shadows in the background, Rose rushed forward and tried to close the door, suddenly afraid, but Lady Pendholm was quicker, thrusting through the door.
Charlton and Geoff followed, and soon the whole party was inside the poor room.
Mary was in a turmoil: she fussed around, looking for a chair for Lady Pendholm to sit on, trying to tidy up, apologising for her inadequate lodging and for having nothing to offer, hiding her bewilderment and embarrassment behind inconsequential blather.
Her sister looked suspiciously at the strangers, who had invaded their hitherto safe haven, shooting black looks at the two men in particular. The little girl, awakened by the unusual disturbance, lay in her makeshift cocoon and looked at everybody with owlish round eyes.
~~~~~
Her shame and chagrin notwithstanding, Mary was overjoyed to see Lady Pendholm again. Sheer relief washed over her, when she realised that, maybe, the awful fate she was resigning herself to could still be averted. She should have sought Lady Sylvia’s help before, she chided herself. Her pride, and her fear of confronting the new Lord Pendholm, had almost driven her to choose an ignominious destiny.
“Stop fretting, my dear Mary, and introduce me to your sister, will you?”
Lady Pendholm’s gentle voice cut short her musing.
Rose approached, a wary expression on her face. She could hardly believe that such a highborn lady would take it upon herself to search for a runaway maid, an expecting runaway maid at that. She stuck out a belligerent chin at Lady Pendholm.
“What does her Ladyship want with us?
Lady Pendholm looked at the fiercely protective, small, wiry woman and smiled.
“I want to atone, Rose. My son Michael, God forgive him, was a wicked and cruel man, who caused untold suffering to many innocent girls. I did not see it in time, maybe I did not want to see, I did not want to acknowledge my son’s evil ways. But now, I know. And I do not want Mary, or you because of Mary, to undergo further suffering through no fault of your own. Most of all, I do not want my grand-daughter to suffer. Where is she? How is she?”
Rose was mollified, but undaunted.
“Would you acknowledge the bastard child of a serving maid as a grand-daughter of yours?”
Mary, who stood speechless at her sister’s temerity in so addressing a Viscountes
s, winced at her crude wording.
Lady Pendholm stood tall and straight, commanding and self-assured. Despite her dilapidated attire, nobody could have taken her for a commoner.
“I am acknowledging her now. I know she will not be able to claim her father’s name, but I hereby do solemnly swear that I shall do anything in my power to grant her a home, a future and all of the comforts our social standing can provide. And, of course, I will take care that you and your sister lack nothing. Can you trust me, Rose?”
Rose’s face crumpled, but still she did not relent.
“And what about you, your Lordship? I assume one of these two blackguards is, in fact, the current Lord Pendholm - am I right?
Charlton bowed.
“I am yours to command, mistress.”
Rose looked at him, clearly distrustful of his glib manner.
“Will you acknowledge your brother’s by-blow, my lord? Or is she only a minor nuisance to be coldly taken care of to appease your mother’s scruples?”
Charlton looked her straight in the eyes.
“Look at me, Rose. I fought for years, for a cause I believed in. I still believe in it, but it would be a void and senseless belief if I did not care for my people, here, in my homeland. I vow I shall do my utmost in the House of Lords to ease the conditions of the poor, but your family is my first responsibility. My brother, through his wickedness, imposed untold suffering upon you all. You are the little girl’s aunt, and I am her uncle. You are my family as well, and so do I acknowledge you.”
Rose looked at Charlton’s serious, upright face and burst into tears.
In the meantime, the little girl, bored with her elders chattering, decided to have a look at the newcomers by herself and tottered on her little legs toward Charlton. She looked at him, made up her mind and held out her arms to him, cooing. Charlton bent and picked her up, burying his face in her curly hair.
“Meet little Sylvie, my Lord…” said Mary, in a soft voice. “You see, I never forgot my Lady. And somewhere, deep in my heart, I knew I would see her again… I named my daughter for her.”
Intriguing the Viscount: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 2) Page 5