The Lord of Lost Causes

by Kate Pearce

  “She would.” Francis ripped off a hunk of bread and dipped it into the stew. “This is very good, Nancy. Very good indeed.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Will you be requiring anything else tonight?”

  “Just a bottle of brandy, please. I’m ready for my bed.” He yawned. “The weather was foul on the way up here.”

  “It’s been raining all day.” Mrs. Bridgewater grimaced. “Whole town smells of bad drains and damp.”

  “You make it sound so appealing.” Francis took another roll. “Is Keswick around?”

  “I haven’t seen him this evening. Do you want me to send him in if I do?”

  “No, the last thing I want is his rain soaked carcass steaming in front of my fire. I’ll see him tomorrow after I speak to Mrs. Harding.”

  “She said she left the books locked up in the desk for you to look at, Captain.”

  “Good for her.”

  Nancy paused in the doorway. Francis had first met her when she was an ‘actress’ in London. She was one of the very few people he allowed to speak their mind to him.

  “Mrs. Harding isn’t your usual kind of woman.”

  “I agree.”

  “She’s…” Mrs. Bridgewater sighed. “Too dainty for this place. I saw plenty like her in the whorehouses of London—ladies reduced to selling themselves to pay for food and rent. They never lasted long.”

  “You’re wrong about her.” Francis remembered her dousing him in wine. He put down his fork. “Are you attempting to suggest I should direct my attention elsewhere?”

  “I wouldn’t dare to presume to tell you what to do, Captain. It’s just that I’ve grown to like her, and—”

  “You think I’ll ruin her.” Francis couldn’t quite believe that the hardheaded innkeepers wife had developed a soft spot for anyone, let alone Mrs. Harding. “In case you haven’t noticed, she has already fallen far below her natural status in society with no help from me. I can offer her more than that mean-spirited harridan at the dressmakers.”

  “For as long as she continues to amuse you, and then what?” Mrs. Bridgewater opened the door. “I can see you have your mind set on her, Captain so I’ll not waste my breath. I told her to come to me if she wants to avoid breeding.”

  “What an excellent suggestion, Nancy my love.” Francis smiled. “Her upbringing would probably not have offered her such useful knowledge. When I bed her, and I do intend to accomplish that fairly soon, I’ll make sure she takes advantage of your kind offer.”

  Mrs. Bridgewater departed, perhaps slamming the door harder than necessary, and Francis turned back to his stew. He pictured Mrs. Harding laid out on his bed, her hair loose, and a smile of welcome on her haughty, supercilious face and almost choked himself laughing. She wouldn’t come to him easily, and perhaps that was part of her allure. He suspected she’d fight him every step of the way until he gave her such pleasure that she succumbed to the most intensely erotic experience of her sheltered life.

  Except she wasn’t sheltered any more, was she? Francis frowned as he sipped his wine. He could talk to her employer, make sure she lost her job, and had to come to him. But where was the challenge in that?

  There was a knock at the door. He bade the person enter, hoping it wasn’t Billy Keswick, and rather the divine Mrs. Harding ready to do battle with him again.

  “Captain Grafton?”

  Francis stared at the unknown man who now towered over him in his own inn, and instinctively put his hand on the knife in his pocket.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m sorry to disturb you sir, but—”

  Francis interrupted him. “Perhaps we could start with your name.”

  “I’m Jonathan Ford, Captain. I work at the mill.”

  “So what in God’s name are you doing here?”

  Mr. Ford set his jaw. “There has been a miscarriage of justice. I’ve tried to speak to the magistrate, but he won’t listen to the likes of me. I didn’t want to come here, but I suspect you are the only one with any influence in this matter.”

  “What matter would that be?” Francis asked.

  Mr. Ford met Francis’s gaze. “Billy Keswick accused Mrs. Harding of stealing from her employer.”

  “What did she steal?”

  A crease appeared between Mr. Ford’s brows. “What does it matter? She’s a lady. She wouldn’t steal a crust of bread from a dead man even if she was starving herself.”

  “You know her well, then.” Francis leaned back in his chair as if he didn’t have a care in the world even while his mind raced through several interesting possibilities.

  “Aye. I’d make her my wife if I could.” Mr. Ford said decisively.

  “But she has spurned your suit?”

  “You should know.”

  “I have never to my knowledge asked Mrs. Harding to marry me.” Francis raised his eyebrows. He had to admire the bluntness of the man. “Mrs. Harding is currently paying off her debt by managing my accounts.”

  “Which is why I thought you might be interested to hear that she is currently incarcerated in the town gaol.” Mr. Ford’s mouth hardened. “It is hardly a place for a lady.”

  “Even one who apparently stole from her employer?”

  Dealing with the obviously furious Mr. Ford was rather like taunting a bull, but Francis had never feared being gored.

  “What exactly do you expect me to do about this petty matter? Ride over to Grovedale House, and insist Sir Ian immediately comes to the courthouse?” Francis shrugged. “If Mrs. Harding is in gaol, she’ll be safe until morning when the court comes into session. Her innocence or guilt will be determined by the due process of the law.”

  “Then you intend to do nothing.” Mr. Ford jammed his hat back on. “It seems your reputation is well earned, Captain Grafton. I’ll be on my way.”

  Before Francis could attempt a reply, which was probably a good thing because he suspected Mr. Ford was on the verge of punching him in the face, his visitor turned and left. This time the door was definitely slammed.

  Francis let out his breath in a whistle and considered his options. He’d never been in the Millcastle gaol, but he had sufficient knowledge of other prisons to know it could hardly be pleasant. He pictured Mrs. Harding there and found the image surprisingly disturbing. He’d airily dismissed Mr. Ford’s concerns as to her current safety but knew she could be robbed of everything, raped, and killed if someone in the prison thought she had enough value.

  He refilled his wine glass and contemplated the fire for a long moment. Eventually, he rose to his feet, crossed over to the desk in the corner, and unlocked one of the drawers. The accounts book lay on the top just where it was supposed to be. He took it out and laid it on the blotter.

  It was too dark to read Mrs. Harding’s neat script, so he lit another lantern and sat down at the desk, checking her calculations with a speed and accuracy he’d learned from necessity. After turning the page and reading through to her last entry he sat back and considered the notes she’d made at the side of the columns.

  Keswick had been cheating him, which wasn’t a surprise in itself. Everyone attempted to line his or her own nest if they could. He’d done it himself when he’d been in need. The odd farthing here, a thruppence there… The amounts taken were negligible compared to his wealth, but having an employee thinking he was an easy mark was unforgiveable.

  Francis closed the book and sighed before drawing out a clean piece of paper and a pen. A man had to have priorities in his life, and for once his business inclinations matched his personal ones. By the time he had blotted and sealed his note, Tom had arrived with his bottle of brandy.

  “Here you are, Captain.”

  “Thank you.”

  Tom handed over the bottle. Francis declined the glass.

  “Have one of the stable hands deliver this note immediately, and if there is a reply, bring it up to my bedchamber.”

  “Yes. Captain.”

  Francis locked the desk, blew out the lamp and made his w
ay up the stairs to the best room in the inn. If his instincts were correct, and they very rarely let him down, tomorrow would be a very interesting day.

  Chapter 4

  “You, in the corner.”

  Caroline awoke from a troubled sleep to discover one of the constables yelling at her from the doorway of the cell. She awkwardly rose to her feet, brushing away the odorous straw, and came toward the man, her shawl clutched tightly around her. She could just make out streaks of light through the grimy barred window on the wall opposite the door.

  “Mrs. Harding?”

  “Yes.”

  The big man grabbed her elbow and pushed her out into the corridor before relocking the door. Caroline desperately needed to urinate but waited passively for him to turn back to her.

  He gave her another shove. “Get along with you, then.”

  “To where?” Caroline asked.

  “Where ever it is you live, lass.”

  “But what about the charges?”

  “None to answer for according to my superior.” He grimaced. “You obviously have friends in high places.”

  “I don’t,” Caroline still hesitated. “Perhaps my employer spoke up for me?”

  “Perhaps she did.” He pointed to the exit. “Now are you leaving, or do you want me to arrest you for loitering?”

  With an inarticulate sound, Caroline fled, and didn’t stop running until she had rounded a corner and the courthouse was out of sight. She leaned up against a wall, her breathing ragged aware that her damp clothing stank, and filth had soaked through to her stockings. A shudder ran through her as the church clock struck seven times and the mills opened their gates to admit their workers.

  She had to get home. Her family would be frantic.

  Aware that her strength was limited, she forced herself to move away from the wall and head across the square, past her employer’s shop, and down the alley where the George and Dragon was situated. Her steps slowed as she viewed the inn until she stood opposite it.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Harding.”

  Caroline took an involuntary step back as Captain Grafton emerged leading his horse through the archway of the coaching inn. Even as she stared at him several horrible conclusions fell into place.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” Caroline said hoarsely.

  He sauntered across to her, his form blocking out the early morning sun, his face in shadow under the brim of his hat.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You had something to do with this.” She swallowed hard and forced herself to look him in the eye. “Did you conspire with Mr. Keswick to make me lose my employment so I would be forced to come to you?”

  He went still, the faint smile on his face disappearing. “You think I would conspire with the likes of Billy Keswick?”

  “You have a point. You probably didn’t need his help.”

  She stiffened as his gaze passed down from her face to her soiled gown and filthy boots. He inclined his head a frosty inch.

  “You appear to be in some distress, ma’am. Perhaps you should go home and attend to your needs before opening your mouth again and uttering nonsense.”

  His tone was so biting that every word cut like a knife. But he did make some sense. If she weren’t careful, she would lose her composure completely and scream, wail, and scratch her nails down her face until it bled.

  With a stiff nod, she turned away, and fixed her gaze on her destination.

  “Mrs. Harding?”

  She stopped, but she didn’t turn around.

  “Present yourself at my address at six this evening, please. We can discuss your bookkeeping efforts and ongoing debts.”

  Caroline walked on without replying and a moment later he clattered by mounted on his showy horse and disappeared from view. Tears sprang to her eyes. She ruthlessly held them back until she reached her own front door and banged hard on the faded paintwork.

  Ruby opened the door with a shriek and dragged Caroline through the hallway and into their rooms.

  “Caroline, we were so worried about you. Mama had to go to work, and Ivy went to see if Mr. Ford had found you, we—”

  Caroline held up her hand.” Please, I need to sit down, I can’t—”

  She collapsed onto the kitchen chair and rested her head in her shaking hands, only to realize that they were as filthy as the rest of her. She was trembling so much now that she thought she might shatter.

  “Boil the kettle, Ruby. I have to wash.”

  Many hours later after she had scrubbed every inch of her skin, and washed her long hair, Caroline waited impatiently for her mother to return from work. Ivy and Ruby had helped her get dinner ready and were fluttering around her like moths as if afraid she would be taken from them again.

  Ruby had told her that Jon Ford had come back on the previous evening to tell them about his efforts to gain her freedom from gaol and his increasing frustration. Eventually, he’d sent a note saying he would be at the courthouse that morning and would do everything in his power to make sure she was set free.

  Marie came in and took off her bonnet and pelisse, her face brightening when she saw Caroline.

  “My darling girl!” She came over to embrace her daughter. “I knew when Madame Louise had no notion of a stolen handkerchief in her head this morning that there must have been some mistake. Because if she had known of it, neither of us would probably still be in her employ.”

  “She didn’t mention me at all?” Caroline stepped back from her mother. It was typical of Marie not to dwell on the unpleasantness that her daughter might have experienced unless it directly related to herself.

  “I told her you were unwell, and that you would complete your work at home under my guidance. That seemed to satisfy her.” Marie sat at the table. “She is rather short of talented and reliable staff and perhaps loathe to let us go. The local industrialists are demanding their daughters dress like ladies now, and her business has increased significantly.”

  “Thank goodness for that,” Caroline poured them all some tea and shared out the cottage pie Ruby had made under her supervision. “I was fairly certain that one way or another I would be dismissed today. Did Mr. Keswick come into the shop?”

  “No, thank goodness.” Marie gave a delicate shudder. “What an uncouth individual. Captain Grafton did pop in and was most civil to me.”

  Caroline paused with her fork halfway to her mouth, her already shaken appetite deserting her. “Captain Grafton?”

  Ruby smiled. “Maybe he was buying silk stockings for his lady love.”

  “He came to speak to Madame Louise.” Marie pouted. “I was unable to overhear their conversation as she shut the door into her office.”

  Caroline scraped the rest of her pie back into the dish and rose to her feet. “I have to go and speak to Captain Grafton about the accounts.”

  Marie looked up at her. “But you haven’t finished your dinner.”

  “I’m not hungry.” Caroline looked at Ruby. “Will you make sure everything is clean and tidy before you go to bed? I might be quite late back.”

  She pinned up her still damp hair, found her second best, and now only, shawl and squeezed her feet into Ruby’s boots. Her own were so disgusting that she would be forced to go to the rag and bone man’s yard and see if she could purchase or barter something for another secondhand pair.

  It didn’t take long to reach the George and Dragon. Caroline went through the back entrance into the kitchen where the landlord’s wife held sway.

  “Good evening, Mrs. Bridgewater,” Caroline curtsied. “I’ve come to see Captain Grafton about the accounts. Is he in his office?”

  Mrs. Bridgewater came over to Caroline, her gaze assessing. “He’s upstairs in his bedchamber. He told me to tell you to go on up there when you arrived.”

  Caroline briefly closed her eyes, and Mrs. Bridgewater grabbed her elbow in a remarkably hard grip.

  “If you go up there, he’ll have you. You know that.”

  “
I don’t see that I have a choice.” Caroline whispered.

  “There are always choices.” Mrs. Bridgewater sighed, took something out of her apron and pressed it into Caroline’s hand. “But your options have perhaps run out. He is a ruthless pursuer of his own pleasures. This will at least stop you getting pregnant. The sponge is soaked in tansy oil and tied with a long string. The Captain will know what to do with it.”

  Caroline wordlessly accepted the small glass jar and put it in her pocket.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Bridgewater. You have been very kind to me.”

  “He won’t hurt, or beat, or bugger you, I can tell you that much, love. He’s still a gentleman at heart.”

  Caroline stifled a hysterical desire to laugh. A gentleman? Captain Grafton would never live up to that name in her eyes. The very fact that she was going upstairs to his bedchamber gave lie to his pretensions.

  “Thank you.”

  Following the landlady’s directions, Caroline went up the backstairs, her skirts clenched in her hand, and knocked on the door at the end of the corridor.

  “Come in.”

  For a moment she considered turning and running, but what would that gain her? Debts had to be paid. It didn’t matter why they had been acquired they had to be honored. But at this precise moment, if she had seen her mother or Mr. Keswick her rage might have got the better of her.

  She opened the latch and went inside to the surprisingly spacious room. Captain Grafton sat in front of a roaring fire, the accounts book resting on his knee, a quill pen and ink pot by his side.

  He didn’t look up at her approach. “Ah. Mrs. Harding. Come and sit down. Would you like a glass of brandy?”

  Caroline sat where he directed her to sit and accepted the glass of brandy. She felt curiously lightheaded as if she was watching a morality play entitled The Fallen Woman. How had she sunk to such depths…

  “You look pale. Drink your brandy.”

  She brought the glass to her lips and almost spilled half the contents in one unsteady swallow. It took all her concentration to place the glass back down without dropping it.

  “Your accounting skills are excellent.” He glanced down at the book. “In truth you are the most honest bookkeeper I have ever encountered.”