The Lord of Lost Causes

by Kate Pearce

  “Oh, my goodness!”

  Something thumped against his office door, and he strode over to open it only to discover the contents of the sister’s shopping basket rolling around on the floor. He stooped down to pick up the cabbage and placed it back in captivity.

  “Thank you, sir,” She smiled at him reminding him of her sister even more. “I tripped on the last step and everything went flying.”

  Francis retrieved two onions and a jar of jam that had somehow survived the fall.

  “You’re Captain Grafton, aren’t you?”

  “Indeed I am, and you are?” He raised an eyebrow.

  “I’m Ruby Delisle.”

  “Mrs. Harding’s sister?”

  “One of them. Our youngest sister’s name is Ivy.” She drew herself up to her full height. “I wanted to thank you.”

  Francis pointed at the basket. “You just did.”

  “No, I meant for offering us these rooms to rent. We are truly blessed.” Her big blue eyes opened wide. “You saved us.”

  “I damn well did not.” Francis took a step back. “I merely offered your sister a more convenient living arrangement, which meant she was more easily available to work for me.”

  “It was still good of you,” Ruby insisted. “Which, considering your reputation around here, is quite remarkable.”

  “My reputation?”

  Ruby shrugged. “You own all the slums in Three Dials, and everyone’s afraid of you.”

  “I can’t argue with that.”

  “You sound quite proud of yourself.” She studied him, her head on one side. “Why?”

  “Because I’ve worked hard to be feared and wealthy. And I intend to stay that way for the rest of my life.”

  “At the expense of everyone who lives in Millcastle?” Ruby’s cheek’s flushed as she squared off with him.

  “At the expense of everyone except myself, actually.”

  “You are a very selfish man,” Ruby stated.

  “Indeed.” Francis bowed. “Now perhaps if you have finished insulting your landlord, you had better run along.”

  She grabbed the basket, held it close to her chest, and bit her lip.

  “You won’t evict us, will you?”

  “Not yet.” Francis pointed down the corridor. “Keep this up, and I might reconsider.”

  She turned and ran down to the kitchen at the other end of the building. Francis heard the door slam. Ruby was as feisty and opinionated as her sister. Her clear-eyed condemnation of him and his morals reminded him of his younger self—the stupid boy who had believed in all those honorable things until the world had shown him they were worthless and meaningless.

  “Captain Grafton, were you speaking to my sister?”

  He turned to see Caroline at the top of the stairs, the accounting book for the dressmaker in her hand.

  “Yes, I helped her pick up some vegetables that dropped on the floor. It seemed preferable to breaking my neck. Why?”

  “Ruby can be quite… outspoken about the things she believes in.” Caroline hesitated. “She is quite young and impassioned.”

  “So I gathered.” Francis went to turn away, but she caught hold of his arm. “What?”

  “Please don’t be angry with her. I will tell her to keep away from you in future.”

  “Why would you do that? Do you think she has the ability to embarrass me or shame me?” Francis smiled. “Your sister is entitled to her opinions, my dear Mrs. Harding. I will not hold them against her. Now, have you discovered your error? I am more than willing to accept your heartfelt apology.”

  Chapter 7

  “Caroline?”

  Caroline looked up from her work to see her mother waving frantically at her from the doorway.

  “Can you help me? Madame is not in the shop, and there are some new customers who wish to speak to someone with a better command of English than Yvette.”

  “Why can’t you help them?” Caroline asked as she replaced her pen in the inkwell and blotted her work. To her annoyance, Captain Grafton had been correct in his calculations, but she’d worked out that the fault had been Madame’s accountant not hers and couldn’t wait to tell him so.

  “I am finishing up a gown for Miss Marsham who is coming in with her Mama this afternoon for a final fitting in less than an hour. I do not have time to spare!”

  Caroline smoothed down her skirts and reluctantly followed her mother down the stairs and out into the front of the shop. She occasionally had to perform such tasks for Madame, but she didn’t enjoy them.

  “Oh my goodness!”

  Caroline blinked as the younger of the two ladies standing by the large shop window that faced out onto the busy square turned and spotted her. Tightness gathered like a fist under her ribs as she forced herself to greet the newcomers.

  “Mrs. Harding, Miss Rebecca Harding. What a pleasure to see you. How can I assist you in Madame’s absence?”

  Her mother-in-law looked her up and down as if she were a servant. “So it is true.”

  Caroline gripped her hands together at her waist and raised her chin. Unsure of quite what her deceased husband’s mother was about to accuse her of, she decided that a haughty silence was her best option.

  “You are… employed here?” Miss Harding asked.

  “What else did you expect me to do when you refused to offer my family a home? In order to have food and shelter one has to work.” In her head, Caroline pictured Captain Grafton’s sneering expression as she faced down the family who had so easily abandoned her. “In truth, I have two jobs.”

  Mrs. Harding pressed a hand to her chest and sank down onto one of the dainty satin chairs that adorned the salon.

  “How could you?”

  “How could I what? Refuse to die on the street or end up in the workhouse?”

  Mrs. Harding moaned. “You are dragging our family name in the dirt.”

  “No, you did that when you forced me to make a choice between abandoning my family or coming to live with you.” Caroline found a smile somewhere. “But, rest assured, no one here is aware of the connection between us. I have no intention of sharing it. I am enjoying being gainfully employed, earning my own money, and not being dependent on anyone.”

  Miss Harding stepped forward, her hand outstretched. “Caroline, you are unjust. My father made this choice, and we were honor bound to obey him.”

  “So you said at the time.” Caroline turned back to her mother-in-law. “Now do you wish to discuss new gowns for yourself and your daughter? Madame will be back very shortly if you care to wait.”

  She caught a glimpse of movement in the open doorway at the back of the shop and saw her mother and a darker shadow behind her that could only be Captain Grafton.

  “We will go,” Miss Harding’s voice was trembling. “But you should expect a visit from my father. He will not be pleased that you are still here.”

  Caroline curtsied. “I would be delighted to speak to him whenever he has the opportunity. Good day, ma’am, Miss Harding.”

  She turned on her heel and made a stately exit through the workrooms, and then bolted up the stairs. She was breathing so hard, the bones of her corset dug into her ribs. When she gained the upper level, she rested her head against the wall in a forlorn attempt to regain her composure.

  The sound of clapping made her shut her eyes and then slowly turn around to face Captain Grafton who was standing in the open door of his office lazily applauding her.

  “Well done, Mrs. Harding. Bravo.”

  She glared at him. “This is not amusing.”

  “I thought it was. For how long have you yearned to say your piece to those awful women?”

  “Ever since they cast me out.” Caroline let out a shaky breath. “I didn’t even need to think about the words. They just poured out of me. If they find out that you are one of my employers, they will probably get Mr. Harding to ask you to dismiss me.”

  “Seeing as you are a woman of many talents, Mrs. Harding, it is unlikel
y that I will listen to him.”

  “Please do not tell him that.” She shuddered. “Although I suspect my father-in-law would be less mortified about me discreetly becoming some man’s mistress than in openly working in a shop for wages.”

  “I’ll bear it in mind.” He nodded. “Do you need to speak to me about anything?”

  Caroline gathered her resources. For some reason, his bracing company and frank appreciation of her appalling behavior had somehow settled her nerves.

  “Nothing in particular, although I did find that error, and it was not mine, but Madame’s accountant.”

  His sudden smile was unexpected. “Of course it was. I expected nothing less of you.”

  “I doubt the Harding ladies will be purchasing their gowns from Madame for much longer,” Caroline said.

  “Good. She doesn’t need the business of sanctimonious busybodies anyway.” He turned toward his office. “Will you dine with me at the George?”

  “You are asking me?” Caroline studied him. “You usually command.”

  “I’ve obviously been stricken by politeness.” He shrugged all grace and restless energy. “It still is a command. I will not take it well if you do not join me.”

  “I need to finish up Madame’s books and help my mother with the last appointment of the day with the Marshams first.” Caroline curtsied. “After that I will join you.”

  “Come in Mr. Fletcher.” Francis held the door open and ushered the man from the steam locomotive company into his office. Mrs. Harding had gone back to help out in the shop, and his afternoon appointment had arrived. “I appreciate you finding the time to visit me.”

  “Thank you kindly, sir.”

  Mr. Fletcher took a seat in front of Francis’s desk and removed his hat. He had the ruddy complexion of a man used to working outdoors and the faint burr of Ireland in his mellow voice.

  Francis sat behind his desk and folded his hands together on the blotter. “I understand that you are considering running a passenger locomotive service into Millcastle.”

  “That is correct, sir.”

  “I’m not sure why you thought I might be interested in investing in such a thing. I have no experience in this area, and I must admit to some skepticism as the idea that any sane person would allow themselves to be taken at such speed anywhere.”

  Mr. Fletcher smiled. “I originally shared your concerns, Captain Grafton, but having been on many locomotives, I am a firm believer that once people realize how much time they will save on their journeys they will come around.” He sat forward. “And the advantages for transporting heavy goods directly into the hearts of new thriving mill towns such as this are undisputed.”

  “I can see that,” Francis said slowly. “Transporting cotton from the docks to the mills on the piss poor roads we have up here has always been an issue.”

  Mr. Fletcher chuckled. “They do say that the last good roads in this country were built a thousand years ago by the Romans.”

  “And I would agree with that assessment.” Francis regarded his visitor. “Can you be more explicit as to your plans, and the part you want me to play in them? I am reluctant to invest in machinery that I do not understand.”

  “I agree with that stance, Captain, and in your case it’s not an investment in the machinery that we are after. In truth, the boot’s on the other foot.”

  “How so?” Francis inquired.

  Mr. Fletcher went over to the window and pointed down at the square where an old statue of some ancient ancestor of Francis’s family sat atop a horse brandishing his sword.

  “We want some of your land.”

  Francis joined him at the window. “For what purpose?”

  “To build a grand passenger locomotive station and perhaps a hotel to sit alongside it.” Mr. Fletcher pointed to the opposite side of the square where the old medieval buildings huddled like a bunch of whores on the corner. “If you were inclined to invest the money you’ll receive for the building of either of those items, that would also be acceptable.”

  Francis considered the square and tried to picture a grand hotel and station built of stone replacing the ancient medieval buildings and the warren of slums known as Three Coins behind it. The newly formed town council would probably be most grateful for the removal of its most impoverished tenants, and the reduction in begging and theft would no doubt be substantial…

  He turned to Mr. Fletcher who was watching him intently. “I’d definitely be interested in hearing a full proposal from you on this matter, sir. But I do have one request.”

  “Name it,” Mr. Fletcher said promptly.

  “I’d prefer for these negotiations to be kept strictly between ourselves.”

  “I understand, sir. Reclaiming and repurposing land can be a tricky business sometimes, and we wouldn’t want anyone getting themselves all agitated about it now, would we?”

  “Exactly, Mr. Fletcher.” Francis held out his hand. “It has been a pleasure.”

  After coming through the kitchen of the George and Dragon and speaking to Nancy Bridgewater, Caroline made her way up the backstairs to Captain Grafton’s official bedchamber. She tapped on the door and was told to enter. Her employer—she refused to think of him as anything other than that, sat by the fire reading a book, a glass of red wine in one hand.

  “Good evening Mrs. Harding.” He held up his glass. “Please don’t pour this one over my head. It is far too good to waste.”

  Caroline untied the ends of her shawl and sat down opposite him. “I still cannot believe I did that to you in the first place.”

  He looked up at her over his book. “You were extremely angry with me.”

  “I was scared. I couldn’t find the rent money, your agent was threatening me, and for all I knew I’d soon be on the streets or begging at the workhouse door for admittance.”

  “I probably deserved it.”

  “Indeed.” Caroline agreed.

  He poured her a glass of wine and handed it to her.

  “Thank you,” Caroline said. “Madame has returned to the shop, and the Marsham ladies were thrilled with Mother’s work, so the day didn’t end as badly as it began.”

  “Marsham?” Francis asked. “I think I’ve met the father. He owns at least two cotton mills and is planning on a third. He can well afford for his womenfolk to buy new dresses and ape the manners of their betters.”

  “They seemed perfectly presentable to me.”

  “Liar.” He raised his eyebrows. “You weren’t brought up in some piddling aspiring ‘middle class’ household, and your grandparents definitely weren’t weavers or coal miners.”

  “That is true, but—”

  “Then you aren’t like the Marshams.” He closed his book with a definite snap.

  “They are wealthier than I will ever be,” she pointed out, “And as local gossip says, your family belong to the aristocracy, perhaps you should not sneer so loudly.”

  “What exactly are you trying to say, Mrs. Harding?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Have you ever heard of the French Revolution?”

  “Are you personally looking forward to seeing my head on a pike?” He raised his wine glass to her. “I have nothing to do with my family anymore. They disowned me.”

  “Why?”

  “None of your business, my dear.”

  Caroline abruptly pressed her lips together. She’d almost forgotten the danger that lurked behind his unusually relaxed demeanor and had been enjoying their conversation.

  “I do beg your pardon.” She sipped her wine and stared into the depths of the fire, mentally calculating how much profit Madame Louise would make from the four extra gowns the Marsham ladies had ordered that afternoon and whether she could demand a commission.

  “Cat got your tongue?”

  She raised her gaze to meet Captain Grafton’s amber eyes. “I understand that it might snow tomorrow.”

  “So I hear.”

  “Which makes me glad that I live above the shop and don�
�t have to walk to my place on employment every day.”

  He inclined his dark head, his gaze still guarded. “You’re welcome.”

  “I don’t think I will send Ruby out to Lanark House tomorrow if it snows.”

  “What does she do there?”

  “She acts as a paid companion to Mrs. Sims.”

  He frowned. “The girl should be at school.”

  “What school? There is nowhere for her to go. The mill doesn’t employ her, so she can’t attend even their pitiful facilities, and she is nineteen, well past the age of schooling.”

  “Did you stop learning at that age?”

  “I had a governess until I was eighteen and I made my debut in local society.”

  “Where you met the sadly deceased Mr. Harding and quickly married him.” He topped up his wine. “Did his family approve of the match at the time?”

  “They seemed to be fine about it then,” Caroline answered him carefully. “Although I did not get to meet them until after the wedding, which was perhaps a mistake. I met Nigel in India and married him there. Two years later when my mother decided to return to England we decided we would all travel home together and start afresh.” She sighed. “By the time we completed the long voyage Nigel was already dead, and we had nowhere to turn, but to his parents. ”

  “Did you bring a dowry with you?”

  Caroline stared at him. “That is none of your business, is it?”

  Unlike her he continued talking unperturbed.

  “If they did take your dowry, and your father agreed to certain financial settlements on you—which every good father should do to protect his daughter—you are probably owed a widow’s pension or some kind of financial payment from the Hardings since your husband is now deceased. You should consult a lawyer.”