‘Nothing is going to happen to you, Meg, but if it did, then I would do my utmost to take care of her.’
Hope welled in Meg’s eyes as she gripped Delphine’s hand. ‘Would you?’ she whispered. ‘Would you do that for me?’
‘Of course I would.’
‘You promise?’ Meg urged, her eyes dark with anguish.
For the first time Delphine heard a tremor in her voice. She was conscious of strong conflicting urges—though she ached to vent her impatience, she was tempted, too, to put a sympathetic hand over Meg’s. She resisted both compulsions and forced herself to think calmly for a moment about the promise she was about to make should anything happen to Meg. Her heart sank precipitously at the thought.
‘Yes, Meg. I promise. I would see that she came to no harm.’
‘Thank you.’ Her voice trembled on the words, and she looked away, jaw clamped tight. Then she looked back at Delphine, eyes bright and tearless. ‘You should go. I’ll see Maisie gets back to the orphanage. I’ve no customers so she can stay with me tonight. I’ll take her back in the morning.’
Delphine rose, standing for a moment in grave silence. ‘Very well,’ she said eventually, gazing at the sleeping child. ‘But think about what I’ve said, Meg. Take Maisie away and put this place behind you.’
Without another word she left, exceedingly vexed by the interview. She was anxious of the influence this place would end up having on Maisie, for deep in her heart she knew Meg would not leave while Will Kelly continued to have a hold over her.
She paused, hearing a moan, and lingered at the top of the stairs, transfixed. Someone had left a bedroom door ajar in his haste to bed his companion. Overcome by a strange sense of curiosity, she moved hesitantly towards it and peered through the crack.
One of the girls was doing what she was paid to do. Delphine flinched, about to draw back—but she could not.
At first she felt shock, then she felt her body growing warm. Her spirit seemed suddenly quite apart from her body. Like a rabbit before a stoat, she was mesmerised. Two naked bodies, arms and legs entwined as they writhed and sprawled on the bed, moved in a voluptuous rhythm. Against her will, Delphine felt her body respond to what she was seeing. Her pulse was beating faster; every nerve seemed to tingle.
She drew a long, shuddering breath. What was happening to her? The two people she was observing were strangers to her. How could their impassioned movements awaken these dark longings in her blood? Loose women, she knew from her mother’s lectures, were the only women who took pleasure in such things. Attempting to calm her mind as well as her body, she shrank away, her body trembling. She felt like a little girl at a keyhole.
Suddenly she was snatched from her preoccupation by the sound of a voice close at hand. It was a loud, brutish voice, belonging to a heavily built man with thick fair hair and a coarseness that dominated his heavy features. As he ascended the staircase, his dark gaze assessed her with a scathing vulgarity. He wore a coarse linen shirt stained with food and ale, and dark-velvet trousers fastened with a wide belt.
This was Will Kelly, a swaggering, ill-mannered brute who drank, gambled and seduced his way through life. He had close-set, foxy, clever eyes that missed nothing and a way of looking at Delphine that made her flesh crawl. He carried with him a smell of the poverty-ridden streets that turned her stomach. When she had first laid eyes on him, his manner had conveyed to her that this was a man of intense cunning, utter ruthlessness and terrible danger.
He watched as she approached him, standing with his feet wide apart and his huge fists resting on his wide hips, his grey eyes cold and unfriendly.
‘So! What have you been up to, Miss Cameron? Interfering again?’
‘Not at all,’ Delphine replied haughtily, determined to remain unruffled, even though beneath her skirts her legs were trembling at his nearness. ‘I’ve been to see Meg—and there’s no need for you to shout; my hearing is perfectly sound.’
‘Not thinking of entering the profession, are you?’ Moving closer, he reached out his gnarled, dirty fingers and gripped her chin roughly, turning her face from side to side, showering her with spittle as he spoke. ‘You’re comely enough, I’ll give you that—a tempting wench.’ He grinned lewdly. ‘I’m a reasonable man. We could come to an understanding.’
Delphine glowered at him, pushing his hand away. ‘Do not touch me. Do you honestly think that I would consider giving myself to the likes of you and the men who frequent this place? Never.’
He laughed sneeringly. ‘I’ve met many haughty women like you, Miss oh-so-high-and-mighty Cameron. There was a French bitch who considered herself a prize for the most handsome rogue in Paris once. In a matter of days she came crawling, begging me to take her to bed. Then there was a beauty from Kent. Oh, yes, she was an arrogant bitch. But little more than a week of my hospitality brought her to see the light and she came to me willingly,’ he boasted with a triumphant laugh.
‘Do you mean to frighten me with that repugnant account of your conquests?’
His eyes raked her boldly and a repulsive smile twisted his lips. ‘If I wished to frighten you, I would drag you into an empty room and listen to you scream. I’m a strong man and I can’t say I don’t enjoy a fight, but I do not wish to frighten you, only to point out the advantages of my protection should you decide to join the ladies in Mrs Cox’s fine establishment. You’ll not find boredom here.’
‘That will never happen. I came here to find Maisie and for no other reason.’
‘Ah—young Maisie,’ he drawled, an interested, dangerous gleam entering his narrowed eyes. ‘Now, there’s a pretty little thing. She’ll be a beauty one day—’ his gaze narrowed ‘—just like her mother. Imagine how popular they would be, working together—mother and daughter.’
Delphine went cold, suddenly fearful for Maisie. Was this to be her lot, her destiny? No, not if she could help it. Will Kelly’s eyes were watching her sharply. Deliberately she considered his gaze, but she knew that he none the less sensed her deep, desperate need to protect Maisie. She had given him a weapon.
‘You leave Maisie alone, Will Kelly. She is nothing but a child. Meg would kill you before allowing you to get your filthy hands on her daughter.’
‘Meg would have no say in it. If she opposes me, she’ll rue the day. Don’t fool yourself. Maisie is in my hands. She’ll make a fine whore—just like her mother.’
‘Never. At least, not while I have breath in my body.’
Without another word Delphine swept past him. As she made her way down the stairs she felt both angered and unsettled by her encounter with Will Kelly, but nevertheless she considered Maisie safe for the time being.
She was also affected by what she had witnessed prior to Will’s arrival. The air around her still shimmered with the heat of what she had seen. Her whole body had ignited and she was still afire. It was a wonder she didn’t burst into flames.
There was no sign of Fergus in the hall, so she picked up her bag and opened the door herself. A man stood on the doorstep, about to raise the heavy brass knocker.
‘Excuse me. My name is Nicholas Oakley. I’m looking for a lady by the name of Delphine,’ he said in a pleasant voice.
Delphine looked at the stocky, broad-shouldered, neatly dressed man. ‘I’m Delphine Cameron. May I help you?’
He didn’t look like a man who would visit a bordello, nor did he look ill. In fact, he appeared healthier than most, his face weathered by wind and sun, but hale and full-fleshed.
Mr Oakley was thinking along similarly approving lines as he considered her. She was wearing an open jacket of brown velvet with brown ribbon around the edges and a coffee-coloured dress and brown poke bonnet with tendrils of deep-red hair escaping its confines. Most prim, he thought—in fact, she didn’t look at all like the red-haired siren the landlord of t
he Blue Boar had described to him when he’d enquired about a clean and comely lady with whom his master might pass the night away while he was in London. But then, these ladies of the night were full of surprises.
The landlord had assured him that Mrs Cox’s establishment operated affluently and was one step above the other brothels—and such was the excellence of Delphine’s technique that she would make love an entire night without ceasing, at his master’s pleasure.
He smiled, a sudden charming smile that quite transformed his big face. ‘I believe you can—or perhaps I should say you can help my master. Yes, indeed! I am sure you can be of great help.’
‘Would that not depend on what is wrong with him?’
He raised one of his bushy eyebrows. ‘In a manner of speaking. All I can say is that he’s in great need.’
‘Is he sick?’
‘I suppose you could say that. My master—I am what is termed as his batman—the Colonel Lord Stephen Fitzwaring is home on leave from Spain, where he’s been with Wellington fighting the French. Fighting has taken its toll on him, I’m afraid.’
‘I see,’ Delphine replied, thinking rapidly. She was sure that she didn’t see the half of it—whatever it was—but on the face of things, if the man was wounded then, even though it was beyond her capabilities to cure him, she would make an assessment of his condition and ask Dr Grey, who often ministered to the children at the orphanage, to take a look at him.
‘Mr Taylor, who keeps the Blue Boar at the end of the street, assured me there is no one better equipped to relieve my master’s—er—’ he coughed as he sought the appropriate word ‘—discomfort.’
In her complete naïvety and gullibility, Delphine smiled broadly, finding it hard to believe her charitable deeds had attracted so much attention. She was acquainted with the landlord of the Blue Boar—a kindly man who donated regularly to the orphanage—and if Mr Oakley’s master was suffering from some kind of discomfort, then it did not strike her as odd that Mr Taylor would recommend her. She had waved to him from across the street earlier and, aware of Maisie’s habit of visiting her mother, he would have known she would be at Mrs Cox’s establishment.
‘If you will come with me, I will take you to him.’ Mr Oakley was watching her with interest. ‘I am sure you can accommodate each other. My master will be most generous.’
At the mention of money and considering how it could benefit the orphanage, Delphine looked at him levelly. ‘Indeed I hope he is. I do not give my services for nothing.’
His brows went up at that. ‘My master would not expect you to. Dear me, no! Though, I must say, most persons of your profession seem to care for everyone.’
‘Not everyone, Mr Oakley. Only those I believe can be helped. Your master is an amenable gentleman, I hope?’
‘Most of the time. There are times when he looks far more fierce than he really is.’ A smile touched the corners of his lips. ‘Don’t mention that to anyone else, or you’ll ruin his reputation.’
‘Reputation?’ Delphine tipped her head to one side, casting him a sideways glance. She was becoming more intrigued by Mr Oakley’s master by the second. ‘Does he have one?’
‘Of the worst sort,’ he averred flatly, shooting her a teasing look.
‘Then spare me the sordid details. I shall be seeing him for no other reason than to make him feel better. Is there no woman in his life to look after him?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Mr Oakley replied. ‘In Spain, a beautiful, voluptuous señorita is most enamoured of him and often keeps him company, but Spain is a long way away. My master is one of the finest men I know. He has a most tremendous strength of mind and a will that has carried him through many a battle. Because he is so strong-willed, he seldom encounters opposition from anyone—unless it be from the enemy Bonaparte!—which is why you may occasionally find him somewhat…dictatorial.’
‘I see,’ Delphine said stiffly. ‘Thank you for that insight into your master’s character, Mr Oakley. I shall remember it. Where is he?’
‘I left him abed at the Blue Boar. Are you prepared to come with me now?’
Delphine held up her bag and smiled. ‘I have everything I will need in my bag.’
Mr Oakley raised his brows in awe as his mind conjured up the delectable items that bag might contain; items she would no doubt use to titillate his master.
Delphine was not thinking logically. The mortal danger she might be incurring did not enter her mind. She had long ago acquired the habit of ignoring other people’s advice and plunging into situations with no thought for the consequence.
‘Lead on, Mr Oakley. Let us see if we can make your master feel better, shall we?’
But time was of the essence for Delphine. If she hurried, she would make it home in time for her mother’s musical evening; woe betide her if she was late. Her charity work often provoked trouble with her mother. Privileged by birth, Delphine had been drawn into such pursuits by her Aunt Celia, who had instilled into her the duties of a gently born woman to the less fortunate.
The Devil finds work for idle hands, she had said, then she had smiled, adding, or I should say, there is always work for a spare pair of willing hands. In an attempt to invest her empty life with meaning, Delphine had been more than willing. She was the youngest of five children—all girls—and, disappointed that the last of their last offspring had not been the much-wanted son, her parents had not even bothered to announce her birth.
Neglect bordering on rejection beat a bitter note in Delphine’s heart. All her life, doubts had drummed heavy blows upon the crumbling walls of her confidence. In her parents’ eyes she could never be the woman her sisters were: beautiful women who attracted men wherever they went.
She did not like to dwell on her inadequacies, but when she was in the presence of two exquisite creatures like her twin sisters, she was painfully aware of her unfashionable reddish hair, her too-large mouth and the light scattering of freckles across cheekbones that were much too high.
From childhood she had been trained to detachment, but she was none the less human and thought life in her parents’ house very cruel and so very lonely that she had long ago made up her mind to be her own woman. She would defy convention and be true only to herself.
And so she had thrown herself into her charity work, becoming closely involved with the homeless and destitute children and venturing into dark places not one of her four pampered older sisters could have imagined.
Most of her work was carried out with other charity workers at the orphanage in Water Lane. Not all the children were orphaned; some, like Maisie, had been abandoned by their parents. When she wasn’t at the orphanage, Delphine was forever organising fund-raising events and annoying her mother by lobbying her friends for donations. From the beginning, charity work had given a purpose to her life. She could breathe, could live, could give of herself at last.
On entering the orphanage for the first time, the things she had seen had upset her terribly. Her aunt, a spinster who had made charity her life’s work, had a natural air of authority, which she shared with her brother, Delphine’s father. She had told Delphine that to do this work well she must remain detached. She must not let emotion get the better of her. If she did this, she would control others—and herself.
Delphine had taken this advice and used it as best she could. Working among the poor, she was surprised at the intensity of her feeling and compassion, so long suppressed, and wondered whether her work was in fact altering her, turning her into a more passionate human being.
Her skin still burned from what she had seen at the bordello; her face felt as if it were glowing with fever as she followed the stranger. She hated the streets at night. There were ghosts in these streets that sometimes made her tremble with fear. It was all a million miles away from her mother’s genteel world; violence was endemic in Lon
don. Muggers and cut-throats roamed the streets virtually unchecked; anyone who walked alone at night took a serious risk.
Delphine decided that, once she had seen the gentleman, she would ask Mr Oakley to order her a chair or a hackney to take her home. Her eyes were cast down to the ground, but the night above stretched black and clear and infinite, the stars burning with their own fire.
They reached the Blue Boar, entering by a back doorway. It was a busy night at the inn. She followed Mr Oakley up a narrow staircase. He stopped at a door and opened it, standing back for her to pass through.
‘I shall leave you to it.’ Without another word he left her, closing the door as he went.
Delphine stood just inside the room. She could hear a man’s heavy breathing, but apart from that it was quiet, the light dim. It was a small room, but well furnished, and on a bed a man lay asleep. His arm was raised to cover his eyes, a bandage wrapped round his wrist. Assuming the wound it covered was the reason Mr Oakley had brought her to the tavern, she moved towards the still figure.
She opened her mouth to speak, but at that moment she was unable to utter a word. This was a man the like of which she had never seen before. A sheet covered him to the waist, beneath which he was naked. His body was perfect. He was lean, his muscles hard, his dark, furred chest broad, his shoulders strong. Sensing her presence, he slowly lowered his arm and opened his eyes—an extraordinary midnight blue. Her heart turned over. They remained fixed on her face and she could feel her cheeks burning, but she could not look away from him.
This man was quite exquisite, perfect, and Delphine, untouched by any kind of passionate emotion, felt her heart take flight. She was aghast at herself, staring like an ignorant girl. When he saw her a slow, appreciative smile curved his firm lips. It was such a wonderful smile and Delphine, poor naïve innocent, felt a thousand emotions explode inside her head all at once. She was lost. Bewilderingly, heart and soul, lost.
Miss Cameron's Fall from Grace Page 2