Keeping Faith

by Beverley Oakley

  All she wanted was security, food, and shelter without having to sell her soul for it.

  She hoped to remain with the Heathcotes until George went to school at Eton, like his father, after which Faith would find another position. Indeed, that was the best a governess in her position could hope for.

  And Faith no longer had high hopes for anything.

  But the letter had jarred her out of the quiet life of acceptance she’d been living. It reintroduced danger into her life, and reminded her painfully of the future she’d thought was within reach. The one that had been based on honesty and trust and hope.

  In her bedchamber, she scoured every line for a hint from Charity as to what she thought Faith should do. Did Charity believe Lord Harkom? It would be easy to manufacture falsehoods in order to lure Faith back to him.

  Yet, why would Charity go to the extremes of travelling hours into the country, if she didn’t think Lord Harkom really did possess dangerous information that he’d not scruple to use against Crispin? Perhaps his information was not dangerous to Crispin, personally, but the policies Crispin endorsed. The policies that ensured Britain keep the peace amidst the turbulence of world politics.

  Just a few words were all it had taken, but Charity apparently knew when a boast contained more than the kernel of truth that threatened to blow up a man’s career like a powder keg.

  Pillow talk. How many men had been brought undone by pillow talk? Perhaps without even knowing it, for they were all too liable to underrate the intelligence of the females they used for their pleasure.

  Nervously, Faith addressed Mrs Heathcote after the boys had had their breakfast the next morning. The guests had left, and her mistress seemed in a particularly satisfied mood for all had gone well and now peace reigned again.

  “My poor Faith. I’m so sorry to hear your mother is dangerously ill. Yes, of course you must go to her.” The young matron looked up from the bench where she was making preserves with one of the maids in a small dark room in the back of the house. Her expression was genuinely sympathetic, and Faith wished she’d not had to lie in order to gain a few days. Yet what could she do if Crispin were in danger? If she could have avoided ever seeing Lord Harkom again, she would have.

  “I’m sure we’ll manage for five days without you. My mother can pay us a visit and spend all the time she wants to with the boys without worrying that she’s interrupting their education. There! The matter is settled, and you must think only of what you can do for your family. Family is everything, I know.”

  Mrs Heathcote looked so pretty and so innocent as she stood above the marble countertop, spouting what she knew based on her own fortunate experience of life.

  Faith bobbed a curtsey and thanked her, relieved to have got over the first hurdle so easily.

  What followed surely had the potential to be diabolical.

  Chapter 23

  The road outside Madame Chambon’s house was painfully familiar, but Faith wasn’t going to step across the threshold, even via the kitchen, so she waited nervously in the narrow side lane. Fortunately, Charity was soon out to greet her, having been sent a message by the bootboy.

  “Faith! I never expected to see you again! You got my letter, didn’t you? I hope I didn’t alarm you, only I thought you might find it important considering what Mr Westaway was to you.” Charity looked striking in crimson, her red-gold hair gleaming as it rippled down her back. Her evening gown was of the finest silk. Yes, Charity had become the reigning favourite during the year Faith had been away, and Madame Chambon saw the advantages in dealing well by those who brought in the greatest names, titles, and, of course, money.

  “I’m so glad I was free to come,” she went on, after a quick hug and a nervous look over her shoulder. “Though I have to meet Lord Stanford in five minutes.” Her mouth curved up and Faith stared, incredulous as she asked, “You don’t mind?”

  Charity shook her head. “I mentioned him before. He’s a regular, and I truly believe he’s going to speak with Madame to release me.”

  “And make you his mistress in your own establishment?”

  “Well, he’s hardly going to offer to marry me!” Charity laughed before her expression grew serious, and she returned to the matter which had brought Faith to London.

  “Lord Harkom’s speech alarmed me greatly. He mentioned enough specifics to make me believe he truly had something to use against Mr Westaway, and yet I have not the slightest idea what it could be. Only that all Lord Harkom’s correspondence is contained in a small leather chest which he keeps under his bed.” Charity touched Faith’s shoulder. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, but I knew you’d want to know.”

  Faith stared at Charity’s gown, and asked, “May I borrow a dress, one of your finest, for just one night?”

  “And a governess doesn’t have such confections in her wardrobe?” Charity’s smile was rueful. “If I had the learning, I once thought I’d prefer to be a governess, though whether that would satisfy me now, I don’t know.” She smiled again, clearly thinking of Lord Stanford. “Of course, I’m happy to offer you my finest gown for the night, but I would urge you to reconsider seeing Lord Harkom in person. He was very angry with you, and vengeance is his natural response. I only told you because I couldn’t hold onto the information. It sounded dangerous.”

  “Lord Harkom will agree to see me, at least.” Faith raised her eyebrows. “If vengeance is his first inclination, I shall be ready to meet him on equal grounds.”

  Crispin wasn’t expecting to be interrupted. During his two short weeks back in England, he had a great deal to do. Right now, he was preparing for a meeting with several ministers, so when he called “Come!” he was expecting the maid to announce Lord Grinwald with whom he would be conducting delicate negotiations.

  Instead, he was surprised but pleased to find himself shortly afterwards greeting his old friend and neighbour Lord Delmore. It had been a long time. More than a year, in fact, and as their acquaintanceship had been limited to the time Crispin spent at his aunt and uncle’s home, and it was known that Lord Delmore’s fondness for London was minimal, the gentleman’s arrival was highly unusual.

  “What brings you here? My short tenure here in London is not widely known.” He ushered Lord Delmore to a seat and called for tea, not liking to recall the last time they’d been in company together.

  Should he bring it up? It would only revive a time long past when Crispin had shown himself the foolish stripling he’d once been.

  “I’ve heard good reports of your progress through the ranks, and not just from your father.” Lord Delmore seated himself and glanced about the room: at the hunting scenes, the plaster busts, a suit of armour by the fireplace.

  No flowers in vases. No lace doilies. No sign of any feminine touch.

  He didn’t ask the question though. Merely waited until the maid had placed the tray upon the table, poured them both a cup of Darljeeling, and retired.

  “I saw Miss Montague last week.”

  Her name struck home like a well-placed blow to the solar plexus. Crispin hoped he didn’t betray himself. Not by the fiery reddening of his face, which he tried to obscure by taking a judicious sip of his drink, nor by the clearing of his throat, which must surely denote discomfort to a keen observer.

  There were a thousand questions he wanted to ask, but he didn’t know where to start. Didn’t know if he should ask anything, in fact.

  He settled with, “Indeed.”

  “She looked very demure as one might expect. She’s a governess, you know.”

  “Good lord!” This was unexpected.

  “Yes, one would have imagined she’d have capitalised on her notoriety and made herself a fortune while she could. That was my initial thought, too.”

  Crispin put his cup down carefully. It was still too full to risk holding it when his hands were shaking. Strange. He’d found himself quite self-contained during these past months. His father’s disgust, followed by the harsh tutoring he’d
received at the hands of his pater had, he thought, cauterised all feeling.

  Except shame.

  And it was curious how that could be wrapped up and put away when hard work was all consuming.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if she plans to see Lord Harkom. I don’t know when, and that is why I’m here. I think you should stop her. Talk to her first, before she does something rash.”

  If everything that had gone before had been surprising, this was the most surprising of all. Crispin was glad he’d not been taking another sip of tea for even without, he still choked on his shock.

  “Lord Delmore, I can’t imagine why her…decisions and way of life should be your concern. They certainly are no longer mine.”

  “I thought you felt a tendre for the young lady. I thought she’d engaged your heart to the extent you were prepared to go so far as marriage, even when you believed her penniless.”

  Crispin shook his head and put up his hand, and Lord Delmore went on, “But it’s not because of your feelings that I sought you out to tell you this.” He sighed heavily. “Lord knows, I’m a man who likes the simple life. The skulduggery that’s your domain now that you’re in the thick of delicate continental diplomacy is not for me. I’d far rather be mouldering away in the country with a good book than breathing in London smog for a good cause.”

  “I’m your good cause? Or Miss Montague? I’m sorry, Lord Delmore, but I fail to understand you at all. You know what Miss Montague was revealed to be. I can have nothing to do with her—especially now. Besides,” he muttered, “I thought she was with Lord Harkom in a capacity that made visiting him hardly a reason for you to come rushing down to London to tell me about it.”

  “I’d have thought the same had it not been for a letter my maid took, or rather transcribed, on behalf of one of Miss Montague’s friends. Yes, one of those ladies of disrepute who are so desirable to the likes of Lord Harkom. It seems he’s been highly indiscreet with a little ladybird who is far more intelligent than he gave her credit for. Even if she’s illiterate.”

  Crispin rose, more to alleviate the difficulty of sitting still when his agitation was so great he didn’t know what to do with himself. He poured them both a brandy and, without asking, handed one to Lord Delmore.

  “So, what does this little ladybird suggest Lord Harkom has that could be of such interest to Miss Montague?”

  Lord Delmore took a thoughtful sip. “She mentioned something about a letter. Or a couple of letters. I don’t know, exactly. Just that these letters were potentially damaging.”

  “Damaging? To whom?” Crispin shrugged. “I have nothing to hide, yet you obviously give credence to whatever matter of grave import these letters contained. Anyway, why should it concern me? Why should anything Miss Montague does concern me? You know what I risk should it be revealed I have any association with her. And it’s not just my father finding out that I’m worried about.”

  Lord Delmore worried his lip as he sent a dark look towards his younger friend. “When I look back on my life, I have far more regrets about the things I didn’t do than those I did. Now, it’s true that I don’t know what these letters contain. Nor would it appear, does the, er, fair Cyprian who made the journey to find Miss Montague. She was simply worried enough by the suggestion of damage Lord Harkom hinted they could do, that she felt the need to travel a great distance to alert Miss Montague.”

  “I’m sure there’s nothing further about my private life that can be disseminated to the public that would further embarrass me or discredit me,” Crispin ground out.

  His painting career lay in tatters. His personal standing had taken a very great hit. Thank God, he’d been able to remove himself from London almost immediately afterwards while his father had worked hard to pass it off as less than it was.

  Certainly, less than it was to Crispin. Yes, his boy had been caught up in a vile scam that was to have won him a bride from the ranks of the impure through means of a bogus art competition.

  After the shock and outrage, the sniggers had followed. Crispin had left the country at this point.

  Now he’d returned to commiserations and bolstering affirmations that he’d had a lucky escape. He’d been clever enough to have seen through the young lady in time.

  So, Crispin’s reputation was intact, and he’d recovered his social standing.

  But the state of his heart and his sense of trust would never recover.

  “But what if it’s not about your private life, Crispin? What if it’s more than that? Yes, I know that a year on you still are wounded by what you see as Miss Montague’s betrayal. Nevertheless, she was in love with you.”

  “Everything about her was a lie.”

  “Except, as I’ve just said, her love for you, Crispin.” Lord Delmore’s tone was patient. Crispin eyed him suspiciously, staring into the fireplace as he said darkly, “You sound like my father might have sounded if he’d ever chosen persuasion before threats. You are not my father, you know.”

  “But I’m an older man with more experience of matters like these. I have two grown-up sons and a daughter, all of whom are, in fact, older than you. Forgive me if you think I’m patronising you. That certainly was not my intention. But I do sense something sinister at play. I’m not suggesting for a moment that you go in search of Miss Montague. But do, I urge you, find her friend and hear what she has to say. I believe that trouble is afoot. Lord Harkom has an axe to grind. And we both know he’s no friend of yours or your father’s.”

  Chapter 24

  The busyness of the small newspaper office and the professional air of the two young women bent over their desks, writing, took Faith by surprise after she’d been led up two flights of stairs to this unconventional scene in the attic above a barrister’s premises.

  “Can I help you, miss?” The younger woman, who was sitting at a large wooden desk beneath the window, raised her head to look enquiringly at Faith. Clearly, she did not recognise Faith as she halted her work, her pen poised above the paper.

  “You’re a proper lady journalist, now, Miss Eaves? Isn’t that what they call you?” Faith looked at the various newspapers and magazines that were strewn about the tabletops and which lined the walls, some framed. “You achieved your dreams, after all.” She hesitated as her eye was caught by the glaring front page of an issue published on August 15th, 1878. She didn’t need to go any further to confirm the date, for the headline alone clearly depicted Faith’s spectacular fall from grace. Even from a distance, the grainy photograph of Lord Harkom holding Faith in a waltz hold, surrounded by a group of women who were clearly not ladies, made Faith shiver with revulsion. “You’ve achieved your life’s ambition.”

  Two furrows appeared between Miss Eaves’s eyes, but as her gaze followed Faith’s to the newspaper before returning to Faith, it seemed she finally reconciled the demure governess before her with the woman whose life she’d turned upside down.

  Miss Eaves squared her shoulders.

  “Miss Montague, why did you not say you were coming?” She glanced at the older woman who was still working but who was clearly also listening, and said, “Mamie, please would you leave us alone for a few minutes.”

  When Mamie had left the room, Miss Eaves invited Faith to sit, and when Faith said she didn’t have long and would rather stand, Miss Eaves stood too and regarded her, still frowning, from the other side of the room.

  Faith straightened. “I was hardly assured of a warm welcome in view of what you’d said about me in the past, so I thought the element of surprise might play in my favour.” She moved to the window embrasure and found that she was suddenly far more nervous than she’d expected to be. She fiddled with the curtain tassel but kept her eyes on Miss Eaves, who straightened and said calmly but with a note of defensiveness, “It’s the job of the journalist to tell the truth. The facts. I’m sorry if my article revealed you for what you are, or were, Miss Montague. I was seeking the truth and I laid it out for the public, as they deserved. It was nothing pe
rsonal.”

  “But for me, it was deeply personal, Miss Eaves. For me, it was the ruin of my life.” She swallowed, finding this even harder with every word, which was strange when she’d spent so many of the last months existing in a state of semiconsciousness; unable to properly feel anything, really. “You fed my dreams and ambitions into the furnace to feed your own.”

  “Why, Miss Montague, what a lovely way you have with words. Surely, you are in the wrong calling.” She glanced pointedly at Faith’s demure clothing and said, “Or have you seen the error of your ways and turned to another means of earning your living.”

  This was not going the way Faith had hoped it would. Miss Eaves, for all her emancipation, knew nothing of the desperate choices a woman had to make, daily, when she had no resources.

  “You are very fierce in your determination to forge your own way in the world, Miss Eaves. I see you have your own office. And a secretary, even.” She nodded, approvingly. “You must be paid well for your writing to manage the rent and wages since I know your uncle was very much against his niece working.”

  Miss Eaves pushed back a lock of chestnut-brown hair and her pert nose twitched. “I do work hard, Miss Montague. And the provision of a bit of space in a building that my uncle has no use for accounts for very little, and is only temporary until such time as I can properly establish myself and be completely independent.”

  Faith nodded. “That is generous of your uncle to give you such patronage. You must have won him around with the excellent reporting you did on last year’s art prize. I daresay, after your hard work at the office—in space supplied by your uncle—that you go home to sleep in a bed and eat food that is supplied purely through your own endeavours. Or, is your food and lodgings supplemented too?” Faith couldn’t seem to stop fiddling with the curtain tassel, but she glanced up to see Miss Eaves’s reaction as she added, “Well, at least, only until such time as you make sufficient earnings through your writing to completely support yourself.”