Keeping Faith

by Beverley Oakley

  And how she’d react to seeing him after all this time, he had no idea.

  Would she consider he’d let her down? He hadn’t found her in a whole year though it wasn’t for want of trying.

  Was there any truth in Lord Harkom’s claim, earlier, about what he’d done to Faith?

  Not with Faith.

  He truly couldn’t believe that, and not after Charity’s claims that Faith had gone to see him because of her concerns over Crispin.

  Which meant that Faith had read the claims espoused by Harkom? Were they indeed written down as allegations? Could there be any truth in them?

  His throat felt dry, and his head was sore. The street lamps looked hazy like his surroundings. Was his father’s coldness predicated upon the fact that Crispin was not his natural-born son? Could he have suspected that he’d had someone else’s bastard foisted on him?

  By an innkeeper’s daughter?

  Crispin swallowed. No, this was Harkom’s way of extracting the maximum from the situation. It couldn’t be true.

  By the time he reached Madame Chambon’s, his outerwear was slick with wet, but he didn’t care. He just wanted to find Faith and sink into her arms. If she could forgive him, it didn’t matter if Harkom’s allegations were true or not.

  Of course, if Harkom’s allegations were given credence, then that was a different matter. But he didn’t want to go there yet. He just wanted Faith.

  “Oh, Mr Westaway; you just missed her.” Charity was lying on her front on her bed, when Crispin entered after knocking briefly and being invited in. She rose onto her knees, her face a picture of delight as her silk peignoir fell away revealing the mounds of her full white breasts over the top of her corset. “I’m so glad it’s you though,” she added, as she covered herself. “I mean, that because it’s you, you don’t want any of my pleasuring.” She blushed, and Crispin could see the flare of colour was real. He was sure he blushed too, as she went on, “I mean, it would be so wrong to be pleasuring the young man whom my best friend is in love with.”

  Crispin felt a stab in his chest cavity and tried to ignore the words that resounded in his head…the young man whom my best friend is in love with. Could that really be true? “Please, Charity, I don’t think I have much time and I need to find her!”

  “She’s gone to Lady Ridgeway’s masquerade,” Charity told him.

  “I can’t believe I was too late!” He raked his hands through his hair. “Was she…all right after her encounter with Lord Harkom?” He could barely push out the question, though it seemed odd that Faith would make her way to further revelry if she were not.

  “She didn’t say. She wanted to find Miss Eaves. She had an important letter to give her.”

  He blinked. “Miss Eaves? She’s going to give the letter to Miss Eaves?”

  Could she really have hated him so much?

  All the hope and expectation he’d built up drained out of him.

  Charity slipped to the floor and went to her dressing table where she began to pin up a curl. “Well, one of the letters. She wouldn’t tell me about the other one. But the letter she was going to give Miss Eaves was the important one, she said.”

  “The one she found in Lord Harkom’s chest?”

  Charity nodded, looking at him in the mirror. “Well, she found them both there. But this one is the one she hopes is going to put things right.”

  “But…Miss Eaves destroyed Faith’s reputation. Faith’s not…planning revenge, is she?”

  Charity turned as she let out a surprised laugh. “What a masculine thing to say. Revenge? Faith would never resort to revenge to harm anyone.” Her forehead wrinkled as she reassessed this statement, looking more closely at Crispin as she added, “I mean, she never intended wreaking revenge on you, Mr Westaway. That was Mrs Gedge’s idea, and you do know that Faith was entirely powerless in that woman’s hands. Just as I’m powerless in Madame Chambon’s. Do you think I like doing what I do to earn a living?” She shrugged. “I simply have no other choice open to me.”

  This was not the time for Crispin to delve further into these murky depths. When he found Faith, he intended asking her a good many questions about her motivations, but there was too much at stake now for him to tarry.

  “Yes, make your way to Lady Ridgeway’s, and I hope you find Faith. And that you’ll be good to her, for I fear what she’s found puts her in very grave danger.”

  “You know?” Crispin moved forward and gripped Charity’s shoulders, forcing her to look at him.

  Charity’s large blue eyes suddenly filled with tears which she brushed away, saying with a shaky laugh, “I try to pretend there’s nothing happening under this roof, and that we’re all safe as long as Madame sees us as bringing in the money, but the truth is, a girl is never safe here. One wrong action and Faith could be next.”

  “Surely you can’t mean it.” He didn’t know what to say. “Are you suggesting there is something more sinister at play than Mrs Gedge’s plan for revenge against me?

  Charity nodded. “It was in a letter Faith found. I think the letter was from Lady Vernon to Lord Harkom, but Faith wouldn’t tell me. She said it would put me in danger to know.”

  “What do you think it’s about, Charity? I need something to go on.”

  “I think it’s about a girl who disappeared from here a few months ago. A girl called Anastasia. Lord Harkom was very cruel to her. He hurt her. And then she disappeared.”

  “And Lady Vernon’s involved?”

  Charity nodded, her lower lip trembling. “Please don’t ask me anything more, Mr Westaway, because it would all be guesswork. But I think Lady Vernon and Lord Harkom are in some evil business together. And unless Faith is very careful, she could find herself in some extremely hot water.”

  Faith’s attire was perfectly suited to the evening’s entertainment, while Charity’s demi-masque on a stick provided the necessary anonymity. Her identity would be discovered in due course, but initially, Faith might be able to mingle enough to search out Miss Eaves before she was asked to leave.

  She found the young woman in the midst of a group of ladies all talking about hats.

  Only Miss Eaves was not sufficiently interested, so her eyes were scouring the room in search of greater diversion when Faith dropped her demi-masque and caught her eye.

  Miss Eaves’s mouth fell open, but a subtle crook of her finger had Faith following her into the shadows.

  “Well, well, Miss Montague. I see you are back at your trade.” The young woman’s eyes raked Faith’s ensemble with obvious censure, for the figure-hugging ensemble, while fashionable, was risqué. “I just wonder how you have made your way inside without being recognised. You know you have no place here.”

  Faith had no time to defend herself or try to alter Miss Eaves’s opinion. The young woman had clearly become a great deal more polished and sophisticated since the first time Faith had met her.

  “Read this and tell me what you think.” Faith thrust Lady Vernon’s letter into Miss Eaves’s gloved hand and waited impatiently as the other slowly began to read—with obvious reluctance.

  Finally, she handed it back. “White women snatched from a London brothel into slavery? Sold to a sultan in Constantinople? Really, Miss Montague? You expected everyone to believe you a fine lady when you were nothing but a yeoman’s daughter caught for stealing. A very clever one, obviously, to have entrapped Mr Westaway as you did. But this?” She tapped the letter with her forefinger before handing it back to Faith. “A forgery! You want me to print this as a front-page story so I can be sued for libel?”

  “Only if it were proved untrue.”

  She passed the letter back to Faith with a brittle laugh. “I’m sorry, but I can’t indulge your wild fancies, Miss Montague. Not tonight, or any other night.” She turned, but Faith turned with her, gripping the sleeve of her expensive evening gown.

  “Please, Miss Eaves, you’re the only person I know of with connections that might be able to bring justice to Lady V
ernon and Lord Harkom.”

  “How convenient. The very people you claim are the architects of your demise.” Miss Eaves’s smile dripped scepticism.

  Stung, Faith dropped her hand. For a long moment, the two women stared at one another. Faith looked away first. She had no more time to waste.

  “Then I’ll find Lord Delmore. If you won’t believe me, he will. I should have gone to him in the first place.” Angrily, Faith swept past her, the crowd parting as she made her way to the double doors.

  Chapter 29

  Crispin’s evening clothes, though damp, were passable enough for him to excite little attention when he entered Lady Ridgeway’s ballroom a little later that evening.

  He managed to bow and nod with sufficient politeness, that his anxiety and hurry to find Miss Eaves and, hopefully Faith, were not too apparent.

  A year had passed, and he’d given a good account of himself in Germany. Society tended to forget a young man’s transgressions and, in time, regard with amusement the fact he might have been hoodwinked by a beautiful girl in order to paint her. If he’d distinguished himself in his consular post, and besides, was ensconced somewhere on the Continent where out of sight meant out of mind until the matter was more or less forgotten, then all to the good.

  So, Crispin found himself nodding and forcing a smile and a greeting to all manner of unexpected past acquaintances of his father and himself as he pushed through the throng.

  How long would that last? he wondered with a stab of discomfort, and then was surprised that the depth of his shock over his own possibly lowly origins didn’t overwrite his fears over Faith to the extent he’d have imagined they would.

  And wasn’t this because, being on more of an equal footing, so to speak, she’d suddenly become so much more accessible to him?

  Of course, it wasn’t as easy to spot her when most people carried a mask on a stick, although in many cases, this was dropped due to the late hour and amount of champagne consumed.

  A pink gown. That’s what Charity had said she was wearing, but none of the women in pink gowns were Faith, and none could hold a candle to her, besides.

  But there was Miss Eaves, her dark-brown hair and ruddy face instantly recognisable as he closed the distance between them, arriving right before her as she turned away from a group of ladies discussing, he could just make out, hats.

  “Mr Westaway!” She seemed to lose her composure for a second before she added, “We have not seen you for some time, though I hear you have distinguished yourself. I hope your father is well.”

  “I’m flattered that you have followed my career and take a concern in the family.” He genuinely had not intended it to sound so ironic, but rather than let it rest, Miss Eaves flushed and said, “I told only the facts as they presented themselves, Mr Westaway. I’d imagined you were thankful for your lucky escape. No one wants to be taken for a fool or enter into a lifetime contract against their will.”

  “Which is exactly what happened to Faith. Have you seen her, Miss Eaves?”

  Miss Eaves sent a longing glance towards the circle in which she’d earlier been ensconced before answering, with a shrug, “She was here earlier.”

  “Good lord, then she has given you the letter?” He felt his shoulders slump. “She came here with that express purpose.”

  “I heard an outlandish story of women being lured into some kind of unbelievable slavery to the Ottoman sultan. All the product of a disordered mind and only a forgery to substantiate it.”

  “Then you saw the letter?” Crispin felt himself come to life. “Faith was going to give you the correspondence between Lady Vernon and Lord Harkom to verify the truth of this. She’s taken an enormous risk to uncover the truth, managing to extract it from Lord Harkom. I’ve just come from there.”

  Miss Eaves pressed her lips together. She seemed unable to answer.

  Crispin could barely keep still. “Miss Eaves, you must tell me how long ago she left! Miss Montague is in great danger. I’d heard whispers that suggested such a thing was happening, but there was nothing to substantiate it until tonight. The letter is no forgery, Miss Eaves. Surely you could tell that for yourself!”

  “Mr Westaway, I…” She bit her lip, her confusion apparent. “I don’t know what to tell you except that she told me she was going to find Lord Delmore.”

  Crispin turned on his heel. “If you see her again, detain her,” he said, over his shoulder. “Persuade her not to go anywhere unless she is accompanied.”

  He was about to turn when Miss Eaves detained him with a hand on his sleeve. Her skin was very pale and there was a tremor in her voice as she said, “Miss Montague left the room about half an hour ago. I followed her, when my uncle called me over to meet a new arrival just as Miss Montague was descending the front steps.” She pressed her lips together and rolled one shoulder, and Crispin felt a stab of very real terror, justified as Miss Eaves finished, “Lady Vernon seemed to be waiting for her from just inside the carriage that had drawn up. I caught only a glimpse before Miss Montague was inside. And…” she hesitated “… in the glow of the lamplight, I believe I saw Lord Harkom. Certainly, at the time I believed it was Lord Harkom, for I returned thinking with such scepticism of her renewed defence that she’d ever had a willing association with him.”

  Crispin was already heading towards the door before he turned. “And nor has she. Miss Eaves, if you see anything or hear anything that could help this case, please send a message directly to my lodgings. Dear God, I just hope and pray I find her in time.”

  Chapter 30

  The blindfold was cutting into Faith’s eyes painfully by the time she was released. When she stumbled, she realised it was as much due to the fact the flooring was unstable as that she was disoriented.

  The cry of seagulls and the smell of brine and tar made it clear that she was on board a boat.

  Or something larger, for the room was commodious with a large porthole that looked over the ocean. Dawn had broken, and the fact that her head hurt unconscionably compounded the realisation that she’d been drugged.

  She swung around to confront her captors, and was not surprised to see Lord Harkom’s golden hair lit by the late-afternoon sun that shone through the glass and, seated upon a chair at his side, the hunched, crow-like form of Lady Vernon.

  “My, my, Lady Vernon; it’s been a long night for you,” Faith remarked drily. “You’re not usually an early riser, so I’m sorry to put you through such discomfort.”

  Lady Vernon grimaced which Faith took to be a smile. “I was not going to be denied the pleasure of seeing you go where you deserved. My goodness, but you’ve caused us a great deal of trouble, Faith. Finally, you’ll be getting your just desserts.”

  Faith looked towards the porthole where the choppy sea was partly obscured by the crew in striped jerseys leaping from the rigging onto the deck. She could hear voices. Shouts that at first she thought were in French, before she realised some of them spoke a language she didn’t recognise. “You won’t get away with this, Lady Vernon. Nor you, Lord Harkom. Your activities have been exposed.”

  “On what evidence, my dear Faith?” He looked satisfied as he paced back and forth across the room. “Whatever correspondence you found is now back in my possession. Besides, who might you have told who would actually believe you? A liar and a whore.”

  Faith shivered as she imagined the groping that must have been involved when she was unconscious. She swallowed, her fear obviously showing before Lord Harkom said, “I haven’t violated you, if that’s what you’re worried about. There’d be little pleasure for either of us in doing that if you were not awake to enjoy it.” With a glance at Lady Vernon, he added, “All good things must wait, and I have a special parting gift for you before the boat sets sail. I’d have liked to have kept you, my dear, in the style you could have enjoyed, had you been a little cleverer. In fact, I had thought you came to my residence to negotiate a special agreement with me.” He sighed. “However, your quick mind and ab
ility to master the politics of a situation will stand you in good stead when it comes to learning a new language. Turkish, in fact. Yes, you have an eager patron a few hundred miles north of Constantinople waiting for you. He’s paid a king’s ransom for a girl fitting just your description, and since I have decided you’re more trouble than you’re worth, I’m taking you there, myself.”

  “Or face capture, yourself, in England!” Faith shot back.

  “Oh, the passage of time and the fact there is nothing to connect me with any wrongdoing will stand me in good stead.”

  She’d managed to keep her fear under control when she was speaking, but having to listen to him spout his evil, unleashed the shivering she’d kept in check until now. She clasped her arms about herself for she had no opera cloak or other means of warmth, and her evening dress was very bare about her bodice.

  “So, Faith, have you anything to say for yourself?”

  The light from the porthole spilled in a luminous circle in the centre of the room, and into this Lord Harkom stepped, as if he were a golden prince rather than the Prince of Darkness she now knew him to be.

  “She’s not going with you, Harkom.”

  Faith turned with a start; the familiar voice so unexpected and so welcome. A tall, dark-haired gentleman in evening clothes, with tired eyes, high cheekbones, and a sensitive mouth, locked eyes with her.

  Crispin.

  She’d thought of him so often during these past twelve months. Too often, in her imaginings, their welcome was curt and full of recrimination at the way each had failed the other. But now, as he stepped into the full beam of light to stand face to face with Lord Harkom, he looked every bit the handsome hero of her dreams.

  “It’s over, Harkom.” He turned to Lady Vernon with an exaggerated bow, following a brief smile of encouragement for Faith before he went on, “Your activities have been revealed. Thanks to Lady Vernon's correspondence, we've been apprised of your involvement in the trade of friendless young women from English shores to the Ottomans. You will shortly be in custody, and Miss Montague will be leaving with me.”