Lesley looked at her friend thoughtfully, but did not attempt to refute or question it. She excused herself, kissed Viola warmly, and retired. Burke did not follow at once, but went to his study to have a last pipe and review the evening.
Had Lesley believed his remarks in anger had been sincere? He hoped so. Or would nothing convince her he had changed his ways, and regretted his past?
CHAPTER 15
Several days after the engagement party, Lesley came down about ten of the morning. She felt very discouraged and forlorn. They had continued their search for Sandy, but not even a clue had turned up for the past couple of days.
She smoothed her dark blue woollen gown, and hugged her dark shawl more closely about her. The September days were turning colder. A fine rain came down today, the sky was grey and gloomy, October would soon be here. Sandy might be cold and chilled, he would certainly be hungry, like those poor beggar children they had talked to yesterday. Lesley had given them coins for food, and a loaf of bread, hoping they could have the food themselves, and not have to return it to some horrible person who sent them out begging. That often happened, a man had told her, a pickpocket who had some sympathy for their search. His own son had died at the age of two.
Burke had gone to his solicitors. The Stukelys were raging at the bank order closing the accounts of Sandy and Viola. They were fighting it, and even striving to get Viola back with them, though Edgar refused to consider it. They watched the developments anxiously.
Lesley sank into a chair in the front drawing room. She fingered her ruby pendant broodingly. No word, no sign. Could Sandy be ... dead?
She flinched from the thought. Burke had said they would hear if he were ... but what if they did not? She thought of years of searching, of agony...
The butler came in silently, and handed her the post. She sat up, and ruffled through the letters eagerly, but all were invitations, or letters from persons known to her. The gazettes were of no interest to her these days, she had no patience for talk of battles when Sandy was gone. The world mattered little to her, her grief was too personal.
“Madam, there is a ... person outside who would speak with you. I told him to wait for Mr Penhallow,” said Mortimer, “but he would not. He wishes word with Mrs Penhallow.”
Lesley started up. “Oh, where is he?” she cried.
“He waits outside the door, madam.”
Lesley moved hurriedly to the outer door, and stepped outside. A vaguely familiar man stood there, in rough blue clothes and a red scarf.
“Yes, what is it? Do you have word of the boy we seek?”
He glanced nervously towards the door where the butler stood watching. “I know a gent who does, ma’am,” he whispered. He jerked his head towards a dark carriage that waited at the gate some ten paces away. “He’s there, in the carriage.”
Lesley looked with curiosity at the carriage. It was dark, the curtains drawn. She could just see the outline of a man’s head. Hesitantly she walked to the carriage.
The curtain was drawn back slightly, then the door opened.
“Mr Janssen!” she exclaimed, and drew back suspiciously.
His eyes were excited. “I have found the boy, Mrs Penhallow!” he whispered. “Come with me — quickly!”
“But I must speak to my husband —”
“Tell him quickly, then — the lad may be gone by the time we get there!” he said impatiently.
“Mr Penhallow is from home —”
He groaned with anguish, his hand clapped to his forehead. He wore the immense black wig, the black wide-brimmed hat, his dark grey eyes snapped. “He will be gone, taken away!” he assured her. “We must hasten!”
The other man came up behind her. “Shall I help you into the carriage, ma’am?” he asked respectfully.
Before she could reply, he put a strong hand under her elbow, and half pushed her up into the carriage. She gasped as she landed half on Mr Janssen’s lap, and the door was slammed after her. Mr Janssen helped her sit upright.
“A good man, but rough,” he said drily. “Are you comfortable, Mrs Penhallow?”
She was reassured by his natural manner. “Yes, thank you. Mr Janssen, where did you find Sandy?”
“In one of those dreadful places called an orphanage,” he said, excitement returning to his voice. “He is kept in a cellar, they are training him to be a pickpocket. He is not yet allowed out. However, I caught a glimpse of him, and made discreet enquiry.”
“And what, Mr Janssen, do you hope to get from this?” she asked quietly. Her hands were clenched in her lap. She had probably been foolish to come with him without warning Edgar Creswick.
He shrugged, she could just see him in the darkened carriage as the horses clip-clopped over the cobblestones. “Your husband likes me not, madam,” he said drily. “Mayhap I will regain his good gwathes, eh? And perhaps a little monetary reward? My pockets are often rather empty!” And he laughed a little.
Relieved, she sank back onto the hard cushions. “You may be sure of that, sir. We will give anything to regain our Sandy. Is he ... is he all right?”
Guy Janssen shrugged his wide shoulders in the black cloak. “As well as may be. You will find he is not well fed. But they take a reasonable care of the children.”
His frankness again reassured her. She was silent as they travelled rapidly through the London streets, in what direction she did not know. They seemed to twist and turn and take corners, and then come into some dirt lanes.
The carriage came to a shuddering halt, and she was flung forwards. Guy Janssen caught her arm, and peered out of the window beyond her, leaning past her.
“Here we are,” he said. The man in dark blue flung open the carriage door and she stumbled out eagerly, his dirty hand helping her down. They were at some rough stone house, near a low door.
The door was opened, they helped her inside, she blinked in the darkness. Guy Janssen behind her said, “Down the stairs, madam!”
His hand on her elbow helped her down the broken stone stairs, into a cellar room where a single candle shone, stuck into a bottle.
“Aunt Les! Aunt Les!” cried Sandy out of the darkness. He ran to her and flung his thin arms about her waist. “Oh, Aunt Les! You found me!”
She could just make out shapes in the dimness, but she cared not for them. She had Sandy in her arms. “Oh, my dearest Sandy! My dearest Sandy!” They hugged each other, Lesley’s arms fiercely protective.
“Touching scene,” mocked Guy Janssen. “Here you are, Mrs Mahaffey. Another poor creature for your care!”
The hoarse voice beside her made Lesley start. “She’s gentry, damn you to hell! What for you bring me more gentry! I’ll be clapped in jail, I’ll be!”
Deft fingers were at Lesley’s neck. Before she could move, Guy had removed the chain and ruby pendant from her throat, and clasped them in his big hand.
Then he gave her a shove towards the floor. She and Sandy fell sprawling onto the dirt ground.
“Get rid of them both,” he said roughly. “I told you before, get rid of that lad! He’s trouble! Dispose of them both!”
“And you’ll leave me to face the constables!” cried the old woman. Lesley, sitting up with Sandy clasped to her, could just see her now. An old woman with scraggly white hair, few teeth, and a bent, hobbling step, for one leg was only a stick of wood. She was hobbling towards Guy Janssen, her fists upraised.
He warded her off easily, his white teeth flashed in the dark cellar. “Take care of them,” he repeated. “You can get some money for her clothes, and she is wearing rings. Be careful how you get rid of them. I don’t want the bodies found. Quicklime and river will do,” he said coldly, callously.
Lesley found her voice. “So this is how you treat us, Mr Janssen! You are a despicable lying cheat —”
He laughed, in a snarl. “I promised to take you to Sandy, didn’t I? That ith what I did, madam! Spiteful vixen! Cutting my Felicia off from the fundth! I had it very good with that wrinkled
old lady! A few times in bed, and she wath feeding me such jewels...” he added regretfully.
“Why did you steal Sandy?” she asked quickly, as he would have gone. She could still not believe he would leave her here to be murdered.
“Felicia tried to break off with me, thee thed it wath too dangerous,” he said, his lisp stronger in his anger. “I took the boy away, then tried to get her to buy him back. She could not come up with enough money! Damn her to hell — a year of fond looks and jewels, and then no more — I wrecked it all for her, thee?”
She wondered if he was mad, or just completely without morals. Perhaps both.
He scowled at them both, turned to Peg Mahaffey. “Get rid of them both thoon,” he ordered. “I’m getting out of London for a time, it’s too hot for me. Going to the coast. I’ll find other fields for a while. But one word about me and I’ll come back and cut your throat.”
With that, he ran up the steps and disappeared, slamming the door after him. The old woman turned on Lesley.
“You — gentry!” She spat accurately on the dirt floor next to Lesley. “Always making trouble for me! I got enough trouble, damn all you to hell! And you, lad, come here, you’ll earn your keep today!”
At first Lesley thought she meant Sandy, who was huddled close to Lesley, sitting on a fold of her wide, thick skirts. But another lad came slowly into the candlelight, his dirty face almost hiding the shape of his features.
He was about Sandy’s size, perhaps smaller. He stood silently as the woman instructed him how to pick pockets.
Lesley held Sandy closer, and dared to whisper to him, “You have been here all the time, darling?”
He nodded. “She is teaching me to steal,” he said simply. “But when the word went out that you and Uncle Burke were searching all over London for me, that man came — Mr Janssen — and said to keep me down here until the hunt was over. Only you kept on hunting, and he was very angry!”
She hugged him close. “Of course we were still hunting. We were going to hunt for ever, my dearest lad. You are ... well?”
She felt him cautiously. He was very thin, but his quick grin reassured her. “Oh, One-leg Peg ain’t so bad as Uncle Stukely,” he said airily. “She don’t hit me so hard.”
Lesley caught her breath, bit down her anger. She must use cunning to get them out. She felt her throat automatically for the ruby pendant, then finally realized that Guy had indeed taken it from her. Her good-luck talisman ... she swallowed tears of fright and sat up straight.
One-leg Peg was teaching the boy to steal. She made him try to take a wallet from her pocket. She whirled on him. “I felt you,” she said accusingly. “Not light enough touch. Try it again, damn your hide!”
“That’s Nick,” whispered Sandy as the boy tried to circle the old woman and snatch the purse without her feeling him touch her. “Penny is out stealing, and so is Millie. Joe is good, he’ll bring back coins tonight, that’s sure. Lena and Stevie — they are over there.”
He nodded towards a corner and Lesley could see two big-eyed children gazing solemnly at her. She smiled, and held out her hand to them, trying to coax them closer. They shook their heads and stayed away.
Presently Peg Mahaffey grumbled, “I’m going out meself, got to get food for the night. You’ll all stay quiet, or I’ll have your damn hides!”
She stumped up the stairs and went out, locking the door after her.
“Would it do any good to pound on the door and scream?” Lesley asked quietly of Sandy.
Nick’s hoarse voice said, “Won’t do no good, ma’am. She got dodgers upstairs, sleeping. They’ll be down on us, swinging sticks.”
A soft voice echoed his, “They’ll swing sticks, sure. Please be quiet. You want Sandy out? He’s a nice boy.”
A slim small girl had come over to her. Lesley gazed at her in the dimness of the single candle, and caught her breath. The child was frail, grave, with blonde dirty hair hanging about her thin face. She had large dark eyes, and such lovely features, she looked like some of the Italian paintings Lesley had seen. She had the face of a troubled angel, so beautiful even in the grime and darkness that it made one wonder.
“What is your name, child?” she asked gently.
“Lena, ma’am.”
“And the other boy?” Lesley gestured to the corner where the other boy was struggling to his feet.
Nick went over to him and helped him up, with a hand under his arm. The small boy limped over to her. Holding on to Nick, he stared at her with dark eyes in such a frail, ethereal face. “I’m Stevie,” he whispered.
“Stevie. I am Mrs Penhallow.” She smiled at him, and he stared back gravely.
“You gonna steal, ma’am?” asked Nick, with a grin and friendly curiosity.
“No, I am going to get us all out of here, and back home,” said Lesley.
Nick stared, so did Stevie and Lena. “Nobody leaves Old Peg,” said Nick firmly. “Nobody goes, except feet first,” and he nodded. He reminded her of Freddie, with his calm assurance and knowledge of the ills of his dark world.
“Well, my husband will find us and take us home,” she said firmly. “It is just a matter of waiting.”
Lena began to cough, the coughing shook her small body. Lesley reached out to her; the girl came shyly and sank down on the folds of her thick warm dress, opposite Sandy. Lesley took off her woollen shawl and set it about the small girl. The chill in the damp wet cellar was enough to make one ill, she thought.
“Coo,” whispered Lena, stroking the shawl. “So warm, so nice.”
Nick watched them, then turned to Sandy. “Don’t learn to steal quick, remember,” he said, with a furtive look up the stairs to see if any light showed. “She’ll just send you out stealing.”
Lesley thought quickly. “But if he does learn, he’ll go out on the street ... my husband will see him!” Excitement grew in her voice.
Sandy shook his red head. “She won’t send me out, she says she’ll kill me first,” he said gravely.
Lesley caught her breath, and hugged him closer. “Did Mr Janssen ... tell her to do so?” she asked. “Before I came?”
He nodded. “He brought me here, hit me, told her to get rid of me. She drinks lots of rum and says he leaves her the hard jobs, that I am gentry and she will go to jail. She is terribly scared of jail.”
Lena was coughing with a racking sound. Stevie shivered, favouring his game leg, staring at Lesley. She drew the small boy down onto another fold of her dress, to protect him from the damp, hard, cold floor. They sat there in long silence, until finally One-leg Peg returned, shoving three small children before her roughly down the stairs.
The younger girl lurched, caught herself, and tumbled down the stairs hastily to get out of the reach of Peg’s rough hand. She landed near to Lesley, and turned to stare at her, her eyes screwed up against the darkness.
The older two, a boy and a girl, were more cautious, holding back, standing silent near Peg.
The woman began to search them roughly, they stood passively as she took out coins from their pockets and ran her hands over their small forms. “All right. Pretty good,” she grumbled. “You’ll have bread and water tonight, and a small piece of cheese. But you gotta do better tomorrow.”
She brought out a locked box and opened it. She took out a loaf of bread and some cheese, and divided it carefully among the children. She tossed a piece of bread to Lesley.
“No cheese. I ain’t got none for you,” she snarled.
Lesley was not hungry, not after seeing the filthy black hands of the woman handling the bread. But the children seized the food hungrily and ate it down. Peg clumped up the stairs, brought down a jug of water, and rationed that out as well. They drank thirstily, silently holding up their cups for more. She shook her head.
“You. Gentry. That damn fool bringing you here! Peg always gets the troublesome ones! I got to figure out what to do with you,” she muttered.
Lesley was close enough to get the strong smell of
rum on her. She said, as calmly as possible, “There is no problem about that, Mrs Mahaffey. You return me to my husband, Mr Penhallow. He will reward you generously, for me and my lad, Sandy here.”
Her arm was curved protectively about the boy. Whatever happened, she would not let him go.
Peg laughed harshly in her deep, cough-husky voice. “Let you go, is it? Take you to your ’usband, is it? Not on your life, dearie! It would be jail for One-leg Peg, it would! No, I gotta figure out what to do with ye, and it’ll be the end of ye and your troubles to me! Gotta figure out how to do it, though.” And she scratched her head vigorously.
The children watched her soberly, in silence, warily.
“My husband would give you much money, gold, jewels,” said Lesley cunningly. “Would you like some sparkling jewels for yourself, Mrs Mahaffey?”
The woman tossed her head, the scraggly white witch-hair snaking about her face. She laughed hoarsely. “Jewels, for me? They’d just take it off me, they would!”
Lesley did not doubt that, having seen something of the cruel toughs who roamed the slums.
“Money, then, and a little house in the country,” she said. “How about a little house in the country, all your own? With cows and chickens, and enough food for all your life?”
“Hah! Gentry always promises and promises, but all they gives you is the jail and the rope!”
“My husband would be grateful to you —”
Peg Mahaffey turned on her, snarling. “Shut, up, shut up! I can’t think when you go on and on at me!” She stumped up the stairs, muttering, “I got to find someone to kill you, that’s what I gotta do.”
Lesley shivered, but when Sandy looked up at her, she smiled down at him and rocked him gently in her arms. “Burke will come,” she said confidently, to reassure him as well as herself. “I know Burke will come now.”
The Ruby Heart: A classic Regency love story Page 19