The Golden Songbird

by Sheila Walsh

  ‘He may treat me as he pleases, Mr Jameson ‒ my only concern is the way he treats this boy.’

  Her look of contempt swept the room. ‘Has any one of you bothered to look at this child? He cannot be above five, and this …’ she pointed an accusing finger, ‘… this creature has been forcing him up chimneys, which everyone knows is against the law. A constable should be summoned at once!’

  This remark drew a fresh tirade from the sweep, and pandemonium threatened once more. A cool, whimsical voice brought immediate silence.

  ‘Dear me! For a moment I thought I had mistaken my own house!’ On the threshold stood the Marquis, booted and spurred, his riding coat thrown back, his face a study of mild incredulity.

  Edward Jameson dragged his attention away from frank admiration of Miss Mannering.

  ‘My lord! We were not expecting you for two days!’

  ‘That fact, my dear Edward, is manifestly obvious!’ At a discreet signal from Gutteridge, a footman relieved my lord of his greatcoat, and the remaining servants melted silently away.

  The Marquis put up his glass. ‘Doubtless, when it is convenient, someone will enlighten me as to the nature of this disturbance.’

  A simultaneous chorus arose. ‘No ‒ no, I beg you!’ He put up a hand. ‘Edward? Briefly, dear boy.’

  Edward laid the matter before his employer succinctly and the Marquis listened with bowed head.

  His gaze travelled to Lucia. ‘You would have this villain prosecuted?’

  ‘Yes, my lord. The child is well under the lawful age and God knows how many poor innocents he may have in his clutches.’

  The sweep called upon Heaven to witness as he’d never knowingly bought any boy under age … their parents was rotten, thievin’ liars … it was a known fact as such boys was often puny and ’alf-starved … His voice trailed off under Hugo’s quelling stare.

  ‘I have every sympathy with your motives, Miss Mannering, but I fear a prosecution wouldn’t answer.’ Hugo held up a languid hand. ‘Believe me, it would be a tiresome business and a conviction is far from certain.’

  ‘Is he then to go free?’ The sweep shot her a look vindictive and triumphant.

  ‘Yer a good man, yer honour … a proper and a sensible gentl’man …’

  Hugo spoke softly and the man quailed. ‘You will leave my house now and I advise you to set your affairs in order, for I shall be informing my good friend Sir Giles Broughton, the presiding magistrate, of this scandalous business. He will doubtless take such action as he sees fit.’

  The sweep sidled across the room towards the boy, muttering …

  ‘No!’ cried Lucia sharply.

  Malevolent eyes snapped at her. ‘Keep the brat then! Five pound ’e cost me ‒ and nothing but a trouble he’s been!’ He raised a shaking finger in her direction. ‘If she’s yours, m’lord, you’d ought to make ’er mind ’er manners!’ he gasped through a sudden bout of coughing. ‘She’d feel the weight of my strap if she was mine, I can tell you …’

  ‘Well!’ breathed Hetty.

  ‘See the creature off the premises, Edward,’ said my lord curtly.

  Bruno eyed Lucia with awe. ‘I say, Lucy ‒ you are a complete hand!’

  Hetty shuddered. ‘I don’t know how you could bring yourself to speak to that horrid, insolent man!’

  Lucia knelt to lay a hand on the child’s forehead.

  ‘He has been unconscious for a very long time, my lord.’

  ‘It is often so with a blow on the head.’ Hugo felt the child’s pulse briefly. ‘Tell me, Miss Mannering, what are we to do with this scrap of humanity?’

  Lucia was uncomfortably aware of his pensive gaze.

  ‘Well, sir … he needs a bath.’

  ‘Of course! Why did I not think of it!’ His lordship’s lips twitched. ‘Gutteridge? The boy needs a bath.’

  Gutteridge digested this information with a wooden expression. ‘Yes, my lord.’

  ‘And a doctor?’ Hugo added helpfully.

  ‘Oh yes ‒ how kind!’

  Gutteridge summoned a footman who gingerly wrapped the small figure in a blanket and took him away.

  The major domo coughed. ‘My lord? What do you wish done with the … er, small person when he is bathed?’

  Hugo looked round for inspiration.

  ‘He’ll need to be put to bed.’ Hetty and Bruno were beginning to find the whole affair slightly hilarious.

  ‘There is a small room at the top of the house, in the servant’s wing,’ Gutteridge said primly.

  ‘Oh no!’ cried Lucia. ‘He would be frightened, waking up there alone. Surely you have plenty of spare rooms, my lord?’

  ‘Don’t be idiotish, Lucy!’ Bruno scoffed. ‘The lad’s like to be even more scared in one of Hugo’s great bedchambers.’

  ‘We appear to have reached an impasse,’ Hugo observed with heavy irony. ‘There is a small bed in my dressing room; why not make use of that, pray? Then if he wakes in the night I may get up and reassure him.’

  Lucia turned to him with a brilliant smile. ‘Why, how very kind, sir! That would answer perfectly!’

  Hetty and Bruno fell about laughing. Lucia looked bewildered.

  ‘Oh Lucy!’ Hetty gasped, wiping her eyes. ‘Hugo was funning!’

  She looked so crestfallen that Hugo sighed. ‘The dressing room it is, Gutteridge.’

  ‘If you really would not like it, sir …’

  ‘I shall survive,’ he mocked gently. ‘I doubt that my valet will view things in quite the same light. I fear it will require all my ingenuity to prevent his giving notice.’ His eyes twinkled suddenly. ‘I have no wish to appear ungallant, Miss Mannering, but I feel bound to point out that our small visitor is not the only one in need of a bath!’

  ‘Lordy yes, Lucy!’ Hetty giggled with friendly candour. ‘You do look a fright!’

  ‘Gutteridge? You will escort Miss Mannering to one of the bedchambers and have Mrs Mercer wait on her there. Meanwhile, my children, we will repair to more comfortable surroundings next door. Oh, and Miss Mannering …’ she turned in the doorway. ‘If there are any other alterations to my household that you would like to effect, please feel free to do so!’

  She swept out in rosy confusion.

  Hugo ushered his brother and sister into the adjoining salon and sent for a jug of cordial. He took up his stance before the fireplace and for several minutes they conversed on general topics until Hugo prompted gently, ‘And your visit here this morning?’

  ‘Lud! I had forgot!’ Hetty peeped up at him through sweeping lashes. ‘We thought that before Bruno leaves us, it would be a splendid notion to get up a small picnic party.’

  ‘A picnic.’ There was awe in Hugo’s voice. ‘You know, Het, I cannot offhand think of anyone else who would contemplate such a venture in October! Still, as long as you don’t look to involve me …’

  She pouted. ‘We were hoping you might arrange it.’

  ‘We?’

  Hetty shifted restlessly. ‘Oh well, I thought you might. Lucy was sure you would not like the idea above half.’

  ‘Was she indeed?’ A smile flickered about his mouth, but before he could say more, Lucia, stiff with anger, burst in upon them.

  ‘My lord ‒ would you come with me?’

  Hugo stared. ‘Why, Miss Mannering! What is amiss?’

  ‘If you will just come, sir, please!’

  Intrigued, he allowed himself to be led along his own corridors to his own dressing room. Lucia flung the door open dramatically and marched across to the bed. The child lay between fine linen sheets. His delicate features still bore traces of grime and through the mass of golden curls clinging damply to his forehead, a purple lump glowed lividly.

  ‘Lud!’ Hetty peered over Lucia’s shoulder. ‘Is this the same boy?’ She cried out as Lucia twitched back the bedclothes and pushed up the sleeves of the improvised nightshirt to expose flesh rubbed red-raw; his legs were in the same state from thigh to below the knee.

  ‘That
is not all! Shall I show you his back where he has been beaten unmercifully by that brute? Oh, I wish I had him here this instant!’

  Hugo gazed down at the boy in silence.

  ‘I have been talking to one of your servants.’ Lucia was choking on the angry lump in her throat. ‘She says he cannot have been a climbing boy very long for his flesh is still tender; you see, their sores are rubbed every night with strong brine before a hot fire to harden the skin and if they will not submit they are beaten!’

  She dashed an impatient hand across her eyes. ‘Look at his feet! His master lights fires beneath him to make him climb ‒ or prods him with pins.’ She faced Hugo, tears now rolling down her cheeks. ‘What I want to know, my lord, is how are such things possible in a civilized society?’

  ‘Civilized? I sometimes wonder if we are!’

  ‘Then why do you not do something about it? You must have some influence?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘You could try!’

  ‘Don’t try to make a reformer of me, Miss Mannering!’ snapped Hugo. ‘I’m cast in the wrong mould. As for this scrap …’ He studied the child closely. ‘He’s no street urchin … observe the delicacy of the features.’

  ‘How does such a child fall into the hands of a man like that awful sweep?’ Hetty sounded subdued.

  ‘Probably stolen by gipsies … there’s a ready market for boys in most big towns ‒ and no questions asked.’

  The head on the pillow stirred and the eyes flickered open, bright blue and blurred with pain. They moved slowly from one face to the next. His gaze kept returning to Lucia, who was standing in a brilliant patch of sunlight.

  At last he addressed himself to Hugo in a hesitant, piping treble, ‘Please sir … am I in heaven?’

  Hugo was a little amused. ‘No, child ‒ why should you think so?’

  The boy’s eyes moved back to Lucia. ‘I thought perhaps she was an angel, sir,’ he ventured shyly.

  Bruno and Hetty collapsed into giggles, whilst Lucia in smiling confusion tried to quieten them.

  Hugo however gave the matter his serious consideration. ‘You know, young man, I believe that’s what she is! A truly avenging angel!’ A strange expression crossed his face and meeting it, Lucia’s heart beat a little faster.

  ‘Please, sir?’ The voice trembled with uncertainty. ‘Where am I then?’

  Hugo sat on the bed and took one fragile little hand in his, his thumb soothing the disfiguring scars and callouses. His gentleness was a revelation to Lucia until she recalled that he was used to dealing with younger brothers and sisters. ‘There is nothing to fear,’ he was saying quietly. ‘I am Lord Mandersely and you are in my house. You fell and hit your head. Do you remember?’

  The boy’s brow creased. ‘Never mind,’ said Hugo. ‘Can you perhaps tell me your name?’ After a moment, tears of panic welled up in the blue eyes.

  Lucia dropped on her knees. ‘Don’t cry, little one! You have had a horrid time! Try to sleep; you are quite safe with Lord Mandersely.’

  ‘Will you stay?’

  ‘I really ought to go.’ She looked at Hugo. ‘Well, perhaps just a few minutes if you will promise to go to sleep at once.’ The child obediently closed his eyes and soon his breathing grew deep and regular.

  As they were leaving, Hugo told Lucia she must feel free to visit the boy.

  ‘About this picnic, Hetty? Perhaps you will furnish me a list of those you wish to invite. Would Saturday be convenient?’

  Bruno stared. ‘But … you said …’

  ‘Hugo!’ shrieked Hetty, flinging her arms round his neck.

  He disengaged himself. ‘I propose Richmond Park. What do you think, Miss Mannering?’ It was a bland query.

  Lucia gave him a long, considering look ‒ and smiled. ‘I think Richmond Park would be splendid.’

  Chapter Nine

  When Hugo arrived in Portland Place on the morning of the picnic, Lucia scarcely noticed Sophia de Treves beside him, elegant beneath a lacy parasol, for the moment the curricle stopped, a diminutive figure was lifted down ‒ a figure in a spanking new suit, determinedly clutching a shiny new ball.

  The boy’s face lit up as Lucia ran forward, hands outstretched in welcome.

  ‘It’s my angel!’ he cried amid general laughter.

  The Marquis introduced him gravely as Master Daniel Maxwell.

  ‘Oh, you have remembered ‒ that is splendid!’ Lucia glanced up at Hugo, who shook his head. She gripped the child’s hands encouragingly. ‘I am so pleased his lordship has brought you along. I came to visit you two days since, but you were sleeping. I see you are now much better.’

  His hand tightened in Lucia’s. ‘Yes, thank you, Miss Mannering.’

  ‘My friends are permitted to call me Lucia or Lucy.’

  ‘Lucky friends!’ murmured the Marquis.

  She laughed up at him. ‘You are welcome, my lord ‒ if you are truly my friend.’

  ‘It wounds me that you should doubt it, dear child.’ There was a sardonic light in Hugo’s eye as he swung Daniel into the barouche and handed Lucia in after him.

  The Countess had watched this affecting little scene with an ill-concealed petulance which caused Hetty to mutter darkly that she would cast a blight on the day.

  That she did not succeed was due solely to the determination of the younger members of the party to enjoy themselves. They endured her sighing and picking at her food and escaped her repressing influence and general air of patronizing superiority as soon as possible, leaving her to retire to the comfort of one of the carriages, whilst Charles took Hetty and Felicity for a walk.

  Hugo obviously found his beloved’s behaviour less than endearing, for he very quickly came to sit beside Lucia on a rug in the sunshine, watching Daniel enjoying a boisterous game of football with Bruno and Tom Bellingham.

  ‘What will happen to him, my lord? Can he remember nothing beyond his name?’

  ‘Nothing of any consequence, but we shall find his parents, never fear. I am having extensive enquiries made, and with any luck his parents will also have instituted a search.’

  ‘You are taking a vast amount of trouble on Daniel’s account, sir.’

  ‘I am left with little choice, my dear; without a doubt I shall have an avenging angel breathing down my neck if I mistreat him.’

  ‘Oh, what humbug!’ Lucia blushed rosily. ‘I believe you have developed quite a fondness for the child.’

  There was a glimmer of a smile. ‘Perhaps. He is an engaging creature. Nonetheless, he goes to Mandersely next week. His continuing presence here could prove an embarrassment …’ he allowed a certain dramatic pause ‘… there are already strong rumours circulating in the clubs that I have had one of my bye-blows foisted upon me!’

  ‘Oh no! How … dreadful!’ Lucia choked and went off into peals of delighted laughter. ‘I’m sorry, my lord, but … oh dear, how d-dreadful!’ She put her hands to her face to stifle her mirth.

  Hugo regarded her with complaisance. ‘I rather thought that might amuse you.’

  A cool voice shattered the moment of harmony. Sophia stood restlessly twirling her parasol.

  ‘Hugo ‒ is it not time we were leaving?’

  ‘No hurry … the others are not back from their walk.’ Hugo unfolded himself easily and with a smile still lingering, he held out his hands to pull Lucia to her feet, steadying her as she stumbled. He picked up her charming straw bonnet, set it on her head and tied the ribbons expertly beneath her chin.

  The casual intimacy of this gesture was not lost on Sophia. Her lips tightened and Hugo, attributing her pettishness to boredom, reminded her in unlover-like tones that he had advised her against coming in the first place.

  The rest of the party returned to an atmosphere charged with undercurrents and it was soon decided that the best of the day had gone and they might as well pack up and go home.

  Lucia was beginning to find herself very much in demand as the weeks passed. News of her lovely voice spread
and when Mr Brummell himself signified his warmest approval, she was quite overwhelmed by the number of hostesses who requested, nay pleaded with her, to honour their own particular little gathering.

  ‘Individuality is the thing, Miss Mannering,’ said Mr Brummell in his droll way. ‘One should strive always to be out of the common. You have an unusually lovely voice ‒ use it with discrimination and it will open all doors for you.’

  Lucia soon became quite accustomed to performing in public and as her confidence grew, so her voice gained new depths of maturity.

  Meanwhile, Hetty was busy making her own mark on society and in a way that caused her aunt much unease. Not only did she flirt shamelessly with every young buck who dangled after her, but she had taken up with Kitty Cavanah, a lively redhead whose husband was a noted gambler. Since the pair were received everywhere, Aunt Aurelia found it impossible to forbid the connection.

  Charles however left Hetty in no doubt of his own view in the matter. He told her in no uncertain terms that if she continued along her present course she was courting disaster. This did not please Hetty at all.

  ‘You have no right to coerce me, Charles Conrad!’ she stormed. ‘I am not yet promised to you, nor am I like to be if you are determined to be so disagreeable!’

  ‘I am sorry, Hetty, I was under the impression that you felt for me the same degree of affection that I feel for you. It seems I was mistaken.’

  She glowered mutinously at him. He looked so stern and forbidding. Her lip trembled and two large tears welled up in the lovely eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

  Charles groaned. ‘Hetty darling ‒ don’t cry! I can’t bear it!’

  She flew at him. ‘Oh Charles ‒ I am a beast! I don’t mean to tease you so. I just can’t help being a little shocking.’

  With this Charles had to be content.

  Lucia was having problems of her own. Though still outwardly circumspect, Sir Gideon was becoming more persistent in his demands and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold him off.

  Every function became a nightmare if he was present, and Lucia was convinced that Hugo must soon hear some rumour. Since the picnic ‒ and with the Countess called away to the sick-bed of an influential relative ‒ they had been on the most agreeable terms. Much as she desired this happy state to continue, she became so edgy that she finally nerved herself to blurt out the whole wretched business and endure the dressing-down that would surely follow.