Whisper Always

by Rebecca Hagan Lee

"I don't care about social standing."

  "I do," Patricia warned her. "I've been in a precarious situation with the queen since your father left. And, well, London seasons are expensive, as are engagement parties and weddings. When this gentleman approached me, I thought, why should I spend all that money to give Cristina away, when this man is willing to pay for her? All you have to do is be his companion. Go where he goes, dine where he dines, sleep where he sleeps. What could be better?" Patricia waved a delicate hand in the direction of the door. "Now, go back to your room. Leah will bring you a bite to eat. He's sending his carriage for you tonight, so you have plenty of time to rest. Run along, I have a great deal to do."

  "You sold me?" Cristina refused to move.

  "It was better than paying someone to take you," Patricia replied with her own brand of indisputable logic.

  "I'm not leaving Fairhall with your gentleman, tonight or any other night."

  "You have no choice. You can't stay here in London without a chaperon and I'm tired of playing mother. A gentleman friend has offered me a month or two on the Continent with him and I've decided to accept. I'm closing the house until I return." Patricia's voice was coldly determined as she jerked the bellpull over her bed. Her bodyguard and sometime lover hurried to her side. "Claude, take Cristina to her room and keep her there until it's time for her to leave. Oh, and tell Leah to take her breakfast tray back to the kitchen. She can do without food for the rest of the day."

  Claude grabbed Cristina by the elbow and escorted her out of her mother's bedroom to her own room where he shoved her inside and turned the key in the lock. Cristina rattled the doorknob with all her might, but it did no good. She could beat upon it all afternoon and into the night, but the door would stay locked until Patricia decided to release her.

  Unable to withstand the urge, Cristina threw herself on the bed and hammered out her frustrations on the feather pillows, crying out her rage and humiliation in hot, bitter-tasting tears. She fell into an exhausted sleep and slept until the sound of the key turning in the lock once again made her sit up, muscles tense, nerves taut like tightly stretched wire. The door opened and Cristina relaxed, sudden relief washing over her pinched features as Leah entered the room.

  "Another quarrel, Miss Cristina? Why do you keep arguin' with her when you know she'll punish you?" Leah chided.

  "It seems a small price to pay for standing up to her. She thinks she owns me just because she gave birth to me. I have to show her that I'm a person in my own right, not one of her possessions." Bitter gall rose in Cristina's throat, threatening to choke her.

  "But your rebellion is all for nothin'," Leah pointed out. "It ain't done you a bit of good."

  "It helps me preserve my self-respect. It reminds me that I'm my father's daughter, not hers."

  "She's your mother, missy."

  "She isn't a mother," Cristina lashed out. "She's an expensive whore my father purchased for a while. She brought him nothing but pain, then drove him away."

  "Cristina!"

  "It's true, Leah, and you know it. My mother has the morals of an alley cat prowling from one torn to another. She's a whore and she's trying to make me one."

  "She wouldn't dare," Leah gasped, outraged. "Sir William wouldn't--"

  "Sir William is off exploring Africa. He isn't here to protect me. I'm being sold tonight to a certain wealthy gentleman with connections who admired me last night. I fetched a handsome price--the emerald necklace around her neck." Cristina struggled with her emotions, trying to sound detached and uncaring as her declarations of the previous night returned to haunt her. She put on a brave front, but inside she quivered. "It seems I'm to follow in her footsteps and I've no choice in the matter, not even in my future lovers."

  Leah wrapped her arms around Cristina and hugged her tightly. "Don't worry, missy, we'll think of something."

 

  First say to yourself what you would be; and then do what you have to do.

  --EPICTETUS c. 55-135 A.D.

 

  *Chapter Four*

 

  The carriage came for Cristina at midnight.

  A scarlet liveried footman knocked at the front door and waited patiently for his passenger to appear. Minutes later, the door opened and Claude ushered Cristina to the doorway.

  Her face was pale. The dark green of her dress and the upswept mass of copper curls emphasized the whiteness of her skin.

  The footman smiled reassuringly as he took her hand to lead her down the steps, but Cristina didn't respond. She stared ahead, seemingly unaware of his presence, failing to notice as he gripped her icy fingers through the fabric of her gloves and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. Or that he reached out to steady her as she hesitated before the carriage step. At the moment she was blessedly numb. Her world was shrouded in fog that blurred the edges of harsh reality and Cristina was grateful for that fog. The horrid, laudanum-laced tea Leah had poured into her eased the pain of the beating Claude had given her and Cristina was temporarily free from the pain in her backside and the agony of walking. The soles of her feet tingled, but she managed to step forward. The beating had convinced her to cooperate with the plan for her seduction, but Leah's medicine provided the soothing fog. She climbed into the carriage and closed her eyes, reveling in the blessed numbness that kept the pain at bay. Praying it would last the night.

  She dozed during the ride, finally forcing her eyelids open as the vehicle turned down the winding drive that led to the Prince of Wales's London residence, Marlborough House. The house was ablaze with lights, evidence of the party taking place. Splendid carriages, waiting to drop fashionably dressed partygoers, lined the drive to the house. Her coach didn't stop with the others. It continued down the path around the servants' wing to a private entrance where a young maid waited to escort her inside.

  They traveled a maze of passages before reaching the third-floor guest rooms.

  "You're to stay 'ere, miss." The maid threw open the doors to a lavish apartment.

  "There's been a mistake," Cristina tried to explain, but her voice sounded distant, unrecognizable, even to her own ears.

  "Oh, no, miss, there's no mistake. I was told to bring you 'ere and see that you were taken care of until the gentleman arrives. You're to make yourself at 'orae."

  "Thank you." Cristina spoke slowly and carefully, managing a tiny smile as she crossed the threshold into a chintz-covered sitting room. A welcoming fire warmed her, but she made no move to discard her traveling cloak.

  "Rest 'ere, miss, while I fetch your dinner. You must be starved. I bet you didn't get a bite to eat before you left."

  "I'm not hungry." Cristina smothered a yawn.

  "You might get 'ungry later on and you might as well be comfortable while you're waiting. It'll be a long while before that party breaks up. 'Is 'Ighness's parties never end before five in the morning." The maid said more than she should have, but she felt sorry for this girl who couldn't be any older than she was. She wasn't one of the regulars. You could tell by the looks of her that this one was a real lady. "Let me go get you a bite. Beggin' your pardon, miss, but it looks like you could do with a bite to eat. And a nice pot of tea will work wonders."

  Cristina grimaced. The thought of drinking tea after swallowing Leah's terrible concoction was enough to make her retch, but the maid was going out of her way to be kind and Cristina saw no point in offending her. She remembered her manners and tried to return the girl's kindness.

  "That's very good of you. I think I would like something to eat, but please, no tea. Bring anything but tea."

  "All right, miss. I'll be back before you know it." The maid bobbed a curtsey as she closed the door.

  Cristina sat by the fire trying to focus her thoughts on finding a way out of her dilemma. She should try to escape while the other girl was gone, but she knew she couldn't go very far in her present condition
. But once a bit of the numbness wore off...

  The pain would be agonizing. She knew that. But she also knew she had to find some way out. It was too far up for her to jump from the window, but there might be another means of escape.... Cristina squeezed her eyes shut. If only she could think clearly....

  " 'Ere you go, miss." The maid opened the door. "I brought you some supper and two bottles of wine to wash it down." She hesitated. "I 'ope that's all right."

  Cristina nodded.

  "All right, then, let's get you all comfy and tucked into bed. You can eat your supper there." She put the tray on a table near the fireplace and started toward Cristina.

  "No bed."

  "All right, just let me take your cloak." The maid spoke softly, slowly enunciating each word.

  "No, I think I'll keep it on," Cristina clutched the folds of her traveling cloak closer around her. "I don't want you to take my cloak."

  "Then why don't you come sit by the fire while I turn down the bed?" The maid patted the seat of a brocade chair near the fireplace. "You can sit here and eat. You don't want your food to get cold."

  Cristina sat down on the chair and picked at the food on her plate while the maid turned down the covers on the bed. Cristina glanced at the sheets. The bed was bigger than she'd imagined. She had read somewhere that one could make a rope by tying bed linens together. Forcing her brain to work, Cristina eyed the covers of the bed and the hangings speculatively. Were there enough sheets to make it to the ground from the third floor? Could she do it? She didn't know, but she knew she had to do something. When the maid left...

  But the maid wasn't leaving. She settled herself into a chair in one corner of the room, leaned her head against the wall, and closed her eyes.

  "Why don't you go to bed?" Cristina asked, smothering another yawn. "I'm sure I'll be fine. It must be late."

  The maid opened her eyes. "It was nearly one when you got 'ere."

  Cristina tried again. She had to escape before she became too sleepy to move. "You must be tired."

  "I am. I start work at 'alf-past six in the morning."

  Her answer shocked Cristina. "You mean you've been up since half past six this morning? And you're still working?"

  "I've been up since six, miss. I start work at 'alf-past six."

  "But it's so late. You'll be able to sleep in this morning and start work later?"

  "Oh no, miss," the maid seemed surprised by Cristina's assumption. "I start work at 'alf-past six like always."

  "That's only a few hours away. You must go to bed." Cristina's voice was firmer, steadier. Her eagerness for the maid to leave was tempered by concern for the girl's health.

  "I can't go to bed. Beggin' your pardon, miss, my orders are to stay with you until you're settled in bed."

  Cristina understood. How many times had Leah waited up for her postponing her own sleep until Cristina was in bed? She was very gentle as she spoke to the maid. "If you'll help me out of this dress ..."

  The girl rushed to do Cristina's bidding. She took the cloak Cristina handed her, then went to work on the fastenings on the heavy green brocade dress. Minutes later, Cristina stepped out of the dress and the three petticoats she wore under it. The laces of her corset were freed and she took a deep breath. This was much better. The unrestricted breath helped clear her head.

  "Do you want me to help tuck you in?" The maid asked when Cristina stood before her in her chemise.

  "No, thank you. I'll manage," Cristina turned and climbed into the huge bed, settling herself against the pillows and pulling the covers up to her chin for effect. She smiled at the maid. "See. I'm all settled."

  The girl returned her smile, then removed a bottle of wine and a glass from the supper tray and handed them to Cristina.

  "I brought plenty. His Highness won't miss it and the wine'll help dull the pain when he comes," she told Cristina before hurrying out of the room.

  Cristina slowly counted to one hundred, then scurried out of bed. She pushed the covers to the floor, and yanked the top sheet off the bed. She bit at the hem with her teeth, until she managed to rip a hole in it. Then Cristina grasped the sheet firmly in each hand and pulled. A loud tearing sound filled the room. She smiled in grim satisfaction, then removed the bottom sheet.

 

  Blake's head buzzed from the wine and cigar smoke. He feigned a grin as he accepted another glass of brandy from the Prince of Wales. The conversation had turned to racing, jockeys, and horses. Blake wondered if he could endure another hour. It was close to three in the morning and he had an appointment to see the queen at nine. It was time to make his move. Hoping Rudolf was too drunk to notice, Blake turned to the Prince of Wales.

  "May I have your permission to retire, sir?"

  The Prince of Wales looked up at Blake, his prominent eyes watering. "So soon, my boy?" he glanced over at Rudolf. "We're just getting started."

  "I'm afraid so, Your Highness. I have an early appointment with Her Majesty this morning."

  Wales shuddered slightly at the mention of his mother's name. "I understand. Duty calls, my boy, duty calls. Go find your bed." He smiled at Blake. "It does seem a shame for you to miss all the fun, though." He clapped his hands and called for more cigars. A large man, he was full of energy. Keeping up with the prince was a job in itself.

  "Thank you, sir." Blake stood up and bowed.

  The Prince of Wales nodded.

  As the door closed behind him, Blake heard the crown prince laughing at something the Prince of Wales was saying. Curiosity almost got the better of him, but Blake couldn't afford to waste more time by staying around to listen. He hurried through the rabbit's warren of passages through the servant's wing until he reached one of the back entrances. Opening the back door, Blake signaled his coachman. The vehicle halted in front of him. He snatched open the door and held his hand out to the passenger just as it started to rain.

  "Hurry," Blake urged. "We haven't much time."

  "All right, all right. Take it easy, guvnor." The cockney dialect coming from the lips of the beautiful woman startled him.

  She was older than Cristina, but her carefully painted face made her appear younger. Her hair was brighter, a brassier shade of red than Cristina's burnished copper, but her eyes were green. Blake couldn't believe his good fortune. Her resemblance to Cristina was astonishing. But her voice could give her away.

  "Don't talk," he warned. "The gentleman is sure to know the difference if you talk."

  "All right."

  "Don't talk," Blake warned again. "Just listen and nod your head yes or no."

  Her head bobbed up and down to indicate she understood.

  "Good. Now, are you certain you want to do this?"

  She nodded vigorously.

  "You can back out if you like," Blake told her. "I can find another means."

  "It's all right, guvnor. I know wot I'm doing. It ain't like I'm a bleedin' virgin or anything. For fifty pounds, I'd sleep with the queen herself. You ain't corruptin' me. I've been corrupted afore this."

  He clenched his jaw.

  She patted his arm. "I'm shuttin' up. I just wanted you to know I appreciate 'onesty. And, I really don't mind sleepin' with a crown prince for a night. Cor', wait till I tell the other girls!" She made a motion as if to button her lips.

  Blake lifted her down. "Then let's go."

  "Right behind ya, guv."

  Blake shot her a warning glare.

  "All right, all right, I'm shutting it!" She buttoned her lips a second time. "For good."

  Blake shook his head in exasperation. This whole scheme of his was too crazy to be believed and the worst of it was he didn't have the faintest idea why he was creeping around Marlborough House's halls in the middle of the night with a Cockney prostitute who couldn't keep her mouth shut. Why was he doing this? Why was he risking so much? It did
n't make a damned bit of sense. Running to Cristina Fairfax's rescue like a damned knight in shining armor. He was mad.

  "Slow down!" The girl beside him hissed the order.

  He automatically slowed his stride, reached down and gripped her elbow, then propelled her along beside him. He took the first set of stairs almost at a run. When she failed to keep stride, Blake swung her up and over his shoulder.

  "Now, wait a bloody minute!" She began as he placed one hand firmly against her rear end. "Ouch!" Her skirts cushioned the soft blow to her bottom. Her cry was one of surprise, rather than pain.

  "I thought your lips were buttoned," Blake muttered more to himself than to her.

  "They are!"

  "Really? I hadn't noticed. It must be the grating noise coming from them that keeps distracting me."

  "Are we there yet?" the girl asked when Blake came to an abrupt halt some minutes later.

  "Yes. Sssh!"

  "Put me down. I'm dizzy!"

  "Be quiet." Blake crept to the door of the apartments Rudolf was temporarily occupying. A silver tray containing an empty wine bottle and one glass sat on the floor in the hallway in front of the door. He knew Cristina was inside. He just hoped to God she was alone. Stepping around the tray he grasped the handle on the door and silently eased it open. It yielded an inch or so, then refused to go any farther.

  "Hurry before I toss up my dinner!"

  "Don't you dare!" Blake hastily stood the girl on her feet, eyeing her with suspicion.

  "Works like a charm." She smiled angelically. "Why don'tcha open the door?"

  "It's blocked with something. Probably furniture."

  The girl peered through the keyhole. "Looks like you're right, guv. She is unwilling, ain't she?"

  "Naturally," Blake snapped, concentrating on widening the opening without making any noise. "She's a young lady."

  Blake turned to look at his companion. "Can you squeeze through?" He stopped.

  Her expression was belligerent. Her eyes, so like Cristina's, shimmered in the meager light from the lamps.

  He realized what he'd said almost immediately and began to apologize. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to imply that you aren't a young lady. You are."

  "No, I'm not, guvnor." She brightened suddenly. "But it was nice of you to say so." She gave him a smile, then squeezed through the doorway.

  Blake waited impatiently while she cleared the furniture.

  "She ain't here, guvnor," the girl said as he shoved his way past the furniture.

  "Then where is she?"

  "Down there." She pointed toward an open window. A crude rope of knotted bed sheets hung over the casement.

  His heart almost stopped. "She didn't!"

  "She sure did." The girl whistled low in admiration. "Cut up the Prince of Wales's bed sheets, she did."

  "I don't give a damn about the bed sheets." Blake crossed the room in three quick strides. He kicked a half-empty wineglass as he reached the window.