by Fiona Monroe
"And Mrs. McAllister, she is out of town, you said?"
"She has gone to visit her father in Aberdeenshire. He is in poor health."
"Well, I hope that when she returns, you will both visit us at Charlotte Square."
She now wanted to disengage herself from this conversation. She wanted to go home. She did not believe that Mr. Keats was at the party or was likely ever to be, and she no longer much cared. She felt that she had made a complete fool of herself in front of Mr. McAllister. Her feelings and her intentions must have been entirely obvious, because he had always been clever. She had never doubted that.
She made a hasty curtsy and turned away from him to see Mrs. Campbell leaning behind Mrs. Hamilton and talking earnestly into her ear. To Margaret's surprise and consternation, both ladies broke off their conversation and looked, at once, directly at her.
Mrs. Hamilton rose to her feet and came toward her. "Miss Bell," she said in her low, melodious voice. She put her hand on her elbow and steered her firmly toward a corner of the room. "How delightful that you were able to come to my little gathering."
"Thank you for inviting me, madam." Margaret was puzzled by her hostess' manner.
"My dear Miss Bell, I really am charmed to see you after so long, but I wonder—there really is no delicate way to say this—I wonder that if, in future, your aunt might be a more appropriate chaperone for you."
"My aunt? My Aunt Cochrane?"
"I shall be sure to address my invitations to her in future. I am sorry I did not do that on this occasion; it was an oversight."
"Oh! No. My Aunt Cochrane does not like to go into company; that is why I came with Mrs. Douglas instead."
"Yes, the fact is, dear Miss Bell, I have to be very careful to maintain the integrity of my soirees, particularly with Mr. Hamilton's practice having grown to be so extensive. He has many patients amongst the clergy and the elders of the Kirk. As you know, I often invite poets and lady novelists and others of a literary bent, and some people are apt to question the respectability of such characters—"
"That is so very unfair!" Margaret cried. "Mrs. Hamilton, you should pay no attention to such prejudice!"
"But I must, for the sake of my husband's reputation. If I am to invite the occasional celebrated poet whose private conduct might not stand up to scrutiny—because it is not all prejudice—then I cannot also be seen to play host to ladies who have forfeited the right to be considered part of respectable society. And my dear Miss Bell, to speak frankly, it pains me to see you in the company of such."
Margaret stared at her, dumbfounded. "What do you mean?"
"Can it be that you do not know?" Mrs. Hamilton dropped her voice. "My dear, your friend, Emmeline Douglas, is living under the protection of General Macintosh, of St George's Square."
"Under the protection?" Margaret repeated in a whisper, feeling the floor sway beneath her. She could not even be affected to misunderstand the import of the phrase.
"Yes. Most blatantly. He has taken a set of rooms for her in Hanover Street and provided everything for her. He visits her there almost every day."
"But—"
"And Mrs. Macintosh is left behind at the general's estate in Perthshire, said to be awaiting her next confinement."
"But Mrs. Hamilton, I am sure Emmeline would never—General Macintosh?" She thought she knew of him, a stiff-backed, heavy-set military gentleman with a quantity of grey moustaches and a weathered complexion, practically an old man. Surely, Emmeline would never stoop to such an arrangement and with such a person.
"I'm afraid it is all over town, Miss Bell." Mrs. Hamilton spoke regretfully, but firmly. "I had heard something, myself, a day or two ago, and was not sure what to believe. But Mrs. Campbell confirms it. Her maid is sister to the maid engaged by the general for Mrs. Douglas. Mrs. Campbell tells me that her maid's sister is thinking of giving notice, as she does not like to be in an immoral household."
"Servants' gossip!" Margaret exclaimed with contempt. She added quickly, "I am sorry, Mrs. Hamilton, but I cannot believe it."
"Miss Bell, Mrs. Campbell does not wish her daughter to be exposed to the company of such a woman, and that is quite understandable. I am afraid I am going to have to ask your friend to leave the house. I am doing you the courtesy of warning you, and I would like to say again, you, yourself, will always be welcome here, so long as you are accompanied by respectable companions."
"You need not trouble yourself, madam," said Margaret, tears starting behind her eyes. She hurried away from her hostess, not caring about the discourtesy, and blundered through the throng to where Mrs. Douglas was still talking with Sir Duncan Buccleuch and Lord John Dunwoodie.
"Emmeline," she muttered urgently. "I must speak with you."
Emmeline was throwing her head back, laughing or affecting to laugh at some witticism from the gentlemen, and turned to look at her with a brilliant smile still lighting up her features. She was not a great beauty, but her face was full of character, and tonight, she looked as well as she ever had. Margaret stared at her with sudden queasy disquiet.
Could one tell, merely from looking at a woman's face, if she had fallen? Would not the disgrace, the stain, be evident in her eyes and in the tone of her voice? Was it possible that a lost creature could look and sound just as she ever had?
"Miss Bell!" Emmeline cried. "Did you know that Lord John is a poet? Lord John, Miss Bell is passionately fond of poetry, particularly that of the present age. I am sure she would love to read your work."
"Pray do not encourage him, madam," said Sir Duncan. "He is apt to be insufferable on the subject."
Margaret made a quick, desultory bow toward Lord John and repeated, "Emmeline. Please."
She was aware of the eyes on them now as she steered Mrs. Douglas out of the room with her arm linked into hers. Not merely Mrs. Campbell's and Mrs. Hamilton's, but Mr. McAllister's and the myriad looks of disapproving matrons and curious, whispering girls, and the amused, speculative gaze of gentlemen.
In the hallway, all was quiet and deserted, apart from the tall footman, who looked bored at his station at the top of the main staircase. As Margaret and Mrs. Douglas came out, he sprang to life, bowed, and indicated a door across the landing.
"Margaret," Mrs. Douglas began with a laugh. "I have no need—"
Margaret hushed her, until they were through the door indicated, and it was firmly closed behind them.
They were in what looked like a second parlour, smaller than the drawing room and much darker. A single candelabra on a sideboard cast a pool of light bright enough to illuminate a screen, behind which were the chamber pots provided for the guests' convenience.
Margaret kept hold of Emmeline's arms. "Please," she said. "Please, tell me it is not true."
She saw quite clearly a succession of thoughts and emotions play across Emmeline's features. Surprise, amusement, dismay, and even contempt. "So," she said at last. "One of those spiteful old cats has told you about my arrangement with General Macintosh?"
"Your arrangement? Oh, Emmeline." She let go of her and fell away. She thought for a moment she might faint.
"Dear Margaret. You are so impractical. What would you have me do? You know that my parents died penniless and Mr. Douglas left me with nothing but debts. And then your aunt obliged me to leave your home. I have to live somehow."
"Yes! Somehow! But not this! How could you—throw away everything—how could you have so little self-regard—"
"I cannot afford self-regard," said Emmeline, her tone hardening. "Without fortune and without a home, my chances of marrying again were almost non-existent. I will not bind myself in servitude to some family and live on their sufferance or at the mercy of their horrid children. I want to live like a gentlewoman. The general has been very good to me." Her hand went to the rubies glistening at her neck.
"Jewels! How can you take jewels in exchange for your honour—your reputation—"
"You know nothing about it!" Emmeline cried, breaking
out in anger. "You are a child!"
Margaret turned from her in disgust and left the room, trying to hold back the tears. She succeeded until she was at the foot of the staircase, but there, she had to stop and sink onto a bench in the cool darkness of the hallway and give way to a brief burst of sobbing.
What was she going to do now? She could not bear to return upstairs to the party in the drawing room, where everyone would know by now that she had arrived in the company of a woman of ill repute. She did not want to see Mr. McAllister again, either. But how was she going to get home? She could not go with Mrs. Douglas. She could never speak to Mrs. Douglas again.
"Miss Bell?"
Margaret started and looked up. Halfway down the stairway was the tall, elegant form of Lord John Dunwoodie, looking over the banister at her with an expression of kindly concern on his handsome face. He had rather the aspect of a Greek god, she thought suddenly.
"Are you ill?" he asked, coming down further. "Shall I fetch Mrs. Hamilton?"
"No!" Margaret yelped. Mrs. Hamilton was another person she felt at this moment she could never see again. "I am quite well, sir. I am—" She gulped, her words trapped in her throat. She wanted nothing more than to be left alone, but at the same time, she yearned desperately for a friend.
"Let me bring you a drink." He started to go back up the stairs.
"No!" she cried. "No, thank you, sir. I do not want a drink."
"Then how may I help you? It pains me to see a young lady, alone and in distress." He came down to her and stood by her. After a moment, when she said nothing more, he sat respectfully at the end of the bench.
Margaret struggled to regain her composure. "You are very kind, Lord John," she said, and she found that she meant it. His quiet, masculine presence beside her was reassuring. She felt a sudden longing for a man to belong to her; men could go out into the world and do as they pleased, men could fight for their principles or their loved ones with fists or swords, men could make anything happen. "All I want is to go home."
"Then let me call your carriage!" he said with energy, standing up.
Margaret was about to protest that she had no carriage, when she realised that it was impossible that she should explain why she could not return home in the same way that she had arrived. She felt the shame of it burning so hot that it seemed to scald her from head to foot, innocent and ignorant as she had been. She could not leave the party in Mrs. Douglas's company, and she certainly could not be conveyed home in a carriage that had been paid for by the wickedest sin. But she could not explain this to Lord John, even though he might already have heard all about it from Mrs. Campbell or Mrs. Hamilton or even from his friend, Sir Duncan Buccleuch.
Did he think, in fact, that she was of a kind with what Mrs. Douglas had become? Was that the reason he had pursued her down here? Did he think that she, too, might trade her honour for a string of pearls and a new gown? She was mortified. This man had never met her before; there was no reason why he should think anything else. For the first time, Margaret fully felt how delicate a woman's reputation was. Without the protection of a man, or a married woman of unassailable respectability, she was desperately vulnerable.
It was not footling social convention, to be disregarded by bold and rational people. It was reality.
Lord John was taking the steps two at a time with a spring in his heel, signalling for the attention of the attendant footman.
She could not leave the party with Emmeline, and it was Emmeline's carriage which would be called if Lord John spoke to the footman. Nor could she allow herself to be sent home in anyone else's carriage, because that would mean being conveyed to the front door of the house in Charlotte Square, where her uncle, aunt, and cousin would already have gone to bed. Her arrival there would rouse the servants and then the family, and her escapade would be discovered.
She had no choice, and she had to act quickly. While her would-be gallant was at the top of the stairs talking to the servant, Margaret opened the front door with her own hand and slipped through, down the few front steps, and out onto the street.
From Mrs. Hamilton's house at the upper end of Queen Street to Charlotte Square, was a walk of only ten minutes or so along the quiet, wide streets of the New Town. Even at near-on midnight, this home of the capital's wealthy and respectable was safe enough even for a solitary female. Across the bridge, up on the ancient hill around the castle, were the squalid alleys and festering closes of the Old Town, where a woman alone would surely be robbed or worse if she ventured out of doors at night without protection. Yet Margaret had never felt so afraid, so exposed and uneasy in her life as she did on that short walk home.
She hurried along, her feet cold and bruised through the thin kid soles of her evening slippers, her skirts bunched in both hands to lift the hem from the pavement, afraid of pursuit from behind, terrified of attention from the few people she passed. She heard a carriage rattling up behind her, and she was convinced for a moment that Emmeline must be chasing her. But it did not slow and continued on past her toward Charlotte Street. Margaret halted for a moment and watched it go, bitterly envying whoever was cocooned safely within.
She glanced behind her. Mrs. Hamilton's house had been swallowed up in the dark of the night, and she could see nobody coming after her.
On the other side of the wide street, however, a figure in policeman's uniform was silhouetted under a lamp. He seemed to be looking at her, and Margaret bowed her head and picked up her pace. There was only one reason why a woman in elegant clothing would be walking the streets alone at midnight, and doubtless the officer suspected her of it. If he crossed the road to confront her, she would have to confess her name and address, and he would escort her home, and the outcome would be disastrous.
She reached the far end of Queen Street without the officer or anyone else pursuing her, and she relaxed just a little. It was a distinct relief to reach the mews street behind Charlotte Square and disappear into the cover of its darkness.
But as she moved deeper into the mews, the light from the street lamps faded behind her and she had to find her way along the narrow street by running her fingers along the rough walls of the adjoining stable blocks. She startled a couple of times as, close by, a horse snorted and stamped. It seemed to take forever before she found the back of her own house, or what she was fairly certain was her own house. She could see nothing, no sign of a light within.
With a feeling of profound relief, she pushed down the latch of the back gate.
The latch rattled up, but the gate itself—in truth, a wooden door set into a high, blank stone wall—remained resolutely unmoved.
In mounting panic, Margaret rattled the latch up once more, twice more, and pushed as hard as she could on the door. It would not yield, remaining solid against her hand and then her shoulder.
She leaned against the door, overwhelmed with misery, and for the second time that evening, gave way to a storm of tears.
"Miss Bell."
She screamed.
The figure manifested itself like a phantom out of the deep darkness of the mews alley. Margaret clamped a hand to her mouth to stop herself crying out again, for she saw in a moment that it was only the tall, elegant form of Lord John Dunwoodie. He put a hand on her arm, and she saw it was gloveless. He was wearing no coat and no hat, either.
"Forgive me for startling you, madam," he said. His well-modulated voice sounded very loud in the dark, deserted lane.
"Have you been following me?" she blurted out in a half-whisper.
She glanced up at the windows above the stable, where Dodds and his family were presumably asleep, but there was no sign of life.
"Forgive me," he said again. "I meant to make sure that you got home safely. The streets are no place for a young lady alone at night."
"I have no need of assistance," she hissed back then added, with a belated attempt at politeness, "your lordship."
"Is this your house?" He glanced up at the blank stable wall and the dark, si
lent bulk of the building beyond. "Forgive me, Miss Bell, but this seems an extraordinary avenue of entry. Also, I cannot help but notice, you are having no success in gaining that entry."
Margaret gave the door handle another futile, furious rattle, hoping that her tears were concealed in the darkness.
"Is no servant waiting up for your return?" persisted his lordship.
She had an awful suspicion that he knew, or guessed, the truth.
"Let me escort you around to the front door," he said. His hand was still on her elbow, pressing with gentle insistence. "Surely, there won't be anyone watching at the back of the house to let you in."
"Leave me alone!" Margaret cried and broke away from him at a run. She stumbled back down the mews lane, her slippered feet slithering unheeding into horse manure.
It was only because he caught her from behind that she did not tumble full length onto the filthy cobbles.
Shakily, Margaret brushed down the skirt of her gown ineffectually with her hands. Her hair had come partially loose, and she could taste her own tears at the corner of her mouth.
"Come on," said Lord John, with decision, and he tucked her hand firmly under his arm. "I will take you to your front door and see you safely home."
Chapter 7
She had no other choice, as getting into the house unseen was clearly going to be impossible. She could not face the long walk around the terrace alone in her distressed, dishevelled state. It was easier to capitulate to the determination of Lord John and allow herself to lean on his arm as they made their way back along the mews and around into Charlotte Square, itself.
Although her heart was beating fast with dread as they approached the front of number seventeen, she nonetheless found herself enjoying the sensation of Lord John's strength supporting her and the comforting feeling of protection.
"Number seventeen?" he asked.
"Yes, your lordship."
"See, there is a light in the hallway. You won't have to dismiss your servant after all."