by Claire Bott
I curtseyed demurely. ‘Thank you, my Lord.’
He shook his head and laughed. ‘Oh, don’t thank me. Thank the one who sent you to me – as, indeed, I intend to, when I see him again.’
‘And who might he be?’ I asked, unconcerned as to which of my clients he had been speaking to.
Sir Richard’s smile widened. ‘Oh, a large man, sturdily built. And, by-the-by, a Blackamoor.’
My hands clenched into involuntary fists, and I stared at Richard in amazement. ‘What did you say? Who – his name – tell me his name!’
‘Honoré Lechasseur.’
I sat down heavily on the bed. ‘You do know him.’
‘I know him. He sent me to find you.’ Sir Richard stood for a moment looking in my face, then shook his head in bewilderment. ‘So, he is dear to you, then? Well, you amaze me. I never would have thought such a lovely woman would have been driven to find comfort in a Blackam –’
I shot to my feet. ‘Do not call him that! Do not dare call him that!’
He shrugged. ‘Why not. It is what he is, after all. A plain, descriptive term.’
‘Not the way you say it. When you say it, it is an insult. A slur.’
‘Oh, come now! I have no hatred for Blackamoors, and this one in particular I have a certain fondness for. Why, he is staying in my house, I am helping him look for you. Does that argue dislike?’
I shook my head. ‘No; but you think him less than a man. I see it in the way you talk about him. Well, I tell you he is not. He is a better man than any I have met since.’ I shot a pointed look at this Sir Richard.
The young man scowled, and turned the conversation. ‘Well, in any case, I have been trying to find you for some time.’
‘You have found me. What now?’
Sir Richard leaned closer. ‘Now, we must find a way to get you away from here, and back to your friend.’
This, of course, was the moment when I could have demurred, could have said, ‘I do not wish to leave with you. I would rather stay here.’ I did hesitate a moment. But only one moment. Then, rising to my feet, I said quietly, ‘The bars on the window are padlocked from the outside.’
He looked at the window, then back at me. He nodded. ‘Stay awake this night, pretty Dove.’ Well, that would be easy. He took my hand, and kissed it again. ‘I take my leave of you.’
‘Wait!’ I said, as he turned away. ‘Tell Honoré that Emily is here. Tell him she is unhurt.’
He raised his eyebrows. ‘Who is Emily?’
‘His friend.’
Sir Richard bowed. ‘I shall tell him. Adieu, Dove, until we meet again.’
Then he was gone. I paced the room, waiting impatiently for Dan’s heavy tread in the corridor outside, accompanied by Emily’s lighter footsteps. Finally, I heard the floorboards creak, and a moment later Emily came in, looking puzzled.
‘That didn’t take very long,’ she said, looking at me quizzically. ‘Did he have a sudden attack of shyness?’
I took her hand and drew her away from the door, my finger to my lips. Together we waited in silence until we heard Dan move away from the door and down the stairs.
‘That man was sent by Honoré,’ I said.
She stared at me. ‘Honoré? But – how?’
‘I do not know. But I do not think he can be an impostor. I told him about the padlock on the window bars, and he said I was to remain awake tonight.’
‘I’ll stay awake with you.’
I smiled, and squeezed her hand affectionately. ‘Dearest Emily, it is no hardship for me to watch through the night, while it would be one for you. You must sleep, or at any rate try to. Only, lie down fully clothed, so as to be ready for what might occur.’
She smiled. ‘Are you sure you’ll be all right keeping watch on your own?’
‘Quite sure,’ I said confidently. Emily gave me a look that could have been interpreted any number of ways, but acceded to my request and settled down to sleep at the appropriate time.
By the time midnight struck, I was a nervous wreck. Every carriage that rumbled past in the street, every sudden unheralded noise, made me start and wonder if this was the moment. Always it was not, and I settled to watch once more. And always the next sound startled me anew.
I rested my forehead against the glass of the window, and tried to relax. The moon shone down brightly outside, lighting up the street below. It seemed strange that the same moon that lit those London cobblestones had peered in at me through the windows of Sir Edward’s house a lifetime ago.
Something large landed with a thud on the windowsill, and my view of the street was abruptly cut off. I leapt back, barely choking off the shriek that rose to my lips. A moment later I began to laugh shakily – for Lechasseur was crouched on the windowsill, grinning in at me. I darted across the room to the bed, and shook Emily gently out of her sleep. For a moment, she blinked at me, bewildered, then memory returned and she swung herself quickly to her feet.
Lechasseur had taken from his pocket something I now realise must have been a lockpick, and was tampering with the padlock. After a few minutes, he had it open, and pushed the bars aside. Then I drew up the sash, and Lechasseur dropped into the room. He had a rope tied about his waist, which he untied, and held out to Emily.
‘Just get onto the windowsill and hold on tight,’ he whispered. ‘Richard will pull you up.’ She scrambled out, and a moment later was hauled up out of sight. Then the rope was dropped down again. Lechasseur caught hold of it, and held it out to me.
I took it, and was hauled upwards.
As my head cleared the level of the roof, Emily reached out to heave me up. Sir Richard gave the rope one final tug, and through their combined efforts I landed safely on the rooftop. We lowered the rope one more time, and in another moment, Lechasseur was with us. Sir Richard caught me by the hand. ‘Come on!’ he whispered, and we ran.
We ran over the rooftops of London, the four of us, softly and swiftly in the chill of the night, scrambling past chimneys, leaping the gaps between buildings, the moonlight falling on us and the small sounds and smells of sleeping London drifting up to us as we went. And then it was a clamber down a sloping roof and a short drop to the ground, where Sir Richard’s carriage was waiting in the gloom. Suddenly, as we began to move off, the wild glory of our escape, the joy of being among friends, all overwhelmed me, and I lay back against the cushions of the seat and laughed for pure happiness. Then Emily began to laugh as well, for the same reasonless reasons as I, and we shrieked with laughter like fishwives while Lechasseur and Sir Richard looked at us as though we had run mad.
‘Well,’ I said, finally, when the storm had subsided, ‘we are much obliged to you gentlemen, much obliged indeed. But Honoré, I should like to know how you managed to arrive so opportunely. We certainly did not expect you.’
‘It’s a long story.’
I looked at the young nobleman. ‘Sir Richard, is your house near here?’
He smiled. ‘It is quite a distance, I should say.’
I turned back to Lechasseur. ‘You see? We have all the time you could require. And if it is, as you say, a long tale, I am quite sure that it will nevertheless be an interesting one.’
He shrugged. ‘Well, okay then.’
I settled myself against the cushions, and he began.
After the coach took off with me, Lechasseur, who had heard the cry ‘To London!’ and the beginnings of my indignant protest, chased down the road after us for a way. Then the coach began to pick up speed, and he abandoned the attempt as futile. Instead, he went back to the village, and asked the locals how he might get to London.
Why, by coach, they told him.
And when was the next coach due?
It was in a week’s time. In any case, a moment’s reflection reminded him that he had no money to pay the fare.
‘Is there an
y other way I could get to London?’
‘Walk,’ they said.
So he began to walk.
He did not, then, know that Emily had been taken to London as well. The only thing he did know was that the journey to London would be arduous and uncomfortable, and possibly dangerous as well.
He tramped down the road for all the first half of the day, until the sun stood high in the sky. It was almost noon when he heard the sound of wheels behind him, and turned to see a waggoner driving slowly along the road. Struck by a thought, he hailed the man, who stopped.
‘Aye, what is it you’re wanting?’
‘Are you going to London?’
The waggoner let out a deep, low laugh. ‘To London? Nay, not so far. But I’m going along the road that way for a while. Hop up, if you want to!’
‘I’m afraid I don’t have any money,’ Lechasseur said, climbing up to sit beside the man.
‘Nay, I don’t need thy money. Just glad to have a body to talk to.’ Having said this, the man lapsed into silence. After a long while, he added, ‘What takes you to London, then – a gen’leman like you, setting off wi’out money or a coach to carry you?’
‘I’m going to find a friend.’
At that, a gleam lighted in the man’s deep-set eyes. ‘Ho yes? Lady friend?’
‘Yes, actually.’
‘Pretty, is she?’
Lechasseur considered this. ‘Yes, I suppose she is.’
‘Ho yes,’ said the man with deep satisfaction, and gave another low, rolling laugh. After that, he fell silent again, rousing himself only at intervals to glance knowingly at Lechasseur, utter ‘Ho yes,’ in pleased tones, and laugh to himself. Lechasseur bore this as well as he could, largely because he didn’t think asking the man if he would kindly shut up would have done any good at all.
Finally, as the sun was beginning to sink, the man pulled his horse to a halt at a crossroads, and said, ‘I’ll be going this way. You need to turn that way, for the London road.’
‘Thank you very much,’ said Lechasseur, getting down.
‘You’re welcome, I’m sure.’ Then he flicked his whip and was off, looking over his shoulder briefly to deliver one final, triumphant, ‘Ho yes!’
Lechasseur shrugged, and headed off down the London road. The sun was setting, making the clouds glow golden in a lilac sky. Slowly it sank below the horizon, reddening as it went, leaving the sky to fade into a deep, rich blue. The stars began to come out, pale pin-pricks of light.
Lechasseur trudged on through the night, while the slow stars wheeled above him. And when the first grey light of dawn began to smudge the sky, he stood on the brow of a hill, looking down at the city of London. But still there were many hours of walking before him; it was past noon by the time he was well in among the streets and byways of the city.
Tired, footsore, hungry, parched, and distracted by his concerns, Lechasseur paid little attention to his surroundings. Nor did he notice when he turned down a dead-end, until he looked up and saw the blank wall rising before him. A little annoyed, he turned to retrace his steps.
‘Nah then,’ said the largest of the three thugs who stood blocking his way. ‘Give us yer money an’ no-one gets ’urt.’
Lechasseur sighed. ‘I don’t have any money.’
The man sneered and spat. ‘None o’ that, Blackamoor, none o’ that. You’re wearing a nice coat – yer can give us that for starters.’
Lechasseur took a step back, raising his hands in a conciliatory gesture. But the leader had balled his hands into fists and was stepping closer, followed by the other two. Lechasseur stepped back again and set his back against the wall, preparing to fight.
‘Hey, you! What’s going on here?’
The leader cast an unconcerned glance over his shoulder at the well-dressed young man advancing down the alley. He motioned to one of the other thugs. ‘Jonny, sort ’im out.’
The one addressed turned and lumbered towards the young man, who took a pace back. ‘Now, I would advise you to back off a little, I really would.’
‘Oh yes?’ grunted Jonny, raising his fist. ‘Or what?’
The young man kidney-punched him, fast and hard. ‘Or that, I’m afraid,’ he said, as the unfortunate Jonny folded up.
Then things became a little interesting. It was three against two, but one of the three was winded and both of the two were good, experienced fighters. It wasn’t long before the thugs fled in a body, leaving Lechasseur and the young man in possession of the field.
‘Well, sir, a lucky meeting for you!’ said the young man, in high good humour. ‘My name is Hampden, Sir Richard Hampden.’
‘Pleased to meet you. My name is Honoré Lechasseur.’
‘And what were you doing here? This isn’t a safe area simply to wander around in.’
‘To tell you the truth, I got lost. What are you doing here yourself, if it’s so dangerous?’
Richard grinned. ‘Visiting a girl. A very pretty one. In any case, they know me round here, well enough to stay away – and they shall know to keep away from you in future, by Jove! That was well fought, well fought indeed. I should like to square up to you myself some day, in the boxing ring, if I ever had the opportunity.’
‘Well, maybe some other time. Right now, I’m busy with something else.’
‘Oh yes? What?’
‘I’m looking for a friend of mine.’
Richard grinned broadly. ‘A girl, is it?’
‘Yes, as a matter of fact.’
‘In that case,’ Richard said, flinging his arm around Lechasseur’s shoulders, ‘You must tell me all about it. Come back to my house, we can talk there.’
‘... and I’m worried what’s happened to her,’ Lechasseur explained, rather later, over whisky in Sir Richard’s study.
Richard tapped his cigar into the grate. ‘Pretty, was she?’
‘I don’t know why everyone keeps asking me that. Yes, she was. Is.’
‘Well then, unless I miss my guess, she would have been taken to a brothel.’
‘What!’
‘Oh yes. Not all the girls in those places are there by choice, you know.’
‘No, I shouldn’t think they are.’
Richard took a long drag on his cigar, considering. ‘Well, there’s one very simple way of finding her. I’ll just have to make some discreet inquiries and find out which of the brothels have acquired new girls in the past day or so.’
‘And then?’
He tapped his ash into the fire again. ‘And then, my dear Lechasseur, I shall have to find out which of the new arrivals is your friend Dove, using more... direct means. It shouldn’t take me more than a week or so – I think I can probably manage at least one girl a night, don’t you?’
‘Well, I really don’t think –’ Lechasseur began.
Sir Richard lay back in his chair and laughed. ‘Oh, you are a prude, Lechasseur. Luckily for you, I am anything but – despite what you may have heard about me. I’ll find your friend for you. Just let me have my fun along the way, hey?’
Lechasseur sat back and regarded Sir Richard thoughtfully. ‘What do you mean – despite what I may have heard about you?’
‘My name means nothing to you?’ asked Sir Richard, a pained expression on his face.
‘’Fraid not.’
‘Why, sir, I am a Member of Parliament, and particularly noted, if I may say so, for my speeches about the sanctity of the family, the purity of a chaste woman.’
‘I guess that makes you quite a hypocrite, doesn’t it?’
Sir Richard leant forwards, his expression more serious than Lechasseur had previously seen it. ‘I cannot live this way all my life,’ he said quietly. ‘To be a debauchee at sixty would make a man ridiculous. And I do not care to sit by the fire and mumble over a pocketful of memories when I grow too old for g
aming and whoring. I want to be somebody. A minister, perhaps even in the Cabinet. To stand a chance of reaching such a height, I have to espouse popular causes. And what could be more popular than the defence of home and family? It is a theme every Englishman can thrill to. But do not think me a hypocrite, Lechasseur. You seem a good man, and I should hate to have you think ill of me.’
Lechasseur shrugged, and turned the conversation to other topics.
By the time our carriage arrived at Richard’s house, it was well past midnight. Lechasseur and Emily went yawning upstairs to the beds that had been prepared for them, leaving Richard and me alone in the library. He turned to me with a smile, and I knew the look in his eyes. Seeking to delay the inevitable, I turned aside and took up a book that was lying on a small table.
‘A Vindication of the Rights of Woman, by Mary Wollstonecraft. Do you like this book, Sir Richard?’
‘Oh! Lord no. Utter trash.’ He took it from my hands, and threw it back down on the table. ‘A pretty woman like you should not bother with rubbish such as that.’
‘If you think it rubbish, why did you buy it?’
‘Oh, I am working up a speech about the foul crowd of unnatural Amazons who seek to draw women out of their proper sphere. But why are we standing here talking? There are more interesting things we could be doing.’ He caught me by the shoulders, and brought his mouth down upon mine. I stood passive, enduring his kiss, and thinking: he has not even asked me. He has assumed I will do what he wishes me to do. He has not even asked me if it is what I wish for too.
I did not know if he treated me this way because I had been a whore, or if he would have reacted to any pretty woman in the same manner. Whichever was the case, I found – somewhat to my surprise – that I was becoming angry. I put my hands up to Richard’s chest, and gently pushed him away. ‘Sir Richard – who am I?’
He looked down at me, bewildered. ‘You are Dove.’
‘And who is Dove?’
‘Why, a remarkably pretty young woman.’
‘And – what else?’