‘Yes, miss, I’ll tell him.’ The clerk gave her a deferential smile. ‘Now, if there’s nothing else?’
Charlotte stepped aside, and the next patient moved into her place. Clasping her hands together she cast an apprehensive glance past the clerk down the hospital corridor towards the children’s ward at the bottom.
Stepping closer, Josiah took her elbow.
‘Come on, Charlotte,’ he said, softly. ‘You’ve done all you can.’
Charlotte looked up into Josiah’s dark eyes and forced a smile. ‘I know, it’s just that I’ve seen other children succumb so swiftly.’
‘I know, I’ve seen it myself,’ he replied. ‘But we ought to get back.’
She nodded and allowed him to lead her through the crowd towards the hospital entrance but as he pulled open one of the glazed doors a gust of wind nearly ripped her bonnet off and she only just managed to grab it in before the ribbons gave way.
Putting himself between the raging weather, Josiah guided her through the door and into the street.
Although the front of the hospital was on Borough High Street, one of the few paved streets south of the river, you wouldn’t have known it as the rainwater was lapping around their feet as it ran in torrents towards the river. Within minutes her stout walking boots were soaked and Charlotte could feel the damp seep between the stitching.
Small waves rolled over the water’s surface as the costermongers pushed their barrows home over the submerged cobbles. Grabbing her skirt Charlotte had to hold it indecently high to avoid the muddy waters as she and Josiah carefully picked their way along the flooded street.
As instructed, they found Eddie Penfield sinking a swift half in the overflowing, smoke-filled bar of the George Inn coaching tavern a few doors up from the hospital. Having told him how Eliza and Billy were faring, Josiah helped her up onto the wagon’s front seat then jumped up beside her ready for the journey east along Tooley Street to Rotherhithe. Although Mercury flattened his ears in protest at the driving rain and the waterlogged ground dragged on the wheels, they made good progress and by the time they’d crossed over St Saviour’s Dock the rain had abated, but when they reached the bogland straddled by Jamaica Row, the road turned to mud. Leaving Charlotte perched on the seat, Josiah and Eddie got down and walked alongside to lighten the load. However, by the time the axle wheels of Eddie’s wagon sank for the third time, it was clear that the horse and cart could make it no further.
‘I’m sorry, Miss Hatton,’ said Eddie, the rain lashing his face as he spoke. ‘I’m going to have to take the old fella out of the shaft and see out the storm in one of local ale houses.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Charlotte, gathering her coat around her as she prepared to get down. ‘It’s only half a mile, we can walk.’
Reaching up, Josiah grasped her firmly under each arm and lifted her down.
‘You’re a bit lighter than most of the stuff I usually have to shift about,’ he said, squeezing her waist as he set her on her feet.
Standing in his arms a warm glow started in Charlotte, despite the chilly damp of the evening.
‘Take this,’ bellowed Eddie, unhooking one of his coach lamps. ‘There should be enough oil to see you home.’
Josiah tickled her waist again and then let her go.
‘Thank you,’ he said, taking it from Eddie.
Eddie touched his forehead and went to unharness the unsettled horse.
Josiah turned, and the mellow light from the lamp shone on his face. His hat had protected his face from the rain but every other part of him was soaked. His great coat was drenched, showing the fabric on the shoulders as at least two shades darker, his breeches were splattered with mud and his long boots were caked in the same.
‘If we stay close to the cottages,’ he said, as the wind buffered his back he used his body to protect her from the bluster, ‘they should shield us a little.’
Charlotte nodded and, tucking her hand tightly into the crook of his arm, leaned into him as he guided them down the road between the puddles and potholes. Turning their faces away from the merciless wind they continued on until they finally reached Swan Tavern toll booth but as they rounded the corner into West Lane they were stopped dead by a torrent of muddy water. The market gardens on the Seven Islands, which sat in the middle of the usually tranquil Mill Stream, had already disappeared as had the towpath which was now under a raging flood.
‘Looks like the high tide and the rain have breached the docks again,’ Josiah said, shouting to be heard above the gusting wind. ‘And look.’
Holding her battered bonnet in one hand, Charlotte followed the line of his index finger.
‘The bridge is swamped,’ she said, as streams of water forced upwards by the back surge from the river cascaded over the arched brickwork.
Josiah’s eyes flickered over her and he frowned. ‘You’re soaked. I need to get you in the warm and dry before you catch a chill. We’ll have to walk down to Blue Anchor Farm and then cut across the Deptford Road there.’
‘That’s if that’s not flooded, too,’ she replied. ‘And it’s a four-mile round trip.’ She gripped the sodden arm of his coat. ‘We could go to your new cottage in Cherry Gardens?’
‘We could but Ezra is on night shift,’ he replied, the water running in a stream from the central dip of his hat brim. ‘If someone found out that you had been alone with me in my house you’d be ruined.’
A heavy raindrop plopped from Charlotte’s bonnet onto her nose and she pulled a face.
‘Look, Josiah, I appreciate you’re concerned for my reputation, but the bridge is impassable, the field waterlogged and we’re both soaked to the skin so, unless you want us both to contract double pneumonia, I suggest we head to the warm and dry of your cottage.’
***
Josiah stared down at her and pressed his lips together. Apart from the obvious risk to Charlotte’s reputation, there was the added danger that if her father got wind of their involvement their plans to elope would be doomed, but what choice did he have?
They were both soaked to the skin and although she joked about them catching a lung ague, they very well could if they didn’t get to shelter and dry out at least their outer clothing before trudging across farm tracks on the long way home.
‘Very well, if you’re sure,’ he said, taking her small gloved hand in one hand and slipping his arm around her waist. ‘Watch where you tread and keep close.’
Stepping around the potholes and the wagon tracks, they headed towards the river but then turned off the main thoroughfare at Rope Walk.
As the lights above the front doors of the grand houses on West Lane no longer shone across their path, Josiah had only the failing light from the lamp to light their way to his and Ezra’s newly rented cottage at 10 Green Bank.
The lamp spluttered out just as he turned the key in the front door to let them in. The passageway was only just wide enough for one person to pass through comfortably so he stood back as far as he could to let her pass but it was still a tight fit and she skimmed against him as she sidestepped in. He shut the door, plunging them into darkness. He bumped into her and her hands went to his chest.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as her fingers seemed to sear through the fabric to his skin.
‘It’s my fault.’
He stepped to one side and she did the same.
They collided again, and Charlotte stumbled.
Josiah’s arms shot around her and she grabbed his upper arms.
‘Sorry again,’ she giggled.
He laughed too. ‘I’ll get a light.’
Reaching above to the door lintel, Josiah found the candle and tinderbox. He struck the flint and lit the tallow candle, which illuminated them in a pale-yellow glow.
She smiled, her eyes enormous in the subdued light.
He smiled back and took her hand. ‘Follow me.’
He led her along the passage to their scullery, hearing mice scamper away as they entered the room.
‘You bring the chairs to the fire and I’ll get it back to life,’ he said.
Lighting the two candles on the mantelshelf, Josiah turned his attention back to the embers still glowing in the fire grate. Ezra had damped down the fire before he left for work so Josiah added kindling to the embers, then a shovelful of coal.
By the time the first flames were lapping around the coals, Charlotte had taken off her sodden bonnet and set it to dry on the kitchen table. She had also brought two wheelback chairs over to the fire.
‘That’ll soon warm the room,’ he said, rubbing his hands together.
‘I’m feeling the heat already,’ said Charlotte. She glanced around. ‘This is a snug little cottage and much better than your previous lodgings.’
‘We only moved in a week ago,’ said Josiah, hooking his hat on a nail at the side of the fireplace. ‘Yes, I know it looks a bit sparse at the moment but we thought we’d let Sarah set the house as she likes it after she and Ezra are wed. I’ve put my things into my room at the front so I don’t end up playing gooseberry to the newlyweds.’
‘Good idea,’ said Charlotte. Her eyes flickered across his shoulders. ‘You’d better get that coat off before the damp soaks through.’
‘You too,’ said Josiah.
They stood facing each other for a moment then, giving him a shy smile, Charlotte started unfastening her buttons and Josiah did the same.
Josiah shrugged off his coat and draped it over the back of one of the chairs then took Charlotte’s from her and hung it over the one next to it.
‘My jacket’s damp too so I’ll have to take that off,’ said Charlotte, smiling up at him as she unfastened the first button.
She didn’t know, of course, what effect her dancing eyes and slightly parted lips were having on him, but they were drawing him into recklessness, nonetheless.
‘Are you sure,’ he said, trying to keep his eyes on her face and not her breasts as she stretched backwards to slip the garment off.
‘You ought to do the same before the damp soaks through into your waistcoat and shirt.’
Josiah was about to argue but then her long plait that had been secured at the back of her head suddenly lost its mooring and fell over her shoulder.
‘Bother,’ said Charlotte. Catching the tied end which dangled past her waistband, she looked at him. ‘Have you got a towel?’
‘Yes,’ said Josiah. ‘I’ll fetch one.’
He went into his bedroom at the front of the house and snatched his towel off the wash rail but as he turned he caught sight of his bed, neatly made with the patchwork bedspread his eldest sister had given him a few Christmases before.
With a jumble of images flashing though his mind, Josiah stared at it for a long while. Feeling suddenly warm, he undid the knot of his neck tie, loosened it a little and unfastened his top shirt button.
Tearing his eyes from the bed, Josiah squared his shoulders and, strengthening his resolve, he marched back into the scullery.
Charlotte had removed her wet shoes and was standing in her stockinged feet on the rag rug in front of the fire. She was wearing the simple day dress that he’d seen her wearing several times before. He stood for moment, appreciating the manner in which the moss-green stripes highlighted her gentle curves, but what caught his attention in the glowing firelight was the fact she’d unwound her wet hair and was combing its luxurious length while the glow from the fire highlighted the auburn threads in its deep-brunette tone. If the sight of her sensually unbound hair wasn’t enough to stop him in his tracks, what had really caught his attention was that she’d removed the lacy shawl that had been draped around her neckline allowing him to appreciate the pleasing swell of her breasts unobscured. Feeling an ungentlemanly stirring in his loins, Josiah strolled over.
She looked around as he drew near and smiled.
‘I hope you don’t mind.’ She held up his comb. ‘I found it on the mantelshelf.’
‘Not at all,’ he said, his gaze capturing her lovely eyes.
She must have read his thoughts because she arched her neck and her mouth widened.
They stood motionless, staring at each other for several pounding heartbeats then, with one swift movement, Charlotte threw herself into his arms and pressed her lips onto his.
Although his conscience and honour screamed at him to stop, Josiah slipped his hand around her slim waist and then closed his mouth over hers in a demanding kiss. Her lips parted under his and her ungloved hands rested lightly on his chest. Despite his waistcoat and shirt beneath it, he felt her hesitant fingers as if on his bare skin and almost tore the fabric away to make it so.
For several heartbeats they stood locked together then, mindful of his duty as a gentleman, Josiah tore his lips from hers and put her from him.
She raised her head and her eyes, heavy with desire, locked with his.
If you love her you would stop right now, he told himself.
‘Josiah,’ she murmured, reaching forward to touch him again.
Another heartbeat passed as Josiah lost himself in the angle of her cheek, the shape of her brow and the sparkle of her eyes, then he stepped closer.
‘Sweetheart, we shouldn’t,’ he said, capturing her searching hands.
Her eyes flickered down briefly onto the bare triangle of skin between his shirt collar, then returned to his face. A wry smile lifted the corner of Charlotte’s mouth sending need crashed around in his brain.
‘Charlotte, I think perhaps we—’
‘And I think,’ she interrupted, removing her hands from his and placing them on his chest, ‘your waistcoat looks a little damp. So I suggest…’ She smoothed her hands under his open waistcoat, ‘you take it off.’
***
With the sheet pulled up just high enough to skim her breasts, Charlotte turned her head and looked at Josiah on the pillow beside her. He lay with his eyes shut and the arm furthest away from her outstretched. Although the rain still drummed against the windows, after they’d made love for the second time, Josiah had brought through a shovelful of coal from the scullery and lit the fire, so the room was warm.
They were lying in Josiah’s brass bed in the small front room that was both his office and bedroom. The curtains were closed and in front of the window stood a solid oak desk on which various rolled charts were stacked, like the small organ pipes in St Mary’s. Her gaze moved across to the five-drawer dresser against the far wall and the four pegs beside it with Josiah’s clothes hanging from them. There was a small pivot mirror on the top and a china tray with a set of shirt studs, a comb and penknife and the other small, intimate things that most men owned.
Having taken in the details of the room, Charlotte returned her gaze to the man beside her. He had ripped off his shirt somewhere in the proceedings and it lay crumpled on the floor alongside her gown and the rest of their clothes. Having run her eyes along the strong line of his profile, Charlotte shifted downwards onto his broad chest with its dark curls that continued down the centre of his flat stomach. His physique reflected his profession as, even relaxed, every muscle of his body was visible under his tanned skin. A little fizz of excitement rolled through her and she was tempted to run her hands over him again but resisted, not wanting to seem too bold. She smiled to herself. Too bold!
As Josiah’s mouth had closed over hers, all the half-understood excitement and anticipation that had hovered around her from the first moment she set eyes on him gathered together and exploded over her. It was as if a different Charlotte, a Charlotte she’d vaguely been aware of since she reached womanhood, suddenly took control.
This Charlotte was not the demure daughter of a clergyman but a woman in love, completely and utterly in love with the man whose kisses brought her alive and whom she would love until the last breath left her body. And this Charlotte wasn’t afraid to show it.
Her eyes strayed downwards, curious, but Josiah had repositioned the sheets across his hips. Her gaze lingered there a moment, then returned to his face t
o find him looking at her.
She smiled.
His lips pulled into a firm line as he rolled towards her and pushed up onto one elbow.
‘I swore to myself I wouldn’t take advantage of you,’ he said.
‘You didn’t.’ She shifted sideways to face him. ‘In fact, if the truth were told I took advantage of you.’
He gave a rueful smile.
‘True.’ He reached out and traced his finger lightly along her shoulder, sending an exciting shiver through her. ‘It can’t be undone.’ He leant forward and kissed her. ‘I wouldn’t wish it so, but what if—’
Reaching across, Charlotte placed her index finger on his lips.
‘We’re leaving in eight weeks, so it doesn’t matter,’ she said, more than a little thrilled at the thought of conceiving Josiah’s child.
He sighed. ‘It’s a pity we can’t go sooner.’
‘I agree but we can’t leave until Sarah and Ezra are wed and then you owe it to Isambard and his father to stay until after the shareholders’ banquet in September,’ said Charlotte.
‘You’re right,’ said Josiah. ‘But after a year of waiting...’
Running her gaze over the face she would open her eyes and see for the rest of her life, Charlotte smiled. ‘I love you.’
‘I love you too,’ he replied, running a finger lightly along her cheekbone.
Lying facing him, Charlotte basked in his love for several heartbeats before a twinge of conscience jabbed in her chest.
She frowned.
‘What’s the matter, sweetheart?’ he asked, looking anxiously at her.
‘I feel terrible about humiliating Nicolas in front of all his family by leaving him at the altar,’ she replied. ‘I wish I could break up with him rather than just abandon him, especially as he’s still grieving for his mother.’
‘I understand how you feel,’ he said. ‘But we can’t risk alerting your father.’
I know.’ Charlotte sighed. ‘But I’ll write to him as soon as we are safely married to apologise.’
‘Well, as much as even I can’t help feeling a little sorry for him, he really has only himself to blame for losing you.’
The Rector's Daughter Page 22
