“And what sort of information might a person possibly learn by watching people play bridge, other than a refresher of the rules?”
“Please, believe me, Lady Pennington, I should not seek to follow your guidance in the game of bridge,” he scoffed openly, and she was caught between being amused and annoyed.
“Then what information is it that you seek?” she said after Prudence had given her brother a very sharp look.
“It is simply an inquiry of my own. I wonder at the type of person who would sit down to a game of any description without any intention of winning.” He paused for a moment. “And I wonder if it is indicative of life.”
“You mean, because I am not greatly attentive or at all ambitious in this particular game, does that describe me in all other areas of my life?” Imogen said shortly.
“Yes, that is exactly my current musing,” he said, and Prudence let out a great sigh of impatience.
“My dear brother, you really are too much,” she said so quietly that only Imogen could hear, and not their bridge partners.
“Is there a point to all of this, Lord Reddington?” Imogen asked and wondered if the exchange was really as amusing as she had initially thought.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “But I do not assume that your bridge game is descriptive of every area of your life. I just wonder if the futility of your current occupation, given that you already realize you have no chance of victory, is like your attempts to cure London of poverty.”
“Heath!” Prudence hissed sharply.
“Please, do not make yourself uneasy, Lady Montgomery. I shall do my best to answer your brother’s inquiry,” Imogen said, playing for time and thinking furiously.
In truth, she did not want to be rescued by the Earl’s sister, but she wanted to turn him upside down by herself. Not only that, but she wanted to do it publicly.
“Lord Reddington, I believe that you think that poverty in London cannot be entirely solved by myself and Lady Redmond.” She turned in her seat to look up at him. “And in that respect, Sir, you are quite right.” She turned back to look at the table. “But of course, the problem is so vast that it cannot be solved by two people, nor even three or four, or a hundred.”
“Indeed,” he said and was about to say something further when she cut him off entirely.
“But it is not a simple case of going out one day and solving the thing. After all, poverty and injustice have likely existed as long as there has been life on this earth. But that does not mean that a single person cannot make a difference. It does not mean that a single person cannot do something to improve the life of another. Or the lives of ten people, or a hundred.” Imogen was beginning to enjoy herself, noting that their bridge opponents were greatly interested in the little row which had developed. “And so, I fear you look at the thing as a whole, Sir, and do not see any progress unless the entire thing is cured. And in truth, I doubt such a thing shall be cured in my lifetime. Perhaps not ever. But every time I step outside of my world of privilege and plant both feet firmly in the world of others, a world which is not quite so comfortable and safe, I win. And I win conclusively, Sir because I have decided to make a difference and I do.” She paused for effect. “And so it would seem that life and bridge really are two very separate entities.”
Seeing the smile on Prudence’s face, Imogen knew that she had gone exactly far enough. It was likely that nobody knew Heath Montgomery better than his sister, and if she thought him overpowered in that particular exchange, then Imogen knew that he had said enough. She had won.
“You have beaten me, Lady Pennington,” he said, with more warmth in his voice than she would have expected. “I must congratulate you.”
“I did not seek to beat you, Sir. I only sought to defend my position,” Imogen answered with magnanimity.
“I thank you for your kind words, good lady,” he said, and then leaned close to whisper in her ear so that nobody else might hear him. “But I do not believe you for a minute.” He sounded amused. “You meant to beat me, and you enjoyed it.” And with that, he was gone.
Chapter 11
Montgomery had crossed the Southwark Bridge on foot, heading into an area he knew very little of. Although it was almost June, the day was a grey one, and he thought it most fitting as he cast his eye around the miserable buildings of Southwark.
The deeper he made his way in, the less comfortable he was with his surroundings. The only beacon of hope in amongst it all was the clean stone columns of the old Trinity Church in Church Square.
The whole place was a far cry from Mayfair and Belgravia, despite the fact that the brief carriage ride and a short walk had taken him but fifteen minutes. And if he had chosen to stay in the carriage, it would have taken even less. And yet, it was a world away in all but distance.
On the banks of the Thames, with the tide out and the estuary low, Heath could see a great number of ragged-looking men and children wandering around in the muddy sand, stooping to pick up things which may or may not have been of any use or value. In truth, he could not begin to imagine exactly what it was they were searching for, and if he was honest, he thought he would rather not know.
Having been given the very roughest directions to the soup kitchen he believed that Lady Imogen Pennington would be working in on that day, he very much hoped that he would not find himself lost and in the dreadful position of having to ask a passerby. After all, despite not wearing his best, the Earl stood out in that particular part of Southwark. For him to ask for directions to the soup kitchen would undoubtedly cause much amusement and even create quite a stir amongst the people of Southwark, even the ones who were much less ragged in appearance.
He had, just some days after his last conversation with Lady Imogen, asked his sister for some details of the discussions between them.
“What discussions?” Prudence said, clearly doing her best to be awkward.
“You spent a good deal of the afternoon with Lady Pennington, Prudence. Really, you must have talked of something,” he said, trying to hide his eagerness for information whilst, at the same time, fighting exasperation with his sister.
“Indeed, I did spend a good deal of time with her, Heath. But you will know yourself that we spent much of that time playing bridge.”
“And so, you did not speak at all?”
“We did speak, Brother, but I cannot begin to understand why it is of interest to you.” He could see the corners of her mouth turning up just a little and knew that, beneath it all, she sought to do a little teasing.
“Oh please, just tell me.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Prudence had said, setting her teacup down in its saucer with something of a rattle. “We merely discussed Lady Pennington’s charity work. I cannot begin to imagine that that would interest you in the slightest. Especially given your strident manner and offensive tone when you suggested that her efforts were in vain. Really, I am still struggling to get over that.”
“I was only teasing Lady Pennington, Prudence. And I think she was perfectly well aware of that.”
“Heath, you are barely acquainted. Really, how was she to know that you were teasing and not mocking? I thought you sounded quite cruel.”
“Because she has already accused me of mocking and, if I am blunt, she is no stranger to being cruel herself and making a little insult here and there along the way.”
“I cannot believe that for a moment,” Prudence said, shaking her head. “And if you find her offensive in any way, why is it that you seem so interested to find the details of our conversation? I should have thought you would rather not know.”
“Prudence, are you going to continue to be this awkward? If so, I shall leave you to it and find our mother instead. Heaven forbid she be better company than you, my dear,” he said and smirked at her.
“Alright, you win,” she said, shuddering at the idea that she could possibly be worse company than her mother. “What is it in particular that you want to know?”
“Just what it is she does with her day, I suppose.”
“But why?”
“Prudence, please do not start that again.”
“Very well,” she said with a mischievous smile. “Lady Pennington spends her days as you do not. For the most part, when she is not attending meetings in respect of fundraising, or information gathering, she is to begin helping Mrs Forsdyke and Lady Rossington in their endeavours in various kitchens. It would be nothing to interest you, Brother. They do not serve champagne, and the clientele are not of your type.” Prudence chuckled.
“You really cannot resist, can you?”
“No, I am afraid not.”
“And where is this soup kitchen?”
“Really?” Prudence said, and then coughed and regained her common sense. “Sorry. It is more than one soup kitchen, Heath. In truth, I am quite envious.”
“Of what?”
“Of a life worth living, I suppose,” she said angrily.
“And you think the only life worth living is one in which you serve soup to the poor?”
“No, actually that is not what I meant. But I hardly think you would understand if I explained it, so I shall not,” she said, calming down a little. “So, do you have all the information you require?”
“No, do you know anything of her itinerary?”
“As regards helping in the soup kitchens?”
“Yes, I suppose so.”
“Well, I am afraid that I cannot tell you exactly. Our conversation continued after you had interrupted us so rudely at the bridge table. I believe that Mrs Forsdyke was keen for Lady Pennington and Lady Richmond to attend a soup kitchen in Southwark. On Wednesday, if I am not very much mistaken,” Prudence said, squinting as she tried to recollect the details. “I cannot say that it was a firm arrangement. The whole thing seemed to happen very quickly and late on in the afternoon. Indeed, the ladies might well have met in between and changed the whole thing.”
“Are there are many soup kitchens in Southwark?” he mused.
“All I know of Southwark is what I have seen from the north side of the river, but looking at it, I should imagine so. It is hardly an area of great wealth, is it?”
“So, you cannot help me with a precise location?”
“Perhaps I can,” Prudence said, holding a hand out in front of her to keep him quiet for a moment while she thought. “It is the soup kitchen closest to the workhouse. And I distinctly remember Lady Rossington telling Lady Pennington that the workhouse was on Mint Street.”
“Well, that will do very nicely, I thank you.”
“I am glad to help,” Prudence said with gently sarcastic amusement. “Tell me, are you proposing to offer the ladies some assistance in their endeavours?”
“No, I should think not,” he said, and narrowed his eyes at her, but grinned nonetheless. “Let us just call it a passing interest.”
“And would that be a passing interest in charitable works, or would that be a passing interest in Lady Imogen Pennington herself?”
“You really are impudent at times,” he retorted a little harshly.
“Only in this family would I be found impudent. In others, my inquiry might be seen as sisterly care and concern.”
“You are right, of course,” he said and rose from his seat to join her on the wide couch. “Forgive me?” he said, looking at her intently.
“You are forgiven. Again,” she said but laughed. “How nice it would be not to have to continually forgive one another.”
“But we are friends, are we not?” he said, feeling suddenly a little emotional.
“I daresay we are friends, at times. But I do not think we are friends as we once were.”
“Prudence, I know that is more my fault than yours. But please do not give up on me yet.”
“Alright, I shall not give up on you just yet,” she said and smiled at him.
Some discreet inquiries had given Heath some more detailed directions to the soup kitchen. As he made his way, he looked up at a row of buildings constructed of dark red bricks. The walls looked dirty and old and imposing, as brick often did in such an area. Seeing a flat tin sign affixed to the wall of the first of the buildings which read Mint Street, Heath realized that he was, indeed, looking at the workhouse.
He knew that it was not the workhouse that Lady Imogen and her friend had visited, for he felt sure that that was in Lambeth. But, nonetheless, he shuddered at the idea of her being in such a place. The windows of the workhouse in Southwark looked grimy and like it would be impossible to see through them. They were almost as blind eyes in a very old face, and he felt that curiously low feeling he had experienced on the way to the Adelphi Theatre.
On initial glance, the tall brick buildings seemed almost as if they were great terraced houses. However, there were not enough doors, and he could quickly see that it was simply an immense building or group of buildings. Over the top of the door which looked likely to be the entrance, he saw a sign which read St George the Martyr Workhouse. There was something about that sign, proclaiming the very use of the building which seemed to him to render the entire area without hope of any kind.
Not enjoying the feeling for a moment, he hurried on, quickening his pace and lengthening his strides. When he reached the top of Mint Street and turned onto King Street, he realized just how large the workhouse was. From front to back, it was clear that it extended from Mint Street all the way back to Queen Street behind it. The streets ran parallel and were a good distance apart, and he wondered just how many people lived and worked within the confines of that place.
Continuing along a few more streets, it was almost a relief for him to set eyes upon the soup kitchen he had sought. Heath was pleased to note that there was much activity on that street, with street sellers and shopfronts, albeit very poor looking shopfronts, which would provide him with some means of covering his presence. After all, he did not intend to make his way inside.
He did not have long to wait before he was rewarded with a sight of her. For a moment, he did not recognize her as she made her way out of the building, slightly flushed and taking in a great breath of fresh air.
She wore a very simple gown in an olive-green colour, a practical sort of a thing. And yet, despite the plainness of her gown, the colour suited her vibrant red hair perfectly. The gown was long-sleeved, and yet she had pushed the sleeves back some way up her forearms, and he could see that she wore an apron over the front of it, almost as a maid might.
You talk as if the man rolls his own sleeves up and makes his hands dirty. His mother’s words rang in his ears, and he knew that she thought the idea of such a thing so vulgar. But as he stood peering out from the corner of a side road, watching her intently, he realized that rolling up her sleeves and getting her hands dirty was exactly what Lady Imogen Pennington did. For a moment, he almost laughed, wondering what his mother might think of the whole thing.
Sobering a little, he wondered at his own behaviour. What was he really interested in? And what was it about that determined young woman that had caught his attention so? She was neither as beautiful nor as polished in her appearance as Miss Jemima Ravenswood. And she was a little too argumentative and stubborn to fit the mould of the sort of young lady he ordinarily gravitated towards. Not only that, but he thought it very likely that Lady Imogen Pennington did not like him one little bit. As a rule, he much preferred young ladies who adored him, unconditionally.
“For God’s sake man, just go home,” he chastised himself under his breath, knowing that to stand there and watch her was ridiculous.
At that moment, he saw a ragged man hobbling along towards her at some speed. For a moment, he assumed that Lady Imogen was about to be attacked in some way, or robbed. In that instant, Heath Montgomery almost bolted across the street to fling the fellow to the floor. However, a sudden and broad smile on her face halted him in his tracks.
The man had stopped before her, and she had reached out and laid a hand on his shoulder, seeming entirely unconcer
ned to touch the ragged and filthy looking clothes. He could see that she was nodding at him and talking to him and, without further ado, with her hand still on his shoulder, she guided him into the soup kitchen.
As she disappeared, Heath could hardly get a hold of what it was he felt. He was impressed, although he did not entirely know why. Perhaps it was because she had not been afraid nor assumed that the man meant her harm, simply because he had nothing. She was at her ease, and her smile had been genuine; he felt certain of it.
Any smile she had treated him to thus far had been brief and begrudgingly given. But she had looked upon a ragged stranger with kindness and warmth, and he felt sure that it would be some time yet before he could rid himself of his curiosity regarding that young woman.
Chapter 12
After a busy morning of making plans and trying to fit much practical work and meetings into an already busy social calendar, Imogen and Adeline were taking a well-earned break in the drawing room.
A Lady for the Brazen Earl: A Historical Regency Romance Book Page 9
