Rescued by the Forbidden Rake

by Mary Brendan

  ‘I came to warn you Miss Shawcross that the gypsy’s been over bothering us at the house. I didn’t say where you’d gone to. But looks like he’s found you anyway.’

  ‘It’s all right, Mr Gideon,’ Faye soothed the old fellow, rushing to meet him. He was florid in the face from exertion and alarm.

  ‘You be off, you villain, or I’ll set the law on you.’ Gideon shook a fist at Donagh as he sullenly collected his strewn coins.

  ‘Mr Kavanagh has everything under control now, Mr Gideon.’ Faye patted her manservant’s arm, then turned to Ryan. ‘Thank you for a fine dinner,’ she said quickly. ‘But I think it would be as well if we left now. Mr Gideon can take us back on the cart and my sister can begin to pack her things for the trip to Ireland.’

  Ryan nodded. ‘I’ll escort Donagh off my property and give you a chance to go without harassment. If you could make sure that your sister is ready to travel from here at eight o’clock in the morning, we will be able to make an early start.’ He started to move away, then turned back. ‘I shall go with them as far as the port just in case Donagh takes it into his head to follow and make a nuisance of himself again. But I will be back as quickly as I can...there is a lot still to tell you.’

  Faye’s green eyes raised soulfully to meet his fierce blue stare. Indeed, there was a lot left unsaid. But if he had been on the point of telling her that he’d cherished the mother of his child...a woman who had since passed on taking his heart with her...she wasn’t sure that she wanted to hear it. And she would do well to concentrate on the man who did love her and who had proved it by asking her to be his wife.

  As though sensing her turmoil and the reason for it, Ryan discreetly touched her arm in comfort. ‘I swear I’ll be back as soon as I’m able,’ he promised huskily. ‘I want to tell you everything.’

  Faye watched Ryan propel Donagh, looking downcast, towards the stables with a controlling hand on his shoulder. When they were out of sight she sped up the steps and into the house.

  * * *

  ‘I don’t mind admitting that it’s a relief to see the back of your sister for a while.’ Mrs Gideon shook her head. ‘We’ve not had such an upset in the family since that terrible business with your stepmother.’ Abruptly Mrs Gideon put down the potato she’d been peeling and craned her neck to see out of the kitchen window. ‘Oh, dear...you’ve got company, miss, and I’m thinking you could probably do without a visit from the Hollys right now.’

  Faye had been humming to herself, checking jars and boxes in the larder to make a list of what needed replenishing. With both her siblings now absent she had guessed the grocery order could be reduced this time. She missed their company, but there was no denying that Claire and Michael had hearty appetites that cost a pretty penny to satisfy.

  Placing the bag of flour back on the shelf, she wiped her hands on her pinafore. It was early in the day to have visitors so she imagined that something of moment had brought the vicar and his wife to Mulberry House before noon. She prayed that Donagh hadn’t been into Wilverton causing trouble by spouting about his infatuation with Claire...or perhaps Peggy had stirred the pot again.

  ‘I’ll receive them.’ On hearing the vicar’s trap creaking to a halt, Faye untied her apron. ‘If bad news has brought them, I’d sooner have it than fret about what it might be.’

  In the sitting room she paced restlessly, allowing Mrs Gideon to attend the door, and her thoughts turned once more to how Claire was faring on her way to the port. She guessed that the party might already be approaching the halfway point of their journey; Mr Kavanagh was not a fellow likely to dawdle and he had impressed on her his desire to return as quickly as he could. And heaven only knew she wanted him back so she could have answers to the questions that constantly circled her mind.

  Faye had sent three pounds with her sister, instructing her to offer up payment for board and lodging taken at inns. Other than that she had doubted Kavanagh would accept a penny for her sister’s keep in Ireland and she hadn’t wanted to insult him by offering it as he had refused any contribution to Bill Lee’s ransom.

  As for Donagh causing a commotion at the manor because of her, Claire had looked shamefaced for a while, but Faye was disappointed that her sister hadn’t seemed to care more about the hurt she’d caused the youth.

  As the Hollys entered the parlour Faye snapped her mind to the present. She approached Anne with outstretched hands. ‘How nice to see you.’

  ‘It’s a dreadful hour to pay a call, I know,’ Anne started by way of apology. ‘But Derek has to attend a burial later and I so wanted him to drive me over to speak to you as soon as may be.’

  ‘Has something happened?’ Faye asked lightly, although her stomach had tilted in anxiety. ‘Is something amiss in town?’

  ‘No...well, not if you mean Wilverton,’ Anne replied. ‘I had a letter from Derek’s sister and she related something perplexing that I must tell you.’

  ‘Well you’ve whetted my interest.’ Faye smiled and indicated that the couple should make themselves comfortable. The Hollys hadn’t come with news of Donagh Lee, but with some Mayfair gossip. And she felt quite inclined to relax and have a chat with her friends.

  ‘Might we have a pot of tea, please, Mrs Gideon?’

  ‘I’ll bring it,’ Mrs Gideon said but, unlike her mistress, her frown hadn’t lifted on hearing what had brought the Hollys to Mulberry House.

  Neither did the vicar look completely at ease. ‘I’m not sure that this is any of our business, my dear,’ he started diplomatically. ‘I expect that if there is anything to it Mr Collins will bring up the matter himself.’

  ‘Of course we must speak up!’ his wife contradicted with an imperious flick of some fingers. ‘I told you on the way here that if Faye were in my position I would expect her to be a good friend and tell me. I am a good friend, and even if the rumours prove false, I’m sure any betrothed woman so affected would rather know than not...’

  ‘It would be best if you just spit it out, Anne,’ Faye interjected. She’d gleaned few facts from her friend’s garbled conversation other than that her relief was to be short-lived.

  Anne leant forward on the sofa and blurted, ‘A rumour is circulating in London of an imminent jilting where you and Peter are concerned.’ She blinked rapidly. ‘My sister-in-law wrote and told me as soon as it reached her ears because she knows that we are good friends.’ Anne flapped a hand. ‘I don’t believe it, of course.’

  ‘A jilting?’ Faye had not been expecting that and alarm set her heart racing. ‘Mr Kavanagh has been an attentive neighbour and Claire and I have dined at the manor, but it is very bad of anybody to say I intend to jilt Peter.’

  Mrs Gideon brought the tea and as soon as she’d quit the parlour Faye turned her attention to pouring out, conscious of the Hollys’ quiet whispers behind her back. She was assaulted by feelings of guilt and anger at those faceless busybodies in town. She wouldn’t shun a loyal, steadfast man simply for a love affair...would she? And how had people guessed that she might and then spread the idea that haunted her mind?

  Anne gave a cough to draw Faye’s attention. ‘Ah...but it is the other way around.’ She shot a frown at her husband. ‘Mr Collins has been spotted at Vauxhall and also taking a drive in Hyde Park with a Miss Pettifer.’ She sniffed. ‘I’m sure it is nothing, but I thought you would want to have it from me, my dear, rather than from spiteful people.’

  ‘Of course I would...thank you.’ Faye felt shocked to learn that her fiancé had been seen dancing attendance on another woman. But how could he have been? If for some reason he had not yet sailed for Malta, he would surely have informed her of his change of plans. Perhaps he, too, sensed their love had cooled, but from courtesy he would inform her if he remained in England, wouldn’t he? But...this was the second time that she’d had word of her fiancé being seen in London. ‘Perhaps Peter has a double. I hav
e heard of people looking very much alike yet being no kin whatsoever.’ Faye distributed teacups with an unsteady hand.

  Another significant look passed between husband and wife. This time the Reverend spoke. ‘Mr Collins was in London, my dear, just last week. I saw him myself when I was attending a meeting at St Paul’s Cathedral.’ He added kindly, ‘But he was on his own.’

  ‘We wondered if you had decided to detain him in England to assist you through a sticky patch.’ Anne gained her feet and gave Faye a comforting hug. ‘I know you are quite able to look out for yourself, but you have had a dreadful run of bad luck...what with Westwood mishandling your money and your carriage accident, too...then there was Michael’s suspected scarlatina and not forgetting that minx Peggy Miller’s lies.’ Anne regarded her friend proudly. ‘Any other woman would have buckled under the strain of coping with it all.’

  ‘I have not asked Peter for assistance. But if he is still in England...in London...it will be nice to see him soon.’ She sat down, feeling uncharitable for hoping that the couple would soon leave. But she desperately wanted to be on her own to unscramble her thoughts.

  ‘Have you heard from Michael?’ Anne asked affably.

  ‘I had a letter from him this morning. He is enjoying himself in Scotland.’

  ‘Is Claire not going to join us?’ Anne asked, sipping tea.

  ‘Claire has also gone to stay with a friend for a short while.’ Faye wasn’t going to elaborate or heaven only knew fuller explanations would be needed and she’d enough on her mind as it was. She drained her tea with rather unladylike haste, then rose to deposit the cup and saucer on the tray.

  ‘A good idea, to get your sister away from the bad influence of that Miller girl.’ Anne nodded, looking quite settled.

  The vicar could take a hint even if his wife couldn’t. He stood up. ‘It is time we left now, my dear. I have some matters to finalise for the interment this afternoon. I promised the widow I would pop by before the funeral party set out for the church.’

  ‘I hope the service goes well,’ Faye said as the Hollys passed into the hallway.

  After Faye had closed the door on her visitors she returned to the sitting room and sank to the sofa, staring into space. The shock had diminished and she realised she didn’t feel as upset as she should have on learning that her fiancé might break off their engagement. Her pride had taken a knock, but what was making her feel restless and frustrated was the uncertainty of it all. It was unbearable not knowing and there was only one thing to do: go to London herself and speak to Peter. And she knew she must act at once or she would talk herself out of it...or Mrs Gideon would.

  There would be no better time to do as she pleased now Claire and Michael were safely out of the way. Faye jumped to her feet and went quickly upstairs to find her carpet bag. She was sure her aunt would accommodate her for the few days necessary to sort things out, if she sent word ahead of her arrival. And then...and then...

  Faye stopped her frantic searching in her clothes press and sat down abruptly on the dressing-table stool. She stared at her reflection and though her green eyes looked huge and apprehensive, she smiled. And then...she would decide her future without relying on anybody else’s help or advice.

  Peter had strived to separate her from her brother and sister so he could have her completely to himself and had, it seemed, grown tired of the tussle; Ryan Kavanagh had warned her that at some time she would be abandoned by those she’d sacrificed her youth to protect. From her sister’s recent selfish behaviour she knew that Claire would move on, possibly without a backward glance. In a few years’ time Michael would begin to lay the foundation for his future career. And she must also act if she were to avoid a lonely old age.

  Suddenly Faye felt more alive than she had in a long while. She had tried to convince herself that all might come right with Peter, but perhaps he also needed more than a love that had grown stale. Miss Pettifer might have provided the fun and laughter that had dwindled between them. Although she’d no idea how she would react to Peter’s answer when she caught up with him, she would ask about Miss Pettifer. All she had to do first was get past Mrs Gideon and get a ride on her husband’s cart to catch the mail coach at the White Hart...

  * * *

  She’d not been in town for quite a few years, but the city hadn’t changed, Faye thought. The noise and smells were still unpleasantly overpowering and the blend of humanity astonishingly diverse. Ragged urchins darted to and fro, brushing against the silken skirts of fine ladies. Dandies, swinging silver-topped canes, rubbed their shoulders against labourers’ coarse jackets as they strutted through the crowds. A coal cart loaded with oily sacks and sooty-faced men jostled for space on the thoroughfare with the mail coach in which Faye sat. On the other side of the vehicle creaked a crested coach and the portly gentleman within stared down his beaky nose at her, tapping his jowls with his snuffbox as he did so. Faye settled back against the lumpy squabs, this time catching the eye of the passenger seated opposite.

  The elderly woman sniffed and turned away, doubtless disapproving of her travelling unaccompanied. Faye was glad to see that they were pulling in at the Bull and Mouth Inn where she could alight and escape the stifling atmosphere in which she’d been confined for hours.

  As soon as she was set down and her luggage beside her, Faye dashed out of the inn courtyard to the road to find a hackney to take her to her aunt’s home in Marylebone.

  It seemed that everybody else had the same idea and she was bumped out of the way by a statuesque lady’s maid securing for her mistress the passing hackney. Faye scowled at the smirking servant, then returned to her carpet bag, realising it might be best to allow the other travellers to disperse before seeking a ride. She was unsure of the welcome she’d receive after giving her aunt such short notice of being an uninvited guest. The day was warm and a light breeze cooled her perspiring brow. She sat down on a low brick wall, removing her bonnet, then began dabbing her moist skin with a hanky. The linen became still and she pulled it away from obscuring her vision to stare across the road. Having clearly recognised somebody, she jumped up.

  Mr Westwood was on the opposite pavement and was aimlessly strolling to and fro as though waiting for somebody.

  Faye had grasped her skirts in her hands and set off quickly to cross the road to speak to him, thinking he might have Peter’s whereabouts...but she hesitated at the kerb without knowing why she did so.

  Soon she was glad that she had stopped herself weaving between vehicles to reach his side. Another man had hove into view and on his arm was a young woman sporting a flashy feathered hat.

  Shocked, Faye stumbled back a pace and instinctively shielded her presence in a doorway. Then a grim twist shaped her mouth. Well, she thought, if that is Miss Pettifer I doubt he has any intention of marrying her...

  Faye put up her chin. There was only one way to find out about Peter’s intentions towards either herself or that floozy and that was to go and ask him. And she would do it! She started forward, but it seemed she had dithered too long.

  The trio began climbing aboard a battered phaeton, the feathers in the woman’s bonnet nodding as she jiggled for space on the seat. Faye darted looks about, then spontaneously sprang in front of an approaching hackney to halt it. ‘I’ll pay you a good amount to follow that coach,’ she burst out. ‘Would you assist me with my luggage? Quickly, please...’ she urged, keeping one eye on the vehicle bearing away her fiancé and his friends. And, yes, she knew now that Westwood was Peter’s friend as well as his lawyer. And by the look of her, she guessed that the woman with them was a demi-rep.

  ‘You nigh on give me an ’eart attack jumping out on me like that,’ the jarvey grumbled, thumping at his chest, but he sprang from his perch and loaded her bag on to his vehicle.

  ‘That one there!’ Faye breathlessly said, pointing to the high flyer hemmed in by traffic.
<
br />   ‘I’ve seen it right enough, miss,’ the jarvey muttered beneath his breath and urged the nag to catch up with it.

  Faye poked her head through the window to keep the phaeton in sight and then the jam of vehicles dispersed and the chase was on. Peter had the reins and the contraption he was driving bounced to and fro as though he was showing off his skill. But no sooner had the jarvey whipped the nag into action, leaving Faye swinging giddily from side to side within his cab, than he was slowing down.

  ‘What is it? Have you lost him?’ Faye called.

  ‘He’s stopped,’ the jarvey answered disappointedly. He’d been enjoying the game and also had expected double the fare he was due. But he was an honest cove and knew he couldn’t charge much for such a short journey.

  Faye scrambled from the cab, shielding herself with the open door while peering at the phaeton some yards away. Peter had handed over the reins to his friend and dismounted. Westwood and the woman then set off up the road and Peter entered a seedy-looking building.

  ‘Take my luggage on to this place, please.’ Faye handed the jarvey a slip of paper on which she’d written her aunt’s address. She tipped some coins into the fellow’s palm and he brightened on seeing the generous amount, nodding agreement. ‘And if you would, sir, please convey a message to Mrs Agatha Banks that I shall be following on shortly.’

  The driver tugged on the brim of his hat and moments later he’d set off, leaving Faye standing on the cobbles in an insalubrious area. She avoided the curious eyes of some people hurrying past, keeping the brim of her bonnet low over her eyes. Then she jerked up her chin, bolstering her courage to follow Peter inside the dismal place into which he’d disappeared.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Faye peered into the open doorway of the lodging house, then took a few hesitant steps within. She glanced about at an uncarpeted staircase and walls with flaking distemper, wrinkling her nose. The place reeked of decay and boiled cabbage.