by Dilly Court
‘Is there something wrong, Clemency?’
She scrambled to her feet. ‘No. I was just thinking.’
‘By the look of you, they weren’t happy thoughts.’ His tone softened. ‘Would it help if you were to tell me what is making you look so sad?’
She hesitated: she was tempted to trust him. She longed to be able to confide in him – but she could not go that far. She shook her head. ‘It’s nothing much. I was just a bit concerned about Izzie. She’s very upset because you won’t let her see Dr Wilson.’
‘I know,’ Jared said with a wry smile. ‘She shouted at me as she stormed past, and then she slammed her bedroom door in my face.’
‘Well, you are being hard on her. She loves him.’
‘She’s very young, Clemency. She will probably fall in love a dozen times, but not necessarily with the right man.’
‘And you know best, I suppose.’
‘Whatever you think of me, I love my sister. I don’t imagine that allowing her to marry the first young man she fancies is necessarily going to bring her happiness or security.’
‘If you forbid her to see him again, you’ll only make her more determined to flout you.’
‘I haven’t said any such thing.’
‘That’s what Lady Skelton told her.’
Jared sighed. ‘My grandmother is a splendid woman, but given to exaggeration. I’m not the ogre that you seem to think I am. Izzie can see her young doctor, providing she does it openly and in the company of a chaperone. My one and only condition is that she allows me to introduce her to other young men, who might be much worthier suitors.’
‘That sounds fair. I think.’
‘Good. I’m glad we’ve got that settled. Now, there’s something else, I can tell.’
‘My mother needs a place to stay for a while. She’s willing to earn her keep.’
‘I’ve no objection to her staying here. Heaven knows, we’ve got plenty of room.’
Jared’s eyes seemed to bore into her soul. It would be wonderful to unload her problems onto his broad shoulders, but he would surely take that as a sign of weakness. She made a move towards the staircase. ‘Thank you.’
‘Don’t thank me. I’m sure Nancy will make her work hard. By the way, Clemency, I’m taking you to a reception in the City tonight. There is a certain foreign gentleman who is to be our quarry. I have a special score to settle with him. Be ready by seven thirty.’ He strolled off without waiting for an answer.
*
The reception was in the Guildhall under the watchful eyes of Gog and Magog. The Lord Mayor of London himself was present, as were members of the illustrious Gresham Club, who were merchants, bankers and businessmen, all accompanied by their wives. Jared pointed out particularly important people, while Clemency gazed in awe at the women’s elegant apparel, set off with glittering jewels. She felt quite drab by comparison, although her own gown of peacock-blue silk was the very latest fashion, but she had not even the simplest necklace or earrings to complement her dress. However, she had little time to brood on such matters as Jared steered her through the assembly. The air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and pomade. The babble of voices grew in intensity as people competed to make themselves heard above the strains of the chamber orchestra. Clemency was aware that heads were turning in their direction. She thought that it must be Jared who was attracting their attention: he looked splendid in his evening dress, and most distinguished. She felt quite proud to be leaning on his arm, like a real lady. Then, just when she was least expecting it, he drew her aside. ‘Look over there,’ he whispered, pointing at a group of men just a few yards away from them. ‘Do you see the man who is talking to the Lord Mayor? That is Gaston Marceau, the fellow who was the chief architect in my father’s downfall. He is wearing a pair of ruby cufflinks that once belonged to my father. They were a wedding present to him from my mother, and Marceau won them by cheating at cards. I want them back.’
Chapter Eighteen
Clemency craned her neck to get a better view. As Marceau raised the wineglass to his lips she caught a flash of fire from one of the rubies. ‘Who is he?’
‘He is an incredibly wealthy man. Gaston Marceau and his brother own several vineyards in Bordeaux. Gaston runs the export side of things. He also owns a small fleet of ships and a large warehouse in Wapping. When in London, he resides in the house that should, by rights, be mine. He won it by unfair means, and when my father attempted to win it back, Marceau bankrupted him.’
‘No wonder you hate him.’ Clemency shuddered. ‘He’s a nasty piece of work all right, but what is he doing here?’
‘He is an inveterate gambler, and he belongs to most of the gentlemen’s clubs in London. Perhaps he doesn’t want his family in France to find out how he spends his time.’
‘And is it just the ruby cufflinks that you want from him? It doesn’t seem much, considering what he did to your father.’
‘That is all for now, although, when the opportunity arises, I’ll beat him at his own game and get my property back. This evening, I want to you observe him, as I taught you. Watch his movements and wait for a suitable moment. Don’t take unnecessary risks, but I want those cufflinks.’
Clemency swallowed hard; this was not going to be easy. ‘I’m not sure I can do it.’
‘Of course you can. You’re the best dip in London.’
‘It would be easier to lift a couple of diamond bracelets or a few wallets.’
Jared tucked her hand in the crook of his arm. ‘Come. I’ll introduce you to Monsieur Marceau. Keep smiling and say as little as possible.’ He led her towards the group of men, who stopped talking to stare openly at Clemency. She felt a blush rising to her cheeks, and she kept her eyes modestly downcast.
‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ Jared acknowledged them in turn, but Clemency felt his body tense as he greeted the Frenchman. ‘Monsieur Marceau.’
‘Good evening, Stone. Are you not going to introduce us to your so charming companion?’
Clemency raised her head and found herself looking into the button-bright eyes of Gaston Marceau. There was a calculating look in them that made her feel as if he were mentally stripping her naked. She lifted her chin and returned his stare, but inwardly she was quaking. Despite his charming smile, she sensed that this man was dangerous. He was much older than Jared, possibly in his late fifties, and his hair was a grizzled grey, contrasting with his wrinkled skin that had the texture of a pickled walnut.
‘Gentlemen, may I present my ward, Miss Clemency Skinner.’ Jared squeezed her arm and Clemency bobbed a curtsey.
‘Mademoiselle.’ Gaston took her hand and kissed it. He turned to Jared with a smile that did not reach his eyes. ‘She is quite enchanting. Why have you kept this little jewel hidden from us, Stone?’
‘Clemency is only recently up from the country where she has been attending a convent school. This is her first big social occasion in London.’
‘Well, we all have to start somewhere.’ A rubicund gentleman, sporting mutton-chop whiskers, smiled benevolently at Clemency. ‘I trust you will enjoy your evening, my dear.’
Clemency nodded and smiled, remembering Jared’s warning not to speak unless absolutely necessary. She had kept her mouth shut with difficulty when the Frenchman had leered at her, but her acting experience had stood her in good stead. She stood by Jared’s side while he and the gentlemen conversed briefly about business matters: fundraising was mentioned, although she was not really paying much attention. She was concentrating on a plan to relieve Monsieur Marceau of his jewelled cufflinks. Dinner was announced, and she would have liked to refuse his offer to escort her to the table, but Jared indicated that she should accept. She had no alternative but to comply. Her heart sank when she found that she had been placed next to Marceau, and, although he also spoke to the lady seated on his left, he gave most of his attention to Clemency. His command of English was excellent and he was openly flirting with her. Apart from the fact that he was old
enough to be her father, maybe even her grandfather, she found him quite repulsive, and the thought of attempting to outwit him was daunting to say the least. As he raised his fork to his lips, the ruby caught the light from the chandeliers and dazzled her eyes. She was almost hypnotised by the flashing jewel. She picked at her food, although it was the most sumptuous spread she had ever seen in her life. It seemed criminal that so much had been prepared for so few people, especially when the ladies feigned bird-like appetites and left large portions untouched on their plates. Why, Clemency thought, shutting her ears to the flattering Frenchman, this banquet would have fed a dozen poor families for a month. She dragged herself back to the present as she realised that Marceau was leaning towards her.
‘I do not believe you have been listening to a word I have said, mademoiselle.’
‘I am sorry.’ Clemency fanned herself vigorously. ‘It’s a bit hot in here.’
‘Perhaps you would allow me to escort you to the anteroom, where it would be cooler?’
She shot an agonised look at Jared who was seated on the opposite side of the table, but he was engaged in conversation with the lady seated on his right. The main course had been cleared and the desserts were being placed on the table. There were amazing concoctions of jellied fruit, meringues, ices and towers of small pastries, the like of which Clemency had never seen. Her mouth watered at the sight of such sweet delights, and she was tempted to remain where she was, but Marceau was already on his feet. Reluctantly, she laid her hand on his arm and allowed him to lead her from the table. He took her to a sofa in a secluded part of the deserted anteroom.
‘Would you like a glass of water, Mademoiselle Clemency?’
She shook her head and fluttered her fan. ‘No, thank you. I’m feeling better already.’
To her dismay, he sat down beside her, taking her free hand in his, and holding it. ‘You are a very beautiful young woman, Clemency.’
‘Th-thank you, sir.’ She gazed at him over the top of her fan and lowered her eyelashes. She could feel his hot breath on her neck as he leaned towards her. She had to suppress the urge to push him away, but she must keep focused. She did not protest when he slipped one hand around her waist, drawing her to him. His breath smelled of wine, garlic and stale tobacco, but she allowed him to kiss her cheek. His hand slid upwards to cup her breast, and she had to quell the desire to slap his ugly face, but she had managed to curl her fingers around one of his cufflinks. His mouth was hot and wet as he searched for her lips. The ruby came away with a twist of her fingers, and she had it in the palm of her hand, but now she needed to secure its twin. She moved her position and parted her lips. His kiss was as nauseating as it was demanding. She tried to concentrate on the task in hand, even though she loathed the way his tongue had invaded her mouth. She closed her nostrils to the smell of his breath, and the expensive cologne that did not quite eradicate the odour of sweat. After enduring his fumbling for what felt like an eternity, she managed to secure the second cufflink. She tucked the pair under the tasselled cushion on the sofa. At the same moment, she felt his hand thrust down the front of her dress.
With a cry of outrage, she gave him a mighty shove that sent him sprawling to the floor, and she leapt to her feet. Her sobs were genuine enough, and Marceau rose hastily, placing his hand over her mouth. ‘Be quiet, you little fool.’ He did not appear to have heard Jared coming up behind him, and he gave a start at the sound of his angry voice.
‘What in hell’s name is going on?’
Marceau spun round to face him, and while he had his back to her Clemency seized the opportunity to retrieve the cufflinks. With trembling fingers she tucked them into the top of her stays.
‘It was a misunderstanding,’ Marceau said, straightening his white bow tie. ‘Mademoiselle Clemency felt a little faint. I was attempting to revive her.’
Jared’s brows drew together in a scowl. ‘It seems to me that you were being a little too attentive, monsieur.’ He held his hand out. ‘Clemency, I think it is best we leave now.’
She took her cue and laid her hand in his. ‘Yes, please take me home, Jared.’
‘As a gentleman, I accept your word that nothing untoward happened, monsieur. We’ll say no more about it. Come, my dear.’ Jared steered her towards the door.
Clemency held her head high; she felt sick and humiliated, but also triumphant. She had tricked Gaston Marceau. It looked as though they had got away with it, although she would not relax until they were on their way home, safely ensconced in a hansom cab. Jared sent a liveried footman out to hail a cab. He turned to her, his face alive with concern. ‘Are you all right, Clemency?’
‘Yes,’ she murmured, although now the danger was over she found she was shaking from head to foot, but she did not want to tell him that. ‘It’s hot in here. Can we wait outside?’
‘Of course.’ He opened the door. ‘It’s a fine evening.’
She hurried out onto the pavement and took a deep breath of the cool air. It might be tainted with the stuffy smell of the City and the pervasive odour of the Thames at high tide, but at least it was an honest smell, unlike the stench of greed and corruption that clung to Marceau. Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a movement in the shadows, but when she turned her head there was no one there. She told herself she was just tired and overwrought. The Ripper had not claimed a victim for months now, and he would hardly venture into this part of the City. The Mansion House was bristling with footmen and guarded by two burly doormen. She could see a police constable patrolling on the far side of the street, and the footman had hailed a hansom cab, which was drawing to a halt at the kerb.
When they were settled into their seats, Jared turned to her with a questioning glance. ‘Did you get them?’
She turned away from him while she thrust her fingers into the top of her stays. The cufflinks were still safely lodged between her breasts. She placed them, still warm from her body, into his outstretched hand.
‘Well done, Clemency. I knew you could do it.’ He stared at the jewels in the palm of his hand and then he closed his fingers over them. ‘That is the first round to us.’
She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. ‘Don’t never ask me to do nothing like that again.’
‘He didn’t hurt you, did he?’
Slightly mollified by the note of alarm in his voice, she shook her head. ‘He stuck his bloody tongue in my mouth – the dirty old man.’
‘I am sorry for that, but I won’t put you in such a position again. Tonight was the exception.’
‘I blooming well hope so.’
‘Perhaps a shopping expedition tomorrow with Izzie would help to make up for the behaviour of the dirty old man?’ Jared’s eyes crinkled at the corners and his lips curved into a smile.
Clemency looked away, biting her lip. So he thought a new hat or a pair of kid gloves would make up for being treated like a common whore. How little he knew about her. Suddenly she felt very tired and drained of all emotion. ‘Thank you,’ she said dully. ‘That would be nice.’
Isobel was not in a good mood. She made no secret of the fact that she was furious with her grandmother, who had forbidden her to see Nick again. She was just as angry with Jared, who had agreed that she could see him, but only with a chaperone in attendance, and on the condition that she agreed to meet other suitors of his choosing. She was sulky at first, but she cheered up a little when she spotted a hat she liked in a milliner’s window in Bond Street. It was a confection of feathers, flowers and ribbons and extremely expensive. Clemency felt quite faint when the shop assistant told them the price, but Isobel said she would take it, and it would serve Jared right for being so mean to her. She urged Clemency to choose something for herself, regardless of cost, to pay him back for exposing her to a man like Monsieur Marceau. Isobel had listened wide-eyed to a watered-down version of last night’s events. Clemency had not mentioned the ruby cufflinks, and she had glossed over the humiliating scene in the anteroom after dinner. She wo
uld not have mentioned it at all if Isobel had not been curious as to why Jared had suddenly become so generous. Clemency had told her that Marceau had tried to kiss her, and when that did not satisfy Isobel, she had said that he had touched her in an inappropriate manner. That had the desired effect, and Isobel had been most solicitous all morning, in between ranting at the unfairness of her family and life in general.
They arrived home with their costly purchases nestling in hat boxes. Isobel insisted on seeking out Jared to show him just how extravagant she could be when thwarted. Clemency could not help feeling slightly ashamed of spending a working man’s weekly wage on a hat. She would not entirely have blamed Jared if he had been cross, but he merely glanced at their new head-wear and murmured something appropriate.
‘It was hugely expensive,’ Isobel said with a rebellious toss of her head.
‘If you like it, Izzie, that’s all that matters.’
Isobel blinked as if taken by surprise. ‘Well, you wouldn’t want me to look like a pauper. And I shall wear it to the next meeting of the Socialist League.’
‘Yes, of course.’ Jared turned to Clemency. ‘I need a word with you.’
Isobel stamped her foot. ‘I hope one day to meet Mrs Pankhurst of the Women’s Franchise League. And I’ve read Annie Besant’s newspaper, The Link.’
‘Yes, Izzie. Not now. I need to speak to Clemency.’
‘And I will see Nick whenever I want to.’ Isobel stalked off in a huff.
