by Jayne Davis
“No, but it would be of only temporary assistance.”
“She needs a new job.” Fletcher used to be a lady’s maid, but Bella already had Molly. Could she persuade Aunt Aurelia to employ her? No, and if she tried it was likely that the whole story would come out. “Would Lady Carterton provide a reference for her?”
“I’m afraid my mother died some years ago.”
“Oh. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologise, Lady Isabella. I might be able to find someone who will—Lady Tregarth, possibly—but she would need to be sure she was recommending an honest worker. But the first thing is to find Fletcher.”
He drove on in silence for a while. She hoped his frown was a sign of thought, not that he was still displeased with her.
“You said you wished to know more of the world, Lady Isabella?”
“Yes,” she said, wary of what he might say next.
“I can try to find Fletcher. Do you wish to accompany me? As you pointed out, you know her better than your footman does. I can make arrangements that should keep you safe.”
Bella gaped at him and then closed her mouth with a snap. After all the reprimands for putting herself and others in danger, he was now suggesting she repeat her action? She took a deep breath—she should not complain now that someone was offering to help her.
“There are conditions, though,” he went on, before she could answer.
“Do exactly as I am told, I suppose?”
“Yes. And without argument or question.”
That was nothing new, but she could understand the reason for obedience in these circumstances. “Very well.”
“You will have to persuade your maid to come along, for propriety’s sake.”
That might be more difficult—she wasn’t even sure that she should. But although Mr Carterton was not quite as tall or as broad as Senhor da Gama, something about him made her trust that he could keep her safe. And if she was safe, Molly would be too. “I can try.”
“What pretext will you give this time?”
“Aunt Aurelia said she would take me to the British Museum, so I have more things to talk about. You could… I could say you had invited me to accompany you there.”
“That could work. Say nothing yet. I need to make some arrangements, but I will let you know when I have a plan.”
“Thank you, Mr Carterton.”
“Wait until it’s done before you decide whether thanks are in order.” He shook his head. “I shouldn’t be doing this. Now, the museum has an interesting selection of stuffed birds and animals from around the world, and you may talk about how different some are from the creatures you know of.” He broke off and smiled here, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “You may really be interested in them, when you visit the museum.”
She hoped he was going to invite her to go there with him in reality—he would be a much more entertaining companion than her aunt. But, after a brief hesitation, he started talking about tiny, brightly coloured hummingbirds.
Nick took a glass of wine from a footman and wandered through Lady Durridge’s rooms, seeing who else was present at the musicale. He didn’t normally attend such events, but this was a chance to further his acquaintance with Miss Roper as well as letting Lady Isabella know he had made the promised arrangements.
“Good evening, Mr Carterton.” It was Miss Yelland this time, rather than Miss Quinn, but in Nick’s mind there was little to choose between them.
“Miss Yelland.” As he greeted her, he saw Lady Isabella arrive with Mrs Roper and her daughter. Where was Lady Cerney?
“…rout last night.” Miss Yelland was still talking. “It was a shame I could not attend, but Lord Kidsgrove had invited my family to share his box at the opera.”
“How lucky for you to have another musical evening,” he said. If she was being courted by the Earl of Kidsgrove, he wondered why she was bothering with a mere heir to a barony. On the other hand, he was a couple of decades younger than the earl. “I hope you enjoy the singing, Miss Yelland. If you will excuse me, I must see Mr Gilbert about something.”
He had no idea whether or not Gilbert was present, but Miss Yelland did not follow him as he retreated to another room, remaining there until he heard the first strains of an aria.
Most of the chairs in the ballroom were occupied, so he leaned against the wall from where he could see the performer without having to peer past ostrich plumes and towers of powdered hair. His position also had the great advantage of being at the opposite side of the room to Miss Yelland and her mother.
For the first half of her evening’s programme Lady Durridge had engaged Señora Lopez, a soprano Nick admired for her excellent vocal range. As a medley of folk songs succeeded the initial arias, Nick ran his eyes over the audience. Da Gama sat a few rows behind the Yellands, and appeared to be paying as little attention to the music as most of the audience. Talbot had sent a note that afternoon, reporting that although the visconde the man claimed as his father undoubtedly existed, no-one had heard of da Gama himself. He’d also reported that Lady Brigham owed a great deal to a moneylender, and requested that Nick take note of da Gama’s activities. As if he didn’t have enough to do already.
His gaze moved on, to find Mrs Roper and her daughter listening attentively, making a comment to each other now and then. Lady Isabella, sitting beside them, appeared entranced, a wide smile on her face.
Her gown became her well, but more attractive was her obvious enjoyment in the music. This must be the first time she’d heard a professional singer. She would enjoy the opera; perhaps Lady Tregarth could get up a party, and he could ensure that she didn’t wander off with unsuitable men again.
He recalled his other purpose in being here as he turned his attention back to Miss Yelland, wafting a fan in front of her face as she peered around the room. On the face of it, she would be suitable as a political wife. She was poised and attractive enough to look at, but there was something unappealing about her nature. His gaze turned back to Miss Roper—she appeared to have a pleasant personality without any of the impetuosity that might make a wife difficult to manage. He would make more of an effort to talk to her when the opportunity arose.
Bella came back to reality as the applause died down and Lady Durridge announced a short break for refreshments.
“Well, Bella, I think you enjoyed that,” Mrs Roper said. “Shall we all go for some lemonade?”
As they joined the throng heading for refreshments, Lord Narwood bowed towards her from the other side of the room. She looked away without acknowledging him, to see Mr Carterton approaching. She must mention Lord Narwood’s interest to him, but this was too public a place.
“I’ve made arrangements to find your seamstress,” he said, his voice only loud enough for her to hear. “Lady Tregarth will invite you to visit the museum with her tomorrow afternoon. Will your aunt allow you to go?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Aunt Aurelia would be glad to be excused the duty.
Mr Carterton nodded, then spoke normally. “How did you enjoy the singing, ladies?”
“Oh, very much,” Jemima said. She and Mr Carterton began to discuss other singers they’d heard as they all entered the refreshment room. It was the kind of intelligent conversation Bella wished she could have, but she had no knowledge of the opera. Or of much else, come to that.
A cold feeling between her shoulder blades made her turn. Lord Narwood stood behind her. “Lady Isabella,” he said. His lips curved up at the corners, but she could not describe his expression as a smile.
Senhor da Gama approached before Bella could answer, a full glass in each hand. “Excuse me,” he said, inclining his head towards Lord Narwood before turning back to her. “I am pleased to see you here, Lady Isabella. I took the liberty of getting you a glass of lemonade.” He handed Bella one of the glasses, and a delicious shiver ran through her as their fingers touched.
“Thank you.” Bella let out a breath of relief as Lord Narwood turned and stalked off. Mr Ca
rterton was still talking to Jemima, so she took a few steps away, Senhor da Gama keeping pace with her.
“You seem no worse for yesterday’s little… adventure,” he said. “I’m sorry I could not have protected you better—I am not familiar with London and its ways.”
“I am well, thank you.” Bella felt slightly breathless. “Is Lisbon so different? I have been reading about it.”
His eyes flicked away for a moment. “If your brother were not in France, he would have escorted you, I think. But let us not talk of such things. You looked as if you were appreciating the singing as much as I.”
“Oh, yes.” Bella’s heart began to race at the way he smiled at her, his teeth flashing white against his olive skin. How lovely that they both enjoyed the same thing. She could ask him about Lisbon some other time.
“Señora Lopez is very talented. Do you sing, Lady Isabella?”
Bella shook her head, feeling her cheeks heat. “No. I mean, yes, I have been taught to sing, but I could not compare with the Señora.”
He took her hand and bowed over it, raising it to his lips. “You have other attractions, my lady. I hope to see you again soon.”
“And I, you.” Bella watched him go, aware of a tingling in the hand he had kissed. A touch on her shoulder and Jemima’s voice beside her reminded her she should not stare so.
“He is good looking, is he not?” Jemima said, a twinkle in her eye.
“Yes, indeed. But so are many others,” Bella added, conscious of Mr Carterton standing nearby and recalling his advice to be wary of Senhor da Gama.
Jemima took her arm. “Come, let us return to our seats.”
Mr Carterton took a step forward. “Lady Isabella, may I have—?” His words were interrupted by the sound of a bell ringing. Lady Durridge was summoning her guests for the second half of the performance.
“Excuse us, Mr Carterton.”
He frowned as Jemima spoke—so briefly that Bella wondered if she’d imagined it. She pondered that expression as they took their seats for the rest of the performance. Had he been about to reprimand her again for talking to Senhor da Gama? Then the strains of a complex piece caught her attention and she concentrated on the music.
Chapter 13
Lady Tregarth’s butler showed Bella into the parlour. Molly followed, carrying a bag that held a set of old clothes. Langton waited in the mews behind the house.
“You are nicely on time,” Lady Tregarth said approvingly. “Did you have any difficulty getting away without Lady Cerney?”
Bella shook her head. “Not at all, my lady. She is at a card party, and may not return until late.”
“Good. Come upstairs with me. You, too…?” She looked at Molly with raised brows.
“Molly Simons, my lady.” Molly curtseyed and followed the other two out of the room. She’d protested at Bella’s plan to return to St Giles, only agreeing when she found out that Mr Carterton and Archer would be in charge this time.
“Are you sure about this, Bella?” Lady Tregarth asked, when they were all in a bedroom with the door closed behind them. Hairbrushes and bottles of perfume were set out on top of a dressing table, and Bella guessed that it was Lady Tregarth’s own room. “Carterton has persuaded me he can keep you safe, but to venture into such an area? It is not wise, not at all.”
Bella explained once more.
Lady Tregarth sighed. “I suppose you will not be dissuaded; you appear to be as headstrong as your brother. But you must promise me you will do exactly as Carterton tells you, or his man Archer.”
Bella nodded.
“And you, Molly?” Lady Tregarth asked the maid.
“Mr Carterton and Mr Archer will keep us safe, my lady. I’ll do exactly what they say.”
“All right, then. If… when you find the woman, bring her to me. I can help you to arrange something appropriate for her. Molly, please bring in the leather bag from my dressing room.”
The bag contained two sets of clothing. Bella wrinkled her nose as Molly held up a drab brown skirt and bodice, worn thin or torn in places, streaked with dirt and smelling faintly of damp. She’d much rather wear the old clothes she’d brought with her, but she could see the sense in donning these rags.
“You may keep your own undergarments on,” Lady Tregarth said. “Of course, if you don’t want to go…?” She raised a brow.
“Help me undress, Molly,” Bella said. She unpinned her stomacher—she was not going to be put off now.
Molly, too, was required to change. They fastened their gowns and donned enveloping caps that had once been white, then Lady Tregarth brought out a covered bowl. She removed the lid, revealing a brownish powder.
“Dried soil from the garden,” she explained. “Carterton said you must not look too clean.”
Bella stared at the powder and then dipped her hands into it. When Lady Tregarth was satisfied that she had finished, her face bore streaks of dirt, with more under her fingernails and in the creases of her knuckles, and she looked as though she hadn’t washed properly for weeks.
“It’s going to take a long time to get clean again,” Molly said as they inspected themselves in a mirror. Bella was both shocked and impressed at the way they now resembled some of the people they’d seen in St Giles three days ago, albeit much better nourished.
“I’ll send a note to Marstone House saying you’ll stay here for dinner.” Lady Tregarth said. “That should give you plenty of time. Carterton will meet you in the mews.”
Mr Carterton was rather cleaner than Bella, and with less ragged clothing. She put her chin up as he ran his eyes from her head to her toes, but he didn’t comment on her appearance. He inspected Molly in the same way before turning back to her.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked.
This was her last chance to back out of the venture, but she would not do so on her own account. “Will Molly be safe?”
“There are no absolute guarantees in this world, but I will do my best to keep both of you safe.”
Somehow his admission that he could not guarantee their safety carried more weight than Senhor da Gama’s bravado. He had an air of knowing what he was doing. Bella glanced at Molly, who nodded.
“Then yes, please.”
He regarded her closely for a moment. “Very well.”
A battered hackney waited at the end of the mews, Langton already seated next to the driver. Mr Carterton opened the door and climbed in, not waiting for Bella to precede him.
“He looks better than we do, my lady,” Molly whispered as Bella gaped at this unexpected display of discourtesy. “A man like that wouldn’t be polite to the likes of us.”
“Of course.” Bella climbed in, feeling stupid for not having realised that herself. “You had better both call me Bella,” she said, as the hackney set off. It would not do to have Molly calling her ‘my lady’ where they were going.
She didn’t recognise the streets they were passing through, but when they alighted the road was as narrow and run-down as the one where they’d stopped last time. That their disguises worked was obvious as soon as they began to walk down the street, Bella next to Mr Carterton and Langton with Molly. Passers-by regarded them without curiosity, and went on their way.
Mr Carterton looked alert, but not nervous, and that gave Bella confidence. She had almost begun to relax when she noticed a man ahead of them, leaning against a wall and looking their way. Another was partly hidden behind him. They were dressed in a similar fashion to her escort, and she wouldn’t have thought them menacing had she seen them on Piccadilly or Bond Street, but anyone taking an interest in them here could be a threat.
The men pushed themselves upright as Bella’s party drew nearer, and Bella’s tension eased as she recognised Archer. The other man was taller and considerably broader than anyone else in their party, and had a bent nose. Bella was glad he was on their side.
The large man nodded his head towards Mr Carterton, who returned the greeting.
“Jarndy
ce. Have you got anything for me?”
“Not much. I found the Dawkins you mentioned, but she don’t know where Fletcher lives, just that it’s around here somewhere. I didn’t go on to the address you had, like you said.”
“Lead on, then.”
They followed Jarndyce along streets as cramped and noisome as before. When they stopped outside a door with peeling paint, Langton nodded as if he recognised the place. Bella examined the house as Archer knocked. The windows needed washing, but there was less rubbish outside than in most of the streets they’d passed along.
A thin woman opened the door, her faded gown covered in a stained apron, although her hands and face were clean. Tiredness was evident in the lines around her eyes.
“We’ve come to see Ruby,” Jarndyce said.
“What for? Can’t be about the rent, Mr Jarndyce, she’s not behind. What’ll I tell—?”
“We’re not here about the rent. We’ll wait inside.” Jarndyce pushed the door open as he spoke, forcing the woman to move backwards. He stepped into the dim hallway, the others following behind. The corners of the woman’s mouth turned down, but she merely shrugged and headed for the back of the house.
The passage was cramped with six people waiting in it. Bella sniffed—a sickly scent in the air mingled with something more stomach-turning, as if someone had upset a chamber pot and not cleared it up.
“Smells like the paregoric my grandad used for his rheumatics,” Molly said. “Plenty of laudanum in it.”
The sound of a small child crying came from behind a closed door, then a louder wail. Curious, Bella pushed the door and peered around it, almost gagging at the stench. Rows of babies lay on the bare floor, each one wrapped in a thin blanket. A few were crying, but most appeared to be asleep. Slightly older children sat against the wall—most of these were dozing, too. The rest looked at her with blank eyes.
