James blushed, confirming that Philip had planted a flush hit. He waited, knowing that his younger brother would not be able to refrain from telling someone.
“I’ve been working with this fellow. We made a few modifications to some machinery and well, it’s going to be used in one of the largest factories in the north.”
Philip grinned. “So you’ve made some more money?” he asked.
James flushed again and avoided his brother’s eyes. His voice was defensive as he said, “I wasn’t trying. And you needn’t say it so loudly. I should much rather our friends think I’m just tinkering, as I always do. Or won it gambling. That, at any rate, is considered perfectly acceptable.”
Philip was no longer grinning. Indeed, his brows were drawn together so tightly that he looked quite fierce. “Has George been at you again? Telling you it’s improper for you to earn money? You ought, surely, to know better than to listen to him! What does he expect you to do?”
James looked at his brother unhappily. “He thinks I ought to be a proper gentleman and let him support me for the rest of my life on an allowance. But Philip, I can’t! I couldn’t be so idle! I should hate it! I’ve tried gaming, and even now that’s where I tell everyone I’ve made my funds—including George. I promise you I know how to play the perfect gentleman, and I do it very well. But I’ve got to do something with my days! And I will not become a clergyman, however often George tells me I ought to do so.”
“I should think not!” Philip’s expression softened. He got to his feet and came around to put a hand on his younger brother’s shoulder. “And I do understand your need to be doing something, James. You play the role, by the by, of the dilettante remarkably well. That ought to be enough to satisfy George.”
“Thank you. I wish George thought so.”
Philip squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “I, for one, however, am very glad you are not such a foolish, foppish fellow,” he said. “Do as you wish and if George scolds, tell him to come to me. I shall deal with him for you.”
Now it was James’s turn to look up at his brother and grin. “Peace,” he said. “I can handle George. And you are trying to divert my attention, but it won’t work. Tell me about Miss Ashbourne. I am all ears and”—he held up a hand to forestall his brother’s protests—”consider that if I am to counter the gossip I hear, I had best know the truth.”
So, despite the fact that he didn’t wish to do so, Philip told his brother everything. At least he told him everything he was willing to admit to in his own heart. And that was only a small part of the whole.
If James guessed this to be the case, he was too discreet to say so aloud. Instead, when Philip was done, he slowly heaved himself to his feet and said, “Well, I shall do my best to put a stop to all the gossip. I shall let it be known she is a friend of the family whom you have taken under your wing. Meanwhile, shall we repair to the nearest tavern and hoist a pint or two while I tell you the latest on-dits?”
With an impish look that made him seem years younger, Philip agreed. Had he had any notion, any hint, of what Miss Ashbourne was about to do, he would not have been in nearly so good a mood.
* * * *
Emily stared at the letters on the desk before her and she blinked back tears. Was this truly to be her future? Her father, and a man she could not abide, aiding one another in forcing her to do as they wished?
She could not help but contrast the cold propriety of Mr. Canfield’s note with the gentle humor and kindness Mr. Langford had shown her, each day this week when he came to call. Or the little kindnesses he had shown her aunt.
To be sure, she ought not to compare Mr. Langford and Mr. Canfield. She was betrothed to one while the other saw her as a nuisance he had somehow conceived a responsibility to watch out for, nothing more.
Emily sighed. Her own replies were written and sealed. She would send them off as soon as she had written another letter, this one to the leader of those at the mill who looked to her for hope of change.
She supposed she was fortunate that any of the workers could read. But it meant that they expected some sort of regular reports from her and it was becoming more and more difficult to write them.
For all his promises to help, Mr. Langford had not exaggerated when he said the possibilities were limited. Without consulting him she had written a number of men considered to be sympathetic to the cause of mill workers. And none had been encouraging.
She suspected that if they realized E. Ashbourne was a woman, they would have been even less forthcoming. So what was she to do? Visit these gentlemen in person? She was well aware how frowned upon such a step would be. And yet, was there any other choice?
Even if Mr. Langford was not palming her off with promises he did not mean to keep, ultimately this was her responsibility and she ought to see it carried out herself. She would do what she ought to have done when she first came to London. She would go to see Lord Darton.
Emily set aside her pen and frowned. Why hadn’t Sir Thomas Levenger been willing to give her Lord Darton’s direction? Why had he sent her to Mr. Langford instead? To be sure, the barrister was very kind, but he was not a member of Parliament as Lord Darton was.
Well, no matter. It was time she made her own decision to do so. Setting aside the one letter left to write, Emily rose to her feet. She would go change her dress, fetch her bonnet, and this time she would ask Whiten to send for a carriage. Even with Lord Darton, she had a shrewd notion that she had best visit without warning. He could not turn her away nearly so easily if she did so.
Emily chose a brown gown made of wool. It was more than a year old, and a trifle out of style, but it contrived to make her—she hoped—look both older and more respectable than she was. If she was going to go against propriety, by calling upon a gentleman, even Lord Darton, then she had best look as respectable as possible.
Emily studied her image in the mirror. She still did not look quite as old or as proper as she wished. Biting her lower lip, she did up her hair in a bun so severe that she resembled her aunt.
Whiten sent for a carriage, betraying not by a flicker of his eyes how improper he thought it was for her to sally forth alone. The coachman was not nearly so polite. When asked to take her to Lord Darton’s town house he replied, “One, I don’ts knows where the cove lives and two, gentlemen don’ts likes their fancy pieces calling at the front door.”
Mortified, Emily flushed a deep red. She looked hastily about to make certain no one had overheard the coachman’s comments, but the street was fortunately deserted and Whiten was back inside the house.
Perhaps she should have tried to discover Lord Darton’s precise direction first, but she had not and her impulsiveness had once again pressed her into an awkward situation.
She tilted her chin up and said haughtily, “Very well, if you don’t know Lord Darton’s direction, then take me to White’s. You must know where that is! Lord Darton is a family friend and I shall look for him there.”
The coachman looked at her doubtfully and even muttered under his breath, but in the end he did as she asked. Emily had barely settled herself onto the shabby seat of the hired coach when it jolted forward, setting off down the street at a brisk pace.
It was not, Emily knew, the thing for a woman to call at White’s. And she did not expect to be admitted, but she had heard that most gentlemen spent much of their days there and surely the doorman would have Lord Darton fetched to speak with her if she asked him to do so.
And if Lord Darton was not at White’s, perhaps other members of Parliament would be. Not that they were likely to be pleased to see her, either. Emily knew that pressing her interests at White’s was likely to shock the men there. But she had never been one to shirk a task merely because it would not be an easy one.
And surely, if she claimed urgent business and threw herself on the sympathy of the gentlemen there, someone would listen to her? If not a member of Parliament, then at least a gentleman who had the ear of one. And surely they would n
ot look too harshly on her when they understood it was the only way to find the men she needed to speak with? Particularly Lord Darton. If he were there, everything would be easy. This Lord Darton was not the man her uncle had known, but how unlike his father could he be?
Emily Ashbourne was supremely naive.
Two hours later found her in the admitting room of Bedlam.
Chapter 8
Lord Darton, when he stopped to think of it, was rather fond of his three younger brothers, but there was no denying they, each of them, were rather intimidating and showed a distinct lack of respect toward him, as well as a distressing tendency to act in ways most inappropriate for gentlemen. Still, he made it a point to see them regularly, feeling that as head of the family he had a responsibility to keep tabs on what they were about.
Now, Lord Darton might have invited his brothers to his house, and upon occasion he did so. There was no denying, however, that Philip, James, and Harry did not get along particularly well with Athenia, Lady Darton. So, far more often, George arranged to meet one or more of his brothers at his club and dine with them there.
There was always a quiet corner where he could interrogate one or the other of them, if he felt the need, and no fear that Athenia would complain, the next morning, about his brothers’ lack of manners and respect toward her.
This was one such evening and George even congratulated himself that for once he would be the one with an astonishing story to tell. His brothers were forever roasting him that he lived a dull life! What would they think when they learned that a madwoman had tried to storm White’s today and then accosted him as he was leaving and attempted to tell him the positions he ought to take on points of law!
So, in excellent humor, Lord Darton strode into his club where he discovered the story had preceded him. Well, a version of the story, at any rate. He was not identified by name. Nor was the woman in question. But since Darton himself had not paid a great deal of attention to that little detail, it was not surprising no one else had.
In any event, since he had not been identified, he would be able to surprise his brothers with that morsel of information. Besides, they were not here yet and perhaps they had heard nothing of the affair, and he would be the first to tell them what had occurred after all.
His first glimpse of them confirmed Darton in his affection for his brothers. Philip had dignity and James was the epitome of a gentleman, elegantly turned out with exquisitely tailored clothes. No one looking at him would ever guess he dabbled in things. If only they both did not have such eccentric interests!
George suppressed a shudder at the thought and stepped forward to greet his brothers. After the usual exchange of pleasantries, they went in to dinner. Darton’s experienced eye told him that both James and Philip had already indulged a bit, but that was all to the good. It would take the edge off their wits and grant him a level playing field. It also had patently improved their tempers.
Indeed, so well did they get along, that the first hint of trouble came over the port, after dinner, as George began to relate the story of his day. He had gotten as far as describing the deranged damsel when abruptly Philip rose to his feet, nearly overturning the table.
In accents thick with wine, Philip demanded, “Where did they take her? Where is she now?”
Darton blinked in amazement at his brother. “Why, I don’t know,” he said. “Bedlam, I must suppose. That’s where I told them to take her.”
And then, Philip turned on his heel and strode out of the room without another word. George watched him, mouth agape, then turned to James to see what he made of this odd behavior.
“How much did the pair of you have to drink before dinner?” George demanded.
James looked at him and answered carefully, with wide, solemn eyes, “I don’t think the problem is how much Philip has had to drink.”
“Then what the devil is the problem?” George demanded testily. “Leaving like that! It’s downright rude, it is, and so I shall tell Philip the next time I see him. And why the devil was he asking the whereabouts of that girl?”
A mischievous expression crossed James’s face, causing Lord Darton to feel distinctly uneasy. Nor was he reassured by his brother’s carefully phrased answer.
“I think you recalled to Philip a certain client of his and he has gone to satisfy himself as to her welfare.”
“Her welfare?” George echoed. “Do you mean to say some widow is consulting him?”
James only smiled more broadly, and his eyes began to dance. “I think,” he said judiciously, “I shall leave it to Philip to answer your questions. If he chooses to do so. As for me, I am pledged to friends for an evening of cards. A perfectly proper occupation for a gentleman, I know you will agree and therefore excuse me.”
And before Darton could think of a way to deny it, James was on his feet and leaving the room. George could only stare fixedly at the bottle of port and wonder if madness was catching and, if so, whether London was about to be gripped by an epidemic of it.
* * * *
Philip was admitted, though not without protest, when he presented himself at the doors of Bedlam a short time later. The director, hastily roused from his bed and summoned to deal with the irascible barrister, was not in a mood to be conciliatory.
“In the morning. Come back in the morning,” he told Philip curtly. “We do not conduct tours at this hour of the night. I cannot understand why anyone thought it necessary to wake me to have me tell you so.”
“I do not wish for a tour of Bedlam,” Philip answered, holding onto his temper with great effort, “I am looking for a girl.”
“Oh. A girl. Well, why didn’t you just apply to the guard? For the proper fee—”
In a moment, Philip had the man by the throat. “I am looking for a very specific girl. And not for the purpose you seem to think! This girl is a young lady. And if she has been hurt, in any way, you will regret it. I shall have this place shut down and you clapped up into prison! The girl who was brought in here this afternoon is my ward and I want to see her right now!”
It was a lie, but not entirely. Philip realized that at some point he had come to think of himself as Miss Ashbourne’s guardian, albeit not a legal one. But this man was not to know the difference.
The director managed to choke out a reply and Philip let him go. Instantly the man retreated to the far side of the room. He immediately opened the door and sent the guard to fetch the latest charge, as he called her. Then he turned back to Philip.
“Your ward!” he echoed, recovering remarkably quickly. “I wonder, then, that you do not take better care of her. She ought to be kept under lock and key.”
Philip did not bother to argue. At the moment, in fact, he was inclined to agree. Once he had Miss Ashbourne safely away from here, he meant to ring a peal over her head that she would never forget! One calculated to ensure she never acted with such foolishness again.
But the thought died the moment he saw her. Philip had heard about Bedlam, though he had never come to laugh at the inmates, as some did. Nor to hire any for an hour or two of pleasure. Such a thing would have been entirely repugnant to him, but he had heard the stories.
Still, when Miss Ashbourne was brought into the room, Philip was completely unprepared for the appalling change in her appearance since last he saw the girl. Her dress was torn in more than one place. Her hair was tangled, with half the pins holding it gone. And her bonnet was missing as well. The look on her face tore at his heart and he wanted to reach out to hold her.
Indeed, he had taken half a step in her direction when suddenly her face snapped up and her eyes lit on him and she smiled.
“Mr. Langford! I did not look for you to come and rescue me! How did you know I was here?”
Philip turned to the director. “Mad?” he demanded. “As you can hear, she is as sane as you or I.”
The director began to stammer. “She—she was not so coherent when she was brought in. She was shouting curses and behaving in a m
ost unladylike way! And the guards who brought her, they said she had behaved like a madwoman. Naturally, I took their word for it.”
“Naturally,” Philip echoed with great irony.
She came farther into the room and stepped between the two men. The guard made as if to stop her but a signal from the director stopped him.
“Mr. Langford, may we go home now? To be sure, there is a great deal that needs investigating in this place, but at the moment I wish nothing more than to be away from here,” she said.
Instantly he moved to her side and took her arm. “Of course.”
The director did not try to stop them, though his parting words were, “Sometimes they have lucid moments! It doesn’t mean they are sane.”
Outside, the coachman recoiled at the sight of Miss Ashbourne, for her cloak was long gone and she had nothing to cover her torn dress.
“She ain’t violent, guv’nor, is she?” he asked.
“It’s all right. Her being here was a mistake. Now corrected,” Philip assured the man. “The lady is quite sane, I assure you.”
The coachman shook his head. “Taking up ladies, now, is they? A shame, that’s what it is, a right shame.”
Since Philip was inclined to agree, he tossed the man a coin and helped Miss Ashbourne into the carriage. The sooner they were away from here, the better. For once he was grateful that she lived in as poor a section of London as she did. He shuddered to think what it would do to her reputation if she lived in more respectable parts and were seen in this condition when he took her home.
Inside the carriage, he expected to find a much subdued Miss Ashbourne. He ought to have known better. The moment the carriage door was closed she began to speak.
“We must do something about that place! Conditions are shocking. You would not believe what goes on in there. We must do something about it.”
Not a word of pity for herself. Not the least sign of the hysterics which any other lady of his acquaintance would have indulged in. She did not scream with terror, as a proper lady ought to have done. Instead Miss Ashbourne was already demanding that he help her to reform the place.
The Reckless Barrister Page 6
