The Battling Bluestocking

by Scott, Amanda

  There was an anxious look about him now that appealed to Jessica’s compassionate nature. She wanted to hug the filthy little waif. Instead, she just grinned at him before turning back to Andrew.

  “You’ll come with me?”

  “I still think we ought to discuss this with Uncle Brian, Miss Jessica. Kettle Lane dashed well don’t sound like much a place for a lady. No doubt he would say a gentleman ought to attend to the business. Would myself, only I’d likely make a botch of it, for I’ve never done such a thing before. He would know precisely what to do, however.”

  The thought of acquiring Sir Brian’s assistance in the matter was an appealing one. Jessica knew she would be completely safe in his company, safer than she would be in Andrew’s, certainly. But a second thought convinced her that Sir Brian would flatly refuse to allow her to accompany him upon such an undertaking, and while she was perfectly certain she could trust him to see the matter ended satisfactorily, she had a great desire to attend to it herself. The notion of purchasing Jeremy’s apprenticeship had been hers, after all. Surely she could see it through without assistance. She straightened her shoulders with a little shake of her head and looked directly at Andrew.

  “You may come with me if you choose to do so,” she told him firmly, “or you may remain behind, but I do not intend to wait until your uncle chooses to pay us a call or for you to search him out before seeing this business at an end. If Jem…What’s his surname, Jeremy?” The boy looked bewildered. “His other name. Bates mentioned it, but I cannot recall what it was. Jem what?”

  “Oh, Jem Crick, miss.”

  “Well, if Jem Crick is not searching out a constable at this very moment, then he is most likely plotting mischief of another sort, so I don’t think we have any time to spare. Ring for a footman, Andrew. Two pulls of the cord just there behind you.”

  Andrew obeyed, and when the footman arrived, Jessica sent him to gather up all the sweep’s belongings and to call for her aunt’s carriage. “And request that someone accompany me besides the coachman, if you please. You’ll do, yourself, actually,” she added, after regarding his tall, well-muscled body with approbation. “Are you coming with me, Andrew?”

  “By Jove, I guess I am,” he responded promptly. “Uncle Brian won’t like it much, I daresay, but I think you’ve got a deal of spunk, Miss Jessica, and I wouldn’t miss this for the world. But should you not have suggested that that fellow carry a shotgun or some such thing?”

  “No need, Andrew,” she assured him, twinkling. “I shall have my chinchilla muff.”

  He stared at her, eyes widening, then burst into laughter. “By Jove, ma’am, you are the most complete hand. That ruffian don’t stand a chance.”

  She grinned at him, then hurried upstairs to change out of her riding habit. When she returned to the drawing room, looking complete to a shade in a carriage gown of peach-colored sarcenet with a matching spencer, Yorkshire tan gloves and half-boots, and carrying her large fur muff, Sir William Knighton was speaking to Lady Susan and Andrew. Of the boy, Jeremy, there was no sign.

  “The child is seriously malnourished,” Sir William was saying. “It is the same with all those lads, I fear. Their masters starve them in order to keep them small enough to squirm up into the chimneys. Feed him well but with small portions at first until his body adjusts. And put that salve I’ve given you on the burns daily, being sure to keep them very clean. I don’t envy that maid of yours trying to bathe the little devil, since he seemed so set against it, but it is a necessary thing, I assure you, my lady. The burns are not as serious as you might have supposed, but the scarring indicates that he has been burned before, and he has certainly been abused in a good many other ways as well. I shan’t ask how he came to be here in your drawing room,” he added with a slight smile, “but I wish him well. He’s a sturdy lad. Ought to come out of all this without too much damage.” He nodded to Jessica and to Andrew and took his departure a few moments later.

  Lady Susan expelled a sigh of relief. “I am so grateful that the boy was not seriously injured in my house,” she said. “I should have felt so responsible.”

  “He is being bathed now,” Andrew said with a grin. “Must be the first bath he’s ever had. You ought to have seen the dust he kicked up when the maid came to fetch him.”

  “Well, we shall leave him to your tender mercies, Aunt, and see what we can do to free him from Mr. Crick’s employ,” Jessica told her, bestowing a kiss upon her cheek.

  “Wonderful,” Lady Susan replied. Then a frown creased her smooth brow. “That is…I know we must do something, Jessica, but it really does sound, like a dreadful place. Behind the Fleet and all. Do you think you should go yourself? Would it not be better—”

  “This was my notion, Aunt, and I intend to see it through. If Kettle Lane is behind the Fleet Prison, then it is also quite near St. Paul’s Cathedral. I shall be perfectly safe. Besides, Andrew is to accompany me, and I am taking a stalwart footman along as well, so you need not bother your head about me.”

  Lady Susan agreed, albeit with reluctance, and Jessica and Andrew were soon bowling along toward Cheapside, the sweep’s gear tucked neatly into the boot, and the large liveried footman standing up behind. Jessica fingered the little pistol in her muff. She had checked before leaving her bedchamber to be certain the weapon was fully loaded, but now she was remembering Sir Brian’s words that day so long ago when she had attempted to intervene between Janet St. Erth and the miner, Hayle. If the sweep was as much of a brute as both Jeremy and Lady Susan seemed to think him, perhaps it would be as well if she didn’t have recourse to her pistol. Still and all, she told herself, it would be as well to have it there to give her confidence.

  The journey to Cheapside took them some time, but Jessica and Andrew indulged in only sporadic bursts of conversation, punctuated by longer periods of silence, during which Jessica’s thoughts were taken up with imagined scenes between herself and a burly sweep. All of these were long and drawn out, with the sweep reluctant and recalcitrant and Jessica cleverly using her wits and her quick tongue to best him.

  After stopping a number of times so that the coachman might ask directions as they wended their way through streets filled with potholes and the noisome stench of decaying garbage—without once, as Jessica observed to Andrew with a wry twist of her lips, catching a glimpse of even so much as the dome of St. Paul’s—they came at last to a halt in front of the narrow, dilapidated, street-hugging, three-story house, crammed into a row of others that were equally disreputable, where they had been told they might find Jem Crick. After all her mental exercise, she would have been disappointed to discover that he was not home; however, while the footman unloaded the brushes and other equipment to the narrow flagway, Andrew knocked loudly upon the door, and it was Mr. Crick himself who answered.

  He was not at all the sort of man Jessica had imagined he would be. Thin, wiry, and stoop-shouldered, the sweep bowed and scraped and wrung his hands when he realized they had come to discuss Jeremy. He seemed inclined to offer a number of whining excuses for his ill-treatment of the child until he discovered that they merely wished to purchase any papers he might have that entitled him to Jeremy’s further services. So astonished was he by this news that he scarcely haggled more than five minutes or so over the price required, though he did manage to make them stare at the amount he seemed to expect they would be willing to pay. It was not until they had returned to the carriage, papers in hand, that Jessica chanced to remember the little pistol in her muff. She looked at Andrew, grinning.

  “That was not so difficult as I had expected it would be.”

  “Difficult!” Andrew exclaimed, “By Jove, ma’am, it was as easy as kiss my hand. Hard to imagine that craven fellow brutalizing a scamp like young Jeremy, ain’t it?”

  Jessica disagreed. She could easily imagine Mr. Crick, whose eyes had avoided hers the entire time they had talked, doing just about anything she could imagine. But it was a little easier to understand how it was
that Lady Susan had managed to rout him from her house with so little difficulty.

  Since she could scarcely wait to describe the circumstances of their victory to her aunt and Jeremy, it was a trifle disconcerting to be met in the entry hall by Sir Brian instead. It was even more disconcerting when she realized, as she did immediately upon allowing her gaze to collide with his, that he was in a towering rage. Andrew, behind her, stopped dead upon the threshold, leaving Bates in something of a quandary, since he could not shut the door until Andrew moved. The butler glanced uneasily from one occupant of the hall to another.

  It was Sir Brian who spoke first. He addressed his nephew, and his voice was deadly calm.

  “I wish to have a few words in private with Miss Sutton-Drew, but I shall expect to find you in Charles Street upon my return.”

  “Y-yes, sir.”

  It was clearly a dismissal, and Andrew fled, leaving Jessica to face his uncle’s wrath alone.

  10

  BATES SHUT THE FRONT door.

  “Will you or Sir Brian require anything further, Miss Jessica?” he inquired in a carefully even tone.

  “We require nothing, Bates, except a little privacy,” Sir Brian snapped before Jessica could collect her thoughts enough to speak. “We shall be in the small saloon, where we do not wish to be disturbed.”

  “Yes, sir.” Bates moved without so much as a questioning glance at Jessica to open the door into the saloon Sir Brian had indicated, a charming little room decorated in pale blue and gold, and overlooking the square through tall, narrow Crown-glass windows.

  Sir Brian waited pointedly for Jessica to precede him, and after one quick glance upward to find an expression in his eyes that promptly reminded her of the day Andrew had said his uncle had a talent for turning people’s knees to pudding, she swallowed carefully but managed to walk past him with her head high. Inside the room she turned, waiting only until Bates had closed the door again behind Sir Brian.

  “You seem a trifle put out, sir,” she said, pardonably proud that her voice sounded calm, even though, for the first time in his presence, she could actually feel her heart pounding against her rib cage.

  “Put out?” His voice rose a little, and despite the control he was so clearly exerting over himself, there was undue emphasis on the second word. “My dear girl, I have been pacing the floors here, trying to decide whether I ought to go after you or not, ever since the moment your aunt informed me of the ridiculous mission you and my harebrained nephew had set out upon.”

  He took a step nearer, and Jessica felt a tiny thrill of fear shoot up her backbone, for his eyes fairly glittered with anger, and the fact that his efforts to control his fury were so visible only made him seem the more dangerous. She had no idea how far his anger would take him; nevertheless, she stood her ground, and despite the curious effect his anger had upon her, she found it difficult to control her own temper.

  “You need not have disturbed yourself, sir,” she said. “We managed the sweep quite successfully.”

  “By God, Jessica, I believe you are as headstrong and foolhardy as that impetuous aunt of yours,” he declared grimly. “It would be an excellent thing if someone were to shake you until your teeth rattled, and I confess, I’m of a mind to do at least that much myself, for you ought to have sense enough to realize that it was not your errand in and of itself that worried me, but rather the danger to your safety. Whatever possessed you to do something so outrageous?”

  “There was nothing in the least outrageous about it,” she countered, wishing her palms were a trifle drier and that her heart were not fluttering so absurdly in her breast. “Purchasing the boy’s articles of indenture, or whatever an apprentice’s papers are called, was clearly the simplest way out of the matter once Aunt Susan had taken it upon herself to rescue him. And as for my safety, you may rest assured that I took proper precautions.”

  “Don’t think I didn’t consider that fact,” he said, glaring. “The knowledge did nothing to alleviate my anxiety, however. Give me that damned muff.”

  “I do not think it would be wise to do that,” she returned warily, “since your senses seem to be somewhat disordered at the moment. There is a loaded pistol in this muff, if you will recall, and I believe I would do better to retain possession of it myself.”

  “What, are you afraid I shall shoot you with it, or myself?” he asked sardonically. Then he paused, regarding her sternly for some seconds before adding, “Not, mind you, that I’m not strongly inclined to deal with you as you deserve. However, I assure you I have no need of a pistol in my hand to attend to that.”

  The look of intent in his eyes caused Jessica to take a half-step away from him. “You’ve no right,” she said.

  “On the contrary, my dear, I’ve the right of any civilized man to protect those who haven’t been blessed with enough good sense to protect themselves. You’ve no more notion of what to do with that thing than the merest infant. First, you shoot my nephew with it. Next, you nearly stir a violent man to further violence. And today you take yourself off to some black slum, expecting that ridiculous toy to protect you, when it was much more likely to turn a bad situation into a worse one. It is therefore my considered opinion that you will behave more circumspectly without that damned gun to lend you false courage.” He held out his hand implacably. “Hand it over, Jessica. I’ve no wish to exert myself.”

  Understanding that he had every intention of wresting it from her by force if necessary, Jessica bowed to the inevitable and handed him the fur muff. He reached inside and extracted the little pistol, examining it briefly before dropping it into his coat pocket.

  “I cannot tell you how much it relieves my mind to discover that it hasn’t been fired recently,” he said, returning the muff to her.

  “Well, of course it has not,” she replied with asperity, her temper rallying at once when he showed no further inclination to carry out his threats. “If you had but let us describe what took place in Cheapside, you would know that I had had no reason to resort to such a course.”

  “If you had but waited a half-hour before departing, there would have been no cause for you to go to Cheapside at all,” he retorted, the glitter returning to his eye.

  “Oh, Andrew said you would say that.” Jessica nearly stamped her foot. “I have no patience with such stuff, sir, for I am a grown woman, well past the age of nonsensical missish strictures. Dealing with the sweep directly was my own idea, and I was just as capable of managing the business as any man would have been. Besides,” she added, “I had Andrew, my coachman, and a footman to support me. Not to mention that pistol. And you may say what you like, but I do know how to use it, and I should not have hesitated to do so if the situation had called for such a thing. And whether you choose to believe it or not, I do have sufficiently good judgment to have made that decision for myself: There was not the least cause for you to worry that I might have brought anyone to harm.”

  He did step forward then, impulsively, and Jessica experienced that little thrill of fear again as his hands clamped bruisingly upon her shoulders and he did indeed give her a fierce shake.

  “You behaved outrageously,” he informed her between clenched teeth as he shook her again. “You had no way of knowing what sort of man you were going to meet or how dangerous he might have been. And as for your protection, let me inform you, my girl, that neither my nephew, your aunt’s ancient coachman, nor that town-pampered footman you took along with you would have been any match for that sweep if he’d had a few of his friends nearby to incite him to violence. That little popgun of yours would have made no impression upon such a group, believe me.”

  He released her suddenly, and Jessica was quite unsurprised to note that her knees seemed in imminent danger of buckling beneath her. She stared at him, saying nothing, astonished that he could be so angry with her over such a thing without even wishing to know what had transpired. It was as if he had spent the time while he awaited her return in inventing bogeymen. Nevertheless, j
ust the fact of his anger was doing strange things to her inside, creating sensations she had not experienced before and that she did not know how to counter. Much effort was required merely to maintain her equilibrium.

  Watching her, Sir Brian evidently assumed that he had frightened her to silence. A rueful look flitted across his countenance, and he made a strong effort to regain his normal calm. “I should not have lost my temper, Jessica,” he said. “I did not mean to do so, and I cannot think how it came to pass. But if I might indulge myself in a bit of plain speaking, you behaved very foolishly. You would have been far wiser to have sent for me, and if Andrew truly suggested such a course, I think the better of him for it. You would have done well to have heeded his words.”

  Jessica released a small sigh. “You are saying that I ought to have sought your advice before proceeding in the matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “But, pray, why should I do such a thing?”

  “Because,” he explained patiently, “if for no other reason, the situation was one that ought to have been handled by a man, not by a gentlewoman. What do you suppose such persons as Lady Jersey or Mrs. Drummond-Burrell would have to say, should they hear of such an escapade?”

  “Escapade? Is that what you think this has been, sir?” When he nodded, Jessica felt a sense of frustration. She wanted to touch him, to smooth the irritation from his brow, and somehow at the same time to instill him with an understanding of her motives, her feelings, and her needs. The most she could attempt, however, was to explain her position and hope he would not lose his temper again. “I do not think you understand how deeply I care about certain things,” she said slowly. “I love my aunt, and I am accustomed to—how can I put this?—to curbing her higher flights. Perhaps that sounds a trifle impertinent, and I assure you I have never before been put to such a task as the one I took upon myself today. Usually, all that is necessary is that I talk her out of her more outrageous starts. She has an interest in a good many causes, and the social Season seems to bring out her battling spirit simply because there is so much more activity in town then and such a glaring contrast between the members of the beau monde and the people she wants to help. Not that I don’t worry about her the rest of the year, as well. But I do understand her, because I care about many of the same things she cares about. And today, I was as concerned with helping that poor little boy as I was with protecting my aunt from the worst consequences of her actions. Perhaps I might have called upon you for assistance, but I am not accustomed to resting my burdens upon other people’s shoulders.” However broad, she added to herself, watching him.