Charlotte placed the money back inside her reticule. “I do wish Rose had confided what sort of trouble she was facing instead of trying to deal with it herself.”
“Try to put yourself in her shoes. It can be hard for a widow to make an honest living, and that may be part of the reason she was so secretive. Or she may have been afraid you’d find her and her problems too bothersome if she told you about them, and so she tried to hide them rather than lose her job.” He lifted one shoulder in a careless shrug. “Who can say why she acted as she did?” He looked out the window. “We’re almost there. Who is it we’re looking for at The Golden Pineapple?”
“Beyond asking about Rose, I don’t know. This could all be a fool’s errand.”
“We’re about to find out,” he said.
The hackney pulled up in front of a building that sported a large painted sign in the shape of a pineapple. Mr. Townshend told the driver to wait for them, then he helped Charlotte down and they entered the establishment. Mr. Townshend demanded to speak with the proprietor in an authoritative voice that produced quick results. A balding man with a spreading gut plodded over to them and became instantly cooperative when Mr. Townshend identified Charlotte as the Earl of Norwood’s intended bride. Mr. Townshend explained the nature of their errand here, and when he mentioned Rose by name, the proprietor, who’d informed them his name was Mr. Carter, shouted toward a back room for someone called Blade.
A man, presumably the aforementioned Blade, sauntered through a doorway wearing a sullen sneer, but his expression changed pretty quickly when Mr. Carter explained who they were and what they wanted. Especially when Mr. Carter mentioned Charlotte’s connection to Lord Norwood, and added that he didn’t want Blade to bring any trouble on their heads by messing with the wrong toff.
“Do you know this girl Rose who the lady’s looking for?” Mr. Carter asked. His tone was genial, but the look in his eyes as they rested on Blade was hard and uncompromising.
“Yeah, I guess so,” the other man replied.
“And the sister?” Charlotte asked anxiously. “Do you know her as well?”
Blade nodded.
Mr. Carter’s eyes narrowed menacingly. “Does this business have anything to do with Mrs. Mast and her girls?”
“Not anymore,” Blade muttered. “Not if you don’t want it to.”
“Are the girls nearby?” Mr. Carter asked.
“Yeah.”
“Then go get’em,” Mr. Carter barked. “And give the one called Rose her money back. Tell Mrs. Mast if she has a problem with that she can take it up with me.”
Blade nodded and disappeared back through the doorway.
“I’m sorry ’bout this,” Mr. Carter said, his tone and expression becoming more jovial as he addressed Charlotte and Mr. Townshend once more. “That’s the thanks I get for tryin’ to help that boy out.” He shook his head ruefully, as if he were the victim here. “I hope but what you won’t hold it against me. I run a clean business.”
Charlotte felt Mr. Carter’s innocent facade stretched credulity, particularly when the “boy” he claimed to be trying to help looked like a hardened individual who’d earned his moniker Blade in precisely the nefarious way one might imagine he would. If this man Blade was the same man who’d accosted Rose and Jenny on the street, Charlotte could see why Jenny was so fearful of seeing him again.
“We’ve no intention of pursuing this further as long as the matter comes to a satisfactory resolution,” she said.
Mr. Carter nodded and returned to the spot behind the counter where he’d been standing when they entered the place.
She felt a rush of thankfulness that Mr. Townshend had spotted her and Jenny, and that he’d insisted on accompanying her today. Her naïveté could have landed her in a precarious position had she ventured out without him.
While they waited for this Blade to return with Rose and her sister, Charlotte looked around. The establishment wasn’t as sinister-looking as she’d expected. There was nothing fancy about it, but it was on the whole clean, if rather shabby. She could see into the taproom, and it seemed to be filled with laborers, men who relied on strong backs and the sweat of their brows to make a living. Most were consuming plates of food and nursing pints of ale as they cast curious glances at her and Mr. Townshend.
Charlotte didn’t feel threatened precisely, but neither did she wish to linger once their business was finished. Mr. Townshend, she noticed, was keeping an alert eye on their surroundings while he stood close to her side.
After about ten minutes, Mr. Carter slipped through the door that led into the back and quickly reappeared with a relieved-looking Rose and another girl, who bore enough resemblance to Rose that Charlotte knew it must be her sister.
“Here ya be,” Mr. Carter said, leading the girls over to them. “We’re squared up now.”
“Are you unharmed?” Charlotte asked, the question coming out more sharply than she intended.
“Yes,” Rose said. She glanced at her sister, then said again, “Yes.”
“Did they give you your money back?” Charlotte asked.
“They did,” Rose replied, sounding a bit stunned by this. “All of it.”
“Do we have your guarantee that these girls won’t be bothered about this in the future?” Mr. Townshend asked. His voice held a rough, steely edge so unlike his usual manner that Charlotte looked at him in surprise. She’d thought his statement about knowing how to fight dirty was more hyperbole than anything, but now she wasn’t so sure.
Mr. Carter seemed to recognize that here was a man he didn’t want to mess with. “You have my guarantee,” he said.
“Then we’re square,” Charlotte told the proprietor. She put an arm around Rose and Mr. Townshend grasped the sister’s arm and they departed. The hackney was waiting outside just where they’d left it. Mr. Townshend assisted all of them to climb in before taking a seat himself.
“All’s well that ends well,” Mr. Townshend said as the hackney cab left the area around The Golden Pineapple and headed to the welcome familiarity of Mayfair. As they made their way back to Berners Street, the whole story behind Rose’s behavior came out.
“I didn’t plan to bring Annie here when I came to London,” Rose explained. “Lady Serena made it clear I couldn’t bring family because there wasn’t anywhere to house them. Annie was to stay back in Pentwhistle and keep working at the inn there until I could send for her. That’s what we planned. But the inn was taken over by a new owner just before I was to come here, and we could tell that man wasn’t the type to treat his employees well or to leave the maids alone, if you take my meaning. I couldn’t leave Annie there all by herself with no one to protect her.”
“We were told by one of the other maids that there was work to be had at an inn here in London. We thought it was cleaning work, but it wasn’t. I begged Mrs. Mast to let Annie just clean the place, which heaven knows it needed. That she didn’t even have to pay her, just feed her and house her until I could figure something out. She agreed, but then she demanded money from me, or she wouldn’t keep her end of the bargain. I didn’t know what to do.”
“Oh, Rose, you should have told me,” Charlotte said. “I’d have figured out some way to help your sister.”
Rose shook her head sorrowfully. “I was afraid if I said anything, I’d lose my job. And anyway, you didn’t need another maid.”
Annie, who hadn’t said a word to anyone yet, had fallen asleep, her head resting against Rose’s shoulder. She looked very young and innocent. Charlotte hoped they’d rescued the girl in time, that she hadn’t been forced to do the sort of work Mrs. Mast had been pushing on her. She wasn’t sure what they’d do with her yet. Let her stay with her sister for a little while, and then if they could bear to be parted, perhaps send her to Chartwell to work. A country estate always needed more servants than one in town.
“Well, it’s behind us now,” she told Rose. “Let’s be thankful that it ended as well as it did.”
Ch
arlotte arrived home to find an anxious Mrs. Bridwell pacing in the entryway. “Oh, thank heavens!” the housekeeper said as they trooped into the front hall. She looked surprised to see that it was Mr. Townshend who was with them.
She gathered Rose to her in a motherly hug, before turning to Annie and giving her a warm hug as well.
“I’ll see to these two now, miss. You must get ready to dine with the Peytons.”
“Oh, good gracious,” Charlotte said. One hand flew to her cheek as she realized that in the excitement of retrieving Rose and Annie she’d completely forgotten about having plans this evening. “Yes, Mrs. Bridwell, you see to Rose and Annie, and please send Jenny up. Since Sally isn’t feeling well, Jenny can function as my lady’s maid this evening.”
“I already sent Jenny upstairs to lay out your clothes,” Mrs. Bridwell said. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” She nodded to Charlotte and Mr. Townshend and led Rose and Annie toward the back of the house.
“After all you’ve done, I don’t wish to chase you off…,” Charlotte began.
“But you need to chase me off,” Mr. Townshend finished with a smile. “I understand. Don’t give it another thought. I’ll let you tell Norwood all about this afternoon’s adventure.” He peered at her closely, and Charlotte silently cursed her inability to assume that carefully bland expression so many aristocrats had mastered to perfection. “You are going to tell him, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t decided if it’s truly necessary to tell him. He was quite put out when I went to Red Lion Square, and that’s a much safer neighborhood, so I know he won’t approve of this jaunt to Covent Garden,” she said.
“Maybe so, but I find honesty is always the best policy. Especially since we attracted that crowd on Oxford Street. Among all those onlookers I imagine at least one acquaintance of Norwood’s was there to witness it, and if someone else mentions it to him, he’s going to wonder why you didn’t. And I wouldn’t blame him.”
“Of course,” Charlotte said. “He might jump to the wrong conclusion. You’re right. I’ll have to tell him and suffer the scolding he’ll surely deliver.”
However, her confession of the escapade could wait a day or two. After so much time apart, she didn’t want anything to mar this evening, and she knew William was bound to be unhappy with her actions.
Mr. Townshend smiled and gave a brief bow. “Adieu then, Miss Hurst. I hope you have a delightful evening. Give Norwood my best regards.”
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning Phillip brought a large paper-wrapped parcel into the small drawing room where Charlotte was once again studying fabric swatches with a critical eye.
“This just arrived. A footman was coming up the front steps as I was leaving. He said it was from Lady Peyton for you.”
“Oh.” Charlotte expelled a long breath. “At dinner last night she told me she’d send over a few things regarding the engagement ball. A preliminary guest list, menus, suggested floral arrangements and…”
A pained expression came over Phillip’s face, much as it had last night at dinner when Elizabeth brought up her preparations for the ball. Like most men, her brother had little interest in these sorts of details. She went over and took the package from Phillip.
“And I don’t really know what else,” she concluded, untying the string that held the package together. She freed a leather folio from the paper wrappings and, briefly, flipped through the papers inside it. “I’ll take a closer look at this later.” She laid the folio on a side table.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your work then,” her brother said.
“Not so fast, Phillip. While you’re here, tell me what you think of these colors.”
“Honestly, Charlotte, you know I don’t care. Decorate the rooms how you like.”
“Yes, but it’s your house. You should have a say,” she pressed.
“Fine. I like the one on the left.”
“Phil-lip! Be serious.”
“I am,” he said, sidling toward the doorway. “Besides if I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for my appointment at the tailor’s.” He gave her an aggrieved look. “An appointment, may I remind you, that you insisted upon in the first place.”
“Because you haven’t ordered new evening clothes in two years, at least,” she protested, “and with all the invitations we’ve been receiving—”
“Yes, yes, I blame all that on Norwood’s influence on our lives. Now, really, I must go.”
He turned and slipped through the door before she could offer further protest.
She shook her head, then turned back to the selection of swatches draped over the sofa and a nearby armchair. “Was he referring to the left one on the sofa, or the left one on the wingback chair?” she muttered. Though it really didn’t matter, she supposed.
By lunchtime she’d finished up with all the fabric selections for all the rooms she planned to redecorate. In the unlikely event Phillip cared enough to dislike them, he could embark upon his own redecorating project. After lunch, she’d make a trip to the linen drapers, place her order, and enjoy the satisfaction of having completed the task.
So it was a few hours later that Charlotte exited the linen drapers’ shop, intending to head to a nearby sweet shop where her maid Sally was doing a little shopping of her own. She’d only gone a few steps when she was accosted by a young boy about ten years old.
“Miss Hurst?” the boy asked. He held out a folded piece of paper with her name clearly written across it. “If you’re Miss Hurst, this is for you.”
The boy looked like one of the many scruffy street urchins who ran errands or did odd jobs for pennies. What puzzled her was that someone had hired him to deliver a note to her, and rather than take it to her residence, had known she was at the linen drapers. The idea that she might have been followed raised the hairs on the back of her neck. Was this connected to the trip to Covent Garden? Or could it have something to do with Lord Pemberton? The man did seem to turn up in her vicinity with appalling regularity.
“I am indeed Miss Hurst,” she replied, taking the missive from him. He started to dart off, but she called out, “Wait! Let me pay you for your trouble.”
He glanced around before coming back to stand before her with a hand held out, palm up. Charlotte dug around in her reticule, trying to fish out a coin or two.
“How did you know that you’d find me here?” She continued to “search” for coins in her purse, afraid the boy would run off as soon as she paid him and she wouldn’t get any information from him.
“A man tole me to look for a lady in a green dress with a blue purse coming out o’ there.” He pointed at the shop she’d just exited.
“I see,” she said, keeping her voice friendly and conversational, even though she was rattled. Not only did the sender of the note know she’d been at the linen drapers, but the person also knew what she was wearing, and yet he didn’t want to deliver this message himself. It was very odd, and more than a little unnerving. “Do you know this man? Does he have a name?” The boy shrugged and shook his head.
“Ah, here we are.” She held up a shilling. “This is yours if you can tell me what he looked like.”
“I dunno,” he said, his gaze fixed on the coin.
“Well, you did see him, didn’t you?” He nodded, still staring at the coin. It probably represented a fortune to him, and she knew it was the only thing keeping him there, rather than scampering down the street. “Did he have fair hair or brown or red? Was he a gentleman wearing fine clothes, or was he dressed less finely?”
“He weren’t a toff,” the boy said. “Didn’t notice his hair, but he had a big scar here.” He traced a line along his cheek with one of his fingers.
That didn’t describe Lord Pemberton, Mr. Carter, or the man called Blade, and since it didn’t, she doubted this information about the scar would prove all that useful in identifying whoever had directed the boy to give her the note. So she handed over the shilling. He grabbed it from her and was off like a fl
ash, soon lost in the crowd.
She hesitated, wondering if she should read the note here, or wait until she got home. She looked around her, but she didn’t catch a glimpse of anyone who looked familiar, or even anyone who looked unfamiliar, but who seemed to be watching her. Or for that matter, anyone sporting a noticeable scar on one cheek.
Making her decision, she slipped back into the linen drapers. The fact that it had been delivered to her while she was shopping gave it an aura of immediacy and made her think it was meant to be read right away.
She smiled at the clerk who came over with a questioning look on his face. “I just needed a moment to check my…my list of errands for this afternoon,” she said. The clerk nodded and went back to a counter that held several bolts of material.
Charlotte began to read. It was a short note, but the tenor of it sent a cold shiver of dread through her.
Miss Hurst,
It’s been so heartwarming to see you and Lord Norwood together these last several days. Ah, young love. Or is it only a fraudulent portrayal of love? I think we both know the answer to that.
Nonetheless, real or not, your name is inextricably linked with Norwood’s now. So how do you think the ton…or Lord Liverpool, for that matter…will react to the news that you went to a disreputable establishment in the Covent Garden area, alone, with another man. A man to whom you are not engaged.
Don’t bother trying to deny it. I happened to be visiting my tailor on Oxford Street yesterday when that hysterical performance outside the hackney drew my attention. Imagine my delight when you were forced to leave the girl behind, and go off with Townshend…without any sort of chaperone. Naturally, I had my coachman follow the two of you. I hoped whatever you were up to, I’d find some way to bend it to my purposes, and frankly, you exceeded my hopes. Going to a seedy inn together? I could scarcely believe my good luck at being witness to that.
Not the Kind of Earl You Marry Page 25
