by Merry Farmer
A young woman named Ruby Murdoch had been arrested for prostitution. She had a newborn infant with her that was in a terrible state. The constable who arrested Ruby had enough of a heart to see that both she and the baby were given medical care before being shipped off to the St. Pancras workhouse.
The story had deeper, more sinister roots than that, though. Other papers in the stack Lady Stanhope had given Alex detailed reports that Ruby Murdoch had been employed at a place called the Black Strap Club, although Marigold wasn’t sure that employment was the right word. The papers were cryptic, but the description of the club sent a chill down her spine. It didn’t sound like the sort of place a well-born woman could even conceive of, let alone know about.
But Ruby’s story went further back than that. The oldest papers in the packet were employment records from the house of none other than Turpin. Ruby had been a maid in his house. Along with the simple records was what looked like a letter from a Mrs. Yates to a Mrs. Belvedere, gossiping about the ill treatment Ruby had had at Turpin’s hands. Marigold puzzled through the details as she read. Mrs. Yates had never had a bit of trouble from Ruby, and indeed, had found her to be a good, hard worker and a conscientious girl. Then all of a sudden, she was found to be with child and Turpin demanded she be dismissed.
With a gasp, the pieces flew into place. Turpin had interfered with the girl. He himself was the father of her child. And instead of taking responsibility in any way, he had cast poor Ruby off. But there had to be more to it than that. Shameful as it was, great and powerful men got their maids in trouble all the time, and the fate of those poor women was bleak as a rule. Lady Stanhope would not have presented Alex with the information about Ruby if she were just another fallen creature. There had to be something about the case that was scandalous enough to end Turpin’s political career, but what?
“Good heavens, what are you doing here?” Marigold’s sister, Flora, was so startled to see her as she turned the corner into the breakfast room that she jumped. “Shouldn’t you be…otherwise occupied?” A sly grin spread across her face.
Marigold stood, gathering up the papers and stuffing them back in the envelope. “Alex was called to an emergency session of Parliament this morning,” she explained in a rush. “And I’m afraid I need to be off myself.”
“Off?” Flora blinked rapidly. “Wherever to?”
“Croydon House, of course.” Marigold held the envelope containing Ruby Murdoch’s story to her chest, praying her sister wouldn’t ask about it. “I have an entire household to take control of, after all.”
“Yes, you do.” Flora swept over and gave her cheek a kiss. “I’m so proud of you, Mari. I always knew you’d make a splendid match someday and that you were just holding out for exactly the right man.”
On any other day, the flattery would have touched Marigold deeply. She was grateful for her sister’s support, but her mind was so far away at that moment that it was all she could do to stay focused enough to kiss her cheek in return before rushing out to the hall.
“Levins, could you call for a carriage to take me to Croydon House?” she asked the butler when she reached the front hall.
“Certainly, miss—forgive me, madam.” Levins smiled at her like a proud papa. “Shall I have Gretta bring your coat and hat as well?”
“Yes, please.”
Levins bowed before disappearing down a side corridor.
Marigold was left to wait in the front hall, pacing and running her fingertips along the edges of the envelope. What could be so scandalous about a fallen maid that it would necessitate a man being removed from his office in the House of Commons? Men could get away with murder and keep their seat, and Marigold was certain some probably had. But why would Lady Stanhope consider a minor kerfuffle scandalous enough to be presented as a wedding present?
The questions were still rolling around in her head as her father’s simplest, open buggy pulled up in front of the door. Gretta had already brought Marigold’s hat and coat and helped her put them on, so she hurried out into the street, still puzzling things over.
“Good morning, Mrs. Croydon,” Able, her father’s driver, greeted her in his broad, London accent, with a cheerful grin and a wink. “I’m surprised to see you up an’ about with the dawn chorus.” He hopped down from the buggy to give her a hand into the back.
Marigold was done with giving explanations for not being in bed the morning after her wedding, so she cut straight to business as she settled into the seat. “I’m heading to Croydon House this morning,” she told him as he resumed his place to drive. “But I’d like to run a quick errand first.”
“Anything for you, Mrs. Croydon.” He touched the brim of his hat, then gathered up the reins. He tapped the single horse pulling the buggy into a walk, heading toward the end of the street, then asked, “Where to?”
“Do you know of a place called the Black Strap Club?” Marigold asked.
Able pulled the horse to an abrupt stop and turned to stare at her. His expression turned grave, and splotches of color formed on his cheeks. “Where did you hear that name, miss?” he asked, forgetting her new form of address.
Marigold suddenly felt like a young miss who had put a foot wrong. “I read about it,” she said, not exactly lying, but not willing to divulge the truth. “But I’m still not sure what exactly it is.”
Able glanced anxiously from side to side, as though someone on the peaceful, empty street might call for the police if he put a foot out of place. He leaned closer to Marigold and said, “It’s not a seemly place, miss. Not even now you’re married an’ all. It’s the sort of place where, if me mum heard I even knew about it, she’d box me ears.”
Marigold frowned, feeling as though she were inches from discovering what Lady Stanhope knew. “Is it a brothel?” she whispered.
Able’s cheeks turned a darker shade of pink. “Worse than that, if the rumors are true,” he whispered in return.
Marigold frowned. What could be worse than a brothel? Lady Stanhope must have known. But between the suggestion that such a place was even possible and the anxious look Able gave her, she didn’t have the nerve to ask to be taken to Lady Stanhope’s townhouse to ask about it. Besides, Lady Stanhope was probably still in bed, along with the rest of the world, after the wedding party. And knowing her, she wasn’t in bed alone.
Instead, Marigold leaned forward and cautiously asked, “Could we at least drive by the…place?”
Able frowned and rubbed his chin as if considering it. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to pass through that way. Fast,” he added. “Without stopping.”
“Thank you, Able. And once we’ve seen it, you can take me on to Croydon House.”
Able nodded, his humor changed to business. “Yes, Mrs. Croydon.”
He tapped the horse into motion again, and they headed out onto a wider, busier road. Marigold continued to hold the envelope containing Ruby Murdoch’s story tight, irrationally worried that she’d let it go and it would float away as the buggy sped on. For whatever reason, she couldn’t shake the feeling that her fledgling marriage depended on bringing Turpin down with the story of Ruby.
The biggest surprise about the Black Strap Club was how little time it took to pass by it.
“There you go, ma’am,” Able said with a nod, his jaw tight, as they passed a stately, unassuming Georgian edifice surprisingly close to Kensington Palace.
Marigold leaned forward to get a better look. There was nothing at all that would hint the building was anything more than a large private residence. Even the front door was boring, though it was painted with black lacquer. There wasn’t so much as a sign giving the building a name.
“That’s it?” Marigold let out an impatient sigh.
“That’s it,” Able echoed gravely.
Marigold was on the verge of believing she’d been sold a bill of goods, or that Lady Stanhope was having a laugh at Alex’s expense, and that there was nothing wrong with the Black Strap Club at all, when the pale face of a
young woman appeared in one of the upstairs windows. The woman couldn’t have been more than sixteen, and even though she was yards away, Marigold could clearly make out a huge bruise on the side of her face. She glanced out over the garden across the street with a look of longing that broke Marigold’s heart, as if she had looked out at it day after day but never set foot in it.
The woman turned her head just enough to meet Marigold’s eyes. Something close to panic lit the woman’s expression, and she opened her mouth. Marigold had the horrifying feeling the woman was about to cry out for help, but instead, she snapped back to face something inside the room. Then she disappeared entirely.
A chill shot down Marigold’s spine. “Drive on, Able,” she said, her voice hoarse.
“Yes, ma’am,” Able replied, sounding as eager to get away as she was.
Marigold leaned back against her seat, hoping she hadn’t been seen. Her heart raced, and her mind immediately connected the frightened face in the window with Ruby Murdoch. Perhaps there was something worse than a brothel. She wasn’t sure she wanted to dig into the case after all for fear of what she would find.
Then again, if just a glimpse of a face could instill her with such dread, if Ruby Murdoch had ended up in that place because of Turpin, perhaps Lady Stanhope knew how to bring Turpin down after all.
Chapter 8
It was a bloody big waste of time. Alex ground his teeth in weary frustration as the hired hack carrying him home from Westminster rocked through crowded streets.
“I’m sorry, sir,” Phillips apologized from the seat facing him. In spite of the man’s bright ginger hair and almost cherubic good looks that made him appear a decade younger and far more innocent than he was, he looked as depressed as a thief on his way to the gallows. “I didn’t know it was a ruse. If I had, I never would have disturbed you and Mrs. Croydon.”
“It’s not your fault,” Alex growled.
In point of fact, it was Turpin’s fault, through and through. The blackguard had deliberately orchestrated the charade of a vote with the expressed purpose of dragging him and the rest of his friends out of bed and making them sit in the Commons chamber looking like the dog’s dinner for interminable hours of debate about sewers. Alex would have walked out—or punched the villain in the nose—but Turpin and his cronies had organized the speeches and discussion in such a way as to hint that if any of them left, the nefarious new bill would be discussed immediately.
It had all been a pointless, nasty scheme, designed to hurt and humiliate him personally, and it had worked. Alex had no idea how he would explain the whole thing to Marigold. The higher duty of politics didn’t seem half as lofty as he’d always believed it to be when faced with the reality of disappointing a wife.
“Bugger all,” he burst out as the carriage came to a stop in front of his townhouse, punching the seat beside him.
“What, sir?” Phillips sat up.
“I was going to stop by the jewelers to purchase some little bauble as an apology gift for Marigold.” Less than twenty-four hours, and he was already a miserable failure as a husband. He shouldn’t have been surprised.
“I could go for you,” Phillips suggested.
Alex shook his head and sighed heavily as Long, one of his footmen, opened the carriage door. “You’ve been up longer than I have. Go rest.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Alex stepped down from the hack and glanced up at the homey edifice of his London house. He’d chosen the property in the burgeoning new borough of South Kensington for its convenience and the modern facilities being built into the new homes, but he’d come to like the warm, orange brick façade with its fiddly ornamentation. It was a far cry from the peace and beauty of Winterberry Park, but everywhere couldn’t be Wiltshire.
It was an even greater comfort to step through the front door and have Marigold standing there, looking radiant in a light blue day dress that complimented her coloring, a bright smile on her face. She had a curious flash of excitement and determination in her eyes too.
“So?” she asked, striding across the front hall to take his hands. “Did you defeat Turpin roundly?”
He answered with a low, wry laugh and a shake of his head. “Turpin never even brought his damned bill up for debate.” He paused then added, “Sorry, that’s no excuse for language.”
Marigold’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Then why all the fuss?”
He brushed a hand across the side of her face, smiling wearily at her. “He was trying to keep me from you, and he knew that only the direst emergency would do that.”
Marigold stared at him as though he said he’d gone to fight a dragon. “Is anyone truly that petty?”
“Yes,” Alex answered without hesitation.
Marigold’s frown deepened. “I suppose that does make sense, though.” She indulged in a thoughtful look for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I need to talk to you about Lady Stanhope’s gift.”
Alex’s brow shot up. He’d forgotten about Katya’s mischief, and, given the circumstances, it was the last thing he expected Marigold to bring up. “Could it perhaps wait until after I’ve had supper and a bath?” he appealed to her, his expression softening.
She broke into a compassionate smile. “Of course it can.” She hesitated for the barest moment, then lifted to her feet to gently kiss his lips.
After the day he’d had, nothing could have been more welcome or more wonderful. In spite of the fact that Phillips was standing right there, still not resting as he’d been ordered, and Long as well, he drew Marigold fully into his arms and kissed her with all the passion of a man who had been forced away from his bride.
“Well,” Marigold breathed, eyes bright, when he let her go. “Perhaps Ruby Murdoch can wait after all.”
Alex blinked. “Who’s Ruby Murdoch.”
Marigold laughed, hugging him, then stepping back. “Why don’t I explain while you have your supper?”
“Why don’t you explain while I have my bath?” he countered.
Marigold’s cheeks flushed a tantalizing shade of pink. “Whichever you’d like.”
He’d like not to have to worry about any of it. He’d like to be in Wiltshire, with Marigold and with James—who, blast it all, he still hadn’t had a chance to explain. But he was stuck with what was available to him. Long set off immediately to run a bath in the technological marvel that was the upstairs bathroom of his townhouse, while Phillips volunteered to head to the kitchen to inform Mrs. Clifford, his housekeeper, that he would take supper in his room.
“I trust you’re finding your way around the house?” he asked as he took Marigold’s hand and headed upstairs.
“It’s a splendid house,” she replied. “And your staff are all so accommodating. They were surprised when I showed up without you, but we made each other’s acquaintances quite nicely.”
It was a new sort of comfort to have Marigold chatter on about things he would normally never have given his attention to as he dragged his weary self up to the bedroom that he would now share with her. She helped him remove his jacket and shoes, and for a few fleeting moments, he considered forgoing the bath and just taking her to bed and making love to her for hours. But he wasn’t the young man he used to be. His stomach came first. And she would probably appreciate him bathing and possibly even shaving before bedding her.
The bath was ready before his supper tray was brought up, but only by a matter of minutes.
“Have you eaten?” he asked Marigold as he stepped into the soothingly warm water of his bath.
She took her time answering, possibly because she was too busy leaning against the doorway that led from the bathroom to the bedroom, watching him with fascination. A hungry smile curved on her lips that had nothing to do with food. Alex couldn’t help but gloat just a little. He may have been a few years past his prime, but he’d always taken good care of himself. If his wife enjoyed looking at him, then he’d have to find more excuses to be naked in front of her.
; “Oh.” She blinked, coming out of her increasingly heated observations. “Yes, I ate earlier. I didn’t know when you’d be home.” Her smile grew to something close to wickedness, and she stepped back into the bedroom.
Alex missed her instantly, laughing at himself for his foolishness. He sank against the back of the tub, closing his eyes and letting the steam soothe him for a moment.
“Does Turpin ever intend to bring his bill up for a vote, or was the whole thing today just a way to vex you?” Marigold called from the other room.
Alex opened his eyes and craned his neck to try to look into the bedroom, but Marigold was out of his line of sight. “Knowing Turpin’s lot, they really are planning whatever measures they can to counteract what we’re trying to do. But the wheels of government move slowly in the best of times.” He found a cake of soap on the edge of the tub and started washing in earnest.
“But it would be nice to remove Turpin from the picture,” Marigold said.
Alex stopped mid-scrub. There was a note of cunning in her tone, as if she’d discovered something. But of course, if she’d read whatever it was that Katya sent to him, she probably had.
“After today,” he said, resuming his bath, “I’d go to great lengths to give Turpin a taste of his own medicine. Opposing me on political grounds is one thing, but today’s nonsense was purely personal.”
“And I suppose you’d like a personal way to get back at him?”
Alex frowned. Was he the sort to stoop as low as Turpin had? At heart, he had always prided himself on staying above the mudslinging free-for-all that politics often descended into. But in his current mood, considering what Turpin’s trick had taken him away from, he was in the mood for revenge.
“I might consider it,” he said, his words coming out darker than he’d intended them to.
A moment later, Marigold appeared in the doorway wearing nothing but a silk robe, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her curves were outlined to perfection, and the flimsy silk of her robe did nothing to hide the tight peaks of her nipples. Alex dropped the soap. His cock jerked to life as his pulse shot through the roof.
