by Mary Nichols
She looked up. The coast seemed very close, but she had been aboard long enough to know distances could be deceptive at sea and the long rocky coastline with its sandy coves was probably more than a mile away. Could she swim that far?
‘Thinking of going for a dip, Miss Gilpin?’
She whirled round to face Alex. ‘Oh, it is you again. Can a body not move on this ship without being tormented by unwanted bodyguards?’
‘I beg your pardon. I am thinking only of your safety.’ His voice was cold and impersonal and she realised that any rapport she thought had grown between them had been a sham meant to disarm her. He had nursed her only to be sure she did not die on him. The knowledge tasted bitter in her mouth.
‘Yes, of course, my safety. You have to deliver me safely to my betrothed, you and Mr Grosswaite. I have never been so deceived in anyone until I met you, Mr Fox.’ And having delivered that in as haughty a voice as she could manage, she turned and left him.
He smiled grimly, but did not follow her. She had undoubtedly seen him talking to Grosswaite and come to the wrong conclusion. That was a pity because she now considered him her enemy along with everyone else on board the ship. So be it. It meant that now he did not have to fight a growing desire for her which threatened his ability to do the job he had been asked to do.
They were closer in shore now and the hands were aloft, taking in the topsails and wearing the ship to enter the mouth of the Tagus. On either side were sandy beaches and fertile plains. A few sheep and a couple of men on donkeys watched their progress uninterestedly. Alex knew the harbour of Lisbon well; in the recent conflict, it had been a welcome haven after a run in with a French man o’war when they needed to make repairs and restock. He had spent some time ashore while waiting for this to be done and explored the wide, open squares and avenues being rebuilt after the dreadful earthquake and tidal wave of ten years before.
The old part of town with its narrow alleys and close-packed houses, which was on the steep hills surrounding the city, had escaped the worst of the devastation. Here he might find a hiding place for Charlotte until they could board a ship going back to England. He had given the lieutenant whose place he had taken on the Vixen some of the money Henry Gilpin had given him, but he had ample left to pay for lodgings and a return fare. There was also the not-so-small matter of leaving the ship himself with Davy. They had both signed on as part of the crew and jumping ship was a serious crime.
They made their way slowly upriver and dropped anchor in the harbour. It was crowded with shipping of all kinds, from merchantmen to men o’ war, fishing smacks with red-and-brown sails to rowing boats, barges and cutters which plied between the larger ships, carrying men and supplies. He wondered how long Captain Brookside intended to stay and how long he had to put a plan into action.
He noticed a boat being rowed out from the shore. Besides two oarsmen it carried a passenger and it was making straight for the Vixen. He made his way to the starboard entry port and waited with curiosity for the man to come aboard.
He was tall and thin and vastly overdressed in a mock uniform of red coat and white breeches, black tricorne and shiny black Hessians. The coat was highly decorated with gold epaulettes, gold frogging and silver buttons. Beneath it was a long white waistcoat with buttons from neck to hem, though only the middle two were fastened.
Captain Brookside went forwards to meet him and offered his hand as the man’s head and shoulders appeared above the deck. ‘My lord, welcome aboard.’
He hauled himself inboard. ‘You were a deuced long time getting here, Brookside.’
‘We encountered a severe storm and could not make way. I crowded on all the sail I dare. And after that we were nigh on becalmed.’
‘Well, you are here now. Have you brought her?’
‘Yes, my lord. Come to my cabin while she is fetched. I have a particularly good cognac I should like you to try.’ He turned and, seeing Alex, snapped, ‘Mr Fox, fetch Miss Gilpin, if you please.’ Alex turned to obey. He did not like the newcomer one bit and the thought of Charlotte in the man’s arms sickened him.
He went in search of Charlotte and found her in her cabin gazing out of the porthole at the busy harbour and no doubt thinking of escape. She turned to face him and he saw evidence of tears. She was undoubtedly feeling very low. He longed to comfort her, but dared not. If he showed any sign of sympathy, she might give him away and then he could do nothing to help her. ‘Miss Gilpin, the captain’s compliments and will you please join him in his cabin.’
‘Very well.’
He escorted her back to the upper deck and ushered her into the captain’s cabin. She gave a startled cry at the sight of the man who stood drinking a glass of
cognac with Captain Brookside. ‘Lord Falsham, what are you doing here?’
Alex was as startled as she was. Of all the men who could have been her abductor, it had to be
Gerard Foster, Earl of Falsham. His mind whirled back to his last interview with Letitia. She had said she would marry the man her father had chosen for her, leaving him angry and humiliated. Had Gilpin also chosen Falsham? He was, after all, an earl. Would Charlotte react in the same way as Letitia had?
‘Why, my dear, I am come to join you,’ Falsham said.
‘Join me? I do not understand. Has Papa sent you?’
‘In a manner of speaking, yes,’ he said.
Brookside turned and noticed Alex still standing just inside the door, listening. ‘Mr Fox, go about your business, if you please.’
Reluctantly he withdrew, unsure what was going on and unable to hear the rest of the conversation. Had Gilpin really sent Falsham? And why had the Piccadilly Gentlemen been contacted if Gilpin condoned what was happening? Why would a father do that? The only ray of reassurance he had was that Charlotte had seemed surprised by the man’s appearance and hardly overjoyed. Who was acting a part and who was genuine? He wished with all his heart that he had not taken on Gilpin’s commission; it had embroiled him in far more than the simple kidnapping of a wealthy heiress, it had involved his own feelings and made him confront his past. But he had taken it on and he must see it through.
What he did not understand was why, if the Earl was the abductor, he had come to Portugal ahead of his prize. Why not travel on the Vixen with her? Alex remembered his mother telling him Falsham was in debt and forced to leave the country ahead of his dunners. Had he run through all of Letitia’s money?
He went in search of Davy to find him manning the barge taking the officers ashore for some respite while the ship was re-provisioned and repairs made to the damage caused by the storm and he decided to go ashore with them. Miller and the other officers were intent on conviviality and whoring, but he had other things on his mind, to find accommodation ready for Miss Gilpin when the time came to take her under his protection.
* * *
‘Are you come to take me home, my lord?’ Charlotte asked.
‘All in good time, my dear. There are certain matters to be decided before that happens.’ He looked her up and down, taking in the boy’s clothing and his lip curled. ‘You look like the worst kind of fly-by-night in that rig. Have you no lady’s clothes?’
‘Only those I was wearing when I was kidnapped. I had no change of raiment and could hardly wear the same gown for the whole voyage.’
‘Dear me, that won’t do. We must go shopping at once. Go and put on your gown.’
‘I have no maid to help me into it.’
‘Where is your maid?’
‘At home in London, I expect.’
‘You mean she has not accompanied you?’
‘How could she, my lord? She was not with me when I was kidnapped. I am alone.’
‘That was never intended.’ He laughed suddenly. ‘No matter. Captain Brookside will excuse us, I know. I will act the maid.’
‘Certa
inly not!’ she snapped, remembering how she had felt when Alex unlaced her and knowing it would be very different if this man touched her. She shuddered at the thought.
‘Come, my dear, do not be so coy. As your future husband I am sure it is permissible for me to help you dress. Why, there are ladies in London who make a show of having gallants watch them being dressed.’
‘I am not one of them.’
‘No, I am thankful to say. I should not like to share your delights with others.’ He was looking her up and down as he spoke, making her curl up inside with revulsion. ‘But you must have new clothes, you must surely agree to that, and I cannot take you ashore in those clothes. Why, we would be the laughing stock of the populace.’
Now they were in the river, away from the ocean and not moving, the heat was oppressive and she felt the midshipman’s clothes sticking to her back. It would be so much cooler if she had a light gown to wear and she really did want to go ashore, for it was easier to think of escape once on dry land. ‘I can manage, my lord, if you wait here,’ she said, as an idea came to her. Without waiting for a reply she returned to her cabin, leaving him to continue drinking with Captain Brookside.
In her cabin she put on her petticoats and skirt over the midshipman’s shirt, put her bodice over that as if it were a short jacket.
* * *
Half an hour later, respectably covered, she presented herself back in the Captain’s cabin.
‘My God, what urchin have we here?’ Lord Falsham exclaimed. ‘Is that the best you can do? The sooner we get you properly rigged out the better.’ And with that he took her arm and guided her to the starboard entry where Davy and the other oarsman had brought the barge back to the ship. Captain Brookside ordered them to take the earl and Miss Gilpin ashore. She was helped into a chair and winched down where one of the oarsman helped her into the boat. Lord Falsham followed in like manner.
It was only a short row to the wide marble steps of a great open square surrounded on three sides by new pink-and-green buildings. The fourth was open to the river. The boat pulled in and they disembarked. On dry land again Charlotte felt strange, not at all sure of her balance, and almost stumbled, but Lord Falsham’s hand under her elbow steadied her. She shook him off and made her way up the steps ahead of him.
She looked about her. Steep hills rose in a semi-circle about the lower part of the town and these were covered in narrow roads and pastel-coloured buildings. There were still gaps left by the great earthquake and some building work was still going on, but the city had been rebuilt in magnificent style. The streets in the new part of the town were geometrically laid out—their buildings all had dormer windows and iron balustrades from which colourful flowers tumbled. Charlotte was in no mood to appreciate it, being too caught up with thinking of ways to obtain her freedom. Alex had been right—in a strange country whose language she did not understand, without money or clothes, escape would be nigh on impossible. She decided it behoved her to pretend to be submissive and then perhaps her escort might relax his guard. Besides, running off without a plan about how she was to proceed would not serve; she would be hauled back and put under guard and that would end any hope she had of escape.
‘Where are we going?’
‘To buy clothes befitting your rank, though unfortunately we will have to be a little careful of our resources until more money can be sent out to us by your father.’ He was beckoning to a cab driver as he spoke.
‘What makes you think he will send you money?’
‘Oh, I do not doubt it. He will not allow his daughter to be in want, will he?’ He opened the door of the cab and helped her into it and, after directing the driver to the Rossio, climbed in beside her. ‘I have already let him know I have you safe in my protection and he will be only too thankful to supply all we need.’
She felt obliged to acknowledge the truth of this. Leaving the harbour behind them they entered a great square tiled in black-and-white mosaic. It was teeming with the life of the city. There were pedlars selling everything from dried cod and fresh sardines, to figs and oranges and wine. Black-clad women waited their turn to fill their pitchers at the fountain. The air was redolent with a thousand different smells. Here the cab stopped and she was hustled into the cool interior of a shop where Lord Falsham, who seemed able to communicate in Portuguese, negotiated the supply of everything she might need for a prolonged stay, watching as she was decked out in one outfit after another and commenting upon each.
The old gown and the midshipman’s shirt were discarded and she left the shop in a light blue silk, trimmed with pink-and-white flowers. New stockings and shoes and a fetching straw hat tied with blue ribbon finished the ensemble. She scooped up the borrowed shirt as she left. ‘We must send this back to the ship,’ she said. ‘The young man lent it to me in good faith and in good faith I must return it.’
‘If you must,’ he said, leaving an address where everything was to be delivered and escorting her out of the shop. The cab was still waiting. It took them away from the river and up a very steep, narrow road with pastel-coloured houses on either side, their balconies tumbling with flowers. These had evidently escaped the earthquake for they were older and more widely spaced with colourful tiles on the walls and luxurious gardens, which could be glimpsed through iron gates.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked.
‘I have taken a villa, so that we may wait in comfort for the money to come from your father.’ He gave a low chuckle and then added, ‘Together with his wholehearted agreement to our wedding.’
‘Wedding?’ she echoed. ‘What makes you think he will do that?’
‘There are several reasons, my dear,’ he said, infuriating her with his complacency. ‘He has made no secret of the fact he has been looking for a title for you and countess is as good as he is likely to get, considering you have no breeding. And you have been missing for weeks and that must have caused some gossip.’
‘I was kidnapped.’
He smiled. ‘There is no evidence of that. You left the Gilpin premises freely and never arrived home, but that could just as easily have been because you had plans to join me.’
‘I was forced to write a ransom note and I know my father brought the money because I saw him. Mr Grosswaite took it from him and pushed him into the river.’
‘He did what?’ He was obviously taken aback by this.
‘He grabbed the bag of money and pushed Papa backwards into the Thames.’
‘You mean he drowned?’ His face, in spite of the heat, had gone very white.
‘No. I have been assured he was pulled out alive.’
‘Thank God for that. For a moment I thought my plans had been thwarted. It would not do for you to inherit before I have you as my wife. Grosswaite and his associates will be punished severely, I promise you.’
‘Was five hundred guineas not enough?’
‘Nowhere near enough, my dear. I thought at first it might be enough to pay my immediate debts and it tickled my fancy to think that Gilpin himself would be paying my debt to him, but then I realised that to continue living in the style to which I was accustomed, I would need a great deal more. It occurred to me that with the Gilpin coachmaking business, together with the money lending which I am persuaded is hugely profitable, I could manage quite well. So, my dear, the voyage to India is to be our honeymoon.’
‘Papa will never agree to that.’
‘Oh, I am sure he will, if only to save your honour. You must realise that to return home without a husband after being so long away will damn you in the eyes of society. Not only will you never be received in any decent drawing room again, but it will reflect on your father’s business. He will find his customers disappearing like puffs of wind. I advise to you reflect on that.’
She was silenced. Her whole being cried out that she would not submit, that nothing on earth would persuad
e her to marry this objectionable man, but a warning voice inside her head told her that he was right about the consequences of not doing so. He had laid his plans diabolically well.
‘No answer to that?’ he queried mildly. ‘No furious denial?’
‘You suggested I should reflect on it and that is what I shall do,’ she said as coolly as she could manage.
‘Good. I was sure you would be sensible.’
The cab stopped outside a large pink single-storey villa. He jumped out and helped her down. She stood on the rough road, looking about her while he paid the cab driver. The house had a garden of exotic plants she had never seen in England outside a conservatory. Here were jacaranda and acacia, palm trees, fig, orange and olive trees loaded with fruit, and colourful flowers lining the gravel paths.
He took her arm and led her to a great oak door, which opened as they reached it. In its frame stood a young woman who eyed Charlotte suspiciously. ‘Madeleine, this is your new mistress,’ he said, ushering Charlotte before him into a wide hall with a blue-and-white tiled floor. ‘You are to look after her and when I am not present you are to accompany her wherever she goes. We will have dinner now.’
Madeleine bobbed a curtsy without speaking and went off into the back regions of the house.
‘While we are waiting I will show you round your new home,’ he said.
It was a substantial building, its thick walls and tiled floors making it cooler than the sun-drenched garden outside. There was a drawing room and dining room and several bedrooms, though she only saw inside one, which she was told would be hers. It was minimally furnished with a huge bed, a couple of cupboards, a chest of drawers and a washstand upon which stood a jug of water and a bowl. There was a single colourful rug beside the bed and thin gauze curtains stirred faintly in the slight breeze coming off the sea. Charlotte’s biggest concern at that moment was finding a way of preventing the earl from coming to her bed that night.
