by Mary Nichols
* * *
Alex spotted Charlotte entering the ballroom on the arm of the earl. She was splendidly attired and did not appear to be in any distress. In fact, she smiled and curtsied on being introduced to the Minister and his wife and though he was too far away to hear what was said, she seemed in good spirits. It made him angry to see her preening herself like that. She was no different from Letitia, selling herself for an extravagant gown and the title of countess.
Edward Hay’s father had been a friend of his own father’s and though a few years older than Alex, was well known to him. He had called on him as a matter of courtesy earlier that day. On being asked what had brought him to Portugal, he had confided his mission and the dilemma of being unsure if Miss Gilpin had truly been kidnapped or had come out of her own accord in which case, was he justified in interfering?
‘I cannot advise you on that score,’ Edward had told him. ‘You had best wait and see. The Vixen will not move from here for at least two weeks and if you should need longer, I may be able to arrange with the port authorities to delay it with some trifling concern over her cargo.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘In the meantime, come to my ball this evening. I believe the Earl of Falsham has asked for an invitation for himself and his affianced bride, which I have no reason to refuse. You may be able to judge matters then. Have you lodgings or are you sleeping on board the Vixen? You are welcome to stay here, if you wish.’
‘Thank you, sir. I have taken lodgings in order to have somewhere for Miss Gilpin to stay should she wish to leave the earl, but until she is under my protection and needs it, I shall stay there myself.’
‘Very well, but let me caution you against acting hastily. The earl has powerful friends and if Miss Gilpin is set upon staying with him, you might make enemies by removing her, besides having the trouble of holding on to her once you have her, should she kick up a dust.’
‘I am aware of that, sir. I have a letter to go to Miss Gilpin’s father, one to Lord Drymore and another to my mother. Would you allow them to go in the diplomatic bag?’
‘Certainly. Bring them with you tonight. There is a ship leaving for England on the morning tide.’
Alex had thanked him and taken his leave and then gone into town to buy himself a suit of clothes in which to go to the ball, having brought nothing on board the Vixen but a spare uniform, and that for a lieutenant. Now here he was in his finery of dark-amber satin, standing beside a potted palm in the reception room of the elegant Residency, which had replaced the Embassy destroyed in the earthquake ten years before, watching Miss Gilpin being introduced to others of the assembly by Mrs Hay.
Having gone halfway round the room, they came to Alex. ‘Lieutenant Fox of the Vixen, madam,’ he said before Mrs Hay could conjure up his real name.
She looked startled, then, smiling, turned to the earl. ‘Lord Falsham, this is Lieutenant Fox of the Vixen.’
‘We met on board,’ the earl said. ‘I believe you are acquainted with my fiancée, Lieutenant.’
‘It has been my privilege to serve Miss Gilpin.’ Alex bowed to her. ‘I trust I find you well, ma’am?’
‘I am very well,’ she said.
Her looks belied that statement. Underneath the rouge her complexion was pale and her grey eyes lacked their customary brilliance. ‘Do you intend to continue your voyage to India?’
‘We do,’ the earl put in before she could answer. ‘It is to be our wedding tour.’
‘Then I shall have the felicity of seeing you once more aboard the Vixen.’
‘Come, my dear.’ The earl took her arm. ‘There are others we must meet. Good evening to you, Fox.’ And with that he drew her away.
Alex watched her go. What had seemed good spirits when seen from a distance had been shown to be a pretence at close quarters. She was not happy. He resolved to ask her to dance.
The earl was keeping a close watch on her and though he had taken her into a set himself, he was obviously not allowing her to dance with anyone else. Alex waited until Falsham was deep in conversation with Captain Brookside, no doubt about continuing the voyage, and then approached Charlotte, who was sitting alone with a fixed smile on her face.
‘Miss Gilpin, may I crave the honour of a dance with you?’
She looked startled as if he had dragged her back from some deep contemplation and looked at the hand he held out to her. She took it and rose to her feet.
‘You are looking very fine this evening,’ he murmured, as they paraded down the line of dancers, her hand held tightly in his. ‘The midshipman has been transformed into a lovely young lady, the envy of every other lady here. Lord Falsham is to be congratulated.’
‘On what, sir?’
‘His good luck. Or should I say his cleverness?’
‘Both,’ she said dully.
They separated at the end on the line and turned to other partners and it was a minute or two before they were once more facing each other. ‘I cannot believe you are happy with the situation in which you find yourself,’ he said, as they came together.
‘And I cannot think why you interest yourself in my affairs, Lieutenant.’ She executed some steps, sideways and back.
‘Because I would hate to think of anything ill befalling you.’
‘It is too late for those sentiments, Lieutenant Fox. The ill befell me the day I was abducted, taken by force away from my father, my home and my business and everything I hold dear.’
‘Were you taken by force?’
‘You know I was.’
‘Do I? It could all have been a ruse on your part to join your lover.’
‘My lover? Who can that be? Tell me, for I should like to know his name.’
‘The Earl of Falsham?’
She gave a brittle laugh. ‘He did not need to kidnap me. He could have courted me openly in London.’
‘Why didn’t he?’
They separated again. ‘Why didn’t he court you in London?’ he repeated when they returned to each other. It was a very unsatisfactory way to conduct a conversation, but he could hardly drag her away to talk to her, which is what he would have liked to do. And kiss her until she cried for mercy.
‘I do not know. Perhaps he was afraid of rejection and wanted to make sure of my compliance.’
‘He would only have needed to speak to your father and obtained his consent. You would have obeyed Mr Gilpin, would you not?’
‘Naturally I would, but Papa would let me choose my husband for myself.’
‘So long as he has a title.’
‘He never stipulated that.’
‘No? I heard he was looking for a title for you.’
She looked sharply at him. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Does it matter? The earl has a title.’
‘Lieutenant, I cannot see that this is any of your business, but I will say that titles are of far less importance than proficiency in business. Papa would not want to see all he has worked for dissipated by a profligate husband, title or no.’
‘And is the earl profligate?’ he asked, wondering if she really did put the business before her own happiness.
‘I do not know, except he owed for his last two carriages, but then gentlemen of rank rarely pay their bills if they can get away with not doing so. It hardly signifies.’
The dance came to an end. He bowed, she curtsied and he escorted her back to her seat
‘Now I begin to see Falsham’s thinking,’ he murmured in her ear. ‘You were right; he wanted to make sure of your compliance. Does he have that now?’
‘Ah, there you are, my dear.’ Alex turned to see Lord Falsham bearing down on them. ‘It is time to go in for supper.’ He took her arm and led her away.
Alex watched them go and he still did not know whether he ought to in
terfere. He had written to Henry Gilpin, asking for instructions, and another letter to James to keep him abreast of what had happened and asking his advice, but it would be weeks before he could expect replies to either and by then they would be on the high seas again and Charlotte’s position would be even more compromised. In the eyes of the world it already was, unless she could be returned to her father still unmolested and the Earl of Falsham be seen by society as the villain he was. He admitted there was more to it than the pursuit of justice. It might have started out that way, but his own feelings for Charlotte had grown with every day until his head and heart were in torment and that, in itself, formed a barrier to his disinterestedness. Was his determination to separate her from the earl for her sake or his own?
* * *
Charlotte was still unsure of Captain Carstairs’s position and still troubled by her physical reaction to him. The mere sight of him started her heart racing and the touch of his hand was enough to set her body on fire. She had to hold herself aloof in order to control the aching in her limbs and in her heart, which she suspected might be love, though she was too inexperienced to know for certain. If only she could be sure of him, not as a lover, because she was convinced he did not see himself in that light, and under the circumstances it was hardly appropriate, but as an ally to whom she could confide, someone she could turn to for help. She wished heartily that the earl had not interrupted them when he had—she might have been able to make up her mind whether to unburden herself. But even if the captain could be persuaded to help her to escape from the earl, she would only be exchanging one so-called protector for another. Her reputation would still be tarnished. She would be labelled a Cyprian, one of the demi-reps on the fringe of society, the target of gossip. Even if she did not care for herself, she cared very much on behalf of her father and the future of Gilpin’s. Unfortunately the earl had been right about that.
She ate a little of the good food provided, not because she was hungry, but because she needed to keep up her strength. The Earl was full of bonhomie, laughing and joking with others about them, telling everyone they were waiting for her father to join them. He had been booked to travel with them, he said, but an unexpected matter of business had meant he had to stay behind and travel at a later date. ‘I had business in Lisbon which could not be postponed and could not delay my own departure, and my dearest Lottie would not let me go without her,’ he said, putting his arm about her shoulders and squeezing her towards him. The action repelled her, but she smiled her fixed smile and submitted, but of one thing she was certain, somehow or other she would get away from him before the night was done. If she never dared return to England, she would have to find some way of living in a foreign country.
* * *
They returned to the dancing after supper, but though she looked for him, there was no sign of Captain Carstairs. His absence made her feel more alone than ever. ‘I am feeling exceedingly hot,’ she told the earl. ‘I must go out into the air.’
He looked hard at her, as if deciding whether this was some ruse of hers. ‘You do look somewhat flushed. I hope you are not sickening for anything.’
‘No, no, it is the heat in this room,’ she said. ‘I will recover in the cool air.’
‘Then by all mean, let us take a stroll in the garden.’
She knew it would be no good suggesting she go alone and made no protest when he accompanied her. After several minutes walking silently up and down the paths that dissected the lawns and flower beds, they returned indoors and he sent for the carriage to be brought round to take them back to the villa and they took their leave of Mrs Hay. The Minister himself was engaged in conversation in another room, she told them, but she hoped Miss Gilpin would soon feel better and invited her to call the following afternoon if she felt up to it. They left without Charlotte being able to put her dilemma to the Minster. In any case, she was suddenly unsure whether she could trust him any more than anyone else; the Earl of Falsham was just too plausible. It seemed her deliverance would be entirely up to her own efforts.
* * *
As soon as Madeleine had helped her out of her finery and left her that night, she had pulled the chest against the door again and lain awake waiting for daylight, then she dressed hurriedly in the midshipman’s shirt which she had not yet been able to return and put a plain muslin skirt on top of this, leaving off the padded hips because she was planning on riding. She climbed out of the window, telling herself that by leaving the chest against the door, it would be assumed she was still asleep and they would delay rousing her. The window was further from the ground than she realised and she fell on landing and twisted her foot. Picking herself up, she shut the window behind her and hobbled across the garden to the rough hut that housed both the horses and the garden boy. He was fast asleep on a heap of straw, his jacket and trousers folded on a stool nearby. She saddled the carriage horse, not the earl’s mount, then turned towards the boy, who still slept. She had not come with the intention of taking his clothes, but the opportunity was too good to miss. She bundled them in her arms and led the horse out on to the road. Once clear of the villa, she found a low wall and climbed into the saddle. The next minute she was galloping away across the scrub that grew on the hillside above the town.
Once she was sure she had not been followed she stopped and scrambled into the boy’s clothing and then sat on a hillock to survey the city lying in the dawn below her. The view was beautiful with the early morning sun lighting up the pastel-coloured buildings, the pink roofs, the church spires and the castle atop the opposite hill, but she was in no mood to admire it. She was free, but where was she going next? She had no idea of the geography of the country and could not speak the language, though she had discovered that Spanish and French sometimes sufficed. She mounted up again and turned her horse down the steep terrain towards the centre of Lisbon. It would be easier to hide in the city than in the countryside, she decided, and she needed to find some way of earning enough money to take her home.
She rode down into the great square of the Rossio, crowded and noisy even so early in the morning, and set about exploring the roads leading off it, past houses with wrought-iron balconies and blue-and-white tiles around their doors and colourful plants spilling from their balconies. At any other time she would have been fascinated by it all, but her only thought at that moment was on wondering what job she was fit for. All she knew anything about was running a coachmaking business. The thought made her smile and she set off to find one.
* * *
She had been walking the horse for nearly an hour, up and down the narrow alleys that wound their way upwards from the lower city streets when it was sometimes necessary to pull to one side and hug the walls to allow a carriage or a cart to pass. It made her realise why the carriages were so narrow; any wider and they would not have been able to negotiate the alleys.
Coachmakers needed space to do their work, so she rode down to the river level and began exploring the new part of the town. There was much rebuilding still being done, but the new city was impressive with its fine buildings and regular roads. It was here, close to the river, she watched coaches coming and going through a large archway. If they were not constructed here, they were being hired out. She dismounted, tied up the horse and found her way to an office where she knocked and entered. Two men were working at tables covered with ledgers and plans. The elder looked up, but he did not stand and she suddenly remembered she was dressed as a boy and not a smart one either. He addressed her in Portuguese, which she did not understand. How was she going to make herself understood if no one spoke English? It could be a real obstacle to employment.
‘Do you speak English?’ she asked, remembering to lower the tone of her voice.
‘I speak it a little.’ This came from the younger of the two men.
‘Good. I am seeking employment and you look as if you could do with some help.’ She nodded towards the piles
of papers.
The young man translated for the benefit of the older one, who laughed and went into voluble Portuguese.
‘My father asks what do you know of coaches and coachmaking?’
She took a deep breath. ‘I worked for Mr Gilpin, coachmaker, in London for a time. You have heard of him?’
‘I have,’ the young man said. ‘I was in London after the earthquake destroyed our home and went to find work to earn enough to start again. That is where I learned to speak the language.’
‘Did you work for Mr Gilpin?’ She was fairly sure he had not; she had a good memory for all her father’s employees and their families. It was one of the things that made her so popular with them.
‘No, Mr Godsal. They were business rivals.’
Their conversation was interrupted by the older man demanding to know what they were talking about. His son translated for him and listened to his reply.
‘He wants to know what work you did for Mr Gilpin?’
‘I was a clerk.’
‘That is no good to us if you cannot write and understand Portuguese.’
She had thought of that and while she was familiar with all the processes of coachmaking, some of it was hard physical work and most of it skilled and they would soon realise she was not up to it. ‘I know, but I can do other jobs, particularly the varnishing and painting. I can draw a fine line, scrolls and coats of arms by way of decoration.’
‘You know the secret of Gilpin’s varnish?’ he asked.
‘I do.’
He told his father this and there followed an argument between father and son at the end of which the son turned to her. ‘My father wishes to know why you are in Portugal and looking for work.’ He looked her up and down. ‘Your clothes, I think, are locally made.’
This was the difficult part. She took a deep breath. ‘I was in the area of the London docks and was pressed into service by the navy. I am not a sailor, sir, and I found life at sea most uncomfortable. I am afraid I jumped ship when we docked here and I bought the clothes on the market. I must earn enough money to go home.’
