by Mary Nichols
The young man laughed. ‘So, we are to hide you as well as employ you?’
‘If you would be so kind.’ She gave him one of her most endearing smiles and realised her mistake when he looked startled. Captain Carstairs had been right; acting the boy would not be as easy as she had thought.
‘How old are you?’
She dare not hesitate over this, though her brain was whirring. ‘Seventeen, sir.’ Being so young might account for her apparent femininity and only half-broken voice.
‘And your name?’
‘Charles Manley.’ Charles because it sounded like Charlotte. Manley because it was the first that came into her head and she was amused by the irony of it.
‘I am Manuel Rodrigues and my father is Joachim.’
She executed a wonderful leg and was suddenly reminded of the games she used to play with her friends at the school she attended. For some reason she was always cast as the boy, but this was no time for dreaming of times past, which could never come again.
There followed another lengthy discussion between father and son, while she waited, hardly daring to breathe. At last the young man turned to her. ‘We are prepared to give you a trial. There is a coach almost finished. It has been painted, but we would like you to decorate according to our customer’s specification and then varnish it in the Gilpin way.’
‘And my wages?’
‘My father says we will decide on your reward at the end of the day. You will eat your dinner with us.’
‘Thank you. I must also find somewhere to sleep.’
‘We will also decide that when business is done for the day.’
It was too good an opportunity to quibble over the conditions. Even if they paid her nothing at the end of the day it was a day of freedom, one step nearer going home. ‘Thank you.’ She bowed her head in acquiescence.
‘Come, I will take you to the workshop.’ He gathered up the design of a coach and led her from the office, across a yard and into another large building. The scene that met her eyes was so familiar, it made her gulp with homesickness. Although it was nothing like as big a concern as Gilpins, there were men working on every aspect of coachmaking, from woodworkers and metal workers to upholsterers and painters. They looked up in curiosity until Manuel explained who she was and what she had come to do. One or two smirked, but she ignored them and looked about her, sizing up the operation.
‘This is the carriage,’ Manuel said, indicating a coach painted in bright yellow. ‘It has been ordered for a count, a man great in government.’ He spread the drawing out on a bench. ‘Can you make it look like that?’
‘I can,’ she said firmly, though she was far from sure. She had watched Gilpin’s painters many and many a time and had even practised on a dog cart, but never a full-sized vehicle. He pointed to brushes and pots of paint and left her to work.
Remembering she had left the horse tied up, she hurried outside, untied it and slapped its rump to set it free. If it was seen and recognised, the earl would know where she was. It ran off towards the Rossio and she went back to begin work.
She could not converse with the other employees and so she worked in silence, studying the drawing now and then as she painted a thin black line all round the body of the coach, finishing with a scroll on either side of the front and beneath the box at the back. There was another line round the circumference of each of the four wheels and again round each hub. She was slow and careful and it took most of the day. By the middle of the afternoon she was ready to begin on the coat of arms. This was going to test her artistic ability to the limit, and though she had always been good at drawing and had often been praised by her drawing master, this was different. She mixed her colours and fetched a stool so that she could sit at the task. Before long she realised she had an audience; the men had stopped work to watch her, jabbering to each other in Portuguese. She knew they were waiting for her to make a mistake and that made her nervous. She was extra careful and had only half-finished the first one when the men suddenly disappeared and Manuel came to tell her that was the end of work for the day.
‘Tomorrow you will finish the design and apply the first coat of varnish,’ he said, after carefully inspecting what she had done.
‘You mean I may stay?’ she queried with a beaming smile.
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you, thank you. I must find accommodation.’
‘I will take you to Madame Felix. She has a boarding house nearby. With luck she will have a vacancy.’
Charlotte was lucky, she realised that. She could so easily have failed in her mission and been forced to throw herself back on the mercy of the earl. Instead she had work which provided her with a small wage and a room which, though simple, was clean and adequate for her purpose. She refused to dwell on the memory of her large bedroom at home, her wardrobe full of elegant clothes, her maid, Barbara, who looked after her and was more friend than servant, and the comparatively easy work she had at Gilpin’s. She was free and mistress of her own destiny. No one knew where she was, not the Earl of Falsham, not Captain Carstairs, not even her father. Perhaps when she was more settled she might write to him. For the first time in weeks she fell asleep as soon as her head touched her pillow.
And then she dreamed. She dreamed she was on board a ship in a storm and the vessel was being pounded on rocks and breaking up. And then she heard Alex Carstairs calling her name above the roar and crash of the waves, calling more and more urgently, as the sea engulfed her. She woke with a start and sat up to find herself in bed, warm and dry. And there was no Alex.
It took her several minutes to calm herself and try to understand the dream. Was it something yet to come or simply a memory of the storm in the Bay of Biscay when he had looked after her so tenderly? She had been half in love with him then, but it had been spoiled when she found him deep in conversation with Martin Grosswaite. He was two men in one: Captain
Alexander Carstairs, the refined and elegant man about town and Lieutenant Duncan Fox, second mate of the Vixen, and she had no idea which was the true man and he would not tell her. How could you be in love with a man like that? But, oh, how she longed for his touch, the feeling of safety he gave her when she was in his arms. Was that love?
Chapter Eight
Alex could not rest. His head was full of images of Charlotte. Was she content with her situation and waiting only to hear from her father to accept his decision that she should marry the Earl of Falsham? Gilpin, who made no secret of the fact that he wanted a title for his daughter, might very well, under the circumstances, condone what the earl had done and urge her to accept. And whatever she said to the contrary, the prospect of becoming a countess must be a big enticement. If only he could find out how she really felt. To do that he must contrive to see her alone.
Where was Falsham keeping her? He and Davy had spent the whole of the day after the ball combing the city for her to no avail. ‘This chasing about to no purpose will not serve,’ he told Davy the following morning as they sat over breakfast in the lodgings he had taken. When they were alone, Davy always took his meals with him, although he was alive to his position when they were in company. ‘We must put our thinking caps on. Someone in this city must know the earl’s direction.’
‘Captain Brookside,’ Davy answered. ‘He would have to know so that he could tell him when the Vixen is sailing.’
‘That’s true, but Brookside will not tell me anything unless I confide why I want to know, and I am not sure if I can trust him not to tell Lord Falsham.’
‘Would that matter?’
‘Of course it would matter. I do not want to alert his lordship of my true intent. He will take Miss Gilpin further from our reach.’
‘He can’t go far if he intends to sail with the Vixen.’
‘We cannot be sure of that. I heard him say he was waiting for Mr Gilpin to joi
n them and the Vixen will have sailed long before then.’
‘If that happens, all your troubles will be over.’ He was taken aback when Alex laughed.
His troubles over? It might mean the mission he had been sent on was over, but that was not the whole of it. There was the little matter of his pride, his feelings and the overwhelming desire to know what Charlotte herself felt, not to mention his antipathy towards the Earl of Falsham. Perhaps the man could not be blamed for his losing Letitia, but he acknowledged, with surprise, that no long seemed to matter. What did matter was Charlotte. He could not, would not, believe she would acquiesce to anything arranged for her if she did not wish it, so did she wish it? She was more mature than Letitia, more independent, more resourceful, altogether more desirable. And stubborn.
‘I am going out,’ he said suddenly, rising from the table.
‘Do you want me to come with you?’
‘No. You go and see how matters stand with the Vixen. See if you can find out when she is sailing.’
‘Aye, aye, sir.’
Alex left him and made his way to the Rossio. Falsham had bought clothes for Charlotte and the shop would have delivered them. All he had to do was
wheedle the direction out of the proprietor. Why had he not thought of that before?
There were several shops to choose from and he went from one to the other, telling them he had come to pay the Earl of Falsham’s account. The first two denied all knowledge of an account, but the third was delighted to take his money, for which he insisted on a receipt which included the direction of the earl. Armed with this information, he lost no time putting it to use.
* * *
Outside the villa, he stopped to consider his strategy. First he had to establish that Charlotte was there. He walked all round the property and found a way in at the rear. There was a boy working in the garden, but he took little notice as Alex passed and made his way to the house. At the kitchen door he encountered a plump young woman, who spoke to him in Portuguese.
‘Não entendo,’ he said, using one of the few phrases he had learned.
‘English. You are English?’ she answered. ‘I speak a little. Tell me what you want.’
‘The Earl of Falsham, is he at home?’
‘No. He is gone riding. Come back later.’
‘Perhaps Miss Gilpin is in. I should like to speak to her.’
‘She is not here.’
‘Where is she?’
She shrugged. ‘I do not know.’
He wondered how true that was. Had Falsham found another hiding place for her? Was she being close confined? Did that mean he was not as sure of her as he would have liked? The morning was far advanced and the sun climbing in the sky and he did not think the earl would ride in the heat of the day. ‘Then I will wait to see his lordship.’
‘As you wish.’ She conducted him to the drawing room and left him to go about her work. He took the opportunity while the servant was outside talking to the garden boy, to go round the house. Charlotte was certainly not in any of the rooms. Where was she?
* * *
Falsham arrived half an hour later to find Alex at ease in one of the chairs in the parlour. ‘Fox, what the devil are you doing here?’ he asked, as Alex rose to his feet.
‘A courtesy call, my lord,’ he said. ‘I am planning a picnic into the hills and came to invite you and Miss Gilpin. I expect Captain Brookside, Mr Miller and Mr and Mrs Hay to join us. It will be a pleasant change from the heat of the city and set Miss Gilpin up for her voyage to India.’ He paused. ‘I assume we shall see you and Miss Gilpin on board the Vixen when we sail?’
‘Do you know when the Vixen sails? Brookside told me he has been delayed by some interfering harbour clerk finding fault with the bill of lading.’
‘But perhaps the delay is fortuitous. It will allow more time for Mr Gilpin to arrive.’ They were skirting round each other like a pair of fighting cocks. ‘And you can give Miss Gilpin the treat of a picnic. Could we not ask her if she would like it?’
‘Not today.’
‘That is a pity, I need to know in order to make the arrangements. Miss Gilpin is not ill, is she?’
‘You are uncommonly interested in my fiancée, Lieutenant. Why is that, I wonder?’
‘I would not like to think the lady was unwell. She appeared pale when I spoke to her at the ball.’
‘No doubt the sea voyage tired her.’
‘Then she is resting?’ The words were couched as a question.
‘Yes. I will speak to her about the picnic when she joins me. Now, I beg you to excuse me, I see Mr Grosswaite has arrived and wishes to speak to me.’
Alex, far from satisfied, took his leave. Charlotte was not at the villa, so where had the man hidden her? He waited outside to see if the earl came out, intent on following him, but the only person who put in an appearance was Grosswaite. He was torn between waiting about for the earl and following Grosswaite. He decided on the latter, but the man simply went back to the harbour to wait for the barge from the Vixen to take him to the ship. Alex walked over to stand beside him.
‘Are you living on board, Mr Grosswaite?’ he asked pleasantly.
‘It is cheaper than lodgings, Lieutenant.’
‘Is Miss Gilpin already on board?’
‘Why would she be on board, when she has his lordship to look after her on dry land?’
‘But the Vixen will sail as soon as the repairs are done and wind and tide are favourable.’
‘Then no doubt his lordship will be informed and he will board at his convenience.’
‘With Miss Gilpin?’
‘Naturally with Miss Gilpin, though I expect her to be the Countess of Falsham by then.’
‘Do you know where the lady is?’
Grosswaite turned and looked hard at Alex. ‘What business is it of yours where she is, Lieutenant? Fancy your chances, do you?’
‘Not at all, but if she is being held against her will, then, as a gentleman of honour, it behoves me to rescue her.’
The man laughed. ‘If you can find her, you may ask her that question.’ The barge had arrived at the steps and he walked away to board it.
Defeated for the moment, Alex turned to go back to his lodgings. He met Davy on the way and recounted what had happened. ‘We have to watch the earl night and day,’ he said. ‘Sooner or later he will lead us to Miss Gilpin.’
‘We might have to wait until the Vixen sails.’
‘That might be too late. According to Grosswaite he expects her to be married by then. I am going back to have another look round the villa and keep an eye on the earl. If I haven’t located her by eight this evening, you can take the night watch.’
‘If you have located her, what then?’
‘I will decide that when I come face to face with her.’
* * *
They spent three days on watch day and night. The Earl was out and about, riding in the hills surrounding the city, going to clubs frequented by Englishmen and gambling heavily, attending a soirée where he excused the absence of Miss Gilpin by saying she was indisposed. The difficulty was not knowing where the earl was going to be next. Alex would hurry to a place he had been told of, only to be too late; the earl had gone, or he would arrive just in time to see his coach disappearing up the road or, if he was on foot, would lose him in the crowd. Had they been in England, it would have been easier; there would be no language and customs to contend with and he would have been able to call on the assistance of the rest of the Gentlemen. With only Davy to help him, their surveillance was patchy.
Every day increased his anxiety. He did not think she could have married the earl, because the man would have made a noise about it, invited half the elite of Lisbon to witness it, but that did not mean he had refrained from taking her virginity. Th
e thought of that did not improve Alex’s temper. There was nothing for it, but to challenge the earl outright.
He called on the gentleman again, this time determined not to prevaricate. If he saw Charlotte and she sent him away, then that would be the end of it. He could only tell Henry Gilpin he had done all he could, but the lady herself was content with the situation.
‘You again,’ the earl said. Alex had arrived early in the morning and the man was at his breakfast and was alone. ‘I am afraid we will not be able to attend your picnic.’
‘Forget the picnic. There will not be time to arrange it before the Vixen sails. It is not about the picnic I have come. I want to know what you have done with Miss Gilpin. She has not been seen by anyone since the Minister’s ball. If you have harmed her...’
‘Harm her? Why should I do that? I intend to make her my wife.’
‘So you say, but I wonder if the lady agrees. Let me see her and hear from her own lips that she has accepted you.’
‘She is not here.’
‘Where is she?’
‘Staying with friends until the wedding can be arranged. It would not do for her to be living under this roof before the knot was tied, would it? Now, please leave. I have much to do and cannot be wasting time pandering to a lovesick sailor.’
That was too much for Alex. He grabbed the man by his satin coat and hauled him to his feet. ‘You will tell me where Miss Gilpin is or I will beat it out of you.’ As he spoke he shook the man until his teeth rattled. ‘Speak or...’
Falsham, who was no hero, suddenly realised Alex meant what he said. ‘She left after the ball and I do not know where she is.’
‘Is that the truth?’ Another shake.
‘Yes, I would like to know where she is myself. Gilpin will not thank me for losing her.’
‘No, I do not suppose he will.’
