by Sophia James
He hesitated, which was hopeful.
‘I have no one who I need to answer to at the Foundation, so there would be no objections if I was to come.’
‘A fact that seems to worry me more than it does you.’
‘It’s just that I am expected at the Malverly Christmas party before too long and I do not want to miss the chance to be of assistance.’
‘I see.’
A sense of stillness permeated everything, folding her into quiet. She felt the ache of sadness inside her because after that she would lose him. To his business. To life. To for ever.
* * *
Jasper knew that he should say something about the kiss, but he could not quite think what to say. Charlotte Fairclough was beautiful and brave and good, but she was not for him.
He would ruin her.
Better to let her go so that another younger, less-damaged man could steal her heart and make her happy. He would leave London straight after the Christmas festival and Charlotte was due to rejoin her sister and mother very soon.
He knew he should not agree to taking her tonight to the tavern, but with the days between them running down so quickly he found himself at odds with logic.
He wanted her to come. He wanted to see her again before the morrow, to know that she was safe and secure and protected. It would not be dangerous if she waited three streets away with his driver and two footmen. There could be no harm in it and he could tell her then immediately of any discoveries about Miss White that he made. If things went really well he might even be able to bring the girl back to Charlotte in the conveyance and then it would be finished. Over. He did not like the catch in his throat at the thought of never seeing her again, never kissing her and feeling her in his arms.
Had the knock on the head the other day made him foolish? He could see his sister thought that he was different, her expression today all censure and puzzlement. Another bridge to build. He would visit Meghan tomorrow and explain.
What, exactly?
I kissed Miss Fairclough until my world exploded and I could not fathom what might happen next.
He smiled because he imagined what his sister might say back to him, then.
‘I will go on ahead of you and my driver will pick you up at seven. That way you will not need to wait so long. Wear something warm because the weather tonight is supposed to be colder than it is now.’
‘I will.’ She sounded breathless and young.
Only hours till he saw her again.
‘And tell no one your plans, for a man like Carvall will have his spies in places that may be surprising.’
‘You mean in the Foundation.’
‘Perhaps. It seems the laundry is one of his haunts for business.’
‘I can think of no one who would be so deviant. I’d trust every one of our employees with my life for most of them have been with us for years.’
‘Then that is heartening.’
* * *
She could hear the ring of hollowness in his tone and thought he did not trust easily. Perhaps not even her?
‘The dog at the Foundation is still searching for a home. I wondered if you had thought any more about giving him one?’
‘I have not.’ His reply was marked in a reluctance. ‘And if I did procure a pet she would be small and well-mannered and a purebred.’ There was definite humour in his voice now and she liked that there was.
‘Well, it’s always a good thing to be flexible, I find. Then life does not disappoint you.’
He began to laugh. ‘Do you ever take no for an answer, Miss Charlotte Fairclough?’
‘Don’t make up your mind just yet. Promise me.’
She held out her hand and he took it in a handshake.
‘I promise.’
Jasper and the wary stray both needed someone in their lives, for trust and companionship, and the mongrel reminded her of him in more ways than she could count. He was watchful and careful and stood apart from the world. Perhaps she would even bring the dog with her tonight.
Sensing her need to go, Jasper shook his head. ‘You will not stay for lunch.’
‘I think that under the circumstances I should leave.’
On his command a servant had come into the room and waited quietly at the door.
‘See that Miss Fairclough is returned home to Howick Place, Wilson, and make sure to watch her passage until she is inside the gates.’
Protection. It never left him. She smiled and turned to depart.
Chapter Ten
The evening started badly from the very beginning.
The man Jasper presumed was Leonard Carvall was drinking in a large side room and he was imbibing heavily. He was also in the company of four men who did not look savoury.
Taking a seat by the door, Jasper watched the group for a moment and then beckoned the barmaid over. She was a lusty and well-endowed girl wearing her bodice low. Consequently, when she crouched over him, he nearly had a view of her navel and beyond.
‘A whisky, please. The best you have and send one each to the group at that table.’
‘Is there to be a message to go with it?’
Jasper considered. ‘There is. Tell them that I would like a word with Mr Leonard Carvall and alone if I may.’
‘He is otherwise engaged, sir.’
‘Tell him.’
He did not soften the command and the woman scurried off.
Nonchalantly he brought a purse of gold from his pocket, throwing it on the table before him. Eyes were everywhere in a place like this and he leaned back, pleased when the bargirl returned with his whisky. It was seven thirty and Jasper knew his carriage with Charlotte Fairclough inside would easily be in place by now.
‘Mr Carvall will be with you shortly.’
He opened the purse and extracted a coin, putting it in her hand and smiling.
‘Thank you.’
Her fingers clenched around the treasure. ‘You are more than welcome, sir, and if it’s a good time you are after my name is Alice.’
He watched as she moved away. He’d sat here deliberately. No one could creep up on him and he had a full view of the door and the windows.
Sipping his whisky, he stretched out his legs. He knew Carvall would make his move soon and that it was only a matter of waiting. If he could offer him enough of an inducement to let Harriet go, it might well be possible to free her simply with words.
All thoughts of that plan were scratched, however, as another woman materialised from a place behind the bar and walked across to him. A young blonde woman with brown eyes and a birthmark on the side of her chin. But she did not look entirely happy, a bruise around her mouth slathered with thick make-up. Her dress was undone so that the small shape of her breasts showed under the petticoat beneath. He could tell she was scared because she kept looking over towards Carvall, the pulse at her throat a fast and solid beat.
‘Can I be of assistance to you, sir?’
He decided to play along to see the lie of the land.
‘In what capacity?’
‘Any you desire,’ she returned flatly and sat on the empty chair opposite. ‘My name is Caroline.’ Her bottom lip was cut and he wondered what she must be thinking of his own wounds.
Leaning in, he gestured her forward as though he hoped for a certain closeness or a better look, his hand winding her fingers into his own.
‘I am a friend of Miss Fairclough, Harriet, and I am here to bring you home.’
This was said quietly in a whisper and, to give her her dues, she hardly reacted, her pupils widening and her breath hitching, but no larger distress that others might act upon.
‘It cannot be possible, sir.’
‘Smile,’ he said and she did. He brought out another coin and placed it down between them.
‘Where is your room?’
<
br /> All humour disappeared. ‘Upstairs, sir.’
Well trained. Impossibly nervous. Dispirited.
‘When I give you another coin I want you to walk out the front door and keep going.’ He bought her fingers to his mouth, kissing her knuckles, his tongue running across the lines of her wrist as if a proposition was what he was here for. ‘Turn left and then take the second road on the right. Miss Fairclough is there waiting for you in my carriage. She will return you to the Foundation.’
Hope flared and her teeth worried her bottom lip. ‘There are men here who...’
‘Let me worry about them.’
He opened his purse and made much of depositing another golden coin in her palm. With a tremble she stood and turned for the stairs, changing direction at the very last moment and going straight out through the open door.
‘Hey.’ Carvall’s group were finally moving, chairs thrown back in their haste to go after the escaping Miss White. ‘Get her.’
The whole table erupted into movement which allowed Jasper the chance to grab a stool and stop the first man and then the second from following. He was at the door now, too, slamming it shut with his foot as another man with Carvall loomed down over him. The next was more difficult and had some training in the art of boxing. A meaty fist slammed into Jasper’s thigh and then his mouth, the pain from the first winding him and bringing small black spots across his vision.
Carvall was gone. Instantly. But three others had taken his place and were advancing on Jasper.
No one had followed Harriet, though, and he knew that he’d given the girl enough of a head start to be able to reach his carriage without obstruction. Pray to God the driver would make for the Fairclough Foundation and safety and Charlotte would not be implicated in any way. He cursed himself anew for allowing her to come and reached for the fellow with some sort of a hook in his hands.
Minutes later he knew he would not last much longer, the energy needed to fight off this many taking its toll and his leg was howling in pain. A shadow of dark fell with a suddenness that was surprising and he was on the floor, three men on top of him, one with his hands clasped tightly about his throat.
Kicking out his left leg, he felt a connection with one assailant’s temple and the man lay still. But then a bar of steel flashed down, crashing against his jaw, the pain so strong he could barely breathe.
If this is it, he thought, relaxing into the coming of death, then please, please let Charlotte be safe.
* * *
The banging on the carriage door was startling and one of the two footmen inside opened it. Harriet almost fell in, her eyes drenched in tears and her pallor deadly white.
‘It is you, Lottie?’
She began to cry properly as she was hauled into Lottie’s arms and before she knew it there was movement and the carriage was travelling in the opposite direction to which it had come. Homewards and as fast a speed as the horses could muster.
‘Stop.’ Lottie beat on the roof with as much force as she could manage and within a moment it came to a standstill, the driver at the window.
‘Mr King said if there was anything untoward we were to make for home, miss. He said no exceptions.’
‘Let me out. He needs help.’ Her voice was stern and the man was silenced.
‘I think it was you he wanted protected, Miss Fairclough.’
‘No.’ She stood and removed her cloak, unbuttoning the dress which she wore so that it fell away from her neck and loosening her hair. She also lifted her glasses from her bag and adjusted them across her nose so that the broken arm felt more comfortable. She needed to see properly to help Jasper and vainness would only hinder her.
‘Was he hurt, Harriet? The man who saved you?’
‘Not yet, but he will be. These are dangerous men to cross.’
‘How many?’
‘More than six or seven at my count, but I think Mr Carvall himself will not have stayed.’
‘Come with me,’ she said to the bulkiest of the footmen, wanting the other to stay here to protect Harriet. ‘Can you fight?’
‘Yes, ma’am. I were brought up in Whitechapel, so I am handy with my fists.’
‘Good.’
She then reached in for the leash and extracted the dog. The mongrel would be a useful addition for the task she needed to complete. ‘Follow me. You wait here, Harriet, and do not move.’
Harriet began to cry again and Lottie thought she was starting to think a lot like Jasper, understanding exactly what it felt like to be frightened for the safety of another.
They moved quickly towards the tavern, pushing open the door only a few moments later.
Jasper was down, lying prostrate but still conscious. His face was twisted in pain, his leg on an angle that was unusual. As the man above him grabbed a knife the dog suddenly pulled away, leaping across the wide space and crashing directly into the assailant’s chest, knocking him back against the mantel. The heavy thunk of his skull sounded out and then he lay still.
Another man rounded on them now, larger than the last, but less dangerous somehow.
‘Giles. Giles.’ The name came out of her mouth in a shriek and she ran across the room to lean down across Jasper. ‘What have you done to him? What has happened? Where is his gold? His purse? Where did you put it?’
That question had the man searching around and the footman next to her struck him before he realised his mistake.
Now there were five men on the floor and Jasper. The dog was licking his face and he stared at her in amazement, but there were still onlookers and the ruse would need to be completed before they were safe.
‘If you come here one more time, Giles Hardy, I will have you hanged, drawn and quartered.’ Her accent was that of the Rookery, all furious shrieking and righteous anger. It was so very easy to switch into the dialects of her childhood and she knew the moment that the people not directly involved relaxed. ‘I have told you again and again, Husband, that I will not have it and still you wander. Well, this is the very last time, mark my words, and if it ever happens again there will be hell to pay.’
No one watching such a scene wanted to be involved in a complex domestic argument, especially when the wife was a harridan and the man she was haranguing was largely unresponsive.
‘Bring him.’
She turned to the footman and watched as he raised Jasper, going to his other side when he was upright and helping him stand.
The blood in his right eye worried her, but for now she needed the illusion of exasperation and an end of patience. The dog followed them out, its hackles raised and growling all the way to the door.
Untouchable.
She took the first corner and turned it, leaning Jasper against the wall and speaking with the footman.
‘Get the carriage. Come to that street there.’
It was a wider throughway and she hoped he would be quick. This part of the whole situation was probably the most dangerous because Carvall and his men had time to regroup if they were going to and the tavern was still awfully close.
The dog helped, though, his bristly growling presence a deterrent to anyone who might venture towards them.
Jasper opened his eyes just as the man left them.
‘Hell.’ He could barely say this as his lip was split. ‘Will you ever listen, Charlotte?’ His eyes swept across the alley in much the same way as the dog’s, wary and distrustful. ‘Did Harriet find you?’
‘Yes, she is in the carriage and it is coming.’
The dog had crouched at his feet, though it held an air of menace even like that, its teeth easily seen in the half-light. Bared back and ready.
‘Where will it come to?’
‘There.’ She pointed to the next corner and Jasper straightened. ‘Can you walk?’
‘Just. Heel,’ he said to the dog as it sprang forward and the
animal slunk into position behind him, tail down and head up. In this light there was blood on the animal’s back right leg, she could see the glistening wet in the whiteness of fur. The hound had been hurt and badly, but she could not stop to examine the injury. He would have to take his chances just like them and survive until they found safety. It was the only way forward.
* * *
Jasper could not believe what had just happened. He had been rescued from certain death by Miss Charlotte Fairclough, who looked like a poorly dressed prostitute, the mangy, feral half-breed dog and his footman sporting a swollen eye that would be well blackened come the morning.
When he dropped his hand he felt a warm wet mouth lick at his fingers.
An unlikely rescue party with surprisingly effective tactics. Charlotte had turned the place upside down with her rendition of a hard-done-by wife who was only in the tavern to drag her errant husband back home and he had seen the dog leap across him when the ruffian had drawn his weapon.
He’d taken a risk by coming alone, but he’d known if he’d brought others Carvall would never have let him close. This way Harriet had been lured in as well, a minion offering sex for money to a new patron with a heavy purse of gold.
When the carriage pulled up they got in, the enormous dog slinking to the floor, and then they were off, through the streets of London towards the Foundation, Harriet’s shaking sobs the only noise inside.
He could not believe she had come and saved him, Charlotte Fairclough with her wild hair curling and her whisky eyes shining. She had removed her broken glasses now, tucking them back into her generous bag.
‘We did it. You are safe, Harriet. We will never let them take you again.’ Her voice sounded measured, though he could also hear the shaking within it.
That brought a greater bout of crying. ‘It were me, miss. I was the one who went freely in the first place on the promise of more money and a better life. No one took me, but then I realised the mistake of it all and they would not let me go either.’
‘Is the laundry involved in all of this, Miss White?’
