She had felt, most intensely, the warmth of his hand, lightly pressing against her back during the waltz, she had smiled at him, she had inhaled deeply of his smell - a fresh, clean, sharp smell recalling to her mind pine forests and sea washed shores.
‘Get a grip on yourself, Odette,’ she told herself. ‘You are no schoolroom miss to become all starry eyed over a gentleman you danced with but once.’
Totally unbidden, another thought came to Odette’s mind: what would it be like to dance with Lord Pendholm – with Charlton, she believed he was named – again? An image formed in her mind - a starlit terrace, a silver moon on the rise, music playing softly somewhere, a heady scent of blooming roses and honeysuckle, and herself, clad in floating silver, swirling dizzily in Charlton’s arms.
The book dropped to her lap, and she stared unseeing at the shelves, her imagination carrying her away from the library entirely.
Sitting in his favourite armchair in his study, Charlton was perusing “The Political Register”, better known among its detractors as the “Two Penny Trash”, a pamphlet edited by one Corbett. It contained a long, rambling letter to the Chancellor of the Exchequer, which, despite its flamboyant bombast, pointed out several very true facts, such as the financial consequences of the war, the destitute condition of many discharged soldiers, the growing tax burden in Britain and the general disquiet among the poorer citizens.
Charlton folded the pamphlet and sighed.
The situation was rife with danger. It would be very easy for a determined and crafty agitator to find allies among the discontented middle class, who were disgusted by the conspicuous consumption of Prinny’s court, and among the young bucks, who were easily inflamed by romantic rhetoric and the promise of heroic feats. That would be a ramshackle collection, to be sure, but a potentially disruptive one.
Add a careful dab of blackmail (an easy enough endeavour, given the number of skeletons hidden in the ton’s closets), the right amount of gold in the right pockets, some pressure brought to bear on the right people, and the cauldron would come to a boil, if not stopped in time. And the Comte de Vierzon was in the thick of it, no doubt about it, Charlton was sure of it.
During his years as a Hound, he had developed an uncanny sixth sense for suspicious characters, and the Comte was undoubtedly one of them.
Well, at least his delicious daughter was in the clear. She had been in England since she was little more than a child, under the tutelage of the highly respectable, and very formidable, Lady Farnsworth, who, while openly acknowledging her brother-in-law, the Comte de Vierzon, had seemed, to Charlton, to be slightly wary of him, enough so that her reaction warranted a closer look.
Charlton smiled ruefully. A good excuse to pay a visit to Viscountess Farnworth and, incidentally, to the beautiful Odette who, despite his many troubling duties, had never been very far from his thoughts.
~~~~~
A knock at the door announced his mother, with whom he had fallen into a pleasant pattern.
They would meet in the evening, in front of a good fire, in the secluded cosiness of her private parlour, and talk.
They would exchange bits of gossip, his mother being endowed with a sparkling wit and a sharp eye for the goings on of society life, and then they would almost inevitably turn to more serious topics.
He had found, to his delight, that his mother was a wonderful listener, very skilfully and gently encouraging her son to unburden himself about his years as His Majesty’s Officer. At first, he had been afraid to frighten, shock or offend her delicate sensitivity with his gruesome stories, but he had quickly learned that the Viscountess Pendholm, despite her seemingly frail beauty, had an inner core of strength and a compassionate heart that made it easy to lay one’s burdens down upon her shoulders.
He was also beginning to discover how hard the last years had been for his mother.
She did not wail and moan, as many other women would have done, but Charlton realised that Lady Pendholm had not been unaware of his deceased brother’s unethical business methods, as he had rather, for her sake, hoped. Up to now, she had only hinted at what she knew, and perhaps had seen, but Charlton could not avoid the feeling that she knew much more, and was still uncertain about speaking openly of Michael’s misdeeds.
The right time would come, though. They were still learning to know and trust each other again, Charlton often mused. As a young man he had had scant time for his family, what with his years at Eton, then his time as a cadet, when his father, the late Lord Wilfred Pendholm, had bought him a cornetcy, and all these last years as Captain Lord Pendholm.
Through those years, the very idea of being friends with his mother would have seemed preposterous to him.
Now, here he was, sitting in a very comfortable armchair, in his mother’s exquisitely appointed parlour and, instead of being overwhelmed by this very feminine environment, he felt soothed and peaceful.
They were sipping a glass of mellow Port wine, and staring in amiable silence at the flames dancing in the fireplace.
Charlton looked surreptitiously at his mother and was shocked to discover that her cheeks were wet with tears. He stood up and put a concerned arm around her shaking shoulders.
“What is it, Mother? What ails you? How can I help?”
“Oh, Charlton, how can I tell you? I am so very ashamed…” she sobbed, holding to him and hiding her face against him.
“It is about Michael, is it not? I feared as much. What did he do to distress you so badly, even now? Please, Mother - tell me! I am here to relieve you of your worries, not to add to them!”
Lady Pendholm looked up into her son’s eyes and saw love, anxiety and concern but, most of all, she saw an upright, honourable man, who would do what was right, whatever the cost.
She smiled, a little shakily, dabbing at her tears with a lace handkerchief.
“You are a good boy, a good son and you will be a good Viscount Pendholm, much better than your brother, God have mercy upon his sinful soul, could ever have been. You are right - Michael’s wicked ways still haunt me. It is about the girls…”
Rather bewildered, Charlton looked at his mother.
“The girls?”
“The maids, Charlton. Your brother… how can I put it?... abused them. Oh, I know, I’m no fool, I know that taking advantage of maidservants is quite common and only slightly frowned upon… But your brother delighted in mistreating them… no, mistreating is too light a word for such… wanton cruelty. He delighted in hurting them, in beating them, in scaring them out of their wits…”
Charlton was horrified. He had long known something was wrong with the way his brother treated the fairer sex. Even when they were children, he had seen little girls - their cousins, mostly – running away from Michael, crying and complaining about having been slapped or pinched, but he had never suspected him capable of such foul deeds.
Now, suddenly, many things made sense, which had not before, for instance, the great difficulty in hiring female staff, maids in particular. It had been a lengthy enterprise to find a lady’s maid for Harriet and he had perceived the wariness with which the entire staff was treating him. After all, he was Michael’s brother: it could well be that he shared with him a twisted taste for cruelty and abuse. In light of this new revelation, he could not, in any way, blame the staff for their nervousness.
“How long have you known, Mother?”
“I suspected, but I did not know for sure until… until…”
Another sob broke her words, despite her obvious efforts to compose herself.
“Be easy, Mother. You do not need to speak about it, if it makes you suffer so.”
Lady Pendholm shook her head.
“It is true, I do not want to speak about it, but I must. Else, how can I make amends, and offer reparation to these poor creatures, and… and… and to their innocent children?”
She straightened up and looked directly into her son’s face. Her voice took on an icy clarity and her sweet face turned in
to a stern marble mask – it was most obvious to Charlton that she was forcing herself to speak.
“Your brother liked the taste of pain and the smell of fear. I know there are women who are not averse to a playful smack or nip or to an… energetic caress… in the bedroom, but Michael treated those poor girls as if they were… things, to use for his pleasure, to beat into submission, to cater to... to his… depravities, to discard without a thought when they ceased to appeal to him. I had noticed bruises, which they tried to explain away, as having knocked into a door or as having absentmindedly hurt themselves while cleaning, but I could not make heads or tails out of it.” She paused a moment, shaking slightly as she sat, her eyes wide with a kind of horror. After a few deep breaths, she continued.
“Also, I noticed maids startling, and trying to make themselves scarce, when they heard Michael’s voice, maids more often giving notice and finding service elsewhere, without even asking for a written character, and maids refusing to be hired, ever at a higher salary than is customary. But that is not even the worst part, my son.” she added grimly.
“I have already told you that your brother did not treat them as human beings. He did not even treat them as he treated his horses or his hounds. He wanted to see them cowering, humiliated, broken, showing the visible signs of his brutality. And he was not careful. He did not care at all. He rutted like the animal he was, God forgive me, and got them with child. I discovered it all when Mary left me. She was my personal maid, a very sweet and pretty girl. I particularly valued her because she was lettered, a rare feature in females of the lower classes, and she was very eager to improve herself. She was a hard-working girl, a good seamstress and she kept everything about me immaculate and in perfect order. She had a natural taste for cleanliness and she… she used to be a merry, lovely innocent, until your brother began to… take an interest in her. “
Again, Lady Pendholm paused, looking at Charlton, but, he suspected, not really seeing him at all – she seemed deep in the memory of what she described, reliving it as she told him the terrible story. Her voice was quite unlike its normal tone as she told him the rest.
“Mary fled one night, to where, no-one knew, and left a note for me, hidden in my journal. It was for my eyes only, do you see? She asked for my forgiveness - my forgiveness, God have mercy! She left because she feared that, if Michael beat her again, she would lose her baby. She loved it already and she would do anything in her power to protect it. She was too ashamed to confide in me and was afraid that I would not believe she had been forced. Yet she could not bring herself to leave without telling me why.”
Lady Pendholm was shaking and Charlton, who had listened, speechless, to the account of his brother’s nefarious behaviour, took her hands to steady her.
“My dear Charlton, what did I do wrong to give birth to such a monster? I decided, on the spot, to mount a search, because I cannot accept the idea that my grandchildren – even if born out of wedlock and out of spite and carelessness rather than out of love – should live like waifs, doomed to misery and misuse. I hope you agree, because, if you do not, I will pursue my quest all the same.”
While saying so, a martial light shone in Lady Pendholm’s eyes. Charlton smiled and kissed her hands.
“How could I not bow to the will of such a forceful lady? Mother, I am on your side. I will not stand by and see any baby with the blood of this family in its veins go wanting, nor its mother. This, I do solemnly swear. Now, tell me. How have you conducted your search – for I believe that is what you are telling me – that you have been searching?”
“I took Sir Arthur Bowscale into my confidence, at least partially. I told him that I needed to trace my lady’s maid, who had left me without an apparent reason, and asked if he could recommend to me a reliable agent of inquiry for hire. He was very helpful and introduced me to a Mr. Anthony Starling, a former Bow Street Runner who had left employment with the Town to work on his own. I liked him and hired him on the spot. He sent me a message a few days ago to tell me that he believes he has found one of those unlucky girls, and he is going to confirm it tomorrow. I pray to God that he really has found at least one of them, and that it is not already too late.”
She shuddered as she continued.
“The winter is bitterly cold, and how could a young girl and her baby survive, without employment, without nourishing food, without a comfortable home?”
Charlton looked at his mother with open admiration. She was really a wonderful woman, brave, compassionate and honest to the core.
“What are you going to do, if he has really found one of them?”
“Well, my son, I have been rather forward, I must admit. I asked my man of business to look for a suitable house, and he found a nice place near Well-close Square. It is a respectable, if not fashionable, address and I believe that the girl Starling found will be perfectly comfortable there. I am going tomorrow to have a look at it. Will you come with me?”
Charlton smiled.
“Of course, Mother. It will be my pleasure. One thing, though: how are you going to pay for it?”
Lady Pendholm defiantly raised her chin.
“With my own allowance, of course.” Her tone dared him to argue with her. Charlton grinned.
“As head of the family, I strictly forbid it. My brother left a lot of money: at least some small part of it must be used to amend for his evil ways. All the expenses for your search, and this house, and the girl’s ongoing needs, will be paid for from the estate. And this, my lady Mother, is my last word on the matter.”
“I see that, as a mere female, I have to submit to your masterful decree. So be it. Good night, my son. I am proud of you.”
And Lady Pendholm left the room, a tender smile on her lips, feeling better than she had for at least four years.
The house was well situated, in a respectable street, on the fringes of the fashionable part of London. On the corner, a pie-seller was hawking his wares, bundled up in a voluminous greatcoat and a bright red muffler. The round face of a young girl was peeping out of a nearby window. A lady in a burgundy cloak was hurrying home and, as she opened the door, a sweet smell of baking apples wafted out. A little farther on, there were some shops: a haberdasher, a baker, a butcher, and a small public house.
It was very quiet, without the rush of carriages, horses and people that was common in the central streets of the thriving metropolis. The house looked sturdy and well built, with a rather large garden and a kitchen garden at the back.
Lady Pendholm looked at her son.
“What do you think, Charlton? Will it do?
“Let’s have a look inside, Mother. I would like to see how many rooms there are and to check the state of the kitchen. Come!”
Mr Swithin, Lady Pendholm’s man of business, produced a key and they went in without further ado.
~~~~~
Meanwhile, in a wretched house in Dyott Street, a few yards from St. Giles-in-the-Fields’ Church, a young woman was trying to patch up a broken window with paper and rags, in the desperate attempt to keep out the sharp wind mixed with sleet. Her hands were blue with cold and barely able to perform the apparently simple task. She did her best, but the window was in such bad repair as to make her attempt almost guaranteed to be in vain. She sank onto a low bench, covered her face with her hands and broke into tears.
Another woman, a few years older, hurried over.
“Shush, love, please do not give up! Do it for your baby!”
“It is useless, Rose…” the young woman sobbed. “She will die, just as Annie’s baby died. She was such a pretty little girl, but she took ill and died in a few days, did you not know? How can a little ‘un survive, with no warm fire, no good food, in such a horrible winter? She will die, and I will die with her and it will be for the better. What sort of life can I offer her, anyway?”
The older woman held her close, and sighed.
Her sister, under a meek and retiring appearance, was as stubborn as a mule and as proud as
the devil. Why could she not appeal to the great Lady she had once been maid to? Rose had asked her more than once, but Mary had answered that she would not, for her life, risk to meet that awful Lord Michael once more.
And when the news of his murder got to them, she still would not go.
“My lady would not believe me. Not now, with her son just dead in such a terrible way. She would not believe anything wrong about him. And what about his brother, the new Viscount Pendholm? What if he is as bad as his brother was? These things run in families, you know…”
Rose held her sister closer and grimly consigned Lord Pendholm and all his breed of good-for-nothing parasites to the nethermost hell, there to burn for the rest of eternity.
Out in the street, below the broken window, among the dirty snow, a burly man in worn clothes and dirty boots was looking at the house with a knowing smile and muttering to himself.
“I found them. I am sure, now. I can give Lady Pendholm the good news and collect my reward. Also, I can assure her that the girl is very poor, but also very respectable. Such a Lady would not want to help a common slut and her brat… As to why the girl ran and whose child her baby is, one is entitled to one’s ideas…”
~~~~~
Inside, the house was cold and smelled musty. Dust covered everything with a thick layer and cobwebs hung in festoons from the ceilings.
Lady Pendholm fastidiously raised her skirts, in what was probably a forlorn hope of avoiding soiling the hem with the dirt.
“One cannot see a thing in this gloom. Will you open the windows, Charlton? And maybe light the fire? Is that not a coal scuttle, over there, near the fireplace?”
“Good idea, Mother. We shall see if the chimney has a good draft or is clogged. I won’t ask you to sit down, everything is filthy and in need of a good scrub!”
Intriguing the Viscount: Sweet and Clean Regency Romance (His Majesty's Hounds Book 2) Page 3
