The Widow's Scandalous Affair

by Lucy Ashford

  Raphael was ready to depart. Serena had told her staff to provide what he needed to wash and to shave and the bandage on his forehead was scarcely visible beneath his hair. He took her hand as they stood together on the marble steps.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, ‘for your care of me.’

  She nodded. ‘Raphael. There’s something I meant to tell you. It’s about Jeremy Wolverton.’ She saw him tense, but pressed on hurriedly. ‘I know I’ve tried to defend him in the past, but he called here the other night. He was very angry that I’d brought you to my house. I told him, of course, that it was none of his business.’

  Raphael’s eyes were like granite. ‘You were right. Don’t speak to him again about me, Serena. Do you understand?’ He relaxed a little and smiled. ‘You see, the man really doesn’t like me very much.’

  She bit her lip, remembering also how Wolverton had made false insinuations about Raphael’s search for Madeleine. No point in mentioning that—doubtless others had misinterpreted Raphael’s actions and whispered the same lies. It didn’t matter now anyway, because she knew the truth. ‘Yes. I’m sorry I even let him in.’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t be. It’s not your fault.’ He hesitated, then said, ‘You and I must talk. Very soon. In the meantime, Serena—thank you for everything.’

  She nodded, as if he’d been nothing more than an unexpected and slightly inconvenient guest. ‘Of course, Monsieur le Marquis. And it’s been no trouble at all.’

  Yes, she appeared completely untroubled, for she was Lady Serena Willoughby, much admired as a woman who knew her rightful position in society. The servants were already returning to their various duties as she came back inside the house and Serena, on spotting Mrs Penney, declared her intention of retiring to her study to spend an hour or so on correspondence. The household was as calm as ever, but she knew that the servants’ quarters would be buzzing all day with gossip and conjecture.

  Her husband had called her cold, but her body had been on fire for Raphael. She’d fallen for her Marquis, badly. She felt that she understood him now and all that he’d suffered; she recognised his steadfast determination to find his brother’s widow and understood, too, why she had been a particular obstacle in his way, with her hostile questions and her friendship with his enemies. If Wolverton approached her ever again with his malicious accusations, she would order her footmen to throw him out of her house.

  Raphael, she guessed, would be pressing ahead urgently with his search for his brother’s widow. Clearly he believed he was very close. Then what? Their shared passion this morning had seemed so real—though she reminded herself bitterly that she had almost begged him to make love to her.

  After this was over, she had to return to her previous life. She knew it was inevitable, but oh, how her heart ached at the thought.

  * * *

  Jacques was waiting to take charge as the carriage drew up outside Raphael’s house. His greeting was predictable. ‘Well, my lord? Been getting yourself into more mischief, have you? Should have had me at your side.’

  Raphael closed the carriage door behind him. ‘I could certainly have used an extra pair of fists the other night,’ he answered, ‘but I’m getting close, Jacques.’

  ‘And what kind of trouble are you planning to land yourself in next, I ask?’

  ‘Necessary trouble,’ came the answer.

  Jacques had a familiar stubborn look on his face. ‘Well, this time, my lord, I’m coming with you. Wherever it is you’re bound.’

  ‘No, you’re not, mon ami.’ Raphael patted him on the shoulder. ‘Someone else is.’

  Jacques sighed.

  Raphael entered the big house a little warily, knowing he would now have the rest of his staff to deal with. His anxious butler was the first to greet him. ‘My lord, we were most concerned to hear you were set upon by footpads! Fortunately Lady Serena sent us regular communications to let us know how you fared. We were relieved to know you were in such good hands.’

  ‘I was indeed.’ Raphael allowed Surtees to remove his coat. ‘And now I’m completely recovered.’

  ‘I’m pleased to hear it, my lord. And you already have a visitor, but I really wasn’t sure it was convenient...’

  Wolverton? Raphael wondered, his brow darkening. Or maybe Serena’s irate brother?

  But it was Dominic. His old friend was in the library gazing out of the window, but he turned the minute Raphael entered. ‘Raphael,’ he exclaimed. ‘Jacques sent me a message to say you were on your way home. Everyone in town’s been talking about the attack. They’re saying it was street robbers, but what’s your opinion?’

  Raphael closed the door firmly. ‘They were under orders, Dominic. And I think I know who gave them, but as yet I can’t be quite sure.’

  ‘Then this,’ said his friend gravely, ‘might help.’ He handed Raphael a sheaf of papers. ‘A short while ago you asked if I could find out who owned that garment factory you visited in Shoreditch. I’ve been searching the records kept by the Home Office. And I discovered that the owner—though he keeps it mighty quiet—is Mr Jeremy Wolverton.’

  Raphael was already leafing through the papers, his eyes dark with speculation. ‘“Shoreditch.”’ he read aloud. ‘“Mundy Street. Manager—Elias Turnbull.”’ He looked up at his friend. ‘This is it, Dominic.’ His voice was tense. ‘This is it. My belief is that Wolverton takes on French newcomers to London as cheap labour—which, indeed, many do. But Wolverton goes a step further. He makes more money by allowing brothel owners to come in and pick out the prettiest women. All his employees know about it, but they need the work so desperately that they don’t dare to act against him. Except, maybe, for one of them.’

  ‘What do you mean, Raphael?’

  And Raphael told Dominic about the woman who’d approached him in the tavern shortly before he was attacked. ‘Her name was Therese. Somehow she knew I’d been looking for Madeleine at the factory and she told me to call at her lodgings in Cheapside. Which is where I’m heading next.’

  Dominic looked concerned. ‘But couldn’t it be a trap? Those men who set on you outside the tavern—might they be connected with all this?’

  ‘I’m pretty sure they are. But I also feel certain that Therese is on Madeleine’s side. Will you come with me to Cheapside, Dominic?’

  ‘I hope you know you don’t even have to ask.’ Dominic had walked over to an oil painting on the wall and he pointed. ‘I’ve never forgotten her, Raphael. You realise that, don’t you?’

  The painting was of a young couple in the grounds of a country estate. The man resembled Raphael, though he was a little less stern of feature. The woman had long brown hair and blue eyes and she radiated happiness.

  ‘I thought,’ went on Dominic as he gazed at the picture, ‘when I saw Madeleine that summer, that she must be the most beautiful girl on earth. Do you remember my visit, I wonder?’

  ‘Of course.’ Raphael had come to join him. ‘My brother had just married her. I was home on leave from the army and I asked you to visit us at the chateau.’

  Dominic turned to him then. ‘I was smitten, Raphael, badly. I think I’m that kind of man, you know? She was so sweet. So kind—and of course, Guy deserved her. What he didn’t deserve was such an atrocious death.’ He took one last look at the picture. ‘To be honest, I don’t think I’ve slept one night through since you arrived in London last autumn and told me what might have befallen her. To think of where she might be sickens me to my soul. And now it sounds as if you’re in danger, too.’ He looked directly at his friend. ‘So you think those men who attacked you have some connection with Wolverton?’

  ‘I’m almost certain, now I’ve remembered where I’ve seen them: they’re overseers at his factory.’

  Dominic’s face darkened. ‘It sounds as if you’re getting close. You’re definitely in danger, Raphael.’

  ‘As Madeleine might b
e, if they know I’ve guessed what’s going on. And that’s what really worries me.’ He indicated the door. ‘So—shall we go and find Therese?’

  * * *

  Cheapside market was bustling with servants and housewives haggling for bargains and the air rang with the cries of traders shouting their wares. Raphael and Dominic had come here by cab and they quickly found the haberdashery shop, to the side of which were some steep stone steps. Raphael and Dominic looked at each other, then headed upwards to the door at the top. Therese must have seen them coming, because quickly the door opened.

  ‘Well, Monsieur Lefevre,’ she said to Raphael in French, ‘you’re here at last.’ She scrutinised Dominic. ‘And who’s this one?’

  ‘A good friend of mine,’ said Raphael swiftly. ‘And, madame, I apologise for not being here sooner. I was unavoidably detained.’

  He’d already noticed that three younger women were sitting at a large table engaged in some kind of fine needlework. Therese had seen his enquiring glance. ‘I would guess,’ she said, ‘that you’re eager for the information I promised you? But let me tell you my story first. I was a fine seamstress in Paris, Monsieur Lefevre. I worked for Royalty—but when the Revolution came I fled before the mob could kill me. Fled to London, in fact, where I worked for a while in that wretch Turnbull’s clothing factory. But thanks to my skills, I was able to set up my own small business here and pay several needlewomen who also once worked at that factory.’ She indicated her three companions. ‘I know why you’ve come here, monsieur. But what have you been up to since I saw you in that tavern a few nights ago?’ She was still staring at his face and clearly she’d spotted the marks on his forehead. ‘No, let me guess. There was a nasty scrap outside the tavern, soon after you left with that pretty English lady. Were you part of it, monsieur? What was it about?’

  ‘I suspect I was attacked, madame, because I’ve been searching for someone called Madeleine. Which clearly you know—but how? What made you come up to me that night with your message?’

  She pointed to her assistants again. ‘I told you my girls here worked at Turnbull’s factory, until I persuaded them to leave. One of them—Annette—was there when you called with your questions about the French girl, Madeleine. Annette also happened to be with me that night in the tavern and she recognised you.’ Her hands on her hips, Therese was still scrutinising the two men. ‘But before I say anything else—why do you want this Madeleine? Because I warn you, if you’re like the others, intending to make money out of that lovely face of hers—’

  Raphael heard Dominic at his side letting out a low oath. Raphael said swiftly, ‘Madame, Madeleine was my brother’s wife. My brother was murdered by the Revolutionaries—and Madeleine, as she may have told you, was abducted and ended up here in London.’

  ‘Hélas,’ she murmured, ‘that country of ours. It runs with blood. So what will you do with Madeleine, if you find her?’

  Dominic stepped forward then. ‘Raphael will take the very best care of her, I know he will. I swear he’ll do everything he can to ensure a new and a safe life for her.’

  Therese turned to inspect him. ‘So you think highly of your friend, do you, monsieur?’

  ‘Yes. I think highly of him.’ Dominic spoke earnestly. ‘Please, I beg you. Can you tell us where Madeleine is?’

  Therese spoke to the other women at the sewing table and for the first time, Raphael realised there was an empty chair there. ‘Ladies,’ Therese was saying, ‘you are to inform no one that these two gentlemen have been here, or who they’ve been asking for—do you understand? Continue with your work.’

  Then she led them to a door at the far end of the room and they climbed some wooden stairs to an attic that was lit by a single skylight window. Only one person was in there, cowering in the shadows. She wore a shapeless grey gown and her long brown hair was tied back. He’d only seen her in silks and satins and she was thinner than he remembered, but it was her. Madeleine.

  As they’d entered, she’d backed up against the wall in fear, but when she saw Raphael her blue eyes opened very wide. And she said in French, quite simply, ‘Raphael. I have been waiting for you. I knew you would come.’

  He walked steadily toward her and put his hands lightly on her shoulders, then said, ‘Madeleine. It’s taken me far too long. How can I apologise enough?’

  ‘No need.’ Two tears were running down her cheeks and she reached to touch his chest, as if to reassure herself that he was real. ‘Raphael, I have lived through a nightmare, but this kind lady—’ she indicated Therese ‘—and other people have kept me safe.’

  He heard Dominic clearing his throat behind him. ‘Madeleine, I don’t expect you to remember me. But we met years ago at the chateau in Montpellier. In happier times.’

  ‘Monsieur Dominic!’ She beamed through her tears. ‘Of course I remember you!’ This time she spoke in broken English. ‘You are Raphael’s good friend and therefore my friend, too!’

  Raphael turned to Therese. ‘Madame, I am more than grateful for your help. With your agreement, I’d like to take Madeleine with me now.’

  ‘Of course.’ Therese addressed Madeleine. ‘My dear, you must dry your tears and gather up your belongings.’ Madeleine nodded and hurried over to a chest in the corner while Therese turned back to Raphael. ‘But where are you taking her, monsieur?’

  Raphael hesitated. To his house? But the word would spread in no time that he had a guest. And there were still things he had to do, people he had to see before the news escaped.

  Then Dominic said, ‘Let her come to me, Raphael.’

  And Raphael thought, Perfect. Rural Kensington, where Dominic lived, was far away from the gossip of the ton. He knew, too, that Dominic’s unmarried sister Amelia was as kind-hearted as her brother and would welcome Madeleine with open arms. She would also provide the necessary chaperonage to stop any foolish gossip about the lovely Frenchwoman who’d appeared so unexpectedly in Dominic’s mansion.

  ‘Excellent,’ he said to Dominic.

  He realised Madeleine was coming back to them, fastening up a small valise. She looked hesitantly at Raphael. ‘Where now, mon frère?’

  ‘Madeleine,’ he replied, ‘for the time being, I think you’ll be safest living with Dominic. He has a very kind sister, who will take great care of you.’

  ‘And I already know how kind Dominic is.’ Madeleine paused to dash away another tear trickling down her cheek. ‘Oh, Raphael, it has all been such a nightmare! The fire and poor, poor Guy. I was taken away, to Paris at first, but then some men told me I would be safer in London. So I let them bring me here and I thought I’d found honest work in that factory. Then some men came and told me I must do things I could not bear to do. I would have killed myself rather—but Therese knew what was happening. She came to me as those men prepared to take me away and she brought me here. She saved me, as she has saved many others, I believe.’

  Therese hugged her, murmuring words of comfort. ‘There, ma chère. You’ll be safe now. Completely safe.’

  ‘Thank you, madame,’ Raphael said quietly to Therese. ‘Dominic, I suggest you find a cab to take you and Madeleine to Kensington.’

  ‘Of course. But what about you?’

  ‘There are still some matters I have to attend to. People I have to visit.’

  Dominic shook his head slightly. ‘Take care,’ he warned. Then, lifting up Madeleine’s pitifully small valise, he escorted her down the stairs.

  Raphael turned back to Therese. ‘What do you know about the man who runs the factory, Turnbull?’

  ‘I know, monsieur, that the rogue is only the manager. It’s the factory owner who employs the poor, desperate French émigrées who come to London and makes them work like slaves. Though the young women—the prettiest ones—fare even worse, because this owner permits men to come in and take them to work in terrible places where women are for sale. You understand, mon
sieur? The owner is paid, I believe, to turn a blind eye to what these wicked men are doing.’

  He understood all right. All the pieces of the puzzle were fitting together. Those three men who’d attacked him were indeed overseers at the factory where Turnbull was manager. And the owner of the factory, who made money out of allowing the prettiest of his workers to be taken into brothels, was none other than Jeremy Wolverton. As Dominic had informed him.

  Now for the final act of the drama that was so rapidly unfolding. He walked along Cheapside to Lombard Street, from where the mail coaches set off on their long journeys around the country. Already several of them, painted maroon and black with the royal coat of arms emblazoned on their doors, were lined up in the road outside the booking office. He walked inside and called for the clerk’s attention.

  ‘Ah,’ said the clerk. ‘Sir, I remember you were in here a few days ago, asking about travelling to Liverpool.’

  ‘That’s right. This time I wish to make a definite booking.’

  The clerk was leafing through his timetables. ‘For Liverpool. Of course, sir. Just for yourself?’

  ‘No—myself and a lady.’

  ‘Two, then.’ The clerk’s eyes glinted with curiosity. ‘And then, I seem to recall, you wish to arrange a passage to New York?’

  ‘I intend to find a merchant vessel in the port to take us there,’ said Raphael. ‘How much to reserve our seats on the coach?’

  The timetables, he’d studied already. This time, he paid the required fee. They would depart from London in two weeks’ time—and from there, he would sail to New York with Madeleine.

  It was his final promise to his brother.

  * * *

  He arrived home to be informed by Surtees and yet more pithily by Jacques that the Earl of Stainsby had called, but departed on learning that Raphael wasn’t at home. ‘I asked him, sir,’ said Surtees, ‘if he wished to leave a message. He declined.’