‘Then I shall make sure you get them,’ he vowed, making her contrarily even more jealous of Cora. He would let Cora have her way about anything!
It felt strange to walk through the front door of Madame’s shop on Lord Matthison’s arm, as though she was a customer. It must have looked strange, too, because when Kitty saw them, her mouth gaped open in surprise. She backed through the blue velvet curtain to fetch Madame, as though she could not bear to tear her eyes away. And then she heard her pounding up the back stairs as Madame emerged from her office.
Her expression was decidedly frosty.
‘I do not make gowns for anything but ladies,’ she sneered, pointedly looking at the way Mary was clinging to Lord Matthison’s arm.
‘Then it is just as well we have no intention of purchasing anything from you,’replied Lord Matthison in equally chilling tones. ‘Our business with you is of a personal nature, and I would be obliged if we could conduct it in private. I am quite sure you do not wish to run the risk of one of your clients coming in and hearing what a swindling, corrupt and downright cruel woman you are?’
Madame’s eyes bulged, her cheeks turning red, but it was not long before she turned on her heel and stalked down the corridor that led to her office, at the back of the building.
As they walked along behind her, Mary’s ears strained to hear the sound of her former workmates congregating on the stairs. The second they reached Madame’s office, her eyes darted to the wall, where she knew the knotholes gave a view over everything that was about to happen. Then they swivelled back to Madame, who was taking her seat behind the desk. As Lord Matthison held one of the ladder-backed chairs for Mary, making sure she was seated, before taking a chair for himself, she could picture Lotty’s eyes growing round. She knew how the girls would interpret this sign of chivalry towards her. They would assume she was his mistress already!
It was all she could do not to turn round, and mouth an explanation that it was not what it looked like.
‘We have only come here for some information,’ Lord Matthison began, when Madame sat glaring at him in brimming silence.
‘And my trunk,’ put in Mary, her hand reaching out to touch his sleeve anxiously.
This time, she did dart one look upwards, towards the spot where she knew the girls clustered.
‘Ah, yes, the trunk,’Lord Matthison drawled, leaning back in his chair and crossing his legs. ‘Which you had one of your other girls pack, under the delusion you would be sending it on to the carrier’s.’
‘I have not had time to do so,’ Madame blustered. ‘But of course, now that I know Mary is back in London, under your protection—’ her voice took on a derisory tone ‘—I will arrange to have it sent to your address.’
‘Will you?’ he replied in a tone that indicated he did not believe her. Mary could almost feel the girls suck in shocked breaths at his thinly veiled accusation. ‘I rather think Mary would prefer me to send my man to collect it in person.’
‘Yes, I would,’ she said. She no longer cared why Lord Matthison was humouring her over this matter, when she was sure he would rather dress her to suit his own tastes. Every pair of gloves, each change of stockings packed up in that trunk, represented hours of painstakingly earning her place in the world. She was proud of what she had achieved since coming to London. Whatever else anybody said about her, they all acknowledged her superior talent with a needle. And those skills had not just been the means by which she survived. No, they had launched Madame Pichot, and all her workers, into a new sphere. Mary had only to take one look at a client, to know what would suit them. While Madame did the cutting, it had often been Mary who made the initial sketches, though her greatest talent had been the intricate beadwork that required such intense concentration. Few girls could do that.
She felt as though her whole life, for the past seven years, was packed away in that trunk. She was not going to leave it behind! Nor could she bear to think of Madame selling those gowns, when she had already profited so much from Mary’s skills.
‘And now,’ Lord Matthison said, ‘you will give me some information, if you please.’
‘I do not know what you think I can tell you…’
‘To begin with, you will tell me where Mary worked before she came to you.’
‘I see no reason why I should do any such thing.’
‘Be careful, Madame,’he said, his eyes narrowing in the way that had already sent shivers of apprehension down Mary’s spine, ‘that you do nothing to make me your enemy.’
‘What more do you think you can do to me?’ Madame replied, laying her hands flat on the desk, and rising to her feet. ‘Stalking one of my girls, and leading her astray, and leaving me open to charges of keeping some sort of…of brothel? When I have worked my fingers to the bone since coming to this benighted country, raising myself out of the gutter with sheer hard work, to become one of the top modistes of the town?’
Her large, protuberant eyes were watering now, her whole body quivering.
Mary struggled with conflicting emotions. She could not help feeling some sympathy for her. Even though the woman had treated her so cruelly at the end, she thought she could understand what had driven her to do it. She must have been furious to lose Mary’s particular skills. The fickle fashionables would turn to someone else once they knew they could no longer get the fabulously embroidered gowns that had recently become Madame’s trademark. Her clientele would dwindle. To keep up with her expenses, she would be obliged to accept commissions from people outside the haut ton. And then, once she lost her exclusivity, when it became clear that one could meet anyone in Madame’s fitting rooms, the downward slide would accelerate.
‘I do not think it is your fingers that have been worked to any extent,’Lord Matthison drawled. ‘I rather think it is your unfortunate employees whose health has suffered in order to line your pockets. But, that point aside, let me remind you to choose your enemies carefully. There is bound to be gossip about this…’ He waved his hand to encompass the three of them, sitting in the office. ‘There will be no escaping it. The effect it has on your business, however, will largely depend on whose side you decide to take. And I should warn you that the Winters family are not highly thought of by people that matter. They have no background, no breeding. What money they have derives from trade,’he said with a curl to his lip that denoted exactly what members of the ton thought of vulgar mushrooms who pushed themselves in where they did not belong. ‘Once Mary is my wife, nothing the Winters say about her, or her friends, will be considered anything more than spite.’
Madame’s lips worked soundlessly as she weighed up her alternatives. Eventually, she said, ‘You really intend to marry her?’
‘I do.’
A nasty smile twitched at her lips. ‘Then I shall be only too delighted to tell you where she came from. It was a place called Oakham Hall, in the county of Surrey. She worked as a seamstress for Lady Sandiford. But they had to turn her off, because of her violent outbursts.’
The smile broadened, as her gloating eyes turned to Mary. ‘Attacked and maimed a man, she did. The son of the house. Ah…’she sighed, as Lord Matthison leapt to his feet, his face twisted with rage. ‘She didn’t tell you about that unsavoury little episode, did she?’
Chapter Seven
Lord Matthison held out his arm for Mary to take. He opened the door for her, held back the curtain so they could pass through it into the showroom, and handed her into the waiting carriage with punctilious correctness.
But his face was white, and his eyes had taken on a murderous look.
Mary’s heart was racing. Her stomach had been churning even before Madame had blurted out the truth she had hoped Lord Matthison would never hear. She could see he was barely containing his fury. She was not afraid he might do her any physical harm. But she dreaded what he would say once he got her alone. Now that he knew what she had done, he was bound to throw her out.
The bitter taste of betrayal rose in her throat. Sh
e choked back a sob.
His promises had meant nothing! Men never stuck to their word. They said whatever they thought would achieve the desired result, but there was no loyalty in them.
By the time they reached his chambers, her hurt had curdled into anger. It was his own fault if he was disappointed in her. She had repeatedly told him she was not what he thought she was.
‘Don’t you at least want to hear my side of it?’ she said, as Ephraims took his master’s hat, coat and gloves.
A spasm of something like disgust flitted across his set white features. He took her by the arm, and roughly dragged her into the sitting room, kicking the door shut behind them.
‘Only,’ he breathed, ‘if you want to tell me about it. But you don’t, do you? My God, I’m so sorry,’ he groaned, taking her completely by surprise by hauling her into his arms and enveloping her in a hold so strong she could scarcely breathe. ‘I should have left it all in the dark, not forced it into the light. That bastard Sandiford!’ He let her go, but only to cup her face in his hands so that he could look into her eyes.
She blinked back at him in confusion.
‘Y-you are not angry with me?’
‘With you?’ He looked stunned. ‘For fighting off a brute like that? Of course not!’
She shook her head. ‘Did you not hear what Madame said? How that I attacked him? Were you not listening?’
‘I was listening to a spiteful woman trying to drive a wedge between us,’ he bit back. ‘But I know you, Cora. And I know Sandiford. So it is quite obvious what happened.’
‘You do not know me!’ she protested. If he had not called her Cora, she might have taken comfort in his blind faith. But it was not faith in her. He was just so besotted with the memory of his fiancée that he could not see her getting involved in a scene so sordid, it had the power to make her feel ill to this very day.
She tore herself away from him, and faced him down, her fists clenched at her sides. How could he go on clinging to his delusion even when faced with the truth? She could stand it no longer.
‘I did stab him!’ she sobbed. ‘Again and again and again! There was blood everywhere!’
The room seemed to go misty around the edges. Her lips went numb. Shakily, she reached for the nearest article of furniture, which happened to be a sofa, and dropped down on to it, covering her face with her hands.
She heard Lord Matthison cross to the sideboard, remove the stopper from a decanter, and pour something into a glass.
Then he was beside her, kneeling on the floor, pressing a glass into her hands. When he saw how badly she was shaking, he raised the glass to her lips, and poured the golden liquid between her chattering teeth. She spluttered a little as it burned its way down her throat. But once it hit her stomach, and she felt its warm tendrils snaking through her blood, she grasped the glass for herself, and took another gulp.
‘You were only trying to defend yourself,’ he said. ‘You have no need to feel guilty about hurting him.’
‘How do you know that?’ she spat, raising her head to challenge him. The concern she saw in his eyes pierced her like a dagger. He only assumed she must have been the innocent victim rather than the instigator of the violence, because he thought she was that gentle, pure, nobly born Cora who could do no wrong!
Mutinously, she pried the brandy glass from him completely, and took another fortifying swig. ‘Well, I was defending myself, as it happens,’ she said sullenly, averting her face so she would not have to see the respect for Cora that blazed from his eyes.
‘I know,’ he said. ‘Sandiford abducted you, did he not, and carried you off to Oakham Hall?’
‘What? No!’ cried Mary. ‘I was working there as a seamstress!’ It was not as satisfying to see him reel back, a look of confusion on his face, as she had thought it would be. ‘He was not even there when I got taken on.’
‘How did you come to be there, then?’ he asked, looking completely perplexed.
‘I…I don’t recall, precisely,’she had to admit. ‘There just is not anything much—’she tapped her temple with her forefinger ‘—before the big house…that is, Oakham Hall.’ She drained what was left of the brandy, and set the empty glass on the floor at her feet. ‘I can remember standing in the housekeeper’s office, the day I got the job. And the lady who had taken me there saying they could only give me light work, because I had been ill. The housekeeper said they happened to be in need of a seamstress, and the other lady said I was a good needlewoman, and I can remember feeling very surprised. But I found all the tasks they set me very easy, so then I knew it was true. I was a good needlewoman.’
‘You had been ill?’ Lord Matthison levered himself off the floor, and sat on the sofa next to her, his hands clasped between his knees.
‘I kept having these terrible headaches…’ She ran her hand across the back of her neck, in a gesture that was becoming familiar to Lord Matthison. ‘But I had been there for a long time before Lady Sandiford’s son came home. He’d been away. I don’t know where. And he…’ She paled perceptibly. ‘He kept coming up to the sewing room, to see the new girl, he said. That was me. And he would stand over me, and ask me how I was settling in. Did I like my work…?’
Her stomach contracted into a knot as she remembered his low voice, the foul stench of his breath as it gusted into her face. ‘I could always smell liquor on his breath, no matter what time of day it was. And he would always stand just a bit too close. But I could not say anything. He was the son of my employer. Then he began to stroke my hair, and the kind of questions he asked frightened me. Even though I did not properly understand them, not back then.’
She paused for a moment, her pale lips pressed together tightly. Then she took a deep breath and plunged on, in a small voice. ‘But I never asked him to stop. So I suppose it was my fault that he thought he could touch me.’ She gestured towards her breasts, her cheeks colouring. Lord Matthison took Mary’s hand as a single tear slid down her cheek.
‘He squeezed very hard. It hurt me, and shocked me out of the state of servile acceptance that had made me cower before him. I jumped off my stool and backed away. He laughed, and made a grab for me. And I just acted without thinking. I still had the embroidery scissors in my hand, and when he reached for me, I…stabbed at his hands. And then everything happened so fast…’ She hung her head, her shoulders hunching. ‘He was howling, and there was blood everywhere…and people came running, and he grabbed me by the neck, and somehow we were on the floor and I was on top of him, and I kept on stabbing at his hands with the scissors to try to make him let go…and then two footmen were there, pulling me away, and he was screaming that I had gone mad and ought to be locked up…and they dragged me down to the wine cellar, which had the stoutest door in the house, but it was so dark in there—’ she shivered ‘—when they shut the door, and so cold.’ Tears were streaming down Mary’s face now, as she recounted the horror of that time.
‘I was so scared they would send me to prison. He was yelling about sending for the magistrate. I was sure nobody would believe a word I said in my defence. Why should they, when I did not know the first thing about myself? That was the most frightening thing of all. The awful space in my mind where there should have been…something! Anything! I did not even know my own name. When the lady who brought me there told the housekeeper my name was Mary, I felt dreadful. How could my own name come as a surprise to me?’
‘Because it was not your name. It is not your name. You are Cora.’
‘No, no! Have you not heard a word I have said?’
‘Yes,’ he said with infuriating calm. ‘You have already told me more than you know,’ he said, laying one arm gently about her shoulders while he pressed a handkerchief into her hands. ‘But I still need to hear how you escaped from the wine cellar.’
‘She let me out. The housekeeper,’ said Mary, blowing her nose. ‘I could barely see. It seemed so bright after being shut down there for so long. I felt as though the darkness had become
a part of me,’ she admitted, scrunching the handkerchief into a ball. ‘It had seeped right inside me, and was eating away at me from the inside, until I had begun to fear there would be nothing left of me. I…I still have nightmares about it.’
And then, even though some traces of anger and resentment towards him remained, Mary found herself burying her face against Lord Matthison’s shoulder.
‘You are safe now,’ he murmured against the crown of her head. ‘I will never let anyone hurt you again.’
It was not his words that had her releasing her breath in a great juddering sigh. It was the solid warmth of his body, the strength of his arms as he held her tight. The scent of clean linen and the citrus tang that lingered on his skin from the soap he used. They were what drove the feelings of being cold and alone, locked up in the dark, from her mind.
‘She…’ She sat up jerkily. ‘She did not believe his story either.’ She reached up and laid her palm against his lean cheek. ‘Just like you. She did not need to ask me anything. She said he had preyed on the young female servants for long enough and had only got what he deserved.’
Lord Matthison’s stern face relaxed into something resembling a smile. ‘She sounds like a sensible woman.’
‘She wrapped me in a warm cloak and got one of the outdoor workers to put me on the stage for London, with a letter of introduction to Madame Pichot. Madame read the letter,’said Mary, completely skipping over the terrors she had suffered on that coach journey, ‘and said she was willing to hide me if I promised to work hard and behave myself. She said she would feed and house me as a favour to her friend, and that if I was any good at my work, she would see about some wages, as well. She was very kind to me, back then,’put in Mary hastily, when Lord Matthison scowled at the mention of wages he knew very well had never materialised. ‘She could see I was scared, and she sat me down with a cup of tea while Molly went and got me a clean dress. She said I wasn’t to worry about that kind of thing happening as long as I worked for her, because she didn’t allow no gentlemen to enter her premises and bother her girls.’
Devilish Lord, Mysterious Miss Page 12
