Lady Pamela and the Gambler: The Merry Misfits of Bath - Book Three

by Hutton, Callie

  She suddenly felt depressed. The thought of Nick holding, kissing, undressing, and doing even more than that with another woman bothered her. And that she felt that way was confusing by itself.

  She took herself to task, reminding her foolish heart that there would never be that or anything else between them. Hadn’t she learned enough from her sister-in-law that no one wanted to be around her at social events? That she was nothing more than an embarrassment? No husband would want a wife who couldn’t carry on a simple conversation.

  She opened her mouth like a good child when he held out the spoon with the medicine. She took it and swallowed, grimacing at the taste. “I will t-t-try to pay you b-b-back for what Mrs. Fletcher b-buys when this is all f-finished.”

  Of course, she would have no way to pay him back since her unexplained departure from Bath would end the arrangements she’d had with her students.

  His jaw tightened and he waved his hand. “Don’t even say that. You will not pay me back, nor will you attempt to do so.” He looked at her in a strange way and seemed about to say something else when he was interrupted.

  “What are you doing in here, Mr. Smith?” The guardian of young ladies’ virtue stood at the doorway to the bedroom.

  “Ah, Mrs. Fletcher. Just who I wanted to see.”

  Her brows rose. “Indeed?”

  “Yes. Indeed. I want you to visit a few stores this morning and arrange to have clothing and other articles necessary for a woman brought here for Lady Pamela to choose from. You are aware that she arrived dressed in nothing more than the hospital gown. We will be traveling to London as soon as Lady Pamela feels up to it. She will need clothing and other essentials that women use.”

  Mrs. Fletcher tsked. “You poor dear. Of course, I will help.” She turned to Nick, her eyes narrowed. “And who will be traveling to London with you to act as chaperone for her ladyship?”

  He grinned. “You.”

  Her face softened. “Oh. Well, yes. I guess if you are not going to be here, I can take a bit of time to travel with you.”

  He looked down at Pamela who was already feeling sleepy. “I think it will be about another three days before you will be up to travel.”

  “It sh-shouldn’t be t-t-too difficult on the tr-train.”

  “Rest. We’ll discuss this later. Or tomorrow.”

  “B-b-but I want to g-g-get Lizbeth. I’m so fr-frightened for her. Sh-she doesn’t deserve th-this.”

  He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “I will do my best. Please believe that and trust me.”

  10

  Nick hurried down the front steps of his townhouse and strode to the mews to have his carriage made ready. He had ideas on where to begin his search for information while Pamela slept, and Mrs. Fletcher visited various stores. He needed to gather as much information as he could before they left for London.

  Given his background, he’d always known about the practice of abducting girls and young women—even boys—to be sold into a brothel. There was a considerable amount of money to be made for those who did the procuring. He’d one time rescued a young girl in his gang from such a plight.

  There had been many young girls taken from the streets of London for that purpose, but he hadn’t been aware that the reach had extended as far as Bath. Although, given how the city had grown over the last several years, it should be no surprise. Young girls coming on the trains from the country looking for work, or a husband.

  He waited impatiently while his driver prepared the carriage for the ride to the train station. With ships coming into port in Bristol, that was a good place for him to start. He would take the train to Bristol and visit a few places that might give him information, or at least a place to start.

  Two hours hour later he arrived at a pub in the seedy part of Bristol. The Pig’s Place, on the docks of the Avon river, drew the sort of crowd one would expect, given its name. Nick had been there several times when he needed information that could only be gotten by the underclass he was very familiar with.

  “Hey Smith, what brings you to this rubbish dump?” Maggie—no last name that Nick knew of—shouted at him from across the room where she stood behind the bar.

  “To see you, of course.” He sauntered up to the bar and placed a coin on the counter. “Ale.” He didn’t trust the liquids, or the glasses that held them to be clean, but he needed something to hold onto to pretend he was here for purposes other than gaining information.

  She slammed a glass in front of him and slid the coin into her apron pocket. Leaning her arms on the bar, she came close enough to make his eyes water from the smell coming from her mouth. “I got a couple of clean girls upstairs.” She gestured with her head toward the staircase.

  Was it really going to be that easy? He pretended to take a sip of the ale. “How do you know they’re clean?”

  She straightened and began to wipe the bar with a filthy rag. “These ain’t your usual wenches.” She winked in a conspiratorial way. Maggie had been behind the bar in the Pig’s Place for as long as Nick could remember. She was dirty, smelly, and foul-mouthed. But if he wanted to know things that were difficult to learn in the world he’d made for himself, Maggie and the Pig’s Place was where he needed to be.

  “Oh?” He tried to look skeptical, but his heartbeat stepped up with her words.

  Maggie leaned forward again, forcing him to do the same. He held his breath, both in anticipation of what she was going to say and to avoid the stench.

  “I have a contact what supplies girls who have never been touched, if you know what I mean.” She continued to wipe the bar and grinned at him. A full mouth of rotten teeth.

  He refused to believe that someone who Pamela had described would end up in a place like this. She would be the type of woman who would command a top price, especially if she was a virgin. It followed that the girls Maggie had ‘upstairs’ might have come from the same source, but they sure weren’t the type of girls Pamela’s landlady was selling.

  He downed the ale, forgetting he hadn’t planned on doing that. Hopefully it wasn’t something that would kill him before he made it back to Bath. “I might take a look.” He hated even saying that, but he needed to make sure Maggie’s women were not the sort he was looking for.

  She winked and waddled over to the staircase. She yelled up the stairs and strolled back to the bar. Within minutes two young girls came down the stairs. They were both heavily made up, wearing a wrapper of some sort. Neither one was more than fourteen years old. His stomach roiled and he thought the ale he just downed would make a reappearance on his shoes.

  He’d seen enough abuse of young girls and boys when he was on the streets, trying to survive himself, but this was even worse. He knew the type of man who wanted this sort of entertainment and that made him want to put his fist through the wall.

  “How much?” He turned to Maggie.

  She grinned, his stomach tightening further. “For one or both?”

  “Both.”

  “A shilling for the night.”

  He nodded and reached in his pocket.

  “Each.” She stuck her hand out and licked her lips. He shook his head and dropped the coins in her hand. He turned and grabbed both girls by the elbow and walked them upstairs.

  They entered a squalid room with a torn curtain and a bed that he hated to think how many bodies had rested and did other activities there.

  Neither girl looked as though she was even aware of her surroundings. He made a bet with himself that they’d been drugged. The one girl who looked like she should be in the nursery doing her lessons and playing with her dolls started to remove her wrapper and he stopped her. “No.” He waved to the bed. “Sit. Both of you.”

  They looked at each other and shrugged.

  Nick paced in front of them. “We are leaving here.”

  The one who looked a bit more attuned to where they were looked up at him. “You’re taking us to another brothel?”

  He cringed at just the idea of
taking these little girls anywhere except a warm, loving home where they would be fed, loved and educated. And not abused.

  “No. No more brothels. I want you to wait here for a while. I am going out that window,” he pointed to the filthy glass behind him. “I will secure warm coats for you and hire a carriage to transport us to the train station. From there I am taking you to my home in Bath.”

  One lone tear ran down the younger girl’s cheek. “Are we to work for you, then?”

  He knelt in front of her and took her hand. “No. No more working like this. I will see that you are clothed and fed and perhaps have my housekeeper hire you as maids. If there are no spots in my household, we will see that you are settled safely.”

  She wiped her chubby, little girl cheeks. “Why?”

  Nick sat back on his heels. “Because you deserve more.” With that he squeezed her hand and stood to walk to the window. He raised it up and looked out at the dirty alley below. At least it was only one floor above the ground.

  He sat on the edge of the windowsill and studied them. “Listen for me. I will be back in about an hour. I’ll throw some pebbles at the window. When I do, you will climb out and drop into my arms.”

  They huddled together on the bed, holding hands. The older one studied him with wide eyes and nodded.

  He swung his legs out and dropped to the ground, grunting as he landed. He was getting too old for this stuff.

  Well, he didn’t get the information he wanted from Maggie, but most likely once these girls learned he could be trusted, they might open up and be able to help him. For now, he needed to get them as far away from this despicable situation as possible.

  Who knew he would end up a rescuer of women? Given his own childhood, it did seem to fit.

  Pamela walked into the kitchen at Nick’s townhouse. The cook, Mrs. Davis, was busy preparing dinner. She stopped and wiped her hands on an apron wrapped around her middle. “Can I help you with something, my lady?”

  “I d-d-don’t mean to dis-disturb you, since I know y-y-you are busy. I hoped to m-m-make myself a cup of t-tea. I feel a bit fuzzy fr-from the m-medicine I’ve been t-taking.”

  Mrs. Davis approached her. “My dear, you are not disturbing me. Not at all. Sit down and I will get your tea.”

  As much as Pamela wanted to argue the point since, after all, she’d been doing for herself for the three years she’d lived in Bath, it was better to allow Mrs. Davis to make her tea since with the woolly way her brain was currently working, she would probably burn down the kitchen. Not a good way to thank Nick for taking her in.

  “Th-thank you. If it’s n-not too much tr-trouble.”

  “No trouble at all, my lady. You can return to the drawing room and I will send it in for you.”

  “N-no, please. I don’t want to c-c-cause trouble, and actually I w-w-would prefer to st-stay here if you don’t m-mind. I spent a good p-part of my girlhood in our k-k-kitchen in London and at our c-country estate. Our c-c-cook even taught me how to b-bake, much to my m-m-mother’s chagrin.”

  Goodness, she had never spoken so much to a stranger before. Even though her words were garbled, Mrs. Davis didn’t seem to be confused. Or annoyed.

  “Were you pleased with the items Mrs. Fletcher brought back from her shopping spree?” Mrs. Davis busied herself with heating the tea kettle and setting out a cup, saucer and spoon, along with a small pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar. She moved so quickly and efficiently, she made Pamela’s head spin. Although, that could very well have been the medicine. She must stop that laudanum.

  “Yes. She br-brought back s-some lovely things. I am very gr-grateful to Mr. Smith for helping m-me.”

  Mrs. Davis poured the water into the tea kettle and set it down in front of Pamela at the small workbench where she sat. “I think Mr. Smith is a wonderful man, but I am quite sure he has more than a passing interest in helping you.” She gave Pamela a knowing smile and turned back to her work.

  Pamela felt the heat from her middle make its way up to her face. She truly didn’t know what was more embarrassing, her stutter or the way she blushed all the time. Or the fact that it appeared members of his staff seemed to notice how Nick felt about her.

  She’d spent most of the day sleeping in the comfortable bed Nick had provided her with. When she wasn’t sleeping, she spent time going over what Mrs. Fletcher had brought back from the stores and was quite happy with her selections. She now had proper grooming articles and a few days’ worth of clothing.

  As much as she hated to admit it, she missed Nick. She tried to read from a book she’d taken from his surprisingly well-stocked library, but with her wrist still a bit tender, it was too taxing to hold the book. Maybe when Nick returned, he would read to her.

  Then she drew in a breath. Was he even able to read? The little she knew of his background was enough to make her wonder. He had spent most of his childhood on the streets of London, but according to what she’d been told he made enough money to raise himself up.

  Given how well he dressed, and how loquacious he was, he must have hired tutors. She doubted if he would have gone through all of that and not made sure he could read.

  All these things were going through her mind as she drank her tea and watched Mrs. Davis put the dinner together. The beef roast rubbed with rosemary, new potatoes and carrots smelled wonderful and her stomach embarrassingly growled.

  She turned at the sound of the front door opening and voices coming from the entrance hall. Her heart sped up, knowing Nick had returned. Why she felt excited at that didn’t surprise her in the least.

  She turned on the bench where she sat as Nick and two young girls, both with heavily made up faces, bundled in too-big-for-them coats, arrived in the kitchen. Mrs. Davis eyebrows rose, and Pamela stared at them.

  “Who have we here?” Mrs. Fletcher must have heard the commotion and joined them in the kitchen.

  Nick place his hands on each girl’s shoulder. “We have Ruth and Susan.” He nodded at each girl, who both studied the floor in front of them. “They were working at a very seedy pub in Bristol. That is all I need to say for now. What they need is hot baths, some proper clothes and a warm meal.”

  The motherly Mrs. Fletcher tsked and hurried over to the girls. “Oh, my dears, come with me. We will get you all taken care of.” She glanced back at Nick as she ushered the girls out, a puzzled expression on her face.

  “Have one of the maids take care of the girls and come back down. I will explain everything.” He then turned his attention to Pamela and his face lit up, causing the heat to once again rise to her cheeks.

  “How are you feeling?” He walked over to her and took her hand in his. “Did you get enough rest?”

  “Yes. I d-did. I was just having s-some tea because I f-f-feel muddleheaded with the med-icine I’ve been t-t-taking.”

  “I believe you should try to do without it and see how you do.” He cupped her chin and moved her head back and forth. His lips tightened which told her she must have looked a mess.

  “Mr. Smith dinner will be ready in about fifteen minutes. Are we waiting for the young ladies?” Mrs. Davis looked over at him from the stove where she stirred a large pot.

  “No. I think not. They are scared and confused. Just have trays sent up to them. Will you also have someone ask Mrs. Fletcher to prepare a room for them to stay? I don’t know for how long, but I think keeping the girls together is best.”

  “Of course.” Mrs. Davis returned to the stove and Nick took Pamela’s hand. “Let’s retire to the drawing room while we wait for dinner. I could use a brandy right about now.”

  Pamela felt the jolt of awareness from her hand to his. She looked sideways at him. He looked very tired and drawn. She was anxious to hear the story of the two girls he’d brought with him. Also, if he learned anything that would help Lizbeth.

  She took a seat at the settee while he poured a brandy. “Sherry?”

  Pamela shook her head. “I th-think the m-m-medicine is making m-me bef
uddled enough without adding sh-sherry.”

  He grinned and joined her on the settee. He took a sip of his brandy, placed the glass on the table in front of him and cupped her cheeks. “I’ve waited to do this all day.”

  He bent his head and she closed her eyes. Once his lips touched hers, the fire started low in her belly.

  What madness was this?

  11

  Nick pulled Pamela closer to his body, enjoying her warmth and the delicate flowery scent coming from her. How he wished this situation over she he could work on convincing her to marry him.

  That was where he knew he was headed. He wanted her in a way he’d never wanted a woman before. And not just for carnal purposes. Pamela was someone he envisioned spending the rest of his life with.

  Almost from the time he laid eyes on her as she clung to Westbrooke’s arm at the Assembly, he knew she was someone special. Despite his thwarted attempts to court her, he never gave up and was extremely happy that she turned to him when she needed someone to help her.

  He liked everything about Pamela, including her stutter. Not that he didn’t hope that one day, when she felt secure and loved, it would leave her. But even if it never did, it would not trouble him. Plain and simple, he loved her.

  He drew back and wrapped his hand around her neck and ran his thumb over her soft cheek. “We have to be careful because one never knows when Mrs. Fletcher will come barreling into the room and drag me off by my ear.”

  She laughed, the soft tinkle of the sound causing his body to react. How he loved seeing her laugh since he’d always viewed her as sad and withdrawn. She spoke very little when in company, and it broke his heart to think she’d been made to feel inferior because of her speech.

  He dropped his hand lest Mrs. Fletcher did come into the room. He sat back and leaned his foot on his bent knee. “I’ve been reading about Mr. Alexander Bell and his son, also Mr. Alexander Bell. They are Scottish but moved to Canada years ago.