Читать книгу The Homeless Heiress - Anne Herries, Anne Herries - Страница 5

Chapter One

Captain Richard Hernshaw paused, glanced back into the menacing darkness of the narrow alley behind him and frowned. He was being followed. The instinct he had acquired over several years working for the British government as a secret agent was on full alert. He knew that he had taken a risk by agreeing to meet his contact here in the rookery of these terrible slum streets, but the man would not dare to show his face elsewhere, for he was a rogue and perhaps worse. The meeting had gone well and Richard had what he’d come for, but, since leaving his contact, he had picked up a shadow. The question was—who was following him and why?

He needed to know the answer to that question, because of the papers he was carrying, which were important and could hold the answer to a mystery that he and other colleagues had been investigating in recent times. It was feared that an attempt on the lives of several prominent men in the government, even that of the Regent himself, was being prepared, and Richard believed that the names of the ringleaders were in the documents he carried inside his coat pocket. If the person following him knew that he had them, he might be in danger—of losing both the papers and his life.

Better to attack than be attacked! Richard turned the corner, and pressed his back against the wall, waiting for whoever it was to catch up with him. His suspicions were proved correct, for an instant later a small, dark shadow came hurtling round the corner. He stepped out, and grabbed the rascal’s arm, gripping it tightly.

‘Let me go!’ a voice cried in a tone halfway between anger and fear. ‘Watcha think yer doin’?’

‘That is exactly what I was about to ask you,’ Richard said, his gaze narrowing as he looked down at the rather grubby face of a street urchin. He smiled as he saw the indignant look in the youth’s eyes. ‘You have been following me for a while now, lad. I don’t like being followed unless I know why.’

The youth rubbed his hand under his nose and sniffed hard. ‘Weren’t doin’no ’arm, sir,’ he said defiantly. ‘Let me go or I’ll kick yer!’

‘You would be sorry if you did,’ Richard replied. He hesitated, his hold slackening a little as he considered. A lad like this might be after his purse, but he was far from the sinister enemy he had imagined. A smile was beginning to tug at the corners of his mouth when the youth lunged at him, kicked him in the shins and wrenched free, setting off at a run back the way he had come. ‘Damn you!’

Richard realised instantly that he had been robbed. The boy’s hand had gone inside his jacket, removing the package he was carrying seconds before the toe of his boot connected with Richard’s leg and caused him to loosen his hold enough for the lad to break free. He felt a surge of annoyance—how could he have fallen for a trick like that?

Richard yelled and set off after the boy at once. He was angry that he had been so careless, but there had been something almost angelic in the boy’s face and he had been lulled into a sense of false security. Damned fool! It was the oldest trick in the book, using a boy to take your enemy off guard. He could see the lad ahead of him, running for all he was worth. He moved fast, but Richard was a match for him, his longer legs and superior strength making it inevitable that he would catch the boy. And then fortune stepped in. In his haste, the lad had not seen the rubbish on the pavement. As his foot touched the rotting filth left there by some careless trader, his heel slid and his legs suddenly went from under him, sending him tumbling into the gutter. He was getting to his feet when Richard arrived, clearly none the worse for his tumble.

‘Watcha want ter make me do that fer?’ he complained bitterly. ‘I ain’t done nuthin’, sir. Honest I ain’t.’

‘You stole something from me,’ Richard said, holding out his hand. ‘Give it back and don’t try another stunt like that or you will get a good hiding. Do you hear me?’ His strong hands hauled the youth to his feet. He gave him a little shake. ‘Did you hear what I said, boy?’

‘Me name’s Georgie,’ the lad said and sniffled. ‘I ain’t ’ad nuthin’ ter eat fer days. I only wanted a few coins. If yer hadn’t grabbed me, I wouldn’t ’ave done it.’

‘Indeed?’ Richard’s eyebrows rose as he looked at the lad. ‘Georgie, is it? Well, Georgie, had you asked I might have given you a shilling, but you deserve that I should hand you over to the law…’

The lad produced the package, holding it out to Richard, who took it and replaced it in his coat pocket. The seal was still intact. It would have meant little to anyone who did not have the code and was able to decipher it, but he could not be sure the lad was not working for someone.

‘Let me go, sir,’ Georgie said, putting on the wheedling tone again. ‘I swear I’ve never done nuthin’ like that afore and I’m hungry…’ He sniffed and wiped his nose on his sleeve. ‘I didn’t mean no ’arm…’

‘What you meant was to steal from me,’ Richard replied with a stern look. ‘But I have the packet back and, if you are truly hungry, I shall feed you.’

‘Give me a shilling, sir, and I’ll trouble you no more.’ Georgie’s hand shot out.

Richard was on the point of putting his hand into his pocket when something made him hesitate. There was something about the urchin that did not ring true, though for the moment he could not place it.

‘I’ll not give you money,’ he said. ‘But I shall feed you. We’ll go to an inn I know. Not here. I don’t trust the service in these drinking dens. I’ll take you somewhere we can both enjoy a meal.’

The lad hesitated and for a moment Richard thought he would try to run away, but then he shrugged his shoulders. ‘All right, if that’s what yer want, sir.’

‘Come with me then,’ Richard said, taking hold of his arm. ‘And don’t try to run away, Georgie—no funny tricks, do you hear? This package is important to me, but it would be of no use to you. Try stealing from me again and I shall not be as forgiving next time.’

‘Don’t go on about it,’ the lad said, glaring at him. ‘And you’re hurting my arm. I shan’t run orf. I give yer my word.’

There was a touch of unconscious pride about the lad then that alerted Richard’s suspicions. Somehow he was certain that Georgie—if that was his name—was not an ordinary street urchin. There was more here than met the eye. He slackened his hold of the lad’s arm a little, but made sure it was sufficient to bind him to him as they left the last of the mean streets behind. The lighting here was better, and, glancing at the boy’s profile, Richard knew that his suspicions were right. Just what had he discovered here? If he knew anything at all, this lad had not been born to these poor streets of the London slum. Was he a runaway from school or a tyrant father? He was almost certain that the accent was a sham, for it had slipped once or twice. Just what was Georgie up to?

‘Where do you go to school?’ he asked.

‘Don’t go,’ the lad replied. ‘Ain’t never bin, sir.’

He was not telling the truth; Richard’s instinct never lied. His curiosity deepened. The boy was clearly very young, and, despite what he had done, Richard felt it his duty to try to help him if it were possible. He knew only too well to what depths of degradation some unfortunates were forced to sink in these stinking alleys. A grim expression dwelled briefly in his eyes as he remembered. He would not think of that now! It was behind him. He had buried himself deep in his work to forget and he would not allow that past tragedy to haunt him.

The lights of a respectable inn were just ahead of them, a lantern shedding a bright yellow glow over the pavement. More lanterns lit the archway that led behind to the inn yard, but Richard headed for the main door. He felt Georgie’s hesitation, the slight resistance, and looked down.

‘There’s nothing to fear here, Georgie. You may not be used to such places, but we shall be served, never fear.’

‘I ain’t frightened,’ the lad replied. ‘You don’t need ter hang on to me any longer. I shan’t run away. I ain’t frightened of yer no more. Besides, I’m starving!’

‘Well, they serve decent food here,’ Richard replied. He glanced at the lad’s face as they went inside. Now he could see the delicate profile and the pale complexion. Georgie was very slight and he found it difficult to assess his age. At first he had thought him a child of perhaps twelve or thirteen. His height was below Richard’s shoulder and he had felt the thinness of the lad’s body as he held him after he slipped on the rubbish. Looking at his face in the light, he thought now that the lad must be older—fifteen, perhaps.

‘Yes, sir?’ The host came bustling up to them, a smile on his face that dimmed somewhat as he saw the boy. ‘Captain Hernshaw, isn’t it? I believe I’ve had the honour of serving you before, sir?’

‘On a couple of occasions,’ Richard replied easily, ignoring the host’s expression. ‘You serve excellent chops, landlord, and a good pie. My young friend here is hungry and so am I. We shall have the best of whatever you have on offer this evening.’

‘Yes, sir. Would you be wanting the parlour, sir?’

Richard hesitated. He sensed tension in his companion and wondered what the lad could be thinking. ‘Yes, Goodridge. We shall have the parlour, if you will spare it to us.’

‘Just as you wish, sir. Will you want wine or ale?’

‘You may bring me some wine,’ Richard said. ‘Do you have any cordial that you might prepare for the boy? He is my groom’s lad and he has been helping me with the horses. I am afraid he has got himself into something of a state.’

‘Ah.’ The innkeeper nodded as he was enlightened, relief in his eyes. ‘Boys will be boys, sir.’

Georgie eyed him resentfully as they went into the private parlour, but said nothing until the innkeeper had left, shutting the door behind him.

‘Whatcha want ter say that fer?’

‘I thought it best to concoct some tale lest our host imagined something for himself. I do not wish to acquire a reputation for molesting young boys.’ Richard smiled wryly. ‘In case you had some such suspicion yourself, you may rest easy that my tastes do not lie in that direction.’

‘Oh…’ Georgie’s dark eyes studied his face for a moment, searching, all too wise and yet naïve at the same time. ‘I didn’t think it. I’ve met that sort afore and you ain’t. I’ll vouch for it if he turns up rough.’

‘Thank you,’ Richard said, a note of sarcasm in his voice. ‘If I need your help, I shall ask for it.’

‘No need to be so superior,’ Georgie said. ‘I was just offering…’

‘Thank you,’ Richard replied, a slight smile on his lips. Something in Georgie’s manner at that moment had confirmed what he had been thinking for a while now. This was no street urchin! He wasn’t sure why Georgie had tried to steal from him or why he was living rough, as he clearly was from his appearance. There was dirt on the delicate features and the lad’s clothes were disgusting. He smelled unpleasant! ‘I think we should call a truce, don’t you—just for long enough to eat our supper.’

Georgie didn’t answer but went to the fire, standing in front of it and holding his hands to the flames. He rubbed them together, shivering as if he had just realised how cold it was outside, but he did not speak. He continued to look into the flames when the door opened, admitting the innkeeper’s wife and a maid with two large trays filled with plates of food.

‘Come and eat, boy,’ Richard said. ‘This food smells delicious.’

The lad turned, stood looking at the food for a moment and then came to the table. He sat down on the bench, reaching for a plate of lamb chops. He took one and began to eat it with his fingers, tearing at the tender meat with his teeth—very white teeth for a street urchin, Richard noticed! He ate that chop and reached for another, demolishing that in much the same way, and licking the fat from his fingers—slender, delicate fingers.

‘That’s enough,’ Richard said when the second chop had gone down in a hurry. ‘Eat properly now and slower. If you haven’t eaten for days, it will make you sick if you stuff too much down at once. Try some of the pork pie. It is delicious.’ He cut a slice for himself, putting some pickles on to his plate and breaking a bit of the bread.

Georgie watched and then did the same. He began to eat small pieces of pie with a little relish, buttering his bread. He had small, smooth hands, Richard noticed. Now that he was eating properly he appeared to have table manners too. He sipped his lime cordial and appeared to have no fault to find with the taste.

Richard smiled inwardly. The lad had come from a good home. What had caused him to flee that home for a life on the streets he could not tell, but thought it would be worth discovering. When Georgie put down his knife and sat back, clearly having eaten his fill, Richard drank a little of his wine and observed in silence for a moment.

‘Better?’ he asked at last. His brows arched as the boy nodded. ‘Want to tell me about it?’

‘Whatcha mean?’ A look of uncertainty came into the lad’s eyes.

‘Your accent is false,’ Richard said. ‘You don’t always use slang and it slips from time to time. I don’t think you were reared in the slums, George. So where have you come from and why?’

‘You really want to know?’ The boy looked at him oddly. ‘Why?’

‘Because I should like to help you if I can. A life of thieving is not for a lad like you. I think you have run away from your home or your school—why?’

‘I ran away from—’ Georgie said and caught his breath. ‘I can’t tell you. You wouldn’t believe me.’ He got to his feet abruptly. ‘Thanks for the food…’

Richard stuck out his leg, preventing the lad from passing. ‘Sit down and tell me the truth.’

‘No! You can’t make me…’ Georgie tried to push past. Richard leapt to his feet and grabbed him. As he did so, Georgie’s disreputable cap came off and long dark locks came tumbling down, framing a face that now looked decidedly feminine. Richard gave a grim nod of satisfaction. He had thought something was wrong! This was no fragile lad but a girl! ‘Oh…’ Georgie put up her hand, trying frantically to hide her hair, giving a very unladylike oath. ‘Damn it! I thought you promised to let me go…’

‘And I may—if you give me a satisfactory answer. Who are you and what were you doing in that slum?’

She hesitated for a moment and then gave a reluctant sigh. ‘My name is Georgie Brown and I worked as a lady’s maid,’ she said, sitting down again. ‘I ran away from my place because my lady’s son would not stop pestering me. He kept trying to kiss me and…well, I couldn’t stay there any longer so I took some old clothes and ran off.’

‘Surely you had family who would have taken you in?’ Georgie shook her head. He arched his brow. ‘Friends? Another employer?’

‘I couldn’t ask for a reference, because she would have blamed me…she wouldn’t have given me one…’ Georgie’s eyes dropped, her hand clenching nervously in her lap. ‘You don’t know what it’s like to be at the mercy of—’ She broke off on a choked sob.

Richard’s gaze narrowed. ‘Why live on the streets and try to steal from people? Surely you cannot want to live this way?’

Georgie sniffed, a suspicion of tears in her eyes, but she was obviously trying not to cry. ‘I had some money, but it was stolen from me the first day I got to London. I thought I could find myself a job and I had enough money to live decently for a while, but…’ The tears were trickling down her cheek despite her efforts to stop them. She rubbed the sleeve of her disreputable jacket over her face, streaking the dirt. ‘After my purse was stolen, I did not know what to do and no one would give me money or food.’

‘So you thought you would turn to pickpocketing for a living?’ Richard smiled oddly. ‘Unfortunately, you chose me for your first victim—or was I the first?’

‘I stole some fruit from a stall and…and a kerchief from an elderly gentleman, which I sold…’ Her cheeks were uncomfortably red now. ‘Don’t look at me like that! I was hungry!’

‘Yes, you were,’ Richard agreed, watching her face thoughtfully. He wasn’t certain that she was telling him the whole truth even now, but he was prepared to go along with it for the moment. ‘Are you sure you have no family? If they live in the country, I could help you get there.’

Georgie hesitated for a moment and then shook her head. She had bundled her long hair back under her cap and her tears had dried. ‘Let me go now. You gave me supper, but you promised to let me go.’

‘I have no hold on you,’ Richard said. ‘But I know someone who might take you in. She is elderly and needs someone to look after her—and she might take you for my sake.’

‘I’ll be all right.’ Georgie eyed him suspiciously, clearly not quite trusting him. ‘I’m not sure.’

‘Well, I am leaving,’ he replied. Getting up from the table, he threw some coins down for the serving wench. ‘You can come with me or find your own way…it’s your choice.’

Georgie didn’t answer, though he noticed that she followed him from the room, waiting a few feet away as he paid the host for their supper. Richard refrained from looking at her as he went out of the inn, standing for a moment under the street lantern, its smoky light spilling a yellow pool on the pavement. Some gentlemen were approaching the inn as he turned away, feeling the press of Georgie’s body suddenly, as she appeared to take shelter from something or someone. He said nothing until they had left the inn behind them, but he noticed that she looked back over her shoulder several times, seeming nervous.

‘What is it?’ he asked a short time later. ‘What frightened you after we left the inn?’

Georgie hesitated. ‘Did you mean it when you said you would help me get to the country?’

‘I never say what I don’t mean.’

‘Then will you—please? I have to leave London. I can’t stay now…’ She took a deep breath, her eyes filled with a silent appeal. ‘Please help me. I’m frightened…’

‘Yes, I can see that,’ Richard replied and frowned. She hadn’t been frightened earlier, but she was now. ‘Do you want to tell me why?’

Georgie shook her head, saying nothing. Richard sensed that he was being drawn into something that would cause him a great deal of trouble he could do without and yet there was an unconscious appeal in those eyes that tugged at his heartstrings, reminding him of something…someone else. He had failed that person through no real fault of his own, but he would not let that happen again.

‘Very well, I’ll take you with me,’ he said, reaching a decision. ‘I’ll give you a place to sleep and some decent clothes and then we’ll see. If I’m going to help you, you have to trust me. I promise you I shan’t harm you, but I can’t help you either—unless you tell me the truth.’ He sighed as he saw her face close down. She wasn’t ready to trust him yet. ‘Well, keep your secrets for the moment, child. You will at least sleep in a decent bed this night, and perhaps tomorrow you may feel like telling me the real story.’

Georgie glanced at the stern profile of the man walking beside her. He was tall and strong, his face attractive rather than handsome and just at the moment he looked annoyed. She supposed he was within his rights to be angry with her, because she had kicked him in the shins and she had stolen that packet from him. Most men would have cuffed her round the ear or sent for the watchman, but he had taken her to a decent inn and fed her. On the face of it he seemed trustworthy, but Georgie had learned in a hard school and she knew that people were often not what they seemed. She wanted to trust him, needed to be able to trust someone, because the last two weeks of living rough had shown her that she wasn’t very good at looking after herself.

She hadn’t thought much about what she was doing when she ran away. In her innocence she had thought it would be easy to fend for herself for a while—just until she thought about what she ought to do next—but losing her purse the very first day had changed everything. She had been so naïve, taking her money out to pay for food and just holding the purse loosely by the strings rather than tucking it away again. The man who had snatched it had been so quick that she had had no idea of his intention and he was away with it before she could recover from the shock. Since then she had been roaming the streets, wondering how she could earn or steal enough money to survive, and she had been desperate when she saw him…Captain Hernshaw, the innkeeper had called him.

What kind of a man was he? Georgie wondered. He looked like a military man, and, considering his title, he probably was—but he was nothing like the officers she had met in the past. There was something hard and wary about him, an air of being alert at all times…and the look in his eyes could send shivers down her spine. One part of her was telling her she ought to run now while she had the chance, because he would make a bad enemy and when he discovered she had lied to him he would be angry. But she’d seen him when they left the inn and it had sent shock waves through her, because she knew what would happen if he found her.

She had shrunk closer to the side of the man she had felt her protector, her fear very real until they were well away from him. Should she confess the whole truth to Captain Hernshaw, throw herself on his mercy and trust in him to help her? He was a stranger to her! If he knew the truth, he might try to take advantage. It was difficult to know who she could trust…if indeed she could trust anyone.

Georgie shivered. They were approaching a row of terraced houses in an elegant square. At least it was a respectable address, a place where she might be able to hide for a few days while she recovered her strength and took stock of her situation. She stayed close to her protector as he rapped at the door, which was opened by a gentleman of advanced years dressed in discreet black.

‘Ah, there you are, sir.’ The faded blue eyes flicked to Georgie’s face, but he gave no sign of curiosity. ‘You are early this evening, Captain Hernshaw.’

‘Yes, Jensen,’ Richard replied with a faint smile. ‘As you say I am early, though I may go out again later. Has Mrs Jensen retired yet?’

‘No, sir. She is in her sitting room. Shall I tell her that you require her services?’

‘She may attend me in the front parlour at her convenience. I wish to place this young lad under her care.’

‘Young lad in her care?’ For a moment Jensen’s face froze, but in seconds he had recovered. ‘Yes, of course, sir. I shall tell Mrs Jensen immediately. Is there anything else you require, sir?’

‘Well done, Jensen,’ Richard said and Georgie saw a gleam of appreciation in his eyes. ‘Nothing throws you, does it? No, I require nothing further. It is my intention to go out again once I have this small matter in hand.’

‘Just as you say, sir.’

The manservant went off. Georgie followed her protector into a parlour of medium proportions. It was furnished with heavy mahogany pieces that gave it a stately air, rather ponderous and definitely the home of a man who lived alone. There were cabinets filled with objects that looked to be of a scientific nature made of brass or steel, and two large globes on stands were placed one at either side of the window. A desk stood beneath the window, so that the light fell on it, and was cluttered with what looked like old pieces of bone to Georgie.

‘Are you a scientist?’ she asked, looking at her rescuer curiously.

‘No, but my uncle was,’ Richard replied. ‘He left this house to me and I have done nothing with it, as you see. Uncle Frederick never married. He left me his estate because I was his favourite and—’ He broke off, a look of pain in his eyes. ‘I shared some of his interests at one time, but I have been away for some years.’

‘Oh…’ Georgie picked up one of the pieces of what she now saw were fossils. ‘What is this?’

‘A part of the thigh bone of a dinosaur,’ Richard replied. ‘My uncle studied fossils of all kinds. I have no particular interest in bones myself, but I hardly ever use this house, except when I stay in town. I prefer the country and of course I have been away.’ He frowned at her. Here in the brighter lights of his house, he saw that she looked older than he’d first imagined, not truly a child. ‘You can’t be interested in any of this. Will you not tell me who you really are and why you ran away?’

‘I…’ Georgie began. She was still uncertain whether to trust him with the whole story and was relieved when someone knocked at the door. She saw his quick frown, but he did not hesitate.

‘Come in, Mrs Jensen.’

An elderly woman entered. She was plump, white-haired and looked approachable, though a little surprised and anxious. It was obvious that she did not know what to make out of the tale her husband had clearly been telling her.

‘There was something I can do for you, sir?’

‘Yes, Mrs Jensen,’ Richard replied. ‘I want you to help this young lad. He is in some trouble and I have rescued him and brought him here for his safety. He has eaten, but needs to bathe and requires more suitable clothes and a bed of his own to sleep in. Do you think you can help me out please, Dora?’

‘Yes, of course, sir.’ Dora Jensen gave him a look of such adoration that Georgie knew at once that the woman had known Captain Hernshaw many years and trusted him completely. ‘The poor little mite. I’ll take him away now, shall I, sir?’

‘Yes, if you please.’ He turned to Georgie. ‘Dora was my uncle’s housekeeper for many years, and we have known each other since I was in short coat s. She will look after you, Georgie. I have to go out again on business, but I shall see you in the morning. We shall talk further then.’

‘Yes…thank you,’ Georgie said, giving him an uncertain smile. ‘You have been…kind.’

He nodded to her, but made no further comment. Georgie saw the housekeeper was looking at her expectantly and she went to her dutifully, following her from the room and up the stairs.

‘We always keep a couple of rooms ready in case the captain decides to invite a guest to stay, though he doesn’t trouble us much,’ Mrs Jensen told her as she looked back, making certain Georgie was just behind her. ‘I often say to Jensen that things hardly changed when the old gentleman died.’

‘Was that Mr Frederick Hernshaw?’

‘Sir Frederick,’ Mrs Jensen corrected. ‘He was a gentleman of learning, quiet and scholarly. He sometimes had a few of the dons to dinner—university men like himself—but never ladies. There has not been a lady in this house for as long as I can remember…’ A speculative expression came to her eyes. ‘That brings me to you, young sir—if it isn’t rude of me to ask. Who are you and how did you come to meet the captain?’

Georgie took a deep breath, then smiled. ‘It is a long story, Mrs Jenkins. Captain Hernshaw doesn’t know it all yet, but if you promise to keep it to yourself I shall tell you a part of my secret.’ She swept off her disreputable cap, letting her long dark hair cascade over her shoulders. Her melting brown eyes met the housekeeper’s astonished look bravely. ‘I shall not deceive you, Mrs Jensen. I am not as I presently appear,’ she said, and then tucked her hair back under her cap.

‘Well, bless my soul,’ Dora Jensen said. ‘You’re a lady, miss! I thought there was something odd as soon as I laid eyes on you. You looked like a girl, but in your present dress it seemed unlikely—if you don’t mind my being blunt. It isn’t quite proper for a young lady to be in an unmarried gentleman’s house.’

‘No, you are quite right,’ Georgie said. ‘But when I tell you that I was near to starving when he found me, you may find it in your heart to look kindly on me.’

‘Never fear that I shan’t,’ Mrs Jensen said in a gentle tone. ‘I know a lady when I see one and something tells me you are in terrible trouble.’

‘Yes, I am,’ Georgie replied and her bottom lip trembled. ‘I am in such a mess—and I’m frightened, that’s why I came here to the house of a stranger. He gave me food and promised to help me, but he doesn’t yet know the real story, though he does know I am a girl.’

‘You never told him lies, miss!’

‘Yes, well, I couldn’t tell him the truth, not at first,’ Georgie said, warming to her new friend. ‘But I am in terrible danger. And I can’t tell you any more, because…well, I just can’t!’

‘Well, I never,’ Dora said and shook her head. ‘That is a shocking thing, miss—if you are telling me the truth?’

Georgie crossed her fingers behind her back. It was nearer to the truth than she had confessed to Captain Hernshaw, but still not the whole story. But she was afraid that if he knew the real story her protector might refuse to believe her and pack her off back to her family—and that was something she was determined to fight at all costs.

‘I wouldn’t lie to you, Mrs Jensen. I just can’t tell anyone the whole story.’

‘I hope you wouldn’t,’ the housekeeper said, her eyes going over her. ‘I am not sure what we ought to do with you, miss, and that is the truth. There are no young girls in this household and my clothes would fall off you.’

‘Oh, I don’t want to dress like a girl,’ Georgie said hastily. ‘I couldn’t stay here if people knew it was me—and I might be recognised if I went out in a girl’s clothing. I have been into fashionable society, you see. I should have no reputation left if people knew I was here in this house. Can’t you find me something suitable to wear—a youth’s clothes, perhaps?’

‘Well, I don’t know, miss.’ Dora looked doubtful. ‘This is a house of menservants for the most part, because it was always a bachelor’s home; there are no boys—but the captain might have something.’

‘You could always wash my things.’ Georgie looked down at herself doubtfully.

‘That I will not,’ Dora said decisively. ‘Those things are for the rag bag if I have my way. You can wear one of the master’s bathrobes. I’ll ask Henderson to find you something—he’s the captain’s valet and he served him when they were both in the army.’

‘Oh…’ Georgie hesitated. ‘Yes, I see…well, it will have to do for the moment. But you do see it is better if people think I’m a boy, don’t you?’

‘Yes, miss,’ Dora said, though she was still doubtful. ‘Well, here’s your room, miss—or perhaps I should call you master?’

‘Call me Georgie. It is my name and it could be for a boy or a girl, couldn’t it?’

‘You’re a rare one,’ Dora said and shook her head. ‘I don’t know what to make of you, and that is the truth, but the master put you in my care, and I’ll do the best I can by you. Now, this is your room, and I’ll send Henderson up with the bathtub. I’ll bring the hot water myself. Make yourself comfortable, Master Georgie, and I’ll be back soon.’

Georgie thanked her and went inside the room. It was a bedchamber of handsome proportions, though once again it was furnished in heavy dull furniture, the curtains and bedclothes in sombre shades. Very masculine and not at all what she had been used to all her life, but much better than the streets.

She sat down on a stool near the window and looked out as the door closed behind Mrs Jensen. At least she was safe here for the time being. No one would think of looking for her in this house. It had given her a shock to see him when she left the inn with Captain Hernshaw and she had been glad of her new friend’s protection. She closed her eyes for a moment, because she was feeling sick and frightened. To be so near to that man! It had made her feel very nervous, though it was unlikely he would have recognised her dressed in her filthy clothes. Yet the fear that he would had been very strong, because she would rather die than be taken back to her home and forced into a life that she knew would be unbearable.

She had run from her aunt and uncle, and they were in collusion with another person to rob her of what was rightfully hers. Not by murdering her, but by marrying her to a man she hated.

She would never marry him! Never, never, never! She would much rather be dead than his wife. For a moment the tears were very close, but she held them back. The worst of her ordeal was over now. She was no longer hungry or cold and could put the memory of her time on the streets behind her. She must think hard about what she was going to do next, because her situation was still precarious.

Her head came up as she heard a knock on the door and she called out that whoever it was might enter. A man of about three and thirty came in carrying a large metal tub, which he placed down in front of the fireplace. He then knelt down, striking a tinder and putting the flame to the dry kindling, which caught with the help of a little work with the bellows.

Georgie wandered over to watch him. He glanced up at her and she saw the fearful scar on his cheek. Instead of flinching, she felt an immediate sympathy for him and smiled, hoping that he would see his disfigurement did not cause her revulsion.

‘Thank you, that is very kind of you, sir.’

‘Call me Henderson,’ he told her, his dark eyes narrowed. ‘I’m the captain’s valet now. I served with him in the army. He saved my life when I was wounded, and he gave me a job. Mrs Jensen tells me you’re here because he rescued you too.’

‘Yes…’ Georgie hesitated because she wasn’t sure what else the housekeeper had told him. ‘I need something to wear, Henderson. Has the captain got anything suitable?’

‘His things will be too big for you, but I’ll find you something,’ he promised. ‘The captain’s things will do for tonight, young master, though you couldn’t go out in them.’

‘Thank you, but I do not wish to go out just yet,’ Georgie said. She glanced over her shoulder as Mrs Jensen entered, carrying a jug of water. She was followed by a younger footman carrying two cans of water, which he poured into the bath, before throwing her a curious glance on the way out.

‘You can leave us now, Henderson,’ Mrs Jensen told the valet, who had the fire going nicely. ‘I’ll help the lad.’

‘I’ll find you something to wear,’ Henderson promised and went off, leaving Georgie alone with the housekeeper.

‘You’d best lock the door until you’ve done,’ Mrs Jensen said with a frown. ‘If we’re to keep your secret for the time being, you don’t want anyone walking in without warning. I’ll bring you a robe—there’s one in the armoire that belonged to one of the guests and was left behind. Make sure you put it on before you open the door, and keep a towel round your head. You don’t want anyone guessing the truth.’

‘No, I don’t,’ Georgie agreed. ‘Thank you so much, Mrs Jensen. I wasn’t sure what you had said to Mr Henderson.’

‘I told him no more than he needed to know,’ Dora replied. ‘But he’s no fool. I doubt it will take him long to work it out for himself.’

Georgie nodded. She locked the door after the housekeeper left and then stripped down to her skin. The sight of steam issuing from the bathtub was enticing, because she hadn’t been able to wash since her flight from her uncle’s house and the water smelled nice, as if it had been perfumed. She sighed with pleasure as she stepped into it and sank down into its warmth; it was just right, not too hot or too cold. Closing her eyes, she leaned her head back against a towel and relaxed. It felt so good! She had missed being able to indulge in the luxuries she had known all her life and had hated being dirty. How could people live that way? The answer must be that they had no choice, as she’d had none after her money was stolen.

A single tear trickled down her cheek, because until two years previously she had been the cherished only child of indulgent parents. The tragic carriage accident that had robbed her of both mother and father in one go and cast her into the arms of her mother’s older brother had changed her life completely. At first her aunt and uncle had seemed kind enough, but as she approached her nineteenth birthday, and the fortune that would soon be hers, she had noticed a change in their manner towards her. It was just a look, a conversation that ended abruptly as she entered the room, and then one morning she had overheard them discussing her.

‘He says he will settle the debt if we give him the girl,’ her uncle Henry Mowbray had said as Georgie hovered outside the parlour door. ‘I am deeply involved with him, Agatha. If I refuse he could ruin me—and he will. Believe me, he will!’

‘You should never have been drawn into his schemes,’ Aunt Agatha said harshly. ‘She is nothing to me, of course, but even so…that man gives me the shivers. I do not like this, Henry. Are you sure there is nothing else you can do?’

‘He wants her and the money, but at least he is willing to let the debt go. If I refuse, he might snatch her anyway—and he could ruin me in more ways than one.’

‘But that man…he frightens me, Henry. And she is little more than a child. I do not like the sound of this.’

‘Well, he says it is her or what I owe him, and you know I cannot pay.’

Georgie had run away swiftly as her uncle walked towards the door. She knew that she must not let him realise she had overheard their conversation, because he might decide to lock her in her room until he could force her to marry that man! And she was certain she knew exactly who he meant. She’d seen him looking at her when he visited her uncle and he made her feel as if she wanted to scrub herself all over! She would never marry him, whatever they did to her.

Georgie had left her uncle’s home that very night, determined that she would find a place to hide until she came into her fortune. Once she had it, she could set up home somewhere and pay a respectable companion to live with her. Her plans had been vague to say the least, and she had been acting on instinct when she took the mail coach for London, with some idea of visiting her father’s lawyers at the back of her mind, but when she lost her purse everything had changed. Her priority then had been to stay alive until she could work out what to do for the best, and now she was here in the home of a gentleman she had met for the first time that evening!

She had been fortunate, she knew that instinctively. There were worse perils on the streets of London than she had yet encountered, and, if she played her game skillfully, Captain Hernshaw might help her. She had to decide what to do for the best. There was one person who might help her, though she was reluctant to approach her great-aunt, who had always seemed remote and distant—but it might be the best way in the circumstances. It would perhaps have been best to seek her help in the first instance, but she had acted on impulse, afraid of the consequences if she delayed.

Georgie stayed in the bath until it began to get cold, then got out and dried herself, before putting on the striped soft velvet robe that the housekeeper had put out for her. It was so big that it kept falling off her shoulders and she had to hitch it up with the belt so that she didn’t trip over it all the time, but it felt warm. She went over to the dressing chest, looking at herself in the small mirror that hung from a stand above. Her dark hair was hanging about her shoulders, still slightly damp and curling in wisps as it dried, a complete giveaway of her true sex. She bit her lip, because she knew that she wouldn’t be able to hide the truth for long with her hair this way. She hadn’t wanted to cut it, but now she felt driven to do so.

She opened the top drawer of the military chest that formed part of the furnishings and saw a pair of scissors lying there. Her hand reached for them, hesitated and then grasped them determinedly. If she wanted to escape detection, she would need to be brave. She took a handful of her hair and held it up above her head, positioning the scissors. There was no help for it, her hair must go!

‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ a voice said and Georgie turned to see that Henderson had entered the room via what must be a dressing room. She hadn’t realised that there was another door until this minute. ‘Proper shame to hack off all that lovely hair, if you ask me.’

Georgie got to her feet, staring at him in dismay. ‘I locked the door…’

‘I used the adjoining one, though I waited until I heard you moving about, miss. I did knock, but you didn’t hear me.’

‘I was lost in thought.’ Georgie stared at his face. ‘You knew I was a girl all the time, didn’t you? Did Mrs Jensen tell you?’

‘I sort of guessed it,’ Henderson agreed. ‘I’ve seen delicate young boys, and you might pass for one in poor light, but anyone looking at you now would know for sure. I’ve brought you some clothes—and a cap, so you can hide your hair.’

‘I think it should come off,’ Georgie said. ‘Would you help me, Henderson? I’m not sure I can do the back.’

‘I’ll cut it if you really mean it,’ the valet told her, ‘but I think it is a wicked shame, miss.’

‘You must call me Georgie,’ she said. ‘If anyone discovers the truth…I am in such terrible danger, you see. There is…someone who wants to…harm me.’ It was all she could tell him, as much as she dared to say for now. Tears stood in her eyes as she looked at him.

‘Not if I was near enough to stop him,’ Henderson said and scowled. ‘You should tell the captain, Georgie. He wouldn’t stand for it.’

‘But I can’t impose on him,’ Georgie replied. ‘He has already helped me. I have to get to my great-aunt’s house. She lives in Yorkshire and is the only person I can trust.’

‘You talk to the captain. He will help you get where you need to go,’ Henderson said, looking doubtful. He came towards her, looking at her long hair and the scissors. ‘Are you sure you want to cut this?’

‘Yes—’ Georgie began, but her next words were lost as she heard shouting and then someone knocked frantically at her door. She sprang to open it and Mrs Jensen almost fell into the room. ‘Is something wrong?’

‘It’s the master,’ the housekeeper cried, clearly in a state of shock. ‘He has been badly hurt, miss, and not far from the house. He just staggered in, covered in blood. He’s soaked in it! I never saw the like in my life. He needs you, Henderson!’ Her hands were trembling. ‘Nothing like this ever happened when the old master was alive. I can’t abide the sight of blood. I never could.’

‘Where is he?’ Henderson barked at her. ‘Pull yourself together, woman! I am going to need help.’

Mrs Jensen was shaking and in terrible distress. ‘They carried him to his bedchamber. I can’t help you. I’m sorry, but I just can’t…’

‘I will,’ Georgie said at once. ‘I’m not afraid of a little blood. Go to him, Mr Henderson, and I’ll follow as soon as I am dressed.’

‘Oh, miss,’ the housekeeper said, forgetting discretion in her distress. ‘The poor master. We’ve sent for the doctor, but he looks in a bad way.’