Читать книгу The Earl and the Pickpocket - Хелен Диксон, Хелен Диксон, Helen Dickson - Страница 8

P ushing open the door of a vermin-infested house in a yard off Spittle Alley, Heloise Edwina Marchant stepped inside. The air was thick with stagnant odours hardly fit for a human being to breathe, and little natural light penetrated the grime-covered windows. She groped her way up the narrow, broken staircase to the landing above, closing her ears to the children screaming behind closed doors, and men and women, many of them sodden with gin, arguing loudly and bitterly because of their frustrations.

Weeks before, the sights and sounds that made up her everyday life would have sickened Edwina. Now she didn’t even turn away. The squalor of St Giles had lost all its terror for her in its abundance.

She let herself into the small room Jack Pierce had allocated to her when he’d put her to work. She often shared it with other boys who worked for Jack, until they either disappeared or went to live at Ma Pratchet’s, a gin-soaked old widow woman of gargantuan proportions by all accounts. Ma Pratchet was employed by Jack to look after the younger children he plucked off the streets, children who had been abandoned. The older, more experience boys trained them to pick pockets.

The wretched plight of these children had seared Edwina’s heart when she had first come to St Giles. She had wanted to help them all, to gather them round her and ease their suffering if just a little, but she had soon realised that, in order to survive herself, these kind of emotions would not help her.

The light from the window she had scrubbed clean fell on broken bits of furniture, a few kitchen utensils and a narrow straw pallet shoved against the wall. Pulling off her hat, she laid down on the thin coverlet, resting her head on the pillow. It was hard and smelled of poverty.

Something stirred within her—a yearning for beauty, for luxury and comfort. Closing her eyes, she did something she had not done in a long time and allowed her mind to drift, remembering a time when she had lain between white linen, fresh and sweet smelling, when there had been maids to do her bidding and pander to her every whim. Opening her eyes, she gazed up at the cracked ceiling, the thought of her former life bringing pain more intense than her physical discomfort. The memories filled her with a weary sadness, and thoughts of her father and home seemed like a faraway dream.

Perhaps it was her encounter with Adam that had made her resurrect her past and sharpen the pang of homesickness, but before she could journey too far back along that path reality rushed back at her, a harsh, ugly reality, and, with a hardness of mind born of necessity, she flinched away from memories of the life she had once known. They would not help her now, and feeling sorry for herself would do her no good.

Taking the purse that Adam had given her from her pocket, she clutched it to her breast. Five guineas made it possible for her to leave Jack and make her own way in life—to go to France and look for her mother’s people, which was what she had intended doing from the start.

No one knew how badly she wanted to escape her increasingly odious role as a thief, but every day that passed drew her deeper into Jack’s debt. She wondered if she dare keep the money and not tell him—but she dare not. Everything she stole she gave to Jack, and when he had sold it on he would give her a small portion of the sale. Silently she considered this grossly unfair, but she would never argue with Jack. Besides, if she were to find the boy Toby, she would need Jack to help her.

He was clever, was Jack—the cleverest person she’d ever met—but her meeting with him when she had arrived in London had been her introduction to the world of crime. When Jack had arrived in the city three years ago, he had been on the run from the law, and St Giles was a perfect place for a man like Jack to develop contacts and start to carve out a reputation for himself.

He had convinced her there was no safer place to hide than the alleyways of London town, and so desperate had she been to escape her past and recoup the money she’d had stolen from her on her journey south from Hertfordshire that she had believed him. At first it had been frightening to be so far away from what she knew. Everything was so different, but she’d willed herself to think of the present and put past and future away if she hoped to survive.

Though eighteen years old, she had masqueraded as a lad since running away from her uncle’s house. Being slight, with features that could pass as a boy’s, and cutting off her copper tresses, which would have proved a liability she could ill afford, had lent well to her disguise. Until the day came when she had enough money to enable her to go France, this was a time for survival.

Not even Jack knew her secret. It had been Jack who had taught her how to steal, and right lucky it was for him that she’d proved a natural-born pickpocket. She’d learned fast to develop and hone her skills. She was agile, her fingers small and quick, her mind alert. She hated doing it, but she didn’t tell Jack.

He became angry when she didn’t steal enough, and she was afraid of his anger. Once, she had sold her spoils to another receiver, praying Jack wouldn’t find out, but he did, and his wrath had been terrible. Now she knew better than to try to deceive him, which was why she would have to hand over the five guineas. She felt her cheeks burning—they always did when she was angry, or ashamed—and she was ashamed now, ashamed for putting her trust in Jack in the first place.

Being a master of manipulation, he played on her desperation, and he knew how to use the right combination of charm and menace to ensure her absolute loyalty. They said he was evil, said he was dangerous. They said Jack had killed a man.

He lived alone above a pawnbroker’s shop on Fleet Street, but he was never really alone. Others, vulnerable like herself, worked for him, and he carried them around in his head—moving them around like chess pieces as he played his deadly game. He controlled them all. No one could stand against Jack. He had many friends in St Giles, but few were cleverer, bigger, stronger or more terrifyingly ruthless than Jack.

Hearing heavy footfalls on the stairway, she got up and lit her one remaining precious candle—the rats had made a meal of the rest—watching as the meagre yellow flame cast a soft glow around the cheerless room. She started when the door burst open to admit Jack. A man of medium height, thickset and with heavy features, he wore a tall, battered black hat, and the crow’s feather stuck into its brim hung limp like the tattered lace at his wrists. His stained dark-green velveteen coat, which strained across his bulky shoulders, had seen better days.

‘So here you are, Ed,’ he muttered. Pulling out a chair, he sat down, stretching out his legs, his thick calves encased in wrinkled, dirty grey stockings. Placing his hat on the table, he combed his sparse brown hair over his shiny skull, and his deep-set black eyes under bushy brows had a hard glitter when they fastened on her. ‘Wondered where you’d got to. It’s been a bad day,’ he growled in a deep voice. ‘Hope you’ve got more for me than the other lads—a fine watch, perhaps, or a jewelled snuff box…a pretty fan, even, or a lady’s purse.’

‘No, nothing like that today…but I do have a couple of lace handkerchiefs—and some money.’

Jack’s face jerked sideways and his small black eyes fixed her with an investigative stare. It was the quick, sharp movement of an animal watching its prey. ‘Money, you say! How much?’

‘Five guineas—and there will be more if we help the man who gave them to me to find a boy he’s looking for.’

Jack’s heavy brow creased in a frown. ‘Boy? What boy?’

‘His name’s Toby.’ Edwina gave him a full description of the boy as Adam had given it.

Interest gleamed in Jack’s eyes. ‘Who is this man? What’s his name?’

She shrugged. ‘Adam. That’s all I know.’

‘How much will he give for the boy?’

‘He didn’t say—only that he would be generous.’

Jack considered this and nodded. ‘I’ll ask around. Is this man trustworthy?’

‘Yes, I’m sure of it. He—he’s nice.’ Taking her courage in both hands, she said, ‘After this I will make my own way, Jack. I told you from the start that when I have enough money I will go to France to look for my mother’s people.’

This didn’t suit Jack at all. ‘So, you’re scheming and plotting to run away from me, are you, Ed?’ he thundered.

‘No. I’m being straight with you. I don’t want to do it any more,’ she said in a rush, before her courage failed her.

‘Not do it?’ Jack echoed incredulously, jerking his body in the chair. ‘After I went to the trouble of teaching you all you know? Not do it?’

Edwina shook her head, gulping down her fear of him. ‘I’ve thought about it a lot, Jack. I don’t mean to sound ungrateful—but I want to stop. I don’t want to go on stealing.’

Jack was watching her closely through narrowed eyes. He had dozens of boys working for him. He was their absolute master and he demanded loyalty. They had to steal when he bade them, or be hanged for refusing after Jack informed them on about some former crime. He would also reap the forty pounds’ reward the government offered for anyone providing evidence that would convict a thief.

Ed was good, the best he’d got, but Ed was no fool, and that was the curse of it. Jack knew nothing about him, about who he was or where he had come from. He wasn’t interested in that, but Ed was good at picking pockets and Jack was thinking of moving him on to work with the older youths; no matter how many high-falutin ideas he had about going to France, he had no intention of letting the lad run out on him.

‘Don’t think you can run out on me. It’ll do you no good. We’re in this together.’ Clutching the purse, he folded his arms on the table. ‘Sit down. I think you and I should have a little talk. I’m disappointed in you, Ed. I thought you and I understood one another. It seems I was wrong.’

Edwina faced him across the table, seeing his true character much more clearly now since she had got to know him. She feared him, and knew him to be deadly. He spoke softly, but she could see his anger simmered. He sat regarding her with dilated nostrils and heaving breast. She held her hands in her lap so he wouldn’t see them tremble. She had turned pale, and she knew that if he roared at her and she broke down and cried he would have the mastery of her.

Taking a deep breath, she looked at him directly. His rugged features were impenetrable, but there was a pitilessness there that repelled her. ‘We do understand one another, Jack. I want to end it, that’s all.’

‘So, you’ve had enough of picking pockets. Ungrateful wretch, that’s what you are—and there was I, thinking you were fond of me.’

‘I—I needed you Jack.’

‘And now you don’t? Is that what you’re sayin’?’ His eyes narrowed suspiciously and he leaned across the table, his face close to hers. ‘Hope you’re not playin’ a double game with me, boy, and keepin’ some fancy trinkets for yourself. If you are, I’ll tell you this: I’m the boss in this game—always have been and always will be. My God, I’d like to see the lad who dared to double-cross me.’

Edwina raised her head resolutely, choosing to protect herself from Jack’s closeness as much as to hide her fear. Her pride ached, but the fear of what lay in store for her if she remained stealing for Jack threatened to reduce her to a trembling, shaking coward. ‘I haven’t, Jack. I’ve always been straight with you.’

‘You’ve had an easy time since I took you in and set you to work, and you ought to go down on your knees and thank me for it. I’ve always had a soft spot for you, Ed,’ he said, ‘you’ve got spirit and pluck. Because I liked you and you were cleverer than the other lads, because you were quick to learn and kept your mouth shut, I’ve treated you like a lamb and let you alone to do pretty much as you please, and if you hadn’t had that honour you’d have perished before now.’

‘And I’m grateful, Jack. But I need more money if I’m to make my own way.’

Jack glared at her, leaning forward. His face was vicious, and his breath stank of sour rum. His deep, grating voice filled the silence that had fallen between them. ‘Are you telling me you’re not getting a fair deal?’

‘Apart from that time when I took my spoils to another fencer—what you give me scarce covers the food I eat. You haven’t been over-generous, Jack,’ she said accusingly, emphasising the words to defend her actions, as she fought to prevent the shattered fragments of her life from slipping into an abyss.

Fire blazed in Jack’s eyes. ‘You young whelp. I’ll bring you to heel or hand you in,’ he threatened savagely. ‘Do you think you can stand against me with your damned impudence? I haven’t heard the others complaining.’

‘No, because they fear you,’ she told him truthfully.

‘No harm in that. That way they’ll do as they’re told.’

‘I know,’ she said, standing up, her voice threaded with sarcasm. ‘Charity and sympathy are not in your nature, are they, Jack?’

‘What’s charity and sympathy to me?’ A sneer twitched the corner of his surly mouth. ‘They can be the ruination of many a good man.’ Scraping his chair back, he stood up and eyed the youngster narrowly, thoughtfully. ‘I’ll give you more,’ he offered suddenly—after all, a tasty morsel had been known to keep a whining dog quiet.

‘It’s too late.’ Edwina was adamant. She had come this far and would not back down now. ‘I’ve made up my mind. I’ve had enough.’

Jack blustered angrily, making Edwina’s cheeks flame considerably as she listened to the curses and insults he flung at her. She wanted desperately to retaliate, to tell him to go to the devil and be done with it, but she knew the folly of doing that. It was far better to let him say what he had to and let him go. Then she could think what to do.

He grasped her shoulder and twisted her round, thrusting his face close. ‘Listen to me, boy, and listen well. Don’t try to run from me, because if you stray I swear I’ll find you and break every bone in your body.’ Seizing her wrist, he doubled her arm behind her back. He laughed caustically when she cried out from the pain of it, thrusting her from him so forcefully that she fell against the table and toppled a chair over. ‘That’s a foretaste of the punishment you can expect if I have to come lookin’ for you.’

Jack’s parting words seared into Edwina’s memory with the bitter gall of betrayal. The fact that she could have been so stupid as to believe she could go on her way when the fancy took her, that Jack would simply let her walk away, showed her weakness of character, in her mind. Her thoughts traced over the events that had led up to her present predicament, seeking to find the exact moment when she had become Jack’s property, and she knew it had been right from the very beginning.

She was thrown into a dilemma as to what to do next. Its solution concealed itself in the chaotic frenzy of her thoughts. With nothing to her name but a few coppers, where could she go? There was no one she could turn to, no safe haven she could seek, and if she ran from Jack her fortune would be what she could make herself.

Feeling a bone weariness creeping over her, she sat and placed her forearms on the table, lowering her head upon them and sighing. ‘Oh, Father,’ she whispered. ‘Why did you have to die? Why did you have to leave me to the mercy of Uncle Henry?’

Gordon Marchant had been a good father to her. She recalled how, handsome and proud, he’d smiled down at her from the saddle that last morning when he’d left Oakwood Hall, their fine Hertfordshire home, with his brother Henry, prepared to meet his creditor Silas Clifford, the Earl of Taplow, and beg for more time to pay back what he owed, and how she had stood on tiptoe to meet his parting embrace. The warmth and safety of his tone enclosed her for a moment.

‘Promise me you’ll have a care,’ she’d said.

‘Don’t worry, Edwina.’ His voice was quiet and he released her gently. ‘I’ll be back, and, if not, you can trust Henry. He’ll take care of you.’ Those had been his last words to her.

Henry had brought him home across the saddle of his horse, his fine clothes stained dark crimson with his life’s blood. Her heart hardened. He had claimed her father had had a run in with a thief on the road to Taplow Court. She had believed him. Henry had smiled and promised to handle everything—and he’d handled it very well…the blackguard.

Together Henry and the Earl of Taplow had drawn up a marriage contract. The Earl had proposed to disregard his losses and marry her without a dowry. Anger welled up in her, anger at Uncle Henry, at the Earl of Taplow. They had done this to her. She would never forgive them, either of them, ever!

In her mind’s eyes she saw Silas Clifford. To a seventeen-year-old girl, at fifty he was an old man. He was thin, his skin pale with prominent veins. His hair was white and he gave the impression of deformity without any obvious malformation. In fact, she had found everything about him displeasing. When he had come across her riding her horse along the lane near Oakwood Hall, his attention had been sharply and decisively arrested.

She recalled how he had called on her father soon after, how he had run his eyes over her, examining her face and figure as he would a prize cow. His hissing intake of breath as he did so had reminded her of a snake, and she had been glad when his business with her father had been concluded and he had gone on his way.

But following his visit her father had been uneasy and nervous, and to this day she did not know why. Soon afterwards he had been killed and Henry had become her guardian, and with it came the suspicion that he had killed her father. His odd behaviour, and the way he had of avoiding her eyes and refusing to speak of the tragic incident that had occurred on the road to Taplow Court, fuelled this suspicion, until she became certain of it.

What would her father think of Henry now? It had never occurred to him to doubt the honour of his own brother. Henry had fooled her father. He had taken his trust and trampled it. By running away she had made him pay for his lies.

Tears of fear, sorrow and frustration welled up in her eyes. ‘Oh, Father, why did you desert me? I have lost everything.’

It was a cry from the heart, the cry of a lost and lonely child, but the sorrow that shaped it was soon spent. Jack and his kind would not defeat her. The food Adam had bought her still filled her stomach and lent support to her resolve. All she needed was the courage to remove herself as far away from Jack as she possibly could. She had not escaped from her uncle’s clutches only to die a lingering death in the filth and squalor of St Giles, wretched and without hope.

She would not be beaten. She was young. She had the strength and the power to survive and grasp for herself a better future. She would make it happen because, if she didn’t, no one else would. What was it Adam had said—that a person must have faith and pride in oneself, must believe in oneself? Well, she did believe in herself, and she would start by taking control of her life.

There would be no more Jack. No more Silas Clifford. No more Uncle Henry. Somehow she must find her way back to her own kind, but first she must have money, and Adam would give her that. She would find the boy Toby and take the reward he had promised for herself.

Her spirits strengthened, the following morning she left her squalid room for the last time and took her first steps into an uncertain future. If Jack caught her, there was no telling what he would do. But maybe he wouldn’t catch her. It was a risk she was willing to take.

For three days Edwina scoured the vast network of alleyways and yards of St Giles, certain they had been built for the very purpose of concealment. It was like a vast jungle, which harboured criminals with as great a security as accorded to wild beasts in the jungles of Africa and India.

Careful to avoid the places where she knew Jack would be, she entered and searched places she would have steered clear of before—the meanest hovels, from the cellars to the rooms stacked on top. In the streets clouds of flies hovered over horse dung and offal from the slaughterhouses, mingling with the stench of unwashed humanity. Edwina was oblivious of everything outside her own purpose. She questioned fellow thieves and beggars. Everyone had seen crippled boys, and there were some who did fit Toby’s description, but they were nameless.

It was almost dark and Edwina, utterly dejected and suffering from exhaustion, found herself in Covent Garden. Sitting on a low wall at the base of some iron railings, she kept herself awake only by a prodigious effort of will. Her whole body ached as if she had been beaten, and she blinked like a night-bird at the many bright lights around her.

She often found her way to the busy piazza. It was famous for its gaming, rowdy taverns, chocolate and coffee houses, and brothels filled with loose women. Its marvellous fruit and vegetable market and theatres giving it flavour and vitality, Covent Garden was pervaded by an atmosphere of uninhibited pleasure, attracting all kinds of folk—in particular actors, painters and writers—both day and night. Tonight was no different to all the others, as people came to savour the high life. Even in the fading light the vibrant colours drew Edwina into the tableau, and she listened to the din of voices as they laughed and boasted, cursed and argued.

Theatre-goers were beginning to arrive for the evening’s performances in fine carriages, and she watched enviously as fashionable men and women in glittering and dazzling attire climbed out, the ladies holding froths of lace dipped in perfume to their noses to kill the unpleasant odour of rotting garbage. Creamy bosoms bedecked with jewels rose out of fitted bodices, slender waists accentuated by flowing skirts.

The gentlemen were no less magnificent in their leather pumps with silver buckles, white silk stockings and knee-length pale-coloured breeches, and superbly tailored frock coats over elaborately embroidered waistcoats. Most of the upper classes, both men and women, wore powdered wigs, but those of lesser means could not afford them. Eager to see the night’s performances, with much laughter and light-hearted chatter, they alighted from their carriages and disappeared inside.

Edwina was about to stand up and move on when a carriage carrying two ladies and two gentleman stopped and caught and held her attention. Her eyes became riveted on one of the gentlemen. She watched him spring down and hold out his hand to assist one of the ladies with the tender care of a devoted friend—or lover. She was a tall, glittering young woman dressed in cobalt blue silk, her dark hair arranged superbly on her proudly erect head, the silken tresses threaded with sparkling jewels.

The gentleman was a tall, extremely striking man. He was impeccably dressed, his knee-length claret coat and rich dark hair emphasising the pristine whiteness of the cascade of lace at his throat and wrists. He declined the wearing of the customary wig, and Edwina thought how suited his own hair was to him. Suddenly her heart was beating wildly. She stared wide-eyed at the man, unaware that she had stood up. It was Adam. She was sure it was. If only he would turn his head, so she could see his face more clearly.

As if he felt the pull of her eyes he spun his head round and met her gaze head on. An expression Edwina couldn’t recognise flickered across his handsome features, and even from a distance of several yards his eyes seemed very bright. Then one corner of his mouth cocked up in a smile, the same mocking smile she remembered. A sweet longing radiated through her, setting her pulse racing.

Not wishing to embarrass him by drawing further attention to herself, she turned. Just as she was about to disappear into the crowd, something clamped her upper arm like an iron band and spun her round. Rage edged Jack’s deep voice as he thrust his face close.

‘So, you young guttersnipe. Thought you’d run out on Jack, did you? Thought you’d escape me?’ His small black eyes blazed. ‘I said I’d find you—told you what would happen.’

Overcome with fear, Edwina panicked. A groan of terror tore from her constricted chest, and she pulled away, cringing from the blow she knew would follow. When it came she fell to the ground. Coloured sparks exploded in her eyes and the world began to spin, before blackness enfolded her.

From across the street, horrified, Adam saw what had happened. His eyes flashed with blue fire. ‘Go in, will you,’ he said quickly to his companions. ‘I’ll join you shortly.’ They watched in stunned amazement as he ran across the street.

The crowd that had gathered around the unconscious youth parted to let him through. ‘Stand back,’ he ordered. ‘Give the lad some air.’ Crouching down beside Edwina, he raised her up. Her head fell back limply and blood began to trickle from the cut on the right side of her small face. Adam raised his head and looked at the thug responsible, a murderous glint in his blue eyes.

‘Damn you! If the lad doesn’t recover, you’ll regret this,’ he said, and, for all its quiet, his voice was like a suddenly unsheathed blade.

Jack turned and lumbered away. He disappeared down an alley, moving with a speed and agility that could not have been anticipated in a man of his bulk.

Adam gently raised the broken, pitiful burden into his arms, and to the amazement of the crowd he carried the lad off across the square. His arrival at the house just off the piazza with an unconscious street urchin in his arms caused a furore of bawdy comments from both male and scantily clad female occupants, who sat around talking and laughing and openly caressing each other.

With the supreme indifference of a true gentleman toward lesser mortals, Adam ignored the lewd remarks and addressed a servant, his voice rich and compelling. ‘Fetch Mrs Drinkwater at once.’

Right on cue an elegantly attired woman in middle age moved slowly down the stairs.

‘Why, it’s you, Adam. I figured it must be. Who else would make so much bluster? Still, ’tis a pleasure to see you.’ She gave the man she had known since childhood an adoring, almost sainted look, before dropping her gaze to the boy and bending over him with concern. ‘Bless me! What have we here?’

Adam’s voice was urgent. ‘I need your help, Dolly. The lad’s injured and needs tending.’

‘I can see that. Who is he?’

‘A friend.’

Looking at the deeply etched lines of concern and strain on Adam’s face, Dolly realised the boy must be quite special. ‘Tell me what happened?’

‘Some thug being too liberal with his fists,’ he ground out.

‘Oh, the poor mite. Bring him upstairs. We’ll find him a bed right away.’

Following Dolly up the stairs and into a bedroom, Adam gently deposited his burden on the bed and loosened the fastenings at Edwina’s throat. She groaned and rolled her head from side to side, but didn’t open her eyes.

‘Who is he?’ Dolly asked as she busied herself with the unpleasant task of pulling off Ed’s oversized, almost worn-out boots.

‘He lives in St Giles. I hired him to help me find Toby.’

Dolly glanced up. ‘Still no news of the lad, then?’

‘No, unless Ed has something to offer.’

‘I do hope so,’ Dolly said sympathetically, knowing how important it was to Adam that he find Toby—his cousin Olivia’s boy. ‘And your cousin Silas?’ she asked quietly, keeping her eyes down. ‘What has become of him? It’s so long since I had news of any sort from Tap-low—not that I seek it or care.’

Looking at Dolly’s bent head and recalling the dreadful business that had forced her to leave Taplow Court, where she had been employed as housekeeper, Adam’s expression softened. ‘Silas is dead, Dolly—a month ago.’

She looked at him and nodded, digesting his words and straightening her back, knowing Adam would feel no remorse over the demise of that particular gentleman—and she even less—although there was a time when there was nothing she would not have done for Silas Clifford. She had been at Taplow Court just one month when he had taken her into his bed, and, though he didn’t have an ounce of affection for her—taking her body night after night without the courtesy of a caress, without the slightest endearment and with less feeling than a dog for a bitch—she became a necessity in his life and she had loved him with a passion that had made her ache.

‘Thank God,’ she said.

‘I always admired the way you put what happened behind you and got on with your life, Dolly. It can’t have been easy.’

‘It was very hard, Adam. But I cured myself of what Silas did to me before a serious depression could occur. Sadly the same cannot be said of your cousin Olivia—poor thing. What happened to the young lady Silas was to marry?’

Adam shrugged. ‘She disappeared without a trace.’ His firm lips curved in a wry smile. ‘Apparently Silas inspired in her nothing but repugnance and she refused to be forced into marriage. Young women of seventeen do not willingly give themselves in marriage to licentious monsters more than twice their age. When her uncle insisted, it appears she ran away and has not been seen since. I never met her, but, whoever she is, I admire her courage.’

‘And what of you, Adam? As heir to your cousin’s estate you are now the Earl of Taplow. Are felicitations in order—or commiserations?’

His look was sombre. ‘I never sought the title, you know that, Dolly. I always hoped Silas would marry and have children. My profession and my position as the Earl of Taplow do not rest easy together. There are many who would not approve.’

‘Since when did Adam Rycroft care what others think?’ Dolly remarked quickly. ‘In that you and I are alike. Approval and disapproval are not words in my vocabulary, Adam.’

Adam grinned. ‘You know me too well, Dolly.’

‘In that you are right,’ she said, laughing lightly. Thinking of Tap-low Court, she had a vision of happy children playing in the deserted gardens, running through the empty rooms, injecting them with life. ‘Some might say Taplow Court is a grim and gloomy place, but despite what happened I liked it there. Silas never appreciated it—he never appreciated anything. What that house needs is a family living in it—children, Adam. You should give it some thought.’

‘I have, Dolly, but what I do suits me. It is a part of me. The city is my home.’

‘Hertfordshire is only a few hours away from London. You could quite easily reside at Taplow Court and still manage your business here. You don’t have to sell your house in town.’

‘I suppose you’re right, but here I come and go as I please, and no man commands me. At Taplow, where I was never at ease, I shall be forced into habits, restricted, which will eventually kill my initiative—my spontaneity—which is an important part of my work.’

‘Being the Earl of Taplow will not necessarily change that.’

‘I wish I could be so sure. I do not want to become part of a system that stifles—a cog in a wheel that’s forever turning and going nowhere.’

Dolly could understand what he was saying. The tragedies of his personal life had made him cynical.

He combed a rebellious lock of hair from his forehead with an impatient hand, and paced the carpet between the window and the bed with long, vigorous strides, his eyes constantly drawn to the still figure laid out on the bed. Dolly could sense the restlessness in him.

‘You haven’t been back to Taplow?’

‘No, not since I left all those years ago. But I will. I have no choice. As yet I have not divulged my elevation to the title to anyone, Dolly, and I would prefer it to remain so until I’ve been back to Taplow. Had Toby been legitimate, the estate would have passed to him. You, more than anyone, will remember the circumstances of Toby’s birth, and the day Silas threw Olivia out of Taplow Court after slaying her lover.’

Dolly nodded. It was something she had tried so hard to forget, but the memory of Joseph Tyke, Silas’s incredibly handsome head groom, his blood pouring from a gaping wound in his chest and draining him of life, of Silas standing over him, gloating, bloodied knife in his hand, meant that she never would. That was the day she had come to hate Silas Clifford with a virulence that almost choked her, and made her turn her back on him and his home. She recalled Lady Olivia as being a demure young woman with a sweet nature, and, unfortunately, very poor health.

‘I do. It was a truly wicked, cruel act on his part.’

‘I know. He should have been apprehended for what he did—hanged, even, but he had the establishment background, wealth, power, influence, and the bland confidence of a noble lord,’ Adam said with snarling bitterness. ‘When Olivia knew she was dying, destitute and with no one else to turn to, in desperation she returned to Taplow Court and begged her brother to take care of the boy. You can imagine Silas’s reaction.’

‘Yes, I can. Your cousin was a man used to his own way, a ruthless man, too unprincipled, too wealthy, with too much of everything, who thought the world should pay obeisance to him.’

‘He also found disfigurement of any kind abhorrent…’ Adam paused. His face was hard with memory, the muscles tight, and his blue eyes were hard too. ‘Silas couldn’t bear to look at Toby with his twisted leg, so when Olivia died he cast him out—gave him like a bit of old garbage to some passing tinkers.’

His voice was calm, much too calm, carefully modulated, but Dolly knew that beneath the calm Adam seethed with anger, and the striking gentleman in claret velvet and lace became the youth again, the fervent, embittered boy who had been forced to live under Silas’s tyrannical dominance at Taplow Court. He took a deep breath and ran a hand across his brow. When he spoke his voice was still calm, but each word might have been chiselled from ice.

‘Olivia wrote to me shortly before she died, explaining her situation, but I was out of the country at the time and when I returned it was too late for me to help her. I failed her, Dolly. I saw Silas when he came to London. He told me what he had done—coldly and without an ounce of remorse. If he hadn’t died, I think I would have killed him with my bare hands. I have to find Toby—for Olivia’s sake. If it’s the last thing I do, I will find him.’

His voice was so full of conviction that Dolly believed he would.

Adam stood back as she continued to administer to the inert figure with a cool efficiency he’d always admired. Despite her chosen profession, one that caused her to be shunned and looked down on, he respected Dolly and would defend her to the death. Apart from his parents, she was the only person he had ever loved. She had taken him under her protective wing when, at the age of six, following the tragic death of his parents, he had been sent to Taplow Court to be brought up by his cousin Silas.

Dolly was a shrewd businesswoman. When she’d left Taplow Court she’d come to London and opened a dress shop, which had proved a huge success. She was extremely likeable and vivacious, and she soon became a popular figure.

Having made a huge profit, but not content with that, and liking the sound of clinking gold, she’d opened a gambling house in Covent Garden with investments from some of her wealthy gentlemen friends. The downstairs’ rooms were sumptuously decorated and the tables run by competent, attractive young women. Upstairs there were a number of private rooms where these same young ladies, and others whose job it was to please the customers, could retire with well-heeled patrons.

Adam suddenly remembered his companions at the theatre, and knew that Barbara, who was Dolly’s niece, would be livid because he’d deserted her. ‘I don’t think the lad’s badly hurt, so, if you don’t mind, Dolly, I’ll leave him in your capable hands. I have to go. I promised I would escort Barbara to the theatre tonight and had to leave her with Steven Hewitt and his wife. As you know, your niece has temper that would shame the devil. My life won’t be worth living if I abandon her completely.’

‘You have my sympathy. I know just how difficult Barbara can be—even at the best of times. You’d better go.’

Adam glanced with indecision at the recumbent form on the bed. ‘I know you’ll take good care of the lad. For some reason I feel responsible for him now. Send for the doctor if need be. I’ll be back to see how he is in the morning.’