Читать книгу A Candlelit Regency Christmas: His Housekeeper's Christmas Wish - Louise Allen - Страница 12

Chapter Six

‘Goodbye and thank you so much for your assistance, my lord. For looking after me and for Noel.’ Tess stood outside the gates of the convent, her bag and the cat’s basket at her feet. Would a curtsy be appropriate? He was an earl... On the other hand she would probably fall flat on her face, and what she wanted to do was certainly not to make a formal gesture. Not at all. She wanted to wrap her arms around his neck and kiss him on that wicked, mobile, mocking mouth.

She managed her best smile instead. Chin up, back straight. Fairy-tale adventure over.

‘You’ll be all right now?’ Alex frowned at the metal-studded black oak of the door. ‘This doesn’t look like the most hospitable of places.’

‘Convents don’t, from the outside.’ Or the inside, in my experience. ‘And I will be perfectly fine. Thank you again.’ She put out her hand, brisk and impersonal, and when he took it and gave it a quick squeeze she tried not to think about how his arms had felt around her.

Alex pulled the iron chain beside the door. Somewhere far away a bell clanged. ‘I’ll wait in the carriage until you are safe inside. Goodbye, little nun.’ He stooped, dropped a quick kiss on her cheek and strode back to the chaise.

‘Yes?’ enquired a disembodied voice from behind the darkened grille while Tess was still fighting with a blush.

If she had only moved her head a fraction that brief kiss would have fallen on her lips. It would have been her first kiss. ‘Teresa Ellery. Mother Superior is expecting me.’

The door swung open and she stepped inside. It banged closed behind her and she heard the sound of hooves on the cobbles as the chaise moved off. The prison gates slammed behind the doomed woman... Stop it! The effect on the imagination of reading Minerva Press novels, smuggled in by the boarders, was exceedingly unwelcome just at the moment.

She limped after the silent nun down a dark, tiled passageway to a door. The sister knocked and opened it, urged Tess in with a gesture, then closed it behind her.

Offices in convents must be all created from the same pattern book. Dark walls, small fireplace, solid, plain desk placed uncompromisingly in the centre of the room with the chair turned with its back to the window and any possibility of a distracting view. It was all safely, depressingly, familiar.

‘Miss Ellery. I confess I am most surprised to see you.’ From behind the desk Mother Superior studied her, unsmiling. She was thin and pale and Tess thought she looked unwell.

‘Good evening, Mother.’ She bobbed an awkward curtsy, hampered by her sore ankle. ‘I was delayed on my journey—’

‘So I understand.’ The nun glanced to one side and Tess realised they were not alone. Seated against the wall was a middle-aged woman who looked vaguely familiar. ‘Delayed hardly seems adequate to cover your...activities. Mrs Wolsey was on the same boat as you from Ostend.’

Of course, this is the disapproving matron who glared at me.

‘Mrs Wolsey has a niece boarding at the convent. She recognised the clothing of the Ghent house orphans and then she recalled seeing you there.’

It began to dawn on Tess that all was far from well. ‘I missed the canal boat. I had a fall and hurt my ankle and—’

‘And took up with some rake. Yes, that much is obvious. Your disgraceful behaviour was observed. Embracing in public, sleeping in his arms, going into an inn with him. I am both deeply shocked and exceedingly disappointed, as will be my Sister in Ghent when I write to inform her of this.’

‘I can explain, Mother—’ Tess began, only to be cut off by a slicing hand gesture from the nun.

‘Enough. I have no wish to hear you make things worse by lying to me. I most certainly cannot have a woman of your character in this house. Your antecedents are bad enough, but this behaviour is the limit. You will leave at once.’

‘My character? But I have not done anything wrong. I can explain everything that occurred. It was all perfectly innocent. And what about my employment?’ The room swam with shifting shadows, flickering candlelight, waves of disapproval. It was unreal; she was bone-weary. Tess wondered vaguely if she was going to faint. Perhaps they would put her to bed if she did and she would wake up in the morning and this would all be a dream.

‘You think that I could recommend you to any decent household? There is only one kind of employment for fallen women, my girl, and I suggest you go and seek it forthwith.’

Not a dream. Fight back. ‘I did not do anything. I am not Lord Weybourn’s lover.’ Tess tried to stand up straight, find some authority in her voice. ‘I had an accident, hurt my ankle. He helped me, just as I said.’ And I do not want to be here, with you, you judgemental old witch, she thought as a spark of anger burned through the confused fog of misery. My antecedents, you horrible woman? Two parents who loved each other, who loved me? I am illegitimate—how is that my fault?

‘Lord Weybourn? Hah!’ Mrs Wolsey said. ‘One knows all about the likes of him. A society rakehell, I have no doubt.’

‘How does one know this?’ Tess enquired. How dare this woman judge Alex? ‘I hardly think you would move in the same circles as he does, ma’am.’ The tail end of her temper was almost out of her grasp now.

‘You insolent girl,’ Mother Superior snapped. ‘You will leave at once.’

‘To cast a sinner out into the night is hardly a very Christian act.’ Tess abandoned the effort to be civil, hobbled to the door and, with her hands full of the portmanteau and cat basket, somehow got it open. ‘But I would not stay here now if you begged me. Good evening to you both.’

Behind her she heard a small bell ringing violently and the sound of Mrs Wolsey’s voice. She seemed to be gibbering with anger. Tess reached the front door before Sister Porteress caught up with her, flung back the bolts, stepped over the threshold and left the door swinging on its hinges. Moments later it slammed behind her with emphatic finality.

‘And I hope your righteous indignation keeps you warm at night,’ Tess muttered. In front of her was Golden Square, a white-stone statue at its centre glimmering faintly in the light from the lamps set outside the houses. Men muffled up against the dank mist hurried past, a cab rattled over the cobbles on the far side. A clock, quite close, struck nine.

Tess put down her luggage to pull her cuffs over her knuckles. Her mittens felt as though they had been knitted out of thin cotton, not wool, and her toes were already numb.

A woman walked slowly down the side of the square, so Tess picked up her things again and limped across to her. ‘Excuse me, can you tell me if there is anywhere near here where I can get lodgings? Only—’

‘Get off my patch,’ the woman hissed, thrusting her face close to Tess’s. She smelt of spirits and strong perfume. ‘Unless you want your pretty face marked.’

‘No, no, I don’t.’ Tess backed away and the woman stalked past with a swish of petticoats, only to slow to a hip-swinging saunter before she reached the corner.

‘Evening, my dear.’ A male voice behind her made her jump. ‘Feeling friendly, are you?’

‘No, I am not.’ Tess whirled round. ‘Go away or I’ll...set my cat on you.’ There was a feline shriek of indignation from the swaying basket and the man stepped aside and walked off hastily.

‘Sorry, Noel,’ she murmured. ‘We can’t stay here, it isn’t safe.’

Perhaps if she found a hackney carriage the cab driver would take her to a respectable lodging house. There didn’t seem to be much alternative. If she stayed on the streets she would either be assaulted, taken by some brothel keeper or she would freeze to death.

Tess slipped her hand though the slit in the side of her skirt seam and touched the reassurance of her purse. Thanks to Alex she still had the stagecoach fare from Margate to London in her pocket and some guilders that she could probably change at a bank in the morning. They were all that stood between her and penury, so she just had to pray that lodgings were cheap.

‘What do we have here?’ A man’s voice, so close behind her, had her spinning round. There were two of them.

‘Good evening.’ She tried for a confident tone. ‘Could you direct me to a cab rank, please?’

‘We can direct you, missy, that’s for sure.’ There was a chuckle as one of them moved round behind her. ‘Right down our street.’

* * *

On a cold, dank evening there was nothing quite like the simple pleasure of one’s own chair, by one’s own fireside with a bottle of best cognac to hand. Alex stretched out stockinged feet to the blaze and swirled the glass under his nose. He had the rest of the evening before him to digest a good meal, catch up on his correspondence, read a book...worry about Tess in that bleak convent.

No wide hearth with unlimited coals for her. Certainly no brandy to keep her warm after a plain dinner. He shifted, searching for a comfortable position in a chair that had always been perfect before. She was used to convent life. Just because he’d hate it didn’t mean that she wouldn’t be feeling as though she was home again.

And surely they’d find her a good position soon, one where she wouldn’t be run ragged by some acid-tongued old woman or harassed by her charges’ older brothers. Who did he know who might be able to employ her? The problem was, he didn’t know any respectable matrons well enough to ask them to employ an unknown young woman without them leaping to conclusions based on his reputation, not Tess’s. One look at that oval face with the expressive blue eyes, that soft, vulnerable mouth...

She was none of his business. Alex gave himself a mental shake, sat up and reached for the pile of letters his secretary, William Bland, had produced when he’d gotten home.

‘The financial matters are all docketed and on your desk, my lord. There is nothing of pressing importance. There are a few invitations despite the fact that your return date was uncertain.’ He’d handed over a stack of gilt-edged cards. ‘And these items appear to be of a personal nature and have not been opened.’

By personal, William meant he had separated out all those with fancy-coloured wafer seals and any that had a whiff of perfume about them. They could wait, too, Alex decided, dropping them back on to the table beside his glass and picking up the invitations again. No, no, possibly, definitely, no...

There was the sound of the knocker. Curious. No one, surely, knew he was home yet? Alex squared off the pile of pasteboard rectangles and listened to the murmur of voices from the hall. Because he was away from home so often he did not trouble to employ a butler, and MacDonald, the younger of the two footmen, was on duty tonight.

The caller was still talking. Alex swung his feet down off the fender and pushed them into his shoes. Damn it, MacDonald was inexperienced, but even he should be able to get rid of unwanted visitors in less time than this. Alex stood up as the door of the study opened.

‘A Miss Ellery has called, my lord.’ MacDonald, who had a fine set of freckles to go with his red hair, was blushing painfully. ‘I have told her that you are not at home, my lord, but she says she will sit on the front step until you are. So I have seated her in the front room because she does seem to be a lady, my lord. Only—’

Hell, what had gone wrong with the confounded female now? Alex told himself he was exasperated, not pleased. Not anxious. Certainly not pleased. ‘Show her in, MacDonald.’

‘Miss Ellery, my lord.’ MacDonald opened the door.

There wasn’t a female member of staff living in, either, Alex recalled. The scullery maid and Hannah Semple, his cook/housekeeper, came in by the day. Damn, this got stickier the more he thought about—

‘Hell’s teeth, Tess, what’s happened to you?’

She stood there on the threshold swaying slightly, the basket in one hand, her bag clutched in the other. Her hair was half-down and a great bruise was coming up on her left cheek. Tess set down her luggage as he started towards her. ‘I’m so sorry to disturb you at this hour, my lord. Only...’

Her eyes rolled up and her legs gave way as he reached her. Alex caught her now-familiar weight in his arms, laid her down on the chaise longue against the wall and bit down hard on the stream of oaths that fought for escape. ‘MacDonald, send Byfleet down with the medical kit, tell Phipps to go for Dr Holt and you get round to Mrs Semple’s lodgings and tell her I need her back here to spend the night. Go!’

Then he sat back on his heels and took a deep breath. His hands, he was shocked to see, were clenched, ready for violence, and he glared at them until they relaxed. She had been walking unsupported, he told himself; she had been able to argue with MacDonald. She couldn’t be seriously hurt. He still wanted to punch whoever had done this to her.

‘My lord?’ Byfleet came in and set down a tray of gauze pads, small bottles and jars on a side table, the familiar kit for when Alex had overdone things in the sparring ring.

‘This is Miss Ellery, a young lady I escorted over from Ghent. She should be in a convent in Golden Square, which is where I left her. I have no idea how she got here, nor what happened, but you can see her face.’

The valet, who specialised in never being flustered, bent over the couch. ‘A nasty bruise. I would hazard the guess that she has come into violent contact with a brick wall. I suggest we remove her outer clothing, my lord, and that I clean the area before she wakes, in case the skin is broken.’

Between them they got Tess out of her bonnet and cloak, took off her boots, one of them unlaced already over the bandaged ankle.

‘No gloves, my lord,’ Byfleet observed, and held out Tess’s right hand for Alex to see. There was a dark red stain under the nails. ‘One concludes that she scratched her assailant.’

‘Excellent,’ Alex muttered and held the bowl for Byfleet as he began to clean her cheek. ‘Is that going to scar?’ Bad enough that they’d hurt her, worse if she had to look in the mirror at the results for the rest of her life.

‘I doubt it, my lord.’ Byfleet took a fresh piece of gauze, covered it in ointment and laid it over the bruise. ‘She is young and seems healthy, and the skin is not broken.’ He probed with his fingertips. ‘Nor is the cheekbone.’

Tess regained consciousness suddenly and woke fighting. One moment she was limp under Byfleet’s hands, the next she had lashed out for his face. Alex caught her wrists before she could make contact. ‘Hush. Lie still, you are safe with me. This is Byfleet, my valet. He is helping you.’

‘Alex.’ She let him push her back against the cushions. ‘I’m sorry.’ She began to smile at Byfleet, then stopped with a hiss of pain.

‘The doctor and my housekeeper are on their way. Are you hurt anywhere other than your face?’

She lay still, obviously thinking about it. ‘My ankle—I had to run. And my shoulder. They grabbed me and I swung round and hit a wall.’

There had been more than one of them, and she’s a slip of a girl, defenceless. The instinct to punch something became a desire to get his hands around throats and not let go.

Byfleet moved to the foot of the chaise and began to unbandage her ankle. ‘The doctor will need to look at this, my lord. It is very swollen.’

‘Who was it?’ Alex asked, trying to keep the fury out of his voice.

Tess shrugged, winced. ‘Goodness knows, just two men who thought they’d found easy prey in the dark.’

‘How did you get away?’

‘I kneed one of them in the groin and then hit the other round the ear with my bag. Then I ran and there was a hackney. He’d just put down a fare, so I scrambled in.’

‘Yes. Of course you did,’ Alex said faintly. A defenceless slip of a girl? Perhaps not. ‘After you had hit one bully, emasculated another and run on a sprained ankle. Why the blazes aren’t you tucked up in bed at the convent?’ he demanded.

Tess grimaced at his tone. ‘Because I am a fallen woman, undoubtedly your mistress and unfit for decent company.’

‘What?’

‘Someone who knows Mother Superior was on the boat, she recognised me, saw us together on deck. I was asleep on your lap, if you recall.’ Tess closed her eyes.

Weariness, pain—or shame? How dare they make her ashamed. She was innocent. He was the one who had been fighting lascivious thoughts for two days and nights...

‘Mother Superior threw me out and I was looking for lodgings when this happened. I’m sorry to have bothered you, but afterwards, I didn’t think I could manage to find anywhere to stay...’ Her voice trailed away. Alex closed his right hand around her wrist and she rallied, opened her eyes. ‘I’m sorry to be a nuisance. Tomorrow, when it’s light, I’ll find somewhere.’

A bustle in the hallway announced the arrival of Dr Holt and Hannah Semple. Alex stayed where he was beside Tess and explained the situation to both of them. It was an effort to keep the fury out of his voice as he described what had happened.

His housekeeper cast her bonnet and cloak into MacDonald’s hands. ‘Poor young lady! I’ll stay with the doctor.’ She flapped her hands at Alex and Byfleet as though they were a couple of stray small boys underfoot.

Alex made himself get up and walk away, out into the hall. It was ridiculous to feel concerned. Tess was in good hands and he obviously couldn’t stay in the room while the doctor checked her over. But still it felt wrong to be doing nothing and the only things that occurred to him—descending on the convent and giving the Mother Superior a piece of his mind and then scouring the Soho area for a couple of men with scratched faces—were obviously equally unlikely to prove effective.

Besides, she was not his responsibility. He had delivered her safe and sound. Oh, for heaven’s sake! Of course she’s my responsibility. If I hadn’t decided it would be amusing to have the company of an innocent for a while, she’d never have been in this fix.

‘I will rouse the kitchen staff to produce some soup, my lord.’ Byfleet vanished through the service door. Trust his valet to come up with a helpful suggestion when all he could do was contemplate violence. Alex resisted the urge to kick the hall hatstand and went into the drawing room to wait with what patience he could muster.