Читать книгу The Regency Season: Gentleman Rogues: The Gentleman Rogue / The Lost Gentleman - Margaret McPhee, Margaret McPhee - Страница 15

Chapter Seven

The morning sky was a yawning blue. The air was fresh and perfect. Ned’s gig, sprung for sport and speed, and dark and sleek as the panther rumoured to be kept by the Prince Regent in his Tower menagerie, skimmed smooth and light over the roads towards Hyde Park.

‘Did you see that Devlin was seated beside Miss Northcote?’ Rob spoke loud enough to be heard above the noise of both the gig’s wheels and the horses’ hooves.

‘Devlin was not seated there. He intimidated Frew into swapping seats.’ Ned kept his attention on the four matched-black horses trotting smartly before them.

‘I wonder why.’

‘I would guess that he wished to speak to Miss Northcote.’

‘You think he’s sweet on her?’

‘Maybe. But she’s sure as hell not sweet on him.’ Whatever it was Emma felt for Devlin was more akin to dislike and anger judging by the look on her face when Devlin had first sat down. Certainly not a prearranged meeting and not one she wanted to be a part of. It shouldn’t have made any difference. She was nothing to him. But it did make a difference.

‘She does not like him. That’s why he had to wait until she was at the dinner table before he approached. Because she would have walked away otherwise,’ Ned said.

‘Strange that she should dislike him so much.’

‘Is it?’

He could feel the glance that Rob flicked his way. ‘Maybe he didn’t like you dancing with her.’

Ned smiled. ‘I’m sure he didn’t like me dancing with her.’

Rob chuckled.

There was the whir and rumble of the wheels, the clatter of the horses’ hooves, the noise and hubbub of the traffic all around them. They stopped at the junction behind a queue of carriages and waited while a road sweeper darted out ahead, sweeping the fresh pile of steaming horse manure up into his shovel ahead of the two city gentlemen who followed and receiving a tip for his trouble.

The carriages in front moved off. Ned gave a flick of the rein and his team followed.

‘You’re getting too good at this carriage driving,’ observed Rob with a grin. ‘Lessons paid off well.’

Ned smiled.

They lapsed into silence as they sped past the buildings.

When Rob spoke again it was in a voice not to be heard by any others. ‘Do you think Devlin said anything to her about...?’

‘No.’ Absolute. Categorical. ‘Whatever Devlin feels about me, he will not drag Emma Northcote into it. It’s more than his honour is worth.’

‘You’ll forgive me if I don’t set so much store by gentlemen and their honour.’

Ned smiled a hard smile.

‘Miss Northcote—she’s not what I thought she’d be. Not spoiled and pampered like the rest of them.’

Ned made no comment, but he thought of her in the red tavern dress dealing with the men in the Red Lion. He thought of her in his arms in the darkened alleyway, her mouth meeting his with passion and sweetness. He thought of the warmth of her smile, of her irrepressible spirit and strength of character. And how he had wanted her in his bed, in his life...in his future. He pushed the thoughts away with a will of steel. ‘Whatever she is makes no difference to us.’

Rob smiled and leaned back in his seat to enjoy the view of the fine town houses.

Ned drove the carriage onwards to Hyde Park.

* * *

Emma stood alone by the window in the dining room of the dowager’s Grosvenor Place town house, watching London wake to another day.

The Fortnum and Mason cart was passing, the delivery boy perched high on the back ready to spring down and run in with the groceries ordered by housekeepers and wives. Two milkmaids were on the other side of the road, wooden yokes across their shoulders, balanced like a weighing scale with large wooden churns. There seemed a never-ending stream of coaches and carts and gentlemen on horseback taking their mounts for exercise in the park. A clamour of activity, which was the reason that Lady Lamerton had chosen the house.

The sky was blue, but mired with that slight haze that would burn off as the earliness of the morning advanced and the sun climbed high in the sky. It was going to be another hot day. Emma could feel the clammy warmth in the air already. She massaged a hand against the tightness nipping the nape of her neck.

She was thinking about last night and Devlin...and Ned.

An uneasiness still sat upon her over Devlin’s veiled suggestion that he had an interest in her and over his implication about Ned and gentle-born women.

How Devlin could even think that there could be anything between them... Devlin, after all, was one of the men responsible for Kit’s downfall and the financial ruin of her family. And even were he not, he was a rake, a man who lived a life devoted to empty hedonism and lavish luxury. He had no thought for anything serious or meaningful. He spent his time bedding women of the demi-monde, gaming and drinking. After her months in Whitechapel she could not like a man like him.

She thought of Ned seeking his pleasures on the other side of town as much as Devlin. She thought of Devlin’s hints and wondered what it was Ned had done with another gentle-born woman. The thought made her chest tighten with a heavy rawness and sent a bitterness pumping again through her blood. Had he lied to her as he had lied to Emma? Had he deceived Emma as to what was between them? And over his offer to help her father? She closed her eyes at the thought of that small unnecessary cruelty.

And in her mind she saw again her father that day at the warehouse.

‘Oh, Papa,’ she whispered soft as a breath and that ever-present nagging sense of worry over him stole out from where it lurked in the shadows to fill her mind. And she thought, too, of what he would say if he ever discovered what she had done with Ned Stratham.

‘Ah, here you are, Emma.’ Lady Lamerton’s voice made her start. She hid away those feelings. Took a breath and turned to face her employer.

‘I did not mean to startle you, my dear.’

‘The fault is all mine. I was wool-gathering and did not hear your approach.’ She smiled and, moving from the window, directed the dowager’s attention elsewhere. ‘Cook has quite surpassed herself with the ham and eggs this morning.’

‘She has a temperament that requires handling with kid gloves, but...’ Lady Lamerton smiled and lowered her voice to share the confidence ‘...she is worth her weight in gold. Worked for the royal household for years. When she left, Amelia Hilton tried to snaffle her, but I got in first.’ The dowager leaned on her walking stick and gave a very satisfied cat-that-got-the-cream smile that made Emma smile in earnest.

Emma lifted a plate from the heater and helped Lady Lamerton to a selection from the breakfast dishes before they both took their seats.

Lady Lamerton peered at the empty space before Emma. ‘I trust you have eaten?’

‘I have, thank you.’ She knew how precious food was. How hungry a person could get. So she had eaten whether she had appetite or not.

‘I see Mrs Lewis seated you beside Devlin. Hardly the most sensitive of seating arrangements given the history of your families.’

Emma made no comment.

‘Did he upset you?’

‘Not at all,’ she lied and thought of Devlin’s insinuation about Ned.

Lady Lamerton glanced across at Emma as she ate. ‘And yet you have something weighing upon your mind.’

The butler appeared with a fresh pot of coffee and set it down on the table between them, sending wafts of steam and its rich roasted aroma through the air. By unspoken consent both Emma and Lady Lamerton waited until he had departed again before they resumed their conversation.

‘I was thinking of my father,’ Emma admitted, aware that the older woman was no fool. It was the truth, just not all of it.

‘Wondering how he is faring in Hounslow without you?’

In his small comfortable cottage living a quiet but respectable life in Hounslow. So many lies. Emma met Lady Lamerton’s gaze. There was a formidable kindness in it. She wondered what Lady Lamerton would do if she knew the truth? Of Whitechapel and the hardship of life there, of the dockyard warehouse and the Red Lion Chop-House. Part of her wanted so much to tell. To unburden herself. To cease the dishonesty. But Emma knew she could not. She was under no misapprehensions. Lady Lamerton had a kind heart, but she would not understand. And she certainly would not have a woman who had been a serving wench living in her house, acting as her companion. So Emma just smiled in reply.

‘I am taking tea with Mrs Hilton this afternoon. There is no need for you to come. Take the day off. Travel out to Hounslow and surprise your papa with a visit.’

And discover for herself the truth of how he was coping. ‘If you are certain...’

‘Quite certain. I would not say it were I not. As long as you are returned before evening. Remember we have agreed to a card evening at Lady Routledge’s.’

‘I will be back long before evening.’ No woman wanted to be walking the Whitechapel streets at night. And that made her think of the night that Ned Stratham had stepped in to save her from the two sailors. Of his walking her home...and all it had led to. She stopped the thoughts. Closed her mind to them. Thought of her purpose in being here.

‘I have been meaning to ask you whether Lord Lamerton has yet had word of Kit?’ she asked.

‘It is early days, Emma, and m’son continues with his enquires. We must leave the matter in his capable hands.’

‘I am most grateful. My father will be, too.’ It would be the first thing her father would ask.

‘If there is word to be had, Lamerton will be the one to have it.’

‘He will.’ Emma smiled, but as she sipped her coffee the question on Emma’s mind was what that word would be.

* * *

It was a couple of hours later when Emma made her way across town, walking at a brisk pace. The new olive-green walking dress, cream spencer, bonnet and gloves, all part of the wardrobe Lady Lamerton had bought for her upon her arrival, allowed her to belong in Mayfair. But not so in the East End. It was only when she got into Spitalfields and then headed further east into Whitechapel that she was aware of the way people were looking at her.

Before, in her own old and shabby attire, or the serving dress lent to her by Nancy, she had fitted in, drawn no notice. Now her new and expensive clothing proclaimed her from another tribe, an intruder from another world. The further she trod into Whitechapel the more uncomfortable she became.

Streets that only a couple of weeks ago had been her home, her locale, seemed threatening. Men, lurking in doorways, eyed her with sly speculation. Women, sitting upon their steps, did not recognise her as Emma de Lisle, one of Nancy’s girls from the Red Lion, but as someone who should not be here, someone who did not fit in. Only two weeks had passed, but already she had forgotten the depth of the darkness, the stench of the dirt and the cutting danger of this place.

Five miles separated Whitechapel and Mayfair. It might as well have been five thousand. They were worlds apart. Little wonder Ned changed his clothes to come here. She wished she had done the same.

But although her clothes were all wrong, she knew these people. She kept her head up, maintained her confidence and stayed true to herself.

It was with relief that she eventually reached the London Docks.

In the warehouse was the same foreman she had met before. He did not recognise her at first. Did a double take when she apologised for inconveniencing him and asked him if she might speak to her father.

‘Of course, miss.’ He gave a nod. ‘Come right this way for Mr de Lisle.’

Not Bill this time, but Mr de Lisle. It struck her as odd, as did the fact he led her into an office at the front she had not noticed before.

Her father was not shirtless and glistening in sweat. The clothes he wore were new—a fine fitted tailcoat and matching breeches, pale shirt and stockings, dark neckcloth and waistcoat. His grey hair was cut short and tidy and combed neat. A new pair of spectacles was perched on the end of his nose. He was the very image of respectability, sitting there at a large desk in the middle of the room writing within a ledger. Like the gentleman he had once been. So many emotions welled up at the sight. Surprise and relief, pride and affection. She pressed her gloved fingers to her lips to control them.

‘Emma!’ He set the pen down in its wooden holder. Got to his feet, came to her and embraced her.

She heard the office door close behind the foreman.

‘Oh, Papa! How on earth...?’ She looked him up and down before gazing around them at the change in his environment.

‘It is a miracle, is it not?’ He laughed. ‘The very day that you left the company deemed they had a need of someone who could manage the accounts in-house rather than farm it out to an office on the other side of town. A money-saving venture they said. They seemed to know that I had something of an education and offered me the job. Fate has dealt us both good fortune, Emma.’

‘It seems that it has,’ she said quietly.

‘And the vast increase in wage means I can afford some very fine rooms not so far away in Burr Street, although I have not yet had a chance to write to Mrs Tadcaster so that she could inform you.’

‘And you are eating?’

‘Like a king. There are some splendid chop-houses in the vicinity.’ There was a twinkle in his eye as he said it.

Her smile broadened. It was so good to see him like this.

‘Now tell me all about how things are with you, my dear girl. I have been worrying over you.’

‘I accepted the position with Lady Lamerton so that you would not worry.’

He smiled. ‘Ah, it is true. But I confess that my worry is a great deal less than it used to be. And besides, it is a father’s duty to worry over his daughter.’

‘And a daughter’s duty to worry over her father.’

They laughed and talked some more. She told him that young Lord Lamerton was making enquiries as to Kit’s whereabouts. She told of her life with the Dowager Lady Lamerton, of what was the same in the ton and what had changed. But she made no mention of the newcomer Mr Stratham.

‘You see,’ said her father. ‘Am I not proved right? Accepting the position was the best thing to do.’

‘It was,’ she said, but she did not smile.

Her last view of him as she left was of him sitting at the big wooden desk, a contented expression on his face, as he dipped his pen into the inkwell and wrote entries into the large ruled ledger open before him.

Emma left the London Docks and headed west towards Mayfair, walking with a hundred other people across roads and along pavements. All around was the hurried tread of boots and shoes, the buzz of voices, and, louder than all, the clatter of horses’ shoes. But what she heard in her head as she walked were the words that Ned had spoken to her on a morning that seemed now to belong to another time and another world.

I used to work on the docks... I still know a few folk in the dockyard... I could have a word. See if there are any easier jobs going.

And she knew that it was neither fate that had rescued her father from hefting crates upon the warehouse floor, nor a miracle, but Ned Stratham.