The Lord’s Desperate Pledge Page 11

  “We go on jolly enough,” Lord Cabot said. “Dalton has a cracking wine cellar, though he’s got some churlish servants. I’ll swear they make faces behind one’s back when one has announced one will stay in. Dalton says they are used to drinking his wine when the master is not at home and they wish we would all go out and stay out.”

  “I do not know why Dalton puts up with Bellamy,” Hayes said of his friend’s butler.

  “If you saw some of the company Dalton entertains and Bellamy’s lack of raised eyebrows over it, you might not wonder at it,” Lord Cabot said drily. “By the by, I heard from Grayson that Lady Catherine’s ball was more entertaining than usual. He seems thoroughly set on your lovely nemesis, Miss Farnsworth.”

  Hayes bristled to hear it spoken of so casually. “Grayson must stop this nonsense. If he wishes for female companionship, he might go to the theater and find himself a mistress. This toying with ladies of the ton will be the undoing of him one of these days.”

  Lord Cabot straightened his cuffs and said, “Perhaps it will be Miss Farnsworth who is his undoing. Though, God knows if another of us fall I do not see how we’ll ever convince our fathers to leave us alone for another year or two.”

  “Miss Farnsworth will hardly find herself mesmerized by Grayson’s smarmy advances,” Lord Ashworth said stiffly. “She is a deal too clever and she is pretty enough to capture wide attention. He will not be the only gentleman giving chase.”

  Lord Cabot looked at his friend critically. “And you, Ashworth? Shall you give chase?”

  “Certainly not,” Lord Ashworth said firmly. “I have no intention of even considering marriage for another two years. At that time, I will consider my options. But even then, I will not tie myself to a lady who is…”

  Lord Cabot suppressed his laughter. “Who is what?” he asked. “Certainly, there is nothing against the lady but her skill at cards.”

  Marty Destin set two coffees in front of them and then disappeared to the back of the house. It was one of his skills to be as unobtrusive as possible and seem as if he’d heard nothing.

  Hayes toyed with his spoon. Though he had come to admire Miss Farnsworth, he found he did not like to admit it. Not to himself or anybody else. “I simply find that the lady is too out of the ordinary,” he said. “I do not like to think of a future duchess gambling like a card sharp. After all, how much time must she have spent perfecting the skill? I have to assume that the development of more feminine arts was cast aside in pursuit of it.”

  Hayes forced himself to stop talking. He sounded ridiculous. Since when had he come up with a list of attributes for a duchess? He was perfectly well aware that he’d run on in such an absurd fashion because he could not precisely explain what his true feelings were in regard to Miss Farnsworth. He could only be certain that he did not look with favor upon Grayson turning his eye toward the lady.

  “Ah,” Lord Cabot said. “I had not known you were so interested in a lady’s skill at sewing, or drawing, or painting fire screens, or whatever else they get up to. Do not allow Miss Darlington to hear of such opinions, I believe she has thrown over all of those pursuits for her horses.”

  Hayes waved his hand. “Miss Darlington is her own case, she is the daughter of Lord Mendbridge. I do not see how she would be anything other than what she is. You see, that is the difference.”

  That his friend Cabot failed to see the difference was all too apparent. Hayes focused on his coffee and changed the subject to Cabot’s own horses. If there was one thing Cabot could be depended upon to expound on endlessly, it was his horses, other people’s horses, horses he’d seen in the park, and horses he intended to breed someday.

  *

  Lady Carradine watched in some trepidation as Mr. Shine laid in new packs of cards in the parlor. She still had quite a good stock of packs, bought from a reputable printer, and had seen no reason why new packs must be employed. Further, though the design was the same, she did not know the printing house. She’d examined them closely, wishing to be certain they were unmarked, and had been satisfied on that front. That left her to conclude he’d got them on the cheap, and that did not suit. Her club was appreciated for its quiet elegance. She did not think it would do her reputation much good if the new cards turned out to be less than well made. Cheap cards did not hold up well and players noticed when they held something flimsy in their hands.

  “I really do not see why you must upend everything you look at,” Lady Carradine said.

  Mr. Shine turned to her and said, “Nancy, you have been only muddling along. If I am to make my fortune, changes must be made. You spend too much to account for what comes in.”

  “Do not call me that name!” she said in a heated whisper. “A servant might overhear you.”

  Mr. Shine chuckled. “But they would not understand what they heard, would they? It is only I that know that you were, and are, a lady’s maid. Though you do a creditable job of pretending otherwise.”

  Lady Carradine’s heart sank, as it had so often during these awful weeks.

  When Mr. Shine had first arrived with her secret in his pocket, she had thought she might learn to live with her new business partner. After all, what else was she to do and splitting the profits still gave her enough to live on. Over time, though, she’d begun to understand that she was in grave danger.

  First, the day she’d been unaccountably ill. She’d risen in good health, but shortly after breakfast a heavy tiredness had stolen over her. She’d gone back to bed and did not awaken until the late afternoon. She’d dressed and fetched her keys from the dresser, suddenly noticing that two seemed a different shade, not as tarnished as they had been. She’d made her way downstairs and looked at the locks around the house. All seemed as it should, until she noticed a small shaving of wood on the floor outside the bank room and felt wet paint around the locks on the front doors. She was certain Mr. Shine had drugged her so he might have the locks changed at his leisure. He had his own keys.

  Her senses had been heightened since then and she did all she could to watch his every move. He seemed always to be looking about the house, though she did not know what he was looking for. He seemed always to be staring at her when he thought she would not note it.

  One evening, after the last guest had left, she’d found the courage to challenge him. She’d said he might go ahead and carry out his threats to tell the world her secret. She claimed that if it came down to it, she would be believed above some unknown person just arrived from America. He could not prove she was not Lady Carradine.

  All he’d said was, “Nancy, do not be daft. I’ve already dug a hole six feet deep in the basement in case of any unpleasantness.”

  She’d pretended to laugh it off, but once the house had gone quiet and she could hear his snores down the corridor, she’d crept down to the basement. The kitchen took up one half of it, but beyond a door was a near empty storeroom with an unfinished dirt floor. She’d unlatched the hook and pressed the door open. On the other side of some stacked boxes was a hole the size of a grave.

  Whatever was to be the end of this ghastly situation, she would not wait to find herself buried in the basement.

  She had searched her mind, high and low, for a way to rid herself of Mr. Shine. She had even got so far as to consider poisoning the man and burying him in his own recently-dug grave, but recoiled as she imagined herself swinging from the gallows.

  She could not stay in her current situation, it was untenable. She never knew what he’d do next. Might he not poison her, claim she’d returned to America, and forge documents leaving the establishment to himself? She might fear swinging from the gallows, but she doubted Mr. Shine would be put off by the idea. All her waking hours felt dangerous just now, she was always on edge. It could not continue for much longer.

  The only real idea she’d come upon was to steal away with the bank and leave the house and her business behind. With what she had learned about managing a gambling establishment, might she not start over somew
here? Might she not try New Orleans? She understood the city to be a wild and unregulated sort of place—precisely where she might slip in as Nancy while Lady Carradine would never be heard from again.

  Watching Mr. Shine just now with his dirty hands all over her tables, she decided to do just that. The bank was healthy, Mr. Shine believed her to be in his power, and she thought she had an excellent chance to board a ship. When she had first considered the idea, she had consulted Lloyd’s List. She might board the Marie Louise to Charleston if she could reach Portsmouth in time. There was no use in waiting. Her difficulties with Mr. Shine would only continue to worsen until one of them was dead.

  She must leave tonight.

  *

  Lily had felt in great need of a walk in the afternoon, before their evening engagement at Mrs. Millican’s and the hoped-for visit to Lady Carradine’s club afterward. In the country, she had been used to long meanderings over the estate, either on foot or on horseback. Now she felt her legs had almost grown weaker from so much sitting and being carried here and there in a carriage.

  Mrs. Hemming, never liking to walk when she might sit, had sent Pips and a footman to accompany her niece. While there was not much to see and admire on Cork Street, Berkeley Square was not too far a walk and had the benefit of providing welcome shade from the maples that adorned its park.

  They had reached the square as Lily suppressed a smile over Pips’ huffs and puffs and quiet mutterings. She thought the lady’s maid could do with a bit more exercise than she’d been in the habit of taking.

  She slowed her gait to allow Pips to catch her breath. She might have slowed herself in any case. The park was lovely and the shade from the trees welcome. At such a spot, there was no cause to hurry oneself. As she passed number thirty-eight, a young urchin flew down the steps and collided into her. Fast behind him was a starched and irate butler wielding a long wood paddle.

  The boy clutched her skirts and said, “Don’t ya let him kill me, miss.”

  Lily looked up sharply at the butler, who had paused himself on the steps. He said sternly, “Unhand that lady this instant, you low devil!”

  Lily then looked back down at the boy, whose face was now upturned to her own. He still clutched at her skirts, and she would rather he did not as his hands were exceedingly dirty. In truth, his whole person was exceedingly dirty. In his favor, though, was his youth. This was no hardened lad, he still had the rounded cheeks of babyhood and could not be more than six or seven.

  She unclenched his hands from her skirts and said, “Now, nobody is going to harm you.”

  The boy looked dubious over this idea, especially since the butler still had the club in his hand. And then especially dubious because Pips scolded him in harsh whispers over the marks on Lily’s dress.

  Lily said to the butler, “Do lower that weapon, sir. Now goodness, what is happening here?”

  Pips leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “Let us get on, now. This is none of our affair.”

  Lily inwardly sighed. It was an attitude that rankled. If one who could did not stand up for one who could not, was not the human race doomed? Her father, despite his straightened circumstances, had always done what he could for those in even worse circumstances. Her mother had not shied away from letting herself into the slovenliest hovel to tend a sick child. Here was a very young boy in some distress. Was Lily Farnsworth to pretend it was none of her concern? She rather thought not.

  “Humanity is always our affair, Pips,” Lily said sternly. She glanced at her aunt’s footman to see if he would dare counter the sentiment. He smiled at her and she thought he understood her sentiments exactly.

  “Now sir, do lower that bat,” Lily directed the butler, “and tell me what all the fuss is about.”

  The butler had the good grace to lower his club, though he did not put it down. He said, “The fuss, as you inquire into it my good lady, is that this young ruffian is forever hanging about on these steps. It is not the first time I have chased him off. Further, when he is not lounging about he is begging for money. In front of this very residence!”

  Lily looked to the boy. “Is that true, young man?” she asked.

  The boy shuffled his feet. “I only sit on these steps ’cause they got the best shade from the trees. It gets hot, don’t you know.”

  “And begging for money?” Lily asked. “Is that true as well?”

  “Not a lot of money, miss. I only need a tuppence a day. I ain’t what’s called greedy and I don’t steal it, mind.”

  “Get your tuppence in your own neighborhood!” the butler cried.

  The boy looked at the butler with a solemn expression. “Not nobody in St. Giles got an extra tuppence.”

  “Goodness,” Lily said, “and do you live with your parents there? Do they know what you get up to?”

  “I live with me ma and the tuppence is for our dinner so a’course she knows it. Me dad, whoever he is, went and flown the coop,” the boy said matter-of-factly. “I don’t mind it, she says he was a rotter from the start.”

  Lily’s heart nearly broke for the boy. While there were those in Surrey who lived quite poor, there always seemed to be some person or charity who could meet their most basic needs. Here, though, in London, she knew it was not so. There were too many people in need, and the people who could give did not know them. They were the faceless poor and did not garner much sympathy.

  “Really, miss,” the butler interrupted. “Am I to expect that Lady Jersey is to be forced to step over this rapscallion when she arrives or departs her own house?”

  Lily was a bit shaken to hear the name Lady Jersey. She had not, when she’d challenged the butler, considered what sort of great personage he might work for. She should have, she supposed, as it was Berkeley Square. No matter, she must not be put off by a quaking in front of rank.

  “I would certainly not expect Lady Jersey to countenance such a thing,” Lily said, gathering courage for the boy’s plight. “Therefore, the matter can be simply rectified. This young man will come at an appointed time, early in the morning, I think, as I doubt your mistress to be up at that hour. He will knock on the servant’s entrance, he will be given a cup of water, a roll, and a tuppence. You probably ought to give him a bath once a fortnight. You might even give him the odd job to do, as I’m sure he shouldn’t mind some work. Certainly, you can afford such a small sum. Then, he will not bother you further.”

  “I work like the devil when I can get it,” the boy said, with a steely determination not often seen in one so young.

  “Don’t speak of the devil, boy,” Pips said, “lest he come for you.”

  Though the boy seemed unaffected by the idea of the devil coming for him, the butler was very much affected by everything Lily had proposed. He had sputtered and his face had gone near purple during her speech. Lily thought he was on the verge of apoplexy.

  “Am I to understand,” he said in a low and controlled fury, “that I am to pay this little blighter to stay off my steps?”

  “And give him a roll and water,” Lily added. “And the occasional bath.”

  “But, it is very irregular! What if I am to be besieged by an army of them? What then?”

  Lily turned to the boy. “What is your name?”

  “Sam,” he said. “Samuel for those all fancy-like. Named after me ma’s dad what got crushed by a wagon.”

  Lily chose to ignore the demise of Sam’s departed grandfather. “Sam, now, would I be correct in thinking that if you were to find a regular source of income at this house, you’d be very loath to tell anybody else about it?”

  “Only a fool would do that!” Sam cried. “I ain’t no fool.”

  Lily looked up to the butler and smiled. “And there you see, sir. Sam is no fool. In fact, I suspect he would guard this house jealously should some other fellow think to stop by.”

  “I’d pound him to bits,” Sam said resolutely, as if he were a renowned boxer.

  Lily did not hold up much hope that the litt
le fellow could pound anything to bits, but she thought it impolitic to say so at this particular moment. “I rather think a tuppence a day is quite cheap to have your own guard on the house.”

  The butler threw up his hands. “It’s robbery, is what it is.”

  Lily raised her chin defiantly. “It’s charity, is what it is. Further, the servants below you will think you very liberal for doing it. I suspect they all know someone in a similar circumstance.”

  Lily glanced at Mrs. Hemming’s footman, who nodded gravely.

  “They will think of that person they know and pray that person runs into your brand of kindness. While you,” she went on, “may satisfy yourself that your problem is at an end.”

  The butler seemed swayed by the idea that he was to be thought liberal. Lily suspected that butlers in general, while severe in mien, would not mind being thought a hero by their staff.

  “May I have your word, sir?” Lily asked. “As a gentleman?”

  Being referred to as a gentleman by a finely dressed lady seemed to sway him even more.

  “Very well,” he said grudgingly. He shook his finger at Sam. “But no shenanigans! No asking for more! No hanging about the place! And a bath only once a month, in cold water, mind. Further, if Lady Jersey ever gets wind of you, that’s it! You hear?”

  Lily laid a hand on Sam’s shoulder. “You’d better run as fast as you can to the servant’s entrance, before this fine gentleman changes his mind.”

  Sam, having spent a childhood grasping at every opportunity that came his way without the slightest pause to think it over, shot off as if he’d been unleashed from an arrow.

  *

  Hayes had just returned to Berkeley Square from his meeting at Destin’s with Cabot. He’d thought to attend to some papers in his library before a dinner engagement with his aunt. As he pulled up to number forty, the footman jumped down and opened his door.