First Caro had disappeared. Now Sarah was gone. It was starting to
come back to him. Sarah’s tender ministrations, but there had been an urgency
about her, too. Yes, something about Caro. What
was
it she had said? Something about knowing Caro’s whereabouts?
Surely he hadn’t dreamed that?
If she really had been here at all? Surely Lord Miles would never
have released her to travel, unescorted, to London? Surely Sarah would never
have been so reckless as to have come, alone and unchaperoned, to his bed
chamber?
Never! he reaffirmed, nodding decisively in part to shake his
disappointment. The veil belonged to someone else and had inadvertently
appeared on his bed. It was as simple as that.
He pulled his shirt over his head. He was feeling a little better,
though he had no idea where he’d start his search. It was all so hopeless.
Then he saw the note pushed under the door with his name written
clearly on the outside. Thank the Lord, he thought as he struggled to cross the
room and pick it up. It must contain news regarding Caro’s whereabouts.
Perhaps, even, that she’d been found safe.
But all it contained was a single address.
Twenty minutes later he stared with revulsion at the two-storied
residence. No gentleman of fashion could be ignorant of the notorious Sally
Hollingsworth’s nunnery. That his daughter — and Sarah — might be inside
was almost more than he could bear.
He shuddered, stepping up to grip the brass door knocker. What would
he say? He’d never been in a bawdy house before. When he’d told Venetia
something to this effect, she’d laughed and said, well then, wasn’t he the
lucky one since out of the goodness of her heart she’d show him all the things
girls in bawdy houses did. He didn’t want to dwell, right now, on what she’d
taught him.
He was still hesitating as to whether this direct approach was even
advisable when a metal grill slid open.
“What’s yer business, then?” asked the owner of a pair of eyes that
regarded him with suspicion.
“That which brings most gentlemen to a house like this,” he said, in
bored, clipped tones.
The door opened a crack and stepping inside Roland found himself in
a dimly lit vestibule.
“Yer won’t find better’n this, then. Come,” said an old man with
lank, shoulder-length grey hair. Holding aloft a tallow candle, he led the way
down a narrow passageway, dragging his club foot.
It was the early hours of the morning. A pretty girl in yellow and
mauve was descending a flight of stairs, yawning. She caught herself up when
she saw Roland, and smiled. She had nice teeth, he noticed. Like Sarah, he
thought, and his heart contracted with fear and longing.
“Don’t tell the missus,” she said in a collaborative whisper as she
lounged against the newel post and waited for Roland to draw level, “but would
the fine gennelmun like a glass of sommat?”
Roland did not answer – he guessed he looked as dazed as he felt.
“Now my ’andsome,” she said, taking his arm. “You don’t look at all
the thing. Just come from a ruckus with the missus? Needin’ someone to love
yer? Well, Kitty’s yer girl. A nice drink to start us orf? No? So it’s right
down to business, is it? Well, ain’t so often I’m lucky enough to snag such a
’andsome fella, and I don’t say that lightly. Come along a’ me and Kitty’ll
look after yer.”
Roland’s first instinct was to recoil, just as he did regularly from
the lightskirts who plied their trade in the haymarket and the streets near his
club. But a combination of his reeling head and the sudden hazy thought that
perhaps he could pry information more easily from this young woman than he
could from the brothel madam – and that the truth was more likely to be
reliable – made him surrender his arm and allow himself to be led up the
stairs to her room.
“There now, if you’d like to make yerself comfortable and tell us
yer fancy,” she said.
Dazedly, he watched her preen in front of a small tarnished looking
glass. The room was comfortably furnished, dominated by a large bed with a
thick pink feather bolster.
He must have been frowning unconsciously and fingering the satin
cover with unusual concentration for she said in her pert, friendly voice,
“Like it, then? Stitched it meself. Makes things a bit more homely, like. Not
that ’ome’s a place I’m likely to visit ever agin.”
“Why?” he asked, distracted.
“Well, now …” Kitty looked at him, startled. “Daren’t darken the
doorstep now, do I? Not now I’ve taken to a life of … of bringing pleasure to
gennelmun what can do with a mite cheering up.”
The next moment she was on his lap, coiling her arms around his neck
and nuzzling his cheek, easing his coat from his shoulders and marvelling in a
low, intimate murmur at his muscles, his fine and handsome physique.
It was not until she took his hand and guided it under her chemise,
that he jerked into awareness.
Rising abruptly, he was unable to prevent the girl from falling to
the floor with a thud. She looked up from where she lay amid a tangle of
skirts, her face full of fear.
“Now sir, playing rough ain’t my game,” she said. “I’m ’appy to
pleasure you any way you want, sir, but I don’t like playin’ rough.”
“Forgive me,” he said, helping her up. “I … I … you’ve got to help
me.”
She must have seen the genuine anguish in his eyes for her fear
appeared to abate. Smoothing her dress and putting a hand to her hair she
curved her small body against his and nuzzled his neck. “Course I’ll ’elp yer,
sir,” she purred, leading him to the bed and gently pushing him down.
“No, no, not like that,” protested Roland as she began undoing the
buttons of his waistcoat.
“Oh, I’ll give no cause for complaint, sir, if yer just bide yer
time a wee bit,” she said.
Taking a steadying breath Roland gripped her wrists and put her
away.
“Well, if yer want to do all the work, that’s fine by me,” she said,
lying back and starting to pull up her skirts.
Averting his eyes Roland blurted out, “I’m looking for my daughter.
Please … I need to know if she’s here. I’ll pay you handsomely.”
He was conscious of her sudden stillness. When he turned, her eyes
were black with terror. “Lower yer voice, sir.” Her own was thick with fear as
she sat up and smoothed her gown. “You don’t know what yer askin’.”
“I believe my daughter has been tricked by a scoundrel who gained
her trust and—”
“You mean ’ticed?” Kitty asked, rising. “But a girl what’s been
’ticed ain’t got no respectability left and can’t
possibly
go ’ome. ’Oo’ll ’ave a girl like that? I suggest you just
leave ’er be. Might even take to the life … like me.” Regaining her composure,
Kitty draped herself over his shoulders.
He shuddered as he felt her small tongue dart into his ear and was
about to shake her off when he realized she was whispering. “There’s spies
everywhere,” she hissed. “Every word is listened to and there’s eyeholes in the
walls and door. I suggest you let me tend to you like you was any gennulman
takin’ yer pleasure and we’ll ’ope your words of just now weren’t overheard.”
“Please, I don’t want—” he started to protest as she pushed
him back down.
“S’orright, sir,” she soothed, loud enough for any listeners to
overhear. And then, lowering her head she again whispered, “Pity, cos yer just
the kind of genulman a girl like me could fancy.” Then more loudly, “Oooh, yes,
sir, very nice,” before adding in another undertone, “Tell me her name. Madam’s
got all sorts of gals, and we’re not all common like me.”
The situation was surreal. Good God, it had been so long since he
had had a woman, and to have one so willing, squirming on top of him …
But she was not Sarah.
“Sure you don’t want what yer paid for, since yer goin’ to ’ave to
pay for it anyway?” Her breath tickled his ear but it was not hard to decline.
Only Sarah had the power to make him feel like a man.
“I’m looking for two women,” he whispered against her neck,
pretending to embrace her. “Caro, my daughter and her governess, Lady Sarah, or
perhaps she might go by the name of Miss Morecroft. She came here about two
hours ago.”
He felt the girl go rigid.
“
You’re
the gennulman,
then, they’s bin waitin’ fer,” she whispered. He had to pinion her with both
arms to keep her on top of him for if there should be spies to interpret her
terror …
“I’ll pay you well for your information,” he managed, hoarsely.
“Obviously you know something-”
“Yeah? I know a lot, but I ain’t spilling nothin’, for it ain’t
worth me pretty neck. And money won’t buy me, fer I get searched, and so does
this room. Ain’t
nuffink
I can keep
from the missus.” She seemed more angry now, than frightened.
“Just ask what it is you want, then?”
“I want to get out of ’ere, but you certainly ain’t goin’ to be able
to ’elp me do that!”
“Of course I could-”
“No, I signed a piece of paper wot gives madam and Mr Hollingsworth
’normous power over me,” she whispered. “And I’d rather be here than Newgate,
for that’s where I’ll go if I don’t do what I agrees to in that there piece of
paper.”
Relief mingled with horror. “So, Mr Hollingsworth is part of all
this?”
“Mr Hollingsworth is madam’s son and they’s downstairs waitin’ fer
ya. There’ll be hell to pay when they realize you’re up here with me an’ all,
’stead of frontin’ up to them direct.”
“Stop! Please don’t go.” Roland struggled to hold her in his
embrace. “I
must
find Caro and Sarah.
Tell me where they are and I’ll do all within my power to help you.”
“I’s well past savin’, sir, and ’sides, t’ain’t no good since your
precious Caro and that other gal’s wiv ’em as we speak. So you got no choice.”
She paused as she buttoned her dress, then followed up a rather assessing look
with a coy smile. “Sure you don’t want to get yer money’s worth, now?”
Frowning, she added in a more concerned tone, “You orright, sir?”
Ignoring her, Roland tried to ignore the reeling of his brain as he
steadied himself with his hand on the door knob. “I presume I’ll find the
people I’m after if I continue down the passage and through to the back?”
“S’right. And thank yer, sir,” she said, pocketing the money he
placed on her dresser. “You bin most generous.” Kitty’s words filtered through
the open doorway as he hastened towards the stairs.
BLINKING AT THE sudden brightness of the
gaudily decorated room, Roland found himself the focus of a small party seated
around a cosy fire.
An enormously fat
woman was seated on an Egyptian sofa decorated with gilt winged sphinxes. Her
garb screamed her calling. Dear God, Caro didn’t even know of such practices!
Or, she hadn’t two days before.
But it was the man next to her who caused the bile to rise up in his
throat and his weakened frame to almost buckle. This time he was not taken in
by the charm of his boyish smile as he had been when the personable Mr
Hollingsworth had requested permission to lead his daughter into the next
dance.
“Mr Hawthorne, so delighted you could join us. We are quite a
crowd,” Mr Hollingsworth’s caramel tones penetrated. “Pray, allow me to
introduce to you my wife, the fair Mrs Hollingsworth …”
Relief that the lady in question was not his daughter was
short-lived. For when he opened his eyes again, there was Caro, in the gloom
where the light cast by the oil lamp barely penetrated, huddled on a green
velvet-upholstered settee.
She did not greet him but stared, unfocussed, like a frightened
animal, her hand clasped in Sarah’s. Beautiful Sarah who regarded him calmly
through liquid hazel eyes, which clearly conveyed her relief.
Dear Lord, the two of them looked to him to save them from this
hellish situation, yet he could barely keep them in focus. He found the back of
a chair for support and his gaze returned to the young woman introduced as Mrs
Hollingsworth.
“Good evening, Mr Hawthorne, it’s been a long time,” she murmured.
At first he did not recognize her; he had not seen her since she was
a child, after all. Then Sarah’s words drifted into his consciousness. Miss
Morecroft. Godby’s daughter, for it could be none other. His heart turned to
stone. She was behind all this. Back to haunt the next Hawthorne generation as
her father had bedevilled his. He held her gaze before she looked away, her
face an impassive mask.
She had her father’s grey eyes fringed with jet black lashes, and
his mouth set in a pretty, round face framed by light brown hair. But she
looked a pale, irresolute imitation of the Godby he remembered, and he felt a
pang of disappointment. For her father? For what this had all come to?
Disappointment, however, was an insubstantial word for the way he
felt as he returned his gaze to Caro and Sarah.
Motivated by the determination to fight
to the death to save them both, he was almost felled the next minute by another
wave of dizziness.