The Marriage Trap (22 page)

“He wouldn't?” she whispered.

“No, because he'd know you were mine.” His voice took on a darker color. “A woman who finds pleasure in her husband's bed is a happy woman. She has a certain air about her. She's replete, satisfied, and it shows.”

She was breathing hard. “I see. I'm to go to bed with you so that all your friends will know what a lusty roué you are!”

He was taken aback. One moment she was yielding; the next, she was on the attack. Aggrieved, he said, “You're twisting my words.”

“Well, try twisting this.” She poked him in the chest with enough force to make him wince. “I have never been more insulted in my life. When I go to bed with a man, it will be because I care for him, not to show off his prowess as a lover.”

He combed his fingers through his hair. “I don't know what the problem is. You've loved me since you were a girl. Fine, now you can have me without compromising your scruples. Our union has been blessed by the church. What more do you want?”

She pressed the heel of her hand to her chest to ease her choked-off breath. Her dignity was crushed. Her pride was in ruins. Could she possibly be that transparent?

There was only one answer to such arrogance. “You've been listening to the gossips, Jack. May I remind you that we concocted that story to silence them? This marriage was forced upon us. Neither of us wanted it. We're both on trial. I suggest that you learn how to woo a lady and I'll do my best not to throttle you when you spout nonsense.”

“‘
Woo
' you?” He sounded more confused than angry. “Good God, woman, I married you.”

Her shoulders stiffened. “In name only!”

“That's what I'm trying to tell you. We can change that here and now. The sooner the better.”

Air
whoosh
ed out of her lungs. She hurried to the door and held it open. He took the hint, but halted on the threshold.

“I was right about that gown,” he said. “You should look in a mirror.” And with a lecherous grin, he sauntered off.

Ellie shut the door firmly behind him, when what she wanted to do was slam it.
“Prude!”
she said under her breath. He'd never complained about Aurora's dashing getup. Now that she had married him, everything was different. She wandered over to the cheval mirror to examine what had provoked his ire and what she saw made her gape. Madame Clothilde had warned her to be careful because not all the seams in her gown were stitched in place. That was obvious. The bodice hung open, revealing an indecent expanse of bare bosom.

She let out one horrified squeal, then stumbled to the bellpull and yanked on it to summon a maid. Having done that, she hauled the bodice up to cover her bare breasts.

She was completely mortified. Poor Jack. He'd tried to tell her and she'd instantly taken umbrage. She hadn't realized she was, literally, coming apart at the seams. It must have happened gradually, because she was sure the dowager would have said something before she embarrassed herself.

Jack had told her, so she'd taken umbrage and things had gone from bad to worse. How could he be so dense? It wasn't compliments she wanted so much as a sign that he truly cared for her. Was
bed
all he could think about?

There was a knock at the door.

“Enter,” she called out.

The maid who entered was one of the chambermaids. She was small-boned, with a quick intelligence in her bright eyes and a ready smile on her face.

“Meghan,” said Ellie, “I need Alice to stitch up my gown. I'm afraid to move in case the whole thing falls apart. She'll know what to do.”

Meghan's ready smile faded. “Alice is gone, mu'um,” she said.

“‘Gone'?” Ellie's brow wrinkled.

Meghan began to fidget. “She left the day before yesterday, before anyone was up.”

“You mean, she crept away without telling anyone where she was going?”

Now Meghan began to look frightened. “No, mu'um. She was let go by Lady Raleigh.”

“Which Lady Raleigh?” There were two of them, not counting herself.

“The mistress.”

That rankled, though Ellie was careful not to show it. Meghan could only mean Frances. She said as gently as she could manage, “Why did Lady Raleigh let Alice go?”

If Meghan was restless before, now she was agitated. “I don't know. I can't say. Mrs. Leach said I wasn't to speak of it to anyone.”

Ellie nodded. She didn't want to distress the maid, but she wanted to get to the bottom of this. “Does Webster know?”

“Yes, my lady. But she can't say anything. Mrs. Leach blames her for not seeing it coming.”

“Did Alice steal something?”

Meghan's face registered shock. “No!”

“Was she rude? Impertinent to Lady Raleigh?”

“No, mu'um.” Tears were swimming in Meghan's eyes.

A thought nagged at the back of Ellie's mind. Frances had called Alice “a ball of fat.”

“Meghan,” she said softly, “is Alice in trouble? You know what I mean. Is she in the family way?”

When the tears in Meghan's eyes spilled over, Ellie made a space for her on one of the chairs, pressed her into it, and gave her a handkerchief to blow her nose. It took her a few moments to remove her gown and slip into her dressing gown, then she came back to Meghan and kneeled in front of her.

“Now,” she said, smiling encouragingly, “Alice has got herself in trouble and needs our help. I promise I won't say a word to Lady Raleigh. It will be our secret. But I must know what happened to Alice and where she went or I won't know how to help her. Do you understand?”

Meghan nodded, dried her tears, and told Ellie as much as she knew.

It was a common story. Alice had a young man. They were supposed to marry, but when Alice fell with child, her young man had taken off for greener pastures, promising to come back for her when he found work, and that was the last she'd seen or heard from him.

She'd tried to conceal her pregnancy as best she could, but as time passed, that became increasingly difficult. Mrs. Leach's eagle eye was impossible to fool for long. So Alice was turned off on the spot.

Her own family, decent country people, wouldn't have her back at any price. Disgraced, with no one to turn to and with very little money, she had taken lodgings with a family in Westminster while she looked for work. But work was hard to find.

The word “workhouse” hovered in the air.

Now Ellie understood why Alice was always teary-eyed. What a burden to bear by herself!

When Meghan came to the end of her story, Ellie's sympathetic manner became briskly optimistic. She would take care of Alice, she promised. She was a vicar's daughter, and had done this kind of thing before. And on that reassuring promise, Meghan's ready smile soon lit up her thin face.

When Meghan left, Ellie took the chair she had vacated and let her thoughts dwell on her conversation with the maid. She'd exaggerated a little. It was her mother who had helped girls in distress, not she. But with Mama's example to guide her, she knew where her duty lay.

Her circumstances were different from Mama's, of course. This wasn't a vicarage where the door was always open to people in need. This was a fashionable home in an exclusive part of the city. Alice could not stay here. She was a fallen woman. Decent women could not associate with her.

Stuff and nonsense! But such was the way of the world, and in high society, it was carried to extremes. Appearances had to be kept up, even among the servants.

Ellie was too much of a realist to think that she could change the world, but she was a resourceful girl. She would find a way to help Alice, with no one the wiser.

The following day, Ellie set out for Westminster. Though she did not slip away in secret, she chose her moment with care. She had no wish to become embroiled in arguments or explaining herself, or in defending Alice. Her one aim was to assure the maid that she was not forgotten and that she, Ellie, would do everything in her power to help her.

She had brought with her a purse of money to tide Alice over and, what was more important, the offer of a job. Ellie had thought everything out. If Alice could not stitch her gowns in Park Street, then the gowns would be transported to wherever Alice had her lodgings. And this was only the beginning of what Ellie envisaged. One satisfied customer could lead to another, and she had many acquaintances who were in need of a seamstress. Perhaps Madame Clothilde could use Alice's services. But this was for the future. At this point, she did not want to raise false hopes. It was enough to make sure that Alice had the means to support herself for the next week or two.

She chose the hour before dinner to run her errand, when the servants were downstairs in the Servants' Hall, eating their own dinner before serving their masters in the dining room. Jack was at his club and everyone else had letters to write or books to read. She wouldn't be missed for the next hour at least, and she intended to be back long before that.

She might have asked Meghan to go with her, but decided against it. If Frances got to hear of it, it could cause a great deal of unpleasantness for Meghan. The same could be said for Robbie. No. If anyone was going to incur Frances's wrath, it would be she and she alone.

With her umbrella tucked under one arm and her reticule dangling from the other, she set off at a brisk pace for Piccadilly where there were always hackneys waiting for fares. For this outing, she had chosen to wear her oldest coat. A lady of fashion would attract the wrong kind of attention where she was going. Besides, it was a cold, drab day with overcast skies threatening unrelenting rain if not sleet or snow. She wouldn't take the chance of soiling one of Madame Clothilde's creations.

Even before she reached the hackney that was first in line, she was unfurling her umbrella, and by the time she had given the driver directions to the Dirty Duck on Lucas Street, in the district of Westminster, the drizzle was turning into a downpour. The driver's face registered surprise, and she wondered why.

She thought she knew what to expect, but as the hackney left the environs of the Abbey and got closer to the river, she realized how wrong she was. The well-kept houses gave way to smaller, dilapidated buildings on narrower streets. She was nervous, but not alarmed. Meghan had told her that Alice had lodgings with a respectable family. That was what Alice had told Meghan, but Ellie was beginning to wonder whether Alice had been too proud to admit the truth.

When the hackney turned the corner into Lucas Street, her nervousness turned into an odd mixture of alarm and pity. No one should have to live like this. The foul stench of overflowing sewers made her stomach heave. The wretched dwellings looked mean and forbidding. Most of the pedestrians were hurrying to get out of the rain, or they were huddled under makeshift canvas awnings where hawkers were selling their wares. The whole scene was made all the more depressing because the light was fading and few of the streetlamps had been lit.

The hackney pulled up in front of a tavern that was in no better condition than the hovels around it. There was no mistaking the sign. A faded black-and-white duck stared her boldly in the eye. Her gaze moved to the house next door. According to Meghan, this was where Alice had taken lodgings.

She gave a start when a face appeared at the window of the hackney, then relaxed when she recognized the driver. He opened the door but prevented her from alighting.

“This is no place for a lady on her own, miss,” he said earnestly. “Let me take you somewhere else. Back to Mayfair. It ain't safe here.”

He was saying exactly what she was thinking. But she couldn't leave Alice here. The girl deserved better of her employers than to be cast off without a thought to her welfare.

She looked at the driver. He was younger than she, with a kind face and kind eyes. “There's someone here I must speak with,” she said. Then, stretching the truth a little, “She has run away from home. Will you wait for me? This won't take long.”

He looked up and down the street and shook his head. “The minute this rain stops, this place will be teeming like a rats' warren. They'll strip my hackney down before I can say my own name. I'll tell you what I will do, though. I'll drive around for a bit and pick you up here in say, oh, five, ten minutes?”

This kindness from a stranger brought a tickle to her throat. “What is your name?” she asked.

“Derek.” He sounded surprised. “Derek Acton.”

“Thank you, Mr. Acton. You are most kind,” and she pressed his hand warmly when he helped her alight.

Her courage faltered a little when the hackney rattled over cobblestones as it lumbered down the street. She didn't look back and tried to blot from her mind the sensation of eyes watching her as she passed the entrance to the Dirty Duck. She heard snatches of bawdy songs and raucous laughter, but when this was followed by catcalls to the “pretty lady” on the pavement outside, her nerve broke. She picked up her skirts and went tearing up the stairs to the house where she hoped to find Alice.

The door was leaning off its hinges, so she didn't bother to knock. A few steps inside the building brought her to a halt. There were no lamps lit and she could hardly see her hand in front of her face. Her ears, however, rang with the din that seemed to echo from every wall—children shrieking, babies squalling, whimpers, shouts, voices raised in anger.

There must be some mistake. Alice could not possibly have taken lodgings here.

When a shadow moved in front of her, she gave a startled yelp.

“'Ere,” said a coarse, feminine voice. “Who are you and wot are you doin' 'ere?”

Ellie put a hand to her face to dispel the fumes of gin on the woman's breath. After fanning it away, she said that she was looking for Alice Travers.

“'Oity-toity, ain't yer,” said the shadow. “'Ow much is it worth if I takes you to 'er?”

On a matter of principle, she wasn't going to give the woman money, knowing that it would only go to gin, but a masculine voice yelling from above, followed by sounds of a scuffle, made her change her mind.

“Sixpence?” she said meekly.

“Make it a shilling,” said the woman, “and yer on.”

This was robbery, but there was nothing she could do about it except knock on every door until she found Alice, and the very thought gave her the shudders. “You'll get your shilling,” she said, “when I see Alice.”

“This way, then, Madame 'Oity-toity.”

The woman pushed past Ellie and led the way up the stairs. The fumes of gin, the smoke of tallow candles and odors that Ellie did not want to name, even in her own mind, wrapped around them like a fog. By the time they stopped at a door one floor up, Ellie had a hand over her nose and was breathing through her mouth.

“Fannie,” roared the woman by her side. “There's summat 'ere that wants ter see yer, a fine lady with plump pockets.”

A bolt was drawn back and the door opened. There was light coming from a smoky candle, but Ellie had to blink before she could see clearly. The woman who was standing before her looked more like a brawny blacksmith than a female, except that she was wearing skirts and a shawl was draped over her massive shoulders. Ellie decided on the spot that this was one lady she was going to treat with the utmost civility.

“How do you do?” she said. “I'm looking for Alice Travers. Would you happen to know where she is?”

From inside the room came a gasp, then the door opened wide and Alice herself was framed in the doorway. “Oh, mu'um,” she cried, “you shouldn't be here.”

“Neither should you,” said Ellie, her eyes taking in the room behind Alice. The only heat came from a fire that had been allowed to go out and the smoking candle in the middle of a rickety table where several small children were making a meal of bread and tea. There was only one armchair and that was occupied by a man who had fallen asleep with an empty bottle clutched in his hand.

Her plans for Alice working from her home as a seamstress seemed ludicrous now. It wasn't a job the girl needed, but rescue.

“I wants me shilling,” said the woman who had shown Ellie the way. “A bargain is a bargain.”

As Ellie fished in her reticule for her purse, she said to the woman named Fannie, “I'd like to speak to Alice in private if you don't mind.” Then to Alice, “Could we go to your room?”

This brought guffaws of laughter from the two women and an agonized look from Alice. “I don't have a room, mu'um,” she said. She looked down at her shoes. “This is the only room there is.”

Alice's words arrested Ellie just as she pulled a shilling from her purse. She said incredulously, “You mean, you live and sleep here?
All
of you?”

Alice bit her lip and nodded.

The shilling was snatched from Ellie's hand, not by her guide, but by Blacksmith Fannie. “You owes me that, Sal, for drinking my gin.” She spoke to the guide and raised her fist threateningly to protect her prize.

The woman called “Sal” let out a howl. Her anger wasn't directed toward Fannie, but at Ellie. “That was
my
shilling!” she shrieked. “You let Fannie steal it! You had better give me another if you knows wot's good for yer.”

Ellie was coming to the end of her tether. She didn't mind being taken advantage of, but this was abuse. More truthful than wise, she retorted, “Your quarrel is with your friend, not me. I brought this purse for Alice and no one gets a penny of it until I have a chance to speak to her alone.”

The purse in question was clasped close to her chest. When Sal reached for it, Ellie beat her back with her umbrella. Sal let out an earsplitting howl. Alice moaned and retreated into the room, leaving Ellie to face Blacksmith Fannie alone. A martial light glinted in Fannie's eyes.

“Alice owes me a week's rent for board and lodgings,” she said, “and I wants wot's due me or she stays 'ere.”

“That's a lie!” cried Alice from behind the blacksmith.

With Ellie's attention momentarily distracted, Fannie lunged and knocked the purse from her clasp, spilling coins in every direction. Women and children, including Ellie, went diving after them. An elbow connected with Ellie's eye and she saw stars.

A sudden hush descended. When Ellie, who was crouched on the floor, blinked up, she saw Alice wielding a poker in one hand and clutching a bundle tied up in a shawl in the other.

“If anyone touches my mistress,” said Alice in a voice that Ellie did not recognize, “I'll bash her brains out.”

Silence. Even the squeals of the children died away.

Ellie got to her feet. “Thank you, Alice,” she said. “Now, if you just give me a moment to collect my money, we'll be on our way.”

Fannie's lips pulled back in a snarl. “Bert!” she yelled. “Wake up, y'drunken sot! They're stealing yer gin money.”

“Wot?” said a masculine voice, then with more force, “Wot's that you said, Fannie? Me gin money?”

Bert was obviously waking from a drunken stupor.

“On second thought,” said Ellie with all the dignity she could muster, “we'll wish you all a good day. Come along, Alice.”

They walked sedately to the head of the stairs, but when they heard footfalls behind them, Alice threw down the poker and pushed Ellie ahead of her. “Run!” she cried. “They'll want the clothes off your back next!”

Ellie needed no further prompting and hurtled down the stairs with Alice at her heels.

Out on the street, people were milling about as though they had nowhere to go. It was just as Mr. Acton had said. Now that it had stopped raining, the street was teeming with people—hawkers selling pies and hot tea, children running wild, groups of adolescent boys looking for trouble. Ellie looked over her shoulder, but there was no sign of the hackney.

Alice spoke first. “Don't look back. Don't look around you. Keep your head down and follow me.”

“‘Follow'? Where?”

“There's a doss-house one street over. We'll be safe there.”

A doss-house, as Ellie remembered, was a lodging for people without homes and was only one degree better than the workhouse.

“Alice,” she said gently, “you're coming home with me.”

Alice shook her head violently. “No, ma'am. I know you mean well, but I'd rather be dead than face the shame of going back to Park Street. I mean it, and nothing you say will make me change my mind.”

Alice didn't sound like the little maid Ellie remembered. She'd grown up in the few days she'd been out on her own. Just thinking about the lodgings she'd survived and the way she'd handled herself with Blacksmith Fannie gave Ellie something to think about.

Their hackney came round the corner just as a group of mean-looking adolescent boys surrounded them.

“Yer money or yer life,” said the leader, half joking, half in earnest.

“Me mam could do with that coat,” said another, fingering Ellie's coat.