The Virgin's Auction (4 page)

Mr Tell placed a steadying hand on her back as she swayed a little. Gently he urged her forward, till they stood at the bar. After a moment the barkeeper sidled up to them.

“Evening, Simon me lad,” he said with a gap-toothed grin. “You’re in luck. Busy night tonight, and the Nobs has shown up.” He nodded to the corner tables, where an expensively dressed but slovenly group of men were cackling over dice games.

Then he peered at Melissa’s hooded form with a good-natured leer. “
This the girl, then? Give us a look.” He put down the glass he’d been polishing and leaned forward expectantly, big, meaty hands on the bar. 

Slowly, as if he did not want to startle her, Mr Tell reached for the hood of her cloak. But Melissa could not bear a man’s hands about her in this second. She forestalled him by reaching
up and pushing it back so her face was fully in the light. The barkeeper pursed his lips and whistled long and low.

“Well I’ll be,” he uttered in reverential tones. “
Ain’t that a sight. We might be breaking us some records here tonight, Simon lad,” and with one finger he reached up to flick her cheek. She flinched away and shot him an outraged glare that only made him chuckle.

The bartender rearranged the hood around Melissa’s face, leaving it in shadow again. She steeled herself to accept the touch, to make no sign of how it bothered her. There was so much worse to come, she must school herself to calm acceptance, no matter what she felt.

“Righto then. Let’s get onto it. No point in hanging about.” He came out from behind the bar and led the way to the far end of the room. There was a raised dais. As he stepped up three steps above the crowd Melissa realised he must be the one who played auctioneer. He held out a hand to her but she declined to grasp it, stepping up lightly on her own. Mr Tell remained standing on the lower level, looking up at them.

“Gentlemen!
” he called out, turning to face the crowded room. Heads lifted at that lusty bellow.

Melissa concentrated on breathing, as the room swam about her.
Courage now. For Peter.

Chapter Three

The card room was beautifully, fashionably decorated. Tonight it was warm and a little stuffy. Most of the chairs were taken by gentlemen of varying ages. The faint sounds of an Austrian waltz drifted in from the ballroom, accompanied by conversation and well-bred laughter.

Mr James Carstairs had loosened the intricate folds of his cravat a little, and was casually reclined in his seat, toying absently with the bevelled stem of the wineglass on the table in front of him.

“What do you say, then?
Another hand?” Mr George Mayhew reached out and snagged the decanter of port, leaning over to refill James’s glass. “The luck seems to be rather in with me tonight and I’ve a fancy I’ll put your pockets to let, James.” He gave his friend an evil grin.

“Not for me George,” replied James, waving away both the port and the offer of a game. He was bored with cards. “Generous as you are I think I shall pass.”

“What, no stomach for sport?”

“Devil a bit.” He gestured in lazy good humour at the pile of notes by his friend’s elbow. “It is no such thing as
sport
when Lady Luck sits in your lap and all her kisses are for you. But no, it’s been a long evening.” He stood in one fluid move and strode to the window, and there brooded out at the stone buildings of London, lit up by the moonlight. “I’ve more of a mind to walk home.” He missed the countryside, the wide open spaces.

“Walk?
Walk
? Thrice bedamned to you with all your prowlings. Why would you want to walk?”

“Ah, I have been sitting still too long. My legs desire a stretch.” The season had only just started and already he was longing to escape. He was tired of stuffy rooms filled with sedate murmurs. Town was trying his pat
ience. He needed some fresh air; or as fresh as the air ever got in the crowded and reeking City.

“After all that prancing about?
God only knows how many young misses you stood up with – I lost count – but I would not have thought your legs in any need of further stretching.” George cast a doubtful look at James’ lower half.

James quirked an eyebrow at him, amused as always by his pretence of indolence. “You needn’t take exception to my walking, my dear fellow. I had no plans to involve you.”

“Can’t have a delicate flower such as yourself roaming the streets unchaperoned, now can we?” asked George, hoisting himself to his feet with a long-suffering sigh.

“Quite right.
Quite right,” murmured James agreeably. “Where would you like to go, oh noble duenna?”

George responded with a rude
ly flatulent sound as he left the room, James at his heels. “I am seeing you home, and no further. And then you will have the grace to lend me your carriage so I need not scamper the streets alone.”

The two men jogged briskly down the stairs.

“Do we need to find Kitty and bid our farewells?” asked George apprehensively. James read this as an unwillingness to fall into the snare of their elderly hostess, who had an embarrassing habit of groping him when she had had too much to drink. 

“Last time I saw her she was deep in her cups. She’ll neither know nor care that we’re gone,” he said with a private smile. If George were less polite, he would not suffer such problems. When James had been her object of desire he merely picked up the unwanted hand, regarded it witheringly and gave it back to the woman without once looking at her. They had both pretended it never happened, and she had never tried again. The more tactful and less experienced George simply sidled away as if by accident, and remained a target.

The men nodded politely to various acquaintances as they brushed through the crowd, but did not stop. More than one young lady sighed and pouted to see them leaving.

“I’m not sure the neighbourhood between here and your residence is quite the thing, you know,” said George archly as he collected his hat from the
hands of his butler. It was a gross understatement. The area in question was disreputable or downright dangerous.

“We shall come to no serious harm,” said James, untroubled by anything the streets had to offer. “So long as you can restrain yourself,” he flicked an imaginary piece of dust from the sleeve of his jacket, “from such loutish pastimes as boxing the watch.”

“You wretch!” cried out George at this injustice, as James had been sure he would. “That was
one
time, it was years ago, and he was the first to put his fists up. As you well know. You were there!”

“As you say, dear fellow,” he left off his teasing.
“Bristow Street then?”

“Quite.” And the two men set off with perfect accord into the dark streets of London.

“Have you been to visit Gentleman Jackson’s Salon recently?” asked George. “I’ve been in a few times, myself. I fancy I’ve seen a look of respect in his eyes.”

“What? Are you turning pugilist? How very rough of you. Haven’t you heard brawling is for commoners?” he drawled, the echo of the disapproving traditionalist.

George snorted. “As if you don’t strip to advantage. I’ve been told to bring you with me. Some of the young cubs want to see you in action.”

“I may do. I would be happy to
find a worthy opponent.”

“I am at your service.”

“Not you, buffoon. You’re as like to trip over your own feet and knock yourself out before I can lay a blow on you.”

“Since you will be quite unable to land a blow regardless, then that may well be true.”

“Big words. You shall eat them.”

“Not if you’re the one to make me,” said George complacently, and James laughed at him. “In all seriousness, I am itching for a good fight.”

“I will consider it.”

“
And I shall leave your pretty face untouched so the ladies may continue to enjoy it,” offered George generously. “Oh, by the bye, I will be rusticating this time next week. Do come and shoot some of my birds, won’t you?” He was walking faster now, his natural vigour asserting itself over the pose of the languid man about town.

James quickened his own pace to keep up. “Who is taking whom for a walk, hmmm? I have a few affairs of business to attend to, and my sister to present at Court, but after that I should be delighted.”

“The roads will be shocking of course. Inches deep in mud. But you can bring your sister with you if you like. She might enjoy some of the rides.”

“Have you an interest there, George?” asked James, casting a sharp glance at his friend. George was not the
correct sort for Stephanie. The man was loyal and could be counted on in a tight spot, but he was not quite right for James’ sister. Not quite . . . perfect enough.

“In little
Stephie? Good Gad no!” replied George hastily. “What on earth would make you think that?”

His shock was genuine, and James hunched his shoulders and sighed at his own over protectiveness. “Not so little these days.
All grown up. She’s out this season and I shall be beating off paramours with a stick.”

“Worrying already, James?” It was George’s turn to tease. “Seeing
Lotharios behind every bush and shrub?”

“Something
like that.”

“Yes, well with the
Carstairs’ money behind her you’ll have every gazetted fortune hunter circling.”

“Rubbing it in?” He sighed.
“Face and fortune, George. It’s a damnable combination to have to watch over.”

“Won’t take you long to pop her off then,” said George with the flippancy of a man who has no dependants to trouble him.

“That’s the intention. I
will
come to the Cotswolds, George.” The idea was very appealing, in comparison to yet more dinners, balls and routs; let alone the fearfully insipid Almacks, where he went as escort to his sister. “And I’ll bring Stephie. Give her a breather from all the hysteria. She isn’t used to these town hours. Though I doubt she’ll thank me. She’s at a fever pitch of excitement.”

“Well a few days riding in the Cotswolds is nothing to compare to a week of parties, I’m sure. Not for a young lady, any road.”

“It will be good for her. And I daresay she’ll enjoy it well enough. I’d rather . . .” He suddenly realised the footsteps he heard were pursuing them, too perfectly matched in distance to be coincidental. “George. I do believe we’re being followed.”

“Are we? Famous!
Footpads? The luck really is with me tonight. I shall get that fight after all. How many, think you?”

“Three, perhaps four, you bloodthirsty fellow,”
said James, his own teeth bared in a ferocious grin. There were few enough true thrills for a well-bred gentleman and sportsman. Taking on obliging attackers was a merry end to an evening, a lively test of skills learnt in the rarefied air of Gentleman Jackson’s Boxing Salon.

“Then I shall contrive to leave one for you. Shall we turn in here?”
George indicated a narrow and noisome alleyway.

“It should do nicely,” said James with a quick glance, taking in the dense shadows. As he stepped after George he cast a sideways look back
the way they had come and saw four men break away from the walls they hugged, and hurry to catch up.

“Four indeed.
Methinks I see cudgels. There,” he pointed and moved in one swift motion, George on his heels as they ducked into a doorway and stood virtually hidden in the darkness.

The four footpads were silhouetted against the dim light from the streetlamps, peering into the alley. Whispers were exchanged before they moved forward, cudgels at the ready, straining to see their quarry.

“On my signal. Take them in a rush. You get the two closer. I’ll take the others,” breathed James directly into George’s ear. He saw George nod.

Then as the would-be assailants drew level he squeezed George’s shoulder and they both launched out of the doorway. There were startled oaths and James felt a nose bone crunch satisfyingly under his knuckles as he grabbed an upraised cudgel with his other hand.

Pivoting sharply he wrested it out of the man’s hand and drove his elbow upwards into the dimly-seen face. There was a choking cry and the fellow collapsed. Laying about him with the cudgel he knocked two more to the ground with sturdy blows. One lay still and the other groaned and clutched himself.

James straightened his slightly rumpled clothes, still loosely grasping the cudgel, and stood patiently waiting as George delivered several sound punches about the head and chest of the last man.

“Don’t take too long about it, will you?” he finally said.

“Just warming up, James.”
His unwilling sparring partner was trying to dodge around George and escape back up the alley, but George would have none of it.

“I can’t take you anywhere, can I?” asked James rhetorically. The groaning man on the cobbles gathered himself and started to rise. James rapped him smartly on the head and he fell soundlessly. “I like this stick, I must say.
Simple and effective. Maybe I should get myself one.”

“It looks like you already have,” grunted George, absorbing a wildly thrown blow.

“True. A souvenir. Come along now George, finish him off.”

“Yes, quite.
Any moment now.”

“Oh for heaven’s sake!”
James stepped forward and delivered a nicely judged tap to the back of the skull. George’s opponent crumpled.

“
James
!” cried George, deeply offended.

“I haven’t all night to stand around watching you disport yourself.”

George placed his hands on his hips and shook his head in disgust. “You have no patience, man. You must stop and smell the roses in life. It’s been weeks since I had a good dust up, and now you’ve spoilt it.”

“My heart bleeds for you. What shall we do with these unlikely fellows?”

“They belong in Newgate.”

“Too true, but I’ll be damned if I’m hiring a carriage to convey them there.”

“We can’t just leave them to prey on passersby,” said George, putting his hands behind his back and starting to walk a contemplative circle around the crumpled forms. He stopped abruptly when something unpleasant squished beneath his foot.

“How civic-minded of you.
Very well. We’ll send a runner to the constabulary.”

“Where shall we find a runner? I don’t happen to have one handy about my person.”

“There’s a tavern only a little way down the street. They’re sure to have someone who would do an errand for a shilling, and more who would stand over these men until the constable arrives.” James turned away, bored with the inert thieves.

“Fairly said.
Shall we just leave them here in the meantime?”

“I don’t see why not. I’m certainly not carrying anyone about. And they all appear to be sleeping soundly.”

They went back up the alley towards the illumination of the streetlamps at a casual stroll, then walked the short distance to where the tavern’s light and sound spilled out onto the street.