Mistress of Two Fortunes and a Duke Page 6

  Tilly nodded, trying not to laugh at the obvious failure to preserve secrecy the child innocently displayed.

  “No, Miss.”

  “I am just going to go visit her. Perhaps you would like to make her acquaintance?”

  “I should like that, Miss. But then again, these potatoes won't peel themselves.” The earnestness of Sweep's face as she said this made Tilly laugh.

  Tilly turned to Dawking. “I thought you said she was a quiet little thing.”

  Dawking was trying very hard not to laugh herself, as she said to Sweep, “I am sure Levi will still have work for you, when you get back.”

  Tilly found herself glad for the improvements as she walked down the academy halls to the servant's quarters. Everything smelled less dank, but she knew the rooms were still dingy. She hoped Clara's spirits were not too oppressed.

  When Clara opened the door to the tiny chamber she had been settled in, she looked apprehensive and her eyes were shadowed. But she smiled at Tilly.

  “Miss Ravelsham. I have been wishing to thank you. And I am so grateful that you have come to see me. Have you any news of my—”

  “Mama!” Sweep dashed past Tilly's skirts and into Clara's arms.

  “Oh my darling! My baby!” Clara cried.

  “I see my suspicion was correct.” Tilly hated that she was a little teary-eyed at this sight. The emotion of the mother and child was quite understandable, but in Tilly it was mere sentimental foolishness.

  She waited several moments while the two hugged and sobbed and marvelled that they had found one another. Then Tilly decided that it was the wrong time for her to talk to Clara. “Clara, I will leave you with your daughter. I think you and I should speak another time.”

  The woman, who was openly bawling, only nodded and said, through trembling, snotty lips, “How can I thank you? You have given me back my life and my heart.”

  Tilly was once again struck by the tremendous power of motherhood over women. Then she chided herself for comparing the Delacroix offspring to Sweep, who was growing on Tilly. There was little doubt that Clara would do anything for her child. She had almost remained in Lord Screwe's lair because of Sweep, after all. But her child was fundamentally good, even if a bit dirt-encrusted.

  Tilly shook her head to dispel her mawkishness. She still had to go down to the warehouse and consult with Shaw. “You can thank me by healing up, taking care of Sweep, and thinking about what you would like to do with the rest of your life.”

  Clara wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “What I want to do?”

  “Yes, mama,” Sweep piped in. “Miss Ravelsham helps people be safe and happy and gainfully employed. Just ask Mistress Dawking.”

  Mistress Dawking had already crept away from the scene of so many tears.

  “Is that so?” asked Clara of Sweep, then turned to Tilly. “I do not wonder at it. You have already rescued me and my child, Miss Ravelsham. We are already safe and happy, thanks to you.”

  “Well then, all that remains is the gainfully employed bit.” Tilly returned the smiles of the two beaming faces. “Think about it, and I will assist you, if I can.”

  Chapter 12

  Rutherford cursed his shaking leg as he debarked from the barouche in an unpleasant warehouse area, near the river. If only the blasted apothecary had some laudanum to sell, but alas he was out too, and directed Rutherford to the warehouse where the apothecary bought his supply. He suggested that Rutherford send a servant, but that would be too much delay.

  The owners, the apothecary assured, not only sold pure opium, but also mixed up a good, reliable formula—though perhaps not quite as good as his own—and delivered it to certain households. He indicated that they might also set up a delivery schedule for Rutherford. He had mentally scoffed, for surely he did not need a delivery schedule. Only he was a bit sick just at the moment, and he needed some medicine.

  He was thinking the better of it now, for he should prefer never to return to this place, which stank quite dreadfully. He supposed he could send a servant, but delivery would certainly be more convenient.

  His was the only vehicle about that could reasonably be called a carriage, and the street's denizens went to and fro in a shadowy, indistinct existence. Rutherford was glad he had brought his family sword, which he thought gave him an air of distinction down at the sport club. He was now dreadfully late for his fencing appointment with Frobisher, but it could not be helped.

  There was a small hut attached to the larger building, which he assumed served as the office for the warehouse. An evil sort of greasy film coated the door, but he nonetheless reached out his cane and knocked on this inauspicious portal.

  A decent looking man in spectacles displayed an ink-stained hand as he opened the door to Rutherford and gave him a looking over. “Good evening, sir. I believe your business may be conducted on the other side of that door down there.” He indicated a small door in the side of the warehouse that Rutherford had missed before. There were several unsavoury looking youngsters hanging about it in the shadows.

  “And how do you know what my business is, sir?” Rutherford tried not to betray his disturbance at having been so summarily sized up by this total stranger.

  “I have developed an eye for it, sir.”

  Rutherford pulled out a kerchief and mopped his face. “I am come to get some medicine,” he said. “I am not well, you see, but my doctor has run out, and so has the apothecary to whom he referred me. So I am come to enquire here.”

  “I am not surprised.” The man rubbed an eye, knocked his spectacles askew, then straightened them. “There is a shortage in town. I believe it will be temporary, but it has driven the price up.”

  “I am not concerned about the price, but I should prefer to have it delivered.” And to never set foot in this smoky little corner of London again. “And I should also prefer,” he gave a meaningful glance at the lads around the other shadowy door, “to do my business with you.”

  “I am expecting company for a business meeting, and I do not handle sales.” The man pinned Rutherford with a steel-eyed gaze as if to penetrate his stupidity and make him understand. “I do not have any laudanum in my office.”

  For the first time in his life, Rutherford wished he were a duke, so that he might pull rank on this disobliging man. But all he had at the moment was money. “I am willing to pay an extra fee.”

  The man made to close the door. Rutherford did not wish to be fobbed off on the pack of hungry jackals around the other door. He pushed past the man into the little hut, aware of how rude it was, but unwilling to be put off. “You must assist me, I dema—” The protest died on his lips as his mouth gaped open and he watched Tilly enter the little office from a back door. “My God. Tilly.”

  “Mr. Rutherford.” Tilly looked at first displeased, and then compassionate. “You look unwell. Please sit down.”

  Rutherford collapsed into a wooden chair. “This must be some horrible dream.”

  “I am very pleased to see you too, Mr. Rutherford.” The levity in Tilly's voice sounded forced.

  Chapter 13

  Tilly stood in the cramped office of her opium warehouse and stared at Rutherford. She had avoided seeing the worst of what her drugs could do, but she had seen enough to know what she was looking at. Her heart clenched as she watched him cover his face with his hands and shake. This was her stallion, and she was poisoning him—not just figuratively but literally.

  Was she really, as the admiring Sweep had said, a person who helped people to be safe and happy? It seemed that she was, in fact, a devil, who ensnared people and took away their happiness and security in exchange for slavery. She was no better than the slave traders she abhorred. No better than Screwe. She had never felt so low in all her life.

  Tilly gave her manager, Shaw, a look, and he quietly stepped outside.

  “Oh, Willi—” William just did not sound right. It somehow seemed less intimate than his last name. “Rutherford.” She reached out to lay a
hand on his back, but withdrew quickly.. Her touch was like the laudanum, a temporary comfort that disguised an insidious corrosion. She did not deserve to touch him.

  He looked up at her. “Tilly, how do you come to be in such a place as this?”

  She could not hide her guilt. “I could ask the same of you, but I know the answer. Oh, you must listen to me, and give up this horrible habit. It will kill you.”

  “But how come you to be here?” Through his sweat and shaking, a glimmer of clarity was forming in his eyes.

  “I wish I could say I am come to rescue you. But I will not conceal the truth from you. I own this warehouse. I was here to meet with Mr. Shaw, my accountant and manager. I am to blame for your condition.” Her voice trailed off.

  “Then I suppose you can arrange to get me more of the medicine. True I am dying, Tilly.” He looked at her pathetically.

  “But I would be giving you poison. It is not medicine for you, Rutherford. Seeing you here, I cannot justify myself any longer. The way I am selling it, it is not medicine at all.”

  Rutherford laughed hoarsely, then winced and pressed his hand to his stomach. “Do you know, I think Aldley is rubbing off on me. At the moment I do not much care what you are selling. In fact I find myself strangely thankful that you deal in opium. But I suffered a moment of shock just now when I heard that you were in trade.”

  Tilly laughed sadly. She reached out to him and stroked his head.

  He leaned into her hand. “Ah my angel, how I love you. I never meant to be like this.”

  “I know it.” She wrapped her arms around his shoulders and kissed his head. “I know you have never been anything but brave and good. I have never deserved you.”

  “How can you say that? I live for you. True, I do not care that you own this enterprise—though I wish you were not so directly involved.” He paused for another spasm of pain. “Darling, can you not get me some laudanum, just a little, so that we may speak without my convulsing every five minutes?”

  Tilly was torn. Her instinct was to deny him any more of the poison, but she hated to see him in such suffering. She straightened her spine. “I will get you a small dose, if you agree to wean yourself off of it.”

  “Agreed.” His smile was too ready.

  She sighed and went to the door to speak to Shaw. In a few minutes she had a bottle of laudanum, from which she dropped a light dose into a half mug of cold tea.

  He drank it immediately and thanked her.

  “It will not end your discomfort entirely, but it will stave off the worst for a while. Remember your promise, Rutherford. It will be a painful process, but you must be strong and fight through it.” She looked down in sadness. “I will have the lads bring you a supply, but it will be diminishing every week. You must promise me that you will pace it out to last the whole week, and not take extra and then go searching after more.”

  “I shall.” His breathing was already slowing, and he was shaking less.

  She stroked his hair. “You will get the better of this, my stallion.”

  “It would be easier if I knew you would be mine. I love you, Tilly. I think it is the torment of seeing you slip away from me and knowing you will soon join with another man that has driven me to this.” His face was open and full of an anguish that the laudanum could not address.

  She fought the desire to kiss him, to strip off all of his clothes and bring him to ecstasy. It was probably not possible at the moment, and it was not what he needed. He needed the love of a good woman, not the passion of a poisoner. She heaved a despairing sigh.

  “No,” he said. “Forgive me for saying that. It was unmanly of me to blame my weakness on you.” He stood and enfolded her in his arms. “I love you so. And this is not your fault.”

  She knew very well that it was. But for once in her mouthy little life, words failed her, and she pressed her face into his chest in desperation. She could feel the inevitable creeping up on her. She could not hold on to him, or she would destroy him. But she loved him.

  The realisation terrified her. She had to fight back the tears forming in her startled eyes. She loved him like no one else in this world, and if she wished to save him, she had to let him go.

  Their moment was interrupted by the sound of someone unfastening the door latch. They released each other and stood apart instinctively, just as the office door opened, and Crump stepped inside.

  “Begging your pardon, Miss. Only there has been a terrible accide—”

  Rutherford lunged for the man. Tilly only restrained him from attacking by throwing herself in front of Crump. “Do not! He is not who you think he is!”

  “I think he is one of the two men who tried to assist in the abduction of a woman who is a close friend of both of us.” Rutherford reached for his sword. “Pray, tell me why I should not flay the bastard here and now?”

  Crump's body clenched, but then his gaze dropped to the ground in sad concession.

  “Because he has changed. He works for me now.” Tilly reached out to stay Rutherford's sword hand. “And because to injure him you will have to injure me.”

  Beads of sweat glistened on Rutherford's forehead as he stared intently at Crump, who lifted his head to return the gaze, not in anger, but in sadness.

  “Please sit down Mr. Rutherford. All will be explained.” She tried to smile consolingly at him.

  He turned and looked at her peculiarly. “Right, I shall sit down.” He took his chair. “But it is only a coward who lets a woman be his shield.”

  Tilly suppressed a strong impulse to roll her eyes and scoff. “We could equally question the valour of jumping to take a sword to an unarmed man, before one even knows all the circumstances. Discretion is certainly not the better part of such conduct.”

  Rutherford sulked.

  Crump cleared his throat. “I see some explainin’ is called for. Only it might be better if yer could wait on it. It is yer friend, Miss, the countess. She has taken a bad fall.”

  “What have you done to her?!” Rutherford was on his feet again, and Tilly had to push him back down.

  “Crump has done nothing to her. I had him watching over Lady Aldley because I got word that Delacroix was back in town.”

  “Delacroix? Well that is like setting the wolf to keep watch over the lambs. Why did you not warn her?”

  “I tried to. I told Lord Aldley, but he informed me that Lydia had already left on some errands, so I got word to Crump right away. And before you get your back up again,” she put a steadying hand on Rutherford's shoulder, “let me remind you that Crump was protecting Lady Aldley.”

  “If I might continue, Miss.”

  Tilly nodded.

  “Delacroix came after her, I made for him and she scampered off. I thought she had got away, but she fell badly. I let Delacroix escape and I attended her, but she would not wake. I got her to the, uh,” his gaze flicked briefly to Rutherford, “Academy, as it was the closest place I could take her. Then I fetched the doctor. He is with her now, and I made off to fetch yer.”

  “So she is at the academy? We must get her home right away. It is fine enough for the students, but no place for the countess.”

  “Em, no Miss. Not the academy. The Academy.”

  “Hang on a minute—is he speaking of a brothel?” Rutherford shook his head and sought Tilly's eyes with his own. “Who are you, really?”

  Tilly only shrugged. “That will also have to wait. We must go to her. Unless, of course, your moral delicacy will prevent you from ever entering such a place.” Tilly arched an incredulous brow.

  “Not at all, I assure you.” Rutherford's face was flinty.

  Tilly carefully tucked her turban under the wide-brimmed bonnet that she used to hide her face and wished that she could hide her everything. “I do not suppose,” she sighed, “that either of you has a biscuit?”

  Chapter 14

  The inside of the Belle Hire was spotless. Several of the students from Tilly’s servant academy had found placements there, but
only the best and most discreet. Some were constrained by a sense of dignity that they could not reconcile with working in a brothel, but for many the allure of higher wages and very stable employment was sufficient inducement.

  As she walked up the servant staircase to the upper rooms, Tilly hoped the high standards for cleanliness, quality and discretion might possibly conceal from Lydia that she was convalescing in a bawdy house.

  Lydia and Tilly shared many secrets, and Lydia was no prude, but Tilly felt the countess was not quite ready to know all of Tilly's covert dealings. She only really wanted to help the women who worked at the brothel, but would Lydia understand Tilly’s motives? She could not bear losing Lydia's friendship, but more importantly, Tilly did not wish to derange her friend's nerves any more than they must already be. The countess was with child, after all.

  That should have been sufficient reason for Lydia to stay at home, but the countess was headstrong and loved her secret business dealings as much as Tilly loved her own. Lydia owned a shop for hair pomades and accoutrements, however. It was not quite the same thing.

  On the other hand, Lydia had promised her husband that she would control the enterprise from a distance and not be personally involved with the shop. Clearly Lord Aldley had not known that Lydia's meeting with her business partner would be at the shop in question.

  Lydia, too, was hiding things. Tilly hoped that this fact might persuade Lydia not to judge her too harshly.

  When Tilly entered the chamber, a robust fire blazed in the hearth. The flames threw a cherry amber glow on Lydia's face and lit up the highlights in her copper hair. She was sleeping, breathing normally. Tilly sat herself on the indigo velvet cushion of the bedside chair and held Lydia's hand.

  “If Delacroix has harmed you, or your babe, I shall kill him,” she whispered.

  She sat and quietly watched her friend for a quarter hour, and then rose to light tapers around the room. The doctor would arrive again soon and would need light.