Chapter Ten
B y the time Jack arrived back at his house in Portland Place, the lamplighters were out and the streets were a mix of pools of light and darker, shadowy spots which had to be hastened through. No sense in making a target of himself, despite his skills at self-defense. The cane he carried was a sword stick, something he’d had occasion to use more than once while abroad in the evenings. London, even in its most salubrious areas, was not a safe place at night.
People were still about, of course, but with the onset of darkness were more likely to be up to nefarious deeds than not. The scent of cheap tobacco smoke lingered in the damp air. Not a smell Jack was fond of, and he hurried his steps. It was not unknown for a gentleman out at night to be accosted even in a street like Portland Place. It didn’t do to linger.
A carriage he recognized stood outside his front door, the four horses draped with blankets to stave off the chill and the driver hunched in his great coat on the front seat, a little red about the nose and miserable. He didn’t require the coat of arms on the door to know that his mother had come to call on him. His father must have told her of his long-awaited engagement. Damn it, although he’d known he couldn’t keep it a secret from her.
Once inside, he handed his hat, gloves and cane to Alcock and took the stairs two at a time. As he’d expected, his mother was in the drawing room on the first floor, seated in upright and righteous splendor on the blue chaise longue.
The Countess of Amberley, at three and sixty, was still a beautiful woman. Her once dark hair had gone steely gray, but her eyes, sharp and dark as her son’s, had lost none of their acute intelligence.
She fixed Jack with a stare as steely as her hair. “Ah, Jack. I wondered how long I would have to wait.” She did not sound happy. What could have given her cause for such a demeanor?
A little puzzled, Jack made a smart bow and approached where she was sitting. She held out a gloved hand for him to kiss, which he did. “Mama, how lovely to see you.” How true this was would be revealed.
“Sit down.” She patted the space beside her. “I have very little time as it’s now so late, and Graves is outside with the carriage, waiting, as no doubt you have seen. The horses will be cold.”
Trust her to think of the horses before her driver.
He sat down on a single chair opposite her. “As you are in a hurry, perhaps you might inform me to what I owe this unexpected visit.”
“I shall get straight to the point. Your father tells me you have at last settled upon a bride.”
He nodded, a little wary. “I have.”
“And that she is a nobody, sans dowry.”
“She is.”
His mother’s spine visibly stiffened. “Be honest with me, Jack. Is she a fortune hunter? Have you fallen into the clutches of an adventuress? It wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”
He let a smile touch his lips. “Really, Mama, is the former not a term reserved uniquely for men? And in what way do you imagine I would be taken in by an adventuress? Other than to take her promptly to my bed.”
Her brow furrowed in threat. “This is not a laughing matter, Jack, and there is no need for you to be coarse. A woman can as easily be after a fortune from a rich husband as a man can be from an heiress. And from what I have discovered about this girl, she is no heiress.” She must have spent the entire day in detective work, a dedication which had to be admired.
Jack sighed. “That’s immaterial to me. I have enough for both of us and more to spare.” Lying to his mother rankled. He’d always maintained an agreeable relationship with her. More so than with his father, at any rate.
She tutted at him, as she was wont to do in moments of annoyance. “Really, Jack, a girl whose family are plainly out for monetary gain is not a good match. And believe me, they are. I hear she’s uncommon pretty, though. Which, no doubt, they thought would snare her the sort of husband they need. The sort of husband with a sizeable enough fortune to pay their debts. You, in other words. Your fortune.”
The urge to defend Elenora from his mother’s diatribe rose. “I would have thought by now you would have been happy to see me marrying anyone.” He grinned. “Even a common flower seller.”
Her eyes widened. “She is not… is she?”
Now he broke into laughter. “No, she is not a common flower seller, as your sources must already have informed you. She is the daughter of a baronet from Wiltshire. A good family with a long and unblemished ancestry behind them.”
“A penniless rural baronet with a penchant for going deep in the card room, is what I’ve heard.”
He had to give her this. “You are right on that, Mother. But I am not planning on marrying the baronet, and as far as I can tell on our short acquaintance, Miss Wetherby has no interest in cards.” Wouldn’t his mother be surprised if she heard what truly interested his betrothed? And the avarice with which she’d purloined his book. It would be fun to tell her, just to see the shock on her face. He felt like shocking her. Always a good thing to keep one’s parents guessing.
She benefitted him with a reproving frown. “Do not be facetious, Jack, as it does not suit you and I find it irritating. I am perfectly aware that you are not betrothed to Sir Nicholas Wetherby, but your marriage to his oldest daughter will bring you into inevitable contact with the family. And I gather the eldest son is of the same bent as the father. A wastrel. They do not sound as though it will be a good connection.”
The smile died on Jack’s lips. “Hang on, Mother, I take issue with what you’re saying. Just because you’ve reached the lofty position of countess and control Amberley Castle and Father’s estates, it doesn’t give you the right to condemn those less fortunate than yourself in such a high-handed fashion.”
Her eyes narrowed, but she stayed silent for a moment. What was going on behind those eyes, so clever and calculating. He’d never been able to tell, and he couldn’t now.
Whatever it was, she seemed to come to some sort of conclusion. “I see you will not be dissuaded. So, perhaps you can tell me about the girl and how you came to propose.”
Jack swallowed. The exact circumstances should remain a secret—but had his father divulged some of last night’s goings-on to his mother already, and would she know if he lied? “You don’t know? Didn’t my father already tell you? Or any of your other informants?”
She shook her head. “Your father was most irritating, as usual. He merely informed me that you had, on a whim, become engaged. He was smugly satisfied, as all he’s bothered about is you producing an heir to his title. This morning. At breakfast. I mean, that he informed me at breakfast, not that you’d become engaged then.” Her chest expanded as she drew in a deep, heartfelt breath. “I have to admit that I was quite surprised.”
So his father had kept his promise, not a foregone conclusion by any means, where his mother, who could have stood in for the Spanish Inquisition, was concerned.
“I encountered her last night, at Father’s ball.”
She frowned. “I was there. Why was I not introduced?”
“You must have met her when she arrived with her parents and aunt. Everyone was introduced on arrival.”
“She came with her aunt?”
“Lady Dandridge.”
“Ah, Penelope.” She sounded a trifle mollified, as though a connection to Lady Dandridge might mitigate the penury the rest of Elenora’s family suffered. “I would remember if I’d seen Penelope arrive. Your father must have been greeting our guests alone while I checked the preparations.” She huffed. “It’s best not to leave it entirely to the staff, as things can so easily go wrong. Supervision ensures no mistakes are made.”
So she hadn’t met Elenora yet. Was that a good thing? The girl was such an original he couldn’t be certain what she might say to his mother. Although, it might just be quite amusing… Perhaps he would invite Elenora for afternoon tea with him and his mother. “If you were busy with preparations, your lack of an introduction to my fiancée can hardly be laid at her door. Nor the door of her parents. Rather, at yours. You have a housekeeper to supervise the staff.”
Lady Amberley was well known for her inability to resist interfering with the upkeep of any of her establishments. Her Town housekeeper, a woman Jack had known since his boyhood, had been heard to heave a deep sigh of relief when she retired to the country at Amberley Castle.
She bristled. “But there must have been a moment after you proposed to the girl, and let me tell you that proposing at a ball is not at all the done thing, when I could have been introduced. She met your father, after all.”
Jack sighed. “If all you want to do is meet her, then that can easily be arranged. Come for tea on Thursday afternoon, and I’ll invite Elenora and Lady Wetherby at the same time.” But probably not Lady Dandridge and her daughter, nor those two rather plain younger sisters whom he’d observed eyeing him with definite fascination, tinged with a little scorn, when he’d visited. What did they have against him? Who knew with girls that age.
Mollified, his mother smoothed her skirts. “That will be most interesting.” She paused. “Will little Edward be present?”
Jack froze, for once unsettled. He bit his top lip. “I think not. She need not meet him yet.”
“If she is to be your wife, then she needs to. She needs to understand that she takes on more than just you.”
Jack shifted uncomfortably, and not only because of the deception he was getting more and more involved in. “I don’t think it would be a good idea just yet.” Would it ever be? “I don’t want to shock her.” Although, was she the sort of girl who would be shocked by anything? He hadn’t received that impression of her as yet. Despite her propensity to speak her mind, she seemed a level-headed and sensible young lady.
His mother nodded. “Perhaps that is wise. He might be better off if you sent him back to Broxbourne Park with his governess. The fresh air would do him good, and he is inordinately fond of animals, he tells me. Especially cows, for some unfathomable reason. Quite the little budding farmer.”
“No.” Jack shook his head. “I like to have him with me. He’s not going to Broxbourne unless I go too.”
His mother’s mouth thinned as she pressed her lips together. “As you wish. But when his discovered presence causes trouble between you and your betrothed, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” She stood up. “And now I need to go, or I’ll be late to dine with your father. You know how he likes everyone to be punctual. Do you care to accompany me? I know he’d be pleased if you did.”
Jack rose too but shook his head. “Thank you, Mother, but I prefer to remain at home this evening. You may pass on my regards to Father though.”
When she’d gone, Jack rang the bell for Alcock. “I think I will take my supper in the nursery this evening.” Perhaps today’s events with finding Josie and taking her to Mrs. Sharpe’s care had made him more aware of his own responsibilities. Perhaps he just wanted to see for himself that all was well up there. It would be, of course, for the nursery staff were of the best, and paid well for their devotion.
Two flights of stairs brought him to the generous nursery floor, above which only the servants’ quarters in the attic remained. Four doors opened off the wide landing—to the night nursery, the day nursery, the schoolroom and Miss Douglas the governess’s room. As the clock in the hall outside the parlor had just been chiming five when his mother had left, and Miss Douglas would have finished the day’s lessons, Jack pushed open the door of the day nursery and went inside.
A small, dark-haired boy was lying full length on the rug playing with a set of tin soldiers, and, over by the window, Meg, the young nursery nurse who had been one of Jack’s first “rescues,” was sitting beside a lamp darning a pair of stockings.
The little boy, clad in a navy blue skeleton suit, scrambled to his feet, a smile of delight spreading across a face very like Jack’s in appearance. “Papa! You’re home!” He ran into Jack’s arms and Jack hugged him tight against his chest, breathing in the scent of small boy that soap was struggling to disguise. Such a contrast to the last child he’d held close as he carried her to Mrs. Sharpe’s. With luck and good care, soon she would be as clean and well fed as this one.
He released the child. “Good evening, Edward. What battle is it you’re recreating here?”
The child dropped to his knees on the rug and picked up one of the soldiers. “Bosworth Field. This is Henry the Seventh, and that over there,” he pointed, “is Richard the Third, shouting for his horse.” Henry VII had a decided bend in one of his legs as though someone had trodden on him.
Jack knelt down beside his son. “And who do you want to win? That’s the important question.”
Edward tilted his head to one side in thought. “We-ell… I know I ought to want Henry to win, and I know he did, but I’m not sure I like him much. And I’m not sure, either, that Richard killed the Princes in the Tower. Miss Douglas and me, we were talking about that in the schoolroom today, and she thinks it wasn’t Richard. And Stanley, that’s him over there, is going to be a traitor. So I don’t like him at all.”
Jack laughed. “That’s my boy. You have the enquiring mind of a true historian, Edward. You’re making me very proud. And as well as that, let me also commend you for your knowledge of Shakespeare.” All of a sudden Edward’s chatter reminded Jack of Elenora’s. Both keen historians, even though Edward was as yet only seven. A precocious child, intelligent beyond his years. His chest swelled with pride even as he wondered if Elenora had been so as a child.
The little boy beamed. “Miss Douglas is teaching me all about the Wars of the Roses because I asked her to. It’s so very interesting. When we were learning about the two princes, I imagined what it would have been like if I’d been Edward the Fifth, the poor little imprisoned prince. Stuck in the Tower of London. Although he wasn’t in a cell, I don’t think, like a criminal. He was allowed to use his bow and arrows. We read that.”
“I named you for him, as the fate of the princes in the Tower is one of my interests.”
Edward nodded. “I know, but they were victims, and I think I’d’ve preferred to have been named after King Richard. He was very brave trying to attack Henry all by himself. Edward was only a little boy and never did any fighting. He was too young, like me. But one day I’ll be able to fight all right. I want to be a soldier for the king.”
Jack stood up as the door opened and Thomas, one of the footmen, brought in a tray. “Enough of old battles, my little professor. Time to feed the inner scholar. I’m eating here with you this evening.”
The next morning brought Jack back to Betterton Street. He’d promised Josie he’d return and make sure she was all right, and he wasn’t a man who liked to break a promise. Especially not one he’d made to a child.
This time, Mrs. Sharpe herself opened the front door to his knock. A short woman whom childbearing had rendered rotund, she had about her the same aura of quiet peace that Jack had noted the first time he’d encountered her a good few years since, in the disreputable alehouse her husband had kept in the back alleys of Southwark. She’d taken off her habitual apron in order to open the door, and stood before him, neat, precise, yet above all, matronly. The perfect woman to run a home for vulnerable, rescued street children.
A welcoming smile spread across her pillowy cheeks. “Milord Jack.” She bobbed a curtsy, something he’d asked her countless times to desist from doing. “I was wondering if you’d be back today. The little mite you brought us yesterday were convinced you’d come.”
Jack smiled back at her as she stood aside to let him into the narrow hallway of number 23. To the right, a door opened into her inner sanctum—her parlor—kept only for the most formal of occasions and in order to teach her girls, all from the slums, how to behave in a decent household so they could obtain jobs as housemaids or shopgirls or even nursery nurses. Meg, who’d come from Mrs. Sharpe’s a year ago, was proof enough of how her loving care worked.
Jack passed this door and headed for the back of the house where the warm and homely kitchen lay. Much his preferred location in Mrs. Sharpe’s house, just as it was for the children.
However, as it was morning, all the children must be in the tiny schoolroom he’d had equipped in the front room of number 24, next door, being taught by the older of Mrs. Sharpe’s two resident daughters. Only one of her charges remained, seated with young Lucy Sharpe at the kitchen table in front of the cozily burning range, each with a slate in their hands. It seemed his latest rescue’s education had already begun.
Josie had undergone a transformation. The dirty, straggly hair of yesterday had been shorn to less than an inch in length—necessary to be rid of any parasites—and her face shone as though it had been well-scrubbed. Instead of rags, she wore a clean but shabby dress with a starched white pinafore over it. Her eyes, already not quite so sunken and shadowed, lit up with excitement as they fell on Jack. “You came back. I told ’em you would.” Her voice held a definite hint of triumph.
Jack grinned at her, a small feeling of triumph sizzling through him as well, but for a different reason. Another child saved, or she would be saved by the time Mrs. Sharpe and her two daughters had finished with her. Much as he had saved them, once. “I said I would and I never break my promise.” He sat down opposite the two girls. “I see Lucy is setting about teaching you to read and write already. Very useful skills, so you should work hard at learning them. If you can master those, then you should never be without work when you’re grown up.”
Josie held out her slate with pride. “I writ me name.”
Jack took the slate and surveyed her embryonic autograph. “I think you are in need of a second name. Do you by chance recall what it is?”
She shook her shorn head. “Nope. I don’t fink I ever had one. Lucy asked me, but I dunno.”
Mrs. Sharpe, who’d been pouring tea from a huge kettle on the stove, brought some cups over and sat down beside Jack. “Like a lot of the girls here. They was never called by their surnames, milord, nor even their proper Christian names. Mostly they just got shouted at and called ‘girl’ or ‘you,’ I dare say. They don’t know their real names. I think this one’ll have to be another little Sharpe.”
This would not be the first time she’d increased the size of her Sharpe brood.
Josie nodded with vigor. “I’d like to be Josie Sharpe, if’n you doesn’t mind.” She shot a shy smile sideways at Lucy, who put a motherly arm around her new sister’s narrow shoulders.
She gave the child an affectionate cuddle. “And I should like to have you as another of my sisters. There’s always room here for another little Sharpe.”
Jack took a sip of his tea—hot and strong just the way he liked it.
Mrs. Sharpe nodded to Lucy. “Josie’s done some good work this morning. Enough for her first day. Why don’t you take her next door into number 24 and find her a storybook you can read to her.”
“A story?” Josie’s doubtful eyes swiveled from Mrs. Sharpe to Jack and finally to Lucy, who’d already got to her feet.
Lucy beamed at her protégée. “We have some wonderful storybooks Milord Jack’s got for us. You come along with me, and we’ll find a really good one and tuck ourselves in front of the fire next door, and I’ll read it to you.”
Once they’d gone, Jack turned to Mrs. Sharpe. “Any signs of mistreatment?”
She pulled a face. “A few nasty bruises. Undernourished, of course. Infested with lice and fleas. I burned her old clothes. She’ll do. A bright little thing, if I’m not mistaken.”
What a contrast to the life Edward led in Portland Place. It had been the way he’d become a father that had driven Jack out into the streets wanting to help the orphans of the slums. Only, despite his best endeavors, he’d so far been able to help so few. But at least he was doing something.
“I’m sorry I had to surprise you with her yesterday, but I couldn’t have left her out in the cold like that. It’s winter. You saw the way she was dressed. I had to bring her to you.”
Mrs. Sharpe set her empty teacup down on the old oak table. How she could drink it so hot, Jack would never know. “You know I’ll always find room for another waif if it’s at all possible. I’ve got them all sleeping two to a bed as it is. You might be needing to take another house if you go on like this.” But her chuckle proved she wasn’t put out.
He drained his cup. “I could purchase you a bigger house somewhere else. Not rent any longer. Something more up to the task in hand. More bedrooms. Better than two houses knocked into one.”
She smiled. “It’s not so bad here. I know the neighbors, and they don’t mind my girls. If we went somewhere else, there’s some that might not like the idea of a lot of orphans from the slums in their midst. And I’ve at least three of the older girls ready to go into service—one of them’s bright enough to be a shop girl. Real good at her reckoning. And another one’s secured a job as a nursery nurse. Starts next week. That’ll free up some space.”
She poured some more tea. “We can manage here.”
Jack picked up his cup again. “I don’t want you to just ‘manage.’ I want you to have the resources to succeed and succeed well. That’s why I installed you here. That and other reasons.”
Mrs. Sharpe nodded. “And I’m eternally grateful to you for that, milord, I can tell you. I b’lieve he’d’ve killed me by now if you hadn’t stepped in.”
As this had seemed perfectly possible at the time, Jack didn’t argue.
“’Twas the best day of my life when you stepped into our tavern and ordered yourself a pint of ale.”
Jack stayed silent, but the image of that night, as dark and foggy as the ones that seemed frequent at the moment, leapt into his head. Mrs. Sharpe had been behind the bar, her husband drinking with his cronies. He’d noticed her black eye immediately, even though she’d combed her hair forward in an effort to hide it. The first evidence that she was married to a wife beater.
She cleared her throat and changed the subject. Perhaps she too was remembering that night and how close she’d come to death just a few days afterwards. “And how’s your little lad doing?”
This brought a smile to Jack’s face. “He’s growing fast and is doing well at his studies, so Miss Douglas assures me. He’s very fond of Meg as well. She’s a wonderful nursery nurse. A credit to you. What matters most to me though, is that he’s happy, and I do believe he is.” He paused. “Just as I want all the children here to be happy.” A lump rose in his throat. “To no longer fear going hungry and homeless and cold.” How close had Edward come to that? If Mary had had her way… No, he wouldn’t think about that. It was too painful.
Instead, he rose to his feet, talking fast to cover his discomfort. “I’m afraid this is but a fleeting visit, but if there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to contact me. You can send Benjamin round to Portland Place whenever you want, never forget that.” Benjamin was Mrs. Sharpe’s oldest child and only son, who no longer lived in Betterton Street, but still called in several times a week to do odd jobs for his mother.
Jack held out his hand to his hostess and she took it in her own doughy one. “I should also inform you, I think, for you might well hear the gossip, that I am engaged to be married.”
Mrs. Sharpe’s eyes widened. No doubt, like everyone else, she’d never thought to see the day this happened. Jack was finding it quite pleasurable to surprise people in this way, even if the engagement was a sham. Shocking people was turning out to be more fun than he’d expected.
She kept hold of his hand, closing her other hand over it as well, her eyes sparkling with what looked like unshed tears. “Well, you could knock me down with a feather.”
Jack laughed. “I won’t try. And now I must leave you, as I have other errands to run.”
Mrs. Sharpe gave his hand a squeeze before she released it. “And let me wish you all the happiness you deserve, milord. I’m right happy for you, that I am. And for your little nipper. He deserves a mother of his own to care for him.” She paused, a hand going up to wipe her eyes. “I’m hoping she won’t object to you already having a little lad, that is?”
Jack met her eyes as realization washed over him. He smiled. “No, somehow I don’t think she will mind.” Elenora wasn’t that sort of girl.