Chapter 12
12
W ith her garments tucked away in her valise, Julia waited until the bustle of the morning chores had ended before she tiptoed into the mews. The carriages were housed beyond the horse stalls, divided by a wall. Since the family was on an outing with the carriage, she skirted past the stalls without being spotted. Once in the carriage house, she headed straight for the sedan chair since Dunscaby had mentioned it hadn’t been used in years.
She’d awakened this morning with a gargantuan bruise on her backside and, thankfully, a much smaller one on her chin. Bless Georgette, the lady’s maid had given Julia some rice powder that she’d used to cover up as best she could—increasing the maid’s wages had gained her an ally and, when a woman was posing as a man, no matter how worthy her motives, said woman needed as many allies as she could find.
Once Julia was confident she was alone, she slipped beneath the tarpaulin and into the dusty old sedan chair. Coughing, she used her kerchief to wipe it clean, then set her valise on the seat, bumping her bruised backside on the wall. Changing clothes in such a confined space was not going to be easy. Scrunching her shoulders together, she took off her jacket and shirt, but found bending over impossible until she sat, removed her boots, hose, trousers, and unbound her breasts.
She first donned a chemise for modesty, then set to the task of lacing her stays in the front as she’d done many times and could do with her eyes closed. On went her hose, slippers, and petticoat. After donning her blue day dress and tying it closed, she pinned up her clubbed hair, pulled her bonnet atop, and tied a neat bow at the side. At least she thought the ribbon felt neat. Without a looking glass, she couldn’t be sure and she didn’t want to dawdle in the sedan chair any longer than necessary. Her appearance, however she looked, would just have to suffice.
Julia neatly folded her men’s garments and stowed them in her valise, then listened very carefully—the sounds of horses in their stalls with gentle blowing and nickers drifting on the air. A carriage with a squeaky wheel traveled through the close beyond the rear gate. Footsteps pattered downward, Julia clapped a hand over her heart and held her breath. A latch scraped in the direction of the horse stalls.
Please do not hitch up a carriage. Not now.
“Come now, Rosie. ’Tis time we picked your hooves.”
A silent whistle whooshed through Julia’s lips as she recognized the voice of one of the grooms. The fellow began to sing a ditty as he worked, his song muffled by the wall separating the horses from the carriage house.
Ever so slowly, Julia stepped out of the sedan chair and slipped from under the tarpaulin. On the tips of her toes, she made her way toward the outer main door, passing a barouche, the duke’s phaeton, and a number of the shiny black coaches they’d used for traveling from Scotland. Resting her hand on the latch, she stopped behind the wheel of the last carriage and again listened. Only when she was confident of not being seen did she slip outside and quietly close the door behind her.
By the time Julia stepped onto the footpath of the busy street, she suddenly became very aware of being an unescorted woman. After two months of impersonating a man, she had taken for granted the ease in which she was able to move around society without drawing attention to herself. She kept her eyes lowered and walked with purpose, trying not to attract the notice of passersby.
The farther away she moved from the duke’s town house, the narrower the houses and store fronts became. Shabbier as well. Regardless, she had no choice but to trek the distance from Grosvenor Square to the unsavory and notorious fringes of St. Giles where, after consulting with a map in the library when the family was at dinner, she’d located the address of Deuces, Mr. Skinner’s gambling hell.
When, finally, she arrived at Three West Street, she stood in front of the door, red of all colors, with a border in gilt relief, depicting nude Roman athletes. Thirsty and tired, her gaze moved upward to an enormous placard, that read “ Deuces .” She was aware the man owned a gambling hell, and this was definitely his address, but by the ostentatiousness of the building’s facade, she didn’t imagine he lived here.
Does he?
She prayed he did because she wanted this business over with. Heaven forbid she needed to change in the sedan chair again and come back at some other time. A large, liveried footman stood outside the door, looking as if he might have been recruited from the docks and trained to box by Mr. Jackson. Gathering her nerve, Julia strode directly up to the chap and looked him in the eyes. “I’ve come to see Mr. Skinner.”
The fellow smirked and arched a single eyebrow. “We’re closed.”
Oh, dear, that simply wouldn’t do. “When, pray tell, do you open?”
“Seven o’clock, luv. But no women are allowed…” With his smirk firmly fixed in place his gaze dropped to her breasts and remained fixated upon them even though she was wearing a fichu for modesty. “That is unless ye’re lookin’ for a position wiff the ladies above stairs.”
Crossing her arms, Julia took a step back. “I most definitely am not. I have an urgent financial matter to discuss with Mr. Skinner I must see him immediately. If he is not here, please advise where I can find him.”
“A financial matter, aye? Ye don’t look like one of the dandies ’e tends to conduct business wiff.”
“The nature of my visit is none of your concern.” She pulled Willaby’s missive out of her reticule and waved it, not giving the man a chance to really look at the document before she shoved it back inside. “This is a letter from Mr. Skinner demanding payment from my infirm father. I am not in London for long and it is imperative that I speak to him straightaway.”
“Your faver’s the dandy, aye?” The footman threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Go round back. Give only one solid rap with the knocker, ye ’ear?”
“My thanks,” she said, giving a curtsy and hastening to the rear of the building.
Taking a moment to catch her breath, she stared at the cold and uninviting black door with a brass knocker depicting a very angry-looking skull. Beneath was a placard and upon it was the name “ Skinner ”. The word alone made her shudder. Julia had met the man only once when he’d come to Huntly Manor with his threats. That awful altercation had been right before her father had collapsed and taken ill.
As directed, she gave one solid rap with the vulgar bottom jaw of the knocker and waited until the door was opened by an elderly butler. After her conversation out front, she decided to explain the reason for her visit straightaway and allay any assumption that she might be a woman of easy virtue. After all, she was knocking on the door of a nefarious gambling establishment.
The man grunted and allowed her inside, gesturing to a wooden bench in a corridor painted red without a single work of art on the wall. There was one door at the end, just past the stairs. Her hands began to perspire as she waited while mentally rehearsing her plea. Curse it all, this was the last person she cared to beg for mercy.
How could Papa have stooped so low?
The hinges on the door screeched as it opened and Skinner stepped through, his smile more like a yellow-toothed sneer than a grin because his lips were misaligned by an unseemly scar. “Lady Julia St. Vincent. What a surprise to see ye ’ere. Did ye travel all the way from Brixham?” he asked, his East End accent nearly as thick as that of the footman out front.
Her knuckles turned white while she gripped her reticule and rose. The man was taller and gaunter than she remembered. “Good day, Mr. Skinner,” she said, avoiding his question. “I’ve come to have a word about the recent demands you have made on my father.”
“Truly?” He gestured with a bony hand. “I find it odd the earl would send ’is daughter in ’is stead.”
Though the hairs on the nape of Julia’s neck stood on end, she moved inside the chamber, the walls painted scarlet beneath hand-painted filagree in a much darker shade of claret. Though the work was flawless, the décor was as overdone as the front doors. The chamber wasn’t terribly large, and filling it stood an ornately carved desk in mahogany with a chair padded in red velvet behind it and a straight-backed wooden chair across. No surprises, the moneylender preferred his guests to be uncomfortable. “Yes, well, as you are aware, Papa has been confined to his sickbed for the past several months.”
“Still suffering from swilling too much brandy, eh?” Mr. Skinner asked, sliding into the seat behind the table. “Please do sit.”
As she perched on the edge of the hard chair, Julia wasn’t about to let the man bait her into saying more. Her father was ill and the cause of his illness was none of Skinner’s concern. He already was aware that she handled Papa’s affairs and that was enough.
She cleared her throat. “Your letter stated that you are anxious to receive twenty pounds in back interest even though I’ve been making payments over and above your terms with intention to clear that debt. Mind you, I’ve already repaid four pounds of the twenty you claimed.”
“Yes, I’ve received your payments. But ye do not understand the terms of my loan. I must be compensated for the two months where I received nothing. I am not in the business of grantin’ charity.”
“I understand and I have not come without a plan. I am prepared to give you two pounds now, which is ten percent of the amount you’ve demanded. Furthermore, the two remaining servants at Huntly Manor have agreed to a cut in wages and I’ll be able to pay you four pounds fifty pence additional per month until the debt is paid in full.”
The man snorted, his sneer returning. “Ah, but you ’aven’t considered the penalty for missing payments.”
“Penalty? But, sir, my father could not have anticipated his illness.”
The moneylender snorted with a sardonic frown, making his gaunt features even more cadaverous. “My lady, must I repeat, I am not a benevolent man.” He licked his thin lips, leaving a bit of spittle at one corner of his mouth while he ogled her breasts just as the footman had done. “’owever, there are alternative methods of payment.”
Uneasy, Julia drew her hand to her chest and stood. “Other means?”
Also pushing to his feet, Mr. Skinner came around the writing table, stopping only a hand’s breadth away from her. “Think on it. Ye’re not only a ’ighborn lady, ye are quite fetching. Why, I believe by ’aving ye in my employ, your debt will be repaid in a few years’ time.”
There was absolutely no doubt in Julia’s mind as to what this cur was asking. How dare he demean her with such an offer. As she backed away, the licentious glint in the scoundrel’s eyes grew blacker and eviler, making a chill cut straight to her bones. But if this man thought for half a second that she would stoop to such indecency, he was sorely mistaken.
“Sir, I assure you I am doing everything in my power to settle my father’s debt.” She jolted as her back hit the wall. “I-I would rather die than work for the likes of you. I bid you please do not further insult me with your lewd proposals.”
Placing his palms either side of her head, the man trapped her there. “Unfortunate ye are unwilling, though I could…” He drew in a deep breath, his gaze dropping to her lips. “Ye are aware I am in possession of the deed to Huntly Manor, are you not?”
“I am.” He might have the deed in hand, but the property was worth far more than the debt. Furthermore, she mustn’t allow this miscreant to intimidate her. “And you are aware my father is an esteemed a peer of the realm and therefore exempt from debtor’s court. I have given you a reasonable solution to repay the outstanding sum, and I ask you once again to honor it.”
He leaned forward until his mouth was even with her ear. “Terms from a woman I can no more count on than a bedridden earl.”
Julia shuddered. “Please.”
“I shall accept your terms of four months, but the sum is thirty pounds.”
“Thirty?”
She tried to duck under his arm, but he caught her face in his grip and forced her to look at him. “And this?—”
As she drew in a gasp, the varlet sealed his mouth over hers and stuck his tongue inside, sweeping it around her mouth as she recoiled, her head hitting the wall. With all her strength, Julia shoved against his chest and forced him away. “You vulgar man!” she cried, dashing for the door.
His sickly laugh resounded through the corridor as she ran past the butler and outside. Gasping for air, the world spinning, Julia didn’t stop running until she suddenly realized she’d dashed into the middle of a busy thoroughfare and was now gaping at a team of horses as their driver pulled on the reins shouting for her to move.
Stunned, she froze in place watching as the high-stepping pair bore down on her, the whites of the beasts’ eyes assessing her as the horses heads turned with the pressure from the bits pulling their mouths wide.
This was the end. Within her next heartbeat she’d be trampled in London and no one would have a clue who she was. Dunscaby would be puzzled when Smallwood didn’t return to the town house. What would happen to Papa? To Willaby and Mrs. May?
I can’t die.
As the thought popped into her head, the horses came to a stop inches from her nose. Allowing herself to breathe, Julia reached out and stroked her fingers down a white blaze.
“What the devil are you doing crossing the road without looking, ye daft wench?” hollered the driver.
Regaining her wits, she gave him a quick curtsy and sashayed toward the footpath. “Forgive me. Your team came so fast, I did not see you.”
The door to the carriage opened. “Julia?”
Recognizing the voice, she squinted to better see inside. “Sophie?”
A smiling, warm, and welcome face appeared in the doorway. “Oh, my heavens, it is you. But whatever are you doing in this dreadful part of Town of all places and without an escort?”
For the love of Moses, traveling within the carriage was none other than Julia’s dearest friend from finishing school—a friend whose face she’d never forget in a hundred years. At once, Julia’s eyes filled with tears. She covered her mouth and try as she might, she was completely unable to stop the flow of sobs from assailing her.
“Eustace!” Sophie clapped her hands at the footman at the rear of the carriage. “Help Her Ladyship into the carriage straightaway.”
Julia was in no state to argue, and she was already making quite a scene with carriages backed up and going around while their drivers shouted obscenities. Thank heavens luck had decided to take a turn for the better. Sophie had been a dear friend for years. She was the daughter of a prominent baron, and they’d attended finishing school together. In fact, Sophie was one of the few people outside her home who was aware that Julia’s father struggled financially—though only the two remaining servants at Huntly Manor knew how desperately.
Accepting the footman’s hand, Julia held her skirts and climbed into the lovely coach, falling into her friend’s arms. Unable to speak, she wept like a baby while Sophie patted her back and rocked. “That’s it, have a good cry, and then tell me all about it.”
Julia lost herself, trying ever so hard to gain control, gasping and hiccupping while tears rolled down her cheeks. “I-I paid a visit to Papa’s vile moneylender. And-and he tried to force himself upon me!”
“That vile creature. How dare he? I’ll have a word with Northampton this very day and have the man dealt with.”
Julia tried to catch her breath. What had Sophie said? “N-Northampton?”
“Yes, my sweeting. I married the marquess two months ago. Did you not receive your invitation?”
“I’m afraid I-I’ve been… ah …away.”
“Not to worry, there were so many people in attendance I can scarcely recall a face.” Sophie patted Julia’s arm. “Now, tell me, I who is this uncouth vulture?”
“M-Mr. Skinner.”
“Oh dear,” her friend groaned. “Silas Skinner?”
Julia drew her kerchief from her sleeve and dabbed her eyes. “Yes, he’s the one.”
“Good heavens.” Sophie crossed herself like she so often had done when they were attending finishing school. “That man is the one person my husband refuses to go near. He’s reputed to be as wealthy as the crown, perhaps more so, and he has some sort of vendetta against polite society. No self-respecting member of the ton visits Deuces—that is unless they want to tempt the devil. You’d best not cross him.”
“So I’ve gathered. I only asked that he allow more time for me to make up for the payments Papa missed after he fell ill.”
“Oh…that is not good, not good at all.”
“No, but I think I was successful in satisfying him. He granted new terms, at least.”
“And then proceeded to make unwelcomed advances? And you without an escort?”
Julia again shuddered. “Please, I beg of you to keep my confidences.”
“Of course, I will.” Sophie gave her a little hug. “Good Lord, here you are after all these years, still looking after your father and continuing to suffer for it.”
“Forgive me.” Julia knew better than to tell her friend the worst of Papa’s matters. Now that she’d calmed herself, she needed to change the subject. One did not speak of their financial woes, not even with a good friend who knew something of her background. “Heavens, here we are talking about my miserable state of affairs and you’ve just told me you have married a marquess and I haven’t even been courteous enough to extend my felicitations.”
“Thank you, my sweet, but given the circumstances, you were in no state to say anything.” Sophie brushed a lock of hair away from her face. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you cry, and with so much abandon.”
“I doubt I have ever fallen apart like that.” But Julia felt surprisingly good for having done so. “Thank the stars it was your carriage that nearly ran me over and not that of some pompous fop.”
“It must have been destiny.” Sophie flicked the tassel of her fan with her gloved fingers. “Now tell me, how long will you be in Town?”
“Ah…I’m here for a few weeks, no more.”
“Oh?” Her friend’s eyebrows shot up. “Have you rooms? Did your father not divest his town house?”
“I’m a guest of…” What should she say? She couldn’t mention the Duke of Dunscaby because if anyone asked him, it would mean the commencement of her undoing. “Well, honestly, I’m renting a small room. It is quite sufficient for my needs.”
“Truly?”
“Yes. The landlady is ever so reasonable.” Well, that contained a modicum of truth. Martin and his family were incredibly accommodating and kind.
“Well, then, we absolutely must have tea.”
“We must,” Julia said, biting her lip. Could she dig herself a deeper hole? She’d stolen into the mews and dressed in a dusty old sedan chair, which she hoped never to have to do again.
“Oh!” Sophie thrust her fan upward as if she’d just had a marvelous idea. “Northampton and I are hosting a ball, have you heard?”
“A ball? I’m afraid I’ve been a bit removed from the ton for such information to… ah …reach me.”
“Six days hence on May Day, mind you. And, my dearest, you cannot come to London without attending my very first ball as Marchioness.”
Julia sighed, her head spinning. How can I weasel my way out of this? “Imagine that, my friend, Lady Sophia, a marchioness.”
“I still cannot believe it myself.” Sophie looped her arm through Julia’s elbow and squeezed. “You will be my guest of honor.”
“Oh, no.” Shaking her head, Julia drew her arm away. “No, no, no. I haven’t a thing to wear.”
Sophie tapped her fan to her chin, giving Julia a look that said she would entertain absolutely no argument. “And you most likely haven’t a lady’s maid have you?”
Julia mouth dropped open and closed twice before she conceded, “I’m afraid not.”
“Then you shall come join me the morning of the ball. I happen to have a costume that will perfectly compliment your coloring. And if you come early, my lady’s maid will have plenty of time to make alterations…and style your hair, of course.”
The racing of Julia’s heart slowed. “Costume, did you say?”
“Yes, the ball is a masquerade, silly—all guests will wear masks and proper costumes, even the orchestra will be in fancy dress. And you cannot refuse me. Not only did you miss my wedding, you love to dance more than anyone I know.”
It was true, Julia did love to dance—the woman’s part, of course.
“You might even meet your knight in shining armor—someone who can help you slip out from under the enormous yoke your father has hung around your neck, poor dear.”
Julia wasn’t so sure she’d ever find her shining knight, but perhaps she could slip out one more time. Oh, how wonderful to actually dress as a lady and attend a masked ball where no one would know her identity—to dance and make merry after all the worry and months of tireless work.