Chapter Thirteen #2
“Mr. Patterson,” Benjamin instructed, “we will have our midday meal a quarter hour earlier than customary and please ask Cook to prepare a small basket for Miss Whitchurch so she must not wait so long between meals.”
“Yes, my lord,” Patterson said with a nod of approval.
“It is not…” Miss Whitchurch began.
Yet, Benjamin overrode her response. “It is necessary. The child depends on you. He has no one but you who willingly has placed her own life on hold in order to secure his future.”
“Thank you, my lord, but I might say the same thing about you.”
And so, Benjamin had altered his routine so he might break his fast each morning with Miss Whitchurch when she returned to the house after her overnight work and an early small meal before she left again for another night of close work to please Mr. Sustar’s customers.
Assuredly, Benjamin did not like their arrangement, but the lady meant to carve out her own path, and he could not fault her for that.
Mr. Froschele, his man of business, liked Miss Whitchurch’s suggestion for the metal plates and the embroidered emblem.
“What if we make these items in Kent? Surely there are multiple women on your estate and in the nearby village who could create the needlework for the drapes, bedding, and so forth. Hire men to make the tables, bedposts, frames and the like. They would be standard for each of your homes, making them more difficult to steal and resell. High end pieces, all under your insignia.”
Benjamin considered the idea seriously as Froschele described it.
He liked the idea of assisting his cottagers and the village, and Kent was not so far removed as to make it costly to ship the items. He could even hire some in London to supplement what could not be made in the countryside.
“I like the idea of standardizing the quality of the items in the houses we let, while putting many of my tenants to work, as well as some local businesses. Has anyone else ever executed something similar? If so, did it succeed?”
“Assuredly, someone in London is exploring ways to increase profits. Many in the area’s warehouses attend estate sales and so forth to buy furniture, silver, artwork, and the like.
Heck, those pieces coming from India and Europe were likely created similarly.
Yet, if you could have your tenants perform as we are thinking, you could increase profits with your London properties and provide many in your home shire a better living without building factories and such. Handmade tables and beds.”
Satisfied with his meeting, Benjamin returned to Macalhey House in hopes of sharing his ideas with Miss Whitchurch, only to hear, “I apologize, my lord,” Brunswick reported. “Mr. Sustar asked the lady to come in at five today instead of six,” the footman explained.
“I previously considered Sustar an honorable man,” Benjamin groused. “However, he is working our Miss Whitchurch at least twelve hours each day. No wonder she collapsed a fortnight prior.”
“Such is likely why Mr. Sustar did not ask her to come in on Friday night,” Brunswick remarked, “though Miss Whitchurch said something about Sustar being upset, for a shipment did not arrive on time.”
Benjamin mused, “So he means to have her make up those hours over the next few weeks. I may be required to have a hard talk with the man.” He sighed heavily. “Did the lady take a proper meal with her?” Benjamin asked in disappointment.
“Yes. Cook added several extra items,” Brunswick assured.
“Good. Very good,” Benjamin said in distraction, wondering what he could do to make her path easier. “I have work to do. Thank you for your diligence.”
“My lord,” Brunswick said with a touch of urgency in his tone. “May I make an observation?”
Benjamin stepped closer. “Has it something to do with Miss Whitchurch and the child?”
“I cannot say with any assurance, my lord, but…” The footman heaved a heavy sigh.
“Each evening, I set Miss Whitchurch down at the opening of the close that backs up to Sustar’s shop, as well as several other such establishments.
I stop along the opposing street and the lady generally steps down without assistance, turns to claim the food and her bags, presents me a wave and a smile and walks away. ”
“I understand,” Benjamin said in confusion. “How is that significant?”
“In the morning, as there is no one around, I stop on the same side of the road as the close’s opening so I might spot her when Miss Whitchurch departs Sustar’s shop.”
Benjamin knew he frowned, but he permitted Brunswick to finish his tale before interrupting.
“Obviously, the later the lady is permitted to depart the shop, the more people are around, starting their days and so forth; however, there has been a man—well, I think it is a man—standing in the shadows of another shop’s rear door, a shop not presently occupied, for I made it my business to have a look.
He has made no advance towards the lady, but I have wondered what he is doing in the doorway and what might happen if I was not there. ”
Benjamin’s frown deepened. “You are thinking something sinister?”
“Miss Whitchurch is still too trusting,” Brunswick observed. “No criticism intended, my lord. It is just…”
“I comprehend. Thank you for speaking of your suspicions. I will accompany you tomorrow morning. Perhaps we should be waiting where those in the close cannot view us,” he instructed.
Victoria stretched her arms above her head and rotated her neck in a circular motion to loosen her shoulders.
She would be glad to claim her bed for a few hours.
“But not until I have breakfast with his lordship,” she thought.
“I plan to treasure each of these moments. Remember them for my old age.”
She would be glad to curl up on the unadorned mattress for a few hours and then rise to tend the boy and pretend Lord Thompson’s presence did not fill her with sorrow, for no matter how much Victoria had come to admire his lordship, nothing could ever happen between them beyond some sort of friendship.
Cassandra’s foolishness had seen to Victoria’s future prospects.
“It would be ironic, though not probable,” her mind announced, “if Cassandra’s hopes of being a baroness would lead me to being a countess.” She shook her head for thinking such was pure foolishness. “Be realistic, Victoria. Take your head down from the clouds.”
As she rearranged the items in her bags to make them easier to carry, she could not quite forsake her whimsy.
“His lordship is dependable enough even to impress my mother. It assuredly would be wonderful to have someone who listened to me as does Lord Thompson. My opinions appear to matter to the man.”
A second sigh of longing escaped before she could stifle it. “I shall be a good friend to him or as good as society permits.”
She purposely shrugged the tension from her shoulders a second time. One of the two girls who assisted her handed Victoria her cloak. “See you tomorrow or I should say tonight.”
Both girls left together, but, as was customary, Victoria lingered to learn if Mr. Sustar had any new instructions for her.
She heard him come down the stairs and let the other girls out the door.
Meanwhile, her mind returned to Lord Thompson.
“No other man would go to such trouble to assist me and the child. His lordship is a man who lives by a private code of right and wrong. Not a man who hands a woman a line of sweet talk.” She chuckled.
“He is nearly as awkward socially as am I.”
“Good morning, Miss Whitchurch,” Mr. Sustar said from some place behind her.
She turned to greet him. “Good morning, Mr. Sustar. I simply paused to see if you had further instructions for me.”
“None that comes to mind at this time, but likely something will occur before you return this evening,” he assured her.
This was their morning routine, which in an odd way was very comforting.
She picked up her belongings and nodded for him to lead the way.
“I will lock the door behind you, Miss Whitchurch,” Sustar said as she passed through the recessed hallway.
She nodded her farewell and stepped into the close’s dark shadows.
The lock on the door shot into the slot behind her, and she heard Mr. Sustar turn back along the short passage to climb the stairs to the level above.
The shop would not open for sales for a few more hours.
The men who worked in the drapery shop would arrive a bit after seven.
Before she could prevent it, an odd feeling crept down her spine. “All I must do is reach the opening,” her mind announced, but her feet did not wish to cooperate.
“Who are you?” she called, noting an unusual shadow on the other side of the close.
“Is someone there?” She thought there was a movement in the opening, but she continued to study the dark spot against the lighter wood shingles.
Her heart hitched higher when a raspy voice declared, “You have something that belongs to me.”
Before Victoria could respond, there was a loud crash, sounding as if someone had thrown a stack of metal plates against the wall of the empty shop on the other side of the close, which was followed by what could only be a female voice crying out the word “Help.”
“Cassandra?” Victoria pleaded. “Had the voice been that of her sister?” “Cassandra?” Victoria plunged forward into the surrounding darkness in an attempt to reach the shadow and the sound of her sister’s voice. “Where had that bit of dawn gone?”
“Victoria!” a gravelly voice called out, and this time she was confident it was her sister. Without considering the consequences, Victoria stumbled forward, as one shadowy figure jerked another back towards a now open door in the empty shop. She lifted her skirt to give chase.
Running steps could be heard, but Victoria’s attention was on the two shadows disappearing into the gaping darkness of the former jewelry shop. She slid in the slime covering the bricked opening and nearly lost her footing.
What sounded of a bullet being fired whizzed past her head seconds before someone lifted her from harm’s way. Carrying her towards the street and setting her down solidly beside the first of the shop walls, a tall, solid body pinned her against the frame of the building.
Though she could not see over her rescuer’s shoulder, she could hear shouts of alarm among those out on London’s streets—those just beginning their day.
Strong thighs and a muscular chest held her against the side of the shop. “You may release me, my lord,” she said as she pushed against his shoulders.
Instead of setting her free, he glared down at her. “Do you have the least sense God gave all his creatures?” he accused.
She attempted to push him away a second time, but to no avail. “You thought me quite bright with my suggestion of a monogram,” she declared in her own defense.
“He meant to shoot you! Did you not see his gun?” he demanded. “I could… could not…” He broke off what he wished to say, but she understood immediately, for she, too, felt something was happening between them, though it had not yet found its footing.
Victoria sucked in a steadying breath. “You are still supposed to be abed,” she stated the obvious. Ironically, Lord Thompson still pinned her against the wall, but not so aggressively as he did previously.
As she had become accustomed to his nature to analyze and hash out all the facts, he continued to speak to her of what had transpired. “Did you recognize the figure?”
“Figures,” she corrected.
“I only saw one shadow,” he stated with a frown she could not see, but she recognized the tension in his body, which spoke of the uncertainty found in his voice. His lordship was definitely frowning.
“But I distinctly heard two voices,” she assured. “One a male and one I believed to be Cassandra.”
The noise on the street had returned to what passed for normal in London. With another sigh of resignation, he looked off to view what he thought he saw before he peeled himself off her. Victoria knew instant regret: She liked the warmth and protection his body held.
“Are you harmed?” he asked.
“No.”
Despite her assurances, he ran his hands down her arms.
“Are you harmed?” she inquired in return. The man was customarily too serious.
He ignored her question. “Must I worry every time you depart Mr. Sustar’s shop for home?”
Whether she liked it or not, his armor was back in place, and it made her sad in many ways, though his use of “home” had executed an odd sensation streaming in her chest and into her private parts.
“How did you know to seek me out this morning?” she asked while ignoring his question.
She started around him, but he remained where he once held her, not completely releasing her from his protective embrace.
“Brunswick noted a man’s shadow in the close the last two mornings,” he admitted. “Such is the reason for my presence today.”
“A man?” she demanded, “but I would swear I heard Cassandra’s voice. Definitely a female voice.”