Chapter Eleven
Mel arrived back at the tower long after their usual time and with a diminished group of brothers. Not only had the five would-be grooms not returned, Cornelius had returned to Spitalfields and his wife and child.
“We shall sleep, and then talk,” Lord Kemble decreed. Since Mel could barely keep her eyes open, she didn’t argue.
She only had a couple of hours sleep before Kemble was there, shaking her awake.
“You just missed a visit from Baldwin,” he said. “He called to say they have the licenses from the Bishop of London and the weddings are to be all together, at St Margaret’s. I woke you because I thought you might wish to attend, Mrs. Blackmore.”
Mel sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest with one hand. “Yes. I’d like to.”
“Get ready then,” he said, and handed her a cup of coffee, made just the way she liked it. She sipped it as she set out a clean petticoat, other underthings, and her walking dress, and finished it as she fetched the jug of hot water someone—Kemble, she would lay odds—had set at her door.
He is far too fond of being in charge, but gestures like this are second nature to him. Even his habit of barking commands, annoying though it might be, was an aspect of his urge to look after those he perceived to be under his care.
Everything she put out to wear was designed to lace, hook or button at the side or the front, and she was soon washed and dressed. With her shoes on, and her bonnet and gloves in her hand, she was downstairs within twenty minutes of waking.
“A piece of toast to keep you going until the wedding breakfast?” asked Isaac.
Looking smart in formal day dress, with an immaculately tied cravat, he was juggling a couple of toasting forks before the fire.
“Jerome will be out in a minute, Allan is fetching something, and Gerard has gone ahead to procure a hackney.”
Mel had only had time for a few bites when Jerome emerged, already wearing an outer coat and a muffler, and carrying his hat.
“Ready, Mrs. Blackmore?” he asked, accepting one of Isaac’s slices of toast on his way to the hidden door. “Let’s go.”
Isaac was pulling on his own coat, and Mel dusted the crumbs of her fingers to do likewise. She tied on her bonnet even as she made for the door.
They had made it down a full circle of the spiral staircase to the first landing when a wall swung open, and someone stepped out.
Mel, her eyes adjusting to the sudden light from behind the newcomer, managed to keep her startled reaction from showing.
It was Kemble, of course, coming in from one of the lower rooms on the tower.
So, they were still accessible, after all.
Of course. This staircase was probably once the main way up and down the tower, before the top of it was hidden in the corner of the dining alcove, and probably those priests Kemble had mentioned yesterday had used the tunnels to come and go from the lower tower.
“I’ve selected five rings from the family jewelry stored in the lower tower,” Kemble said.
“Come.” And he hurried down the steps ahead of them all.
Just as well, for if he hadn’t been ahead of them, Mel would have walked right past the side tunnel into which he turned. Did he have a key to the gate?
But no, it was unlocked, and Gerard—who stood on the other side of it—locked it behind them as soon as they were all through.
“The hackney is waiting,” Gerard said, and sure enough, it was at the entry into the slightly wider street this alley met a dozen paces from the gate.
It was cramped with five of them inside, but the driver must have recently cleaned it, for it did not have an overwhelming smell of poverty, perspiration, and piss, like so many.
Even so, Kemble had thought ahead and put a blanket he had been carrying over his arm down on the seat to protect her gown. He really was very thoughtful.
London’s traffic was not yet at its peak. The morning deliveries were over and the upper classes had not yet begun their rounds of shopping, calls, and other outings. Nonetheless, it was busy enough that progress was slow.
“We could have walked just as fast,” Kemble commented. Had he read Mel’s thoughts? Probably. His amused smile hinted as much. “But this way, we are less likely to be seen and recognized. I do not want word of today’s business to reach my father before we have Isaac and Jerome safely away.”
About that! She had not yet had the chance to share the information about shipping. “I went to see the Satterthwaites last night because I know Christopher Satterthwaite has interests in shipping,” she said.
“Can he find us a berth?” Jerome asked, eagerly. “When do we leave?”
“Where are we going?” Isaac inquired. “Do we have a choice?”
“To leave within the next few days, he suggests one of two ships. One in which he has a seventy-five percent share is leaving from Southampton in two days, bound initially for Gibraltar and then on through the Mediterranean to Egypt.”
“Egypt,” said Isaac, reverently.
“The other belongs to Kopet Dag Shipping, and is in the Pool of London. It sails on tomorrow’s tide, and is bound for Venice, which is the home port of the Kopet Dag fleet.
Mr. Satterthwaite is close friends with Lord Alexander Winderfield, whose brother is the head of Kopet Dag, and he is sure that the owner’s cabin could be made available to you. ”
“Tomorrow!” Kemble made the word sound tragic, as if she had announced the sudden destruction of London by fire. He collected himself, and added, “Tomorrow is safer, and the distance to the Pool of London shorter. If Lord Alexander is able to arrange it, that would be the best ship.”
“Venice would be very interesting,” Jerome said to Isaac. “And once we are there, perhaps we can go on to Egypt.”
“That is true,” Isaac acknowledged. “And I am tired of never seeing daylight. Also, Italy is famous for its singers. Perhaps we shall be able to attend the opera.”
The smile that trembled on Kemble’s lips was a brave effort.
“I daresay you shall enjoy your Grand Tour, my dear brothers. I only wish I had time to find an experienced man to be your guide. Mrs. Blackmore, we are in your debt again. May we rely on you to make the arrangements with Mr. Satterthwaite? We shall, of course, pay the cost of passage.”
He really is a dear man. Mel nodded. “I shall visit the Satterthwaites after the wedding,” she said.
The hackney stopped in front of the church and they descended, the men all being careful to wrap their mufflers around their mouths. They were just in time. Four of the couples were already waiting in the church porch, and the fifth couple’s carriage drew up just as their hackney rolled away.
The wedding was a joint ceremony for all five couples, with few witnesses beyond the other brothers, Madam Hera, and one of the Golden Adonis’s maids, the one who used the name Aedas.
When the service reached the point where each groom in turn was to make his vows while placing a ring on his bride’s finger, Kemble came to each couple to present a gold ring, and shortly after that, the minister pronounced them all husband and wife.
The five couples signed the register, with Kemble and Mel as their witnesses, and they all shook hands with the minister. Kemble gave him an envelope. “A small token of our appreciation, sir,” he said. “You understand, I believe, that this matter must be held in confidence for the next week.”
“Yes, my lord,” replied the minister. “Yes, indeed.”
Distracted by this interaction, Mel suddenly realized that Gerard had been in intense conversation with Aedas.
He now approached the minister. “Will you be available at half past seven tomorrow morning for a sixth wedding? My betrothed and I would like my brothers to attend, and two of them are leaving London later that morning.”
“Gerard!” Kemble exclaimed.
“Amber, have you met my brother Allan?” Gerard said to the woman on his arm. “Allan, you may remember Miss Amber Spense, the daughter of our next-door neighbor at the Teign estate in Essex.”
It was a rare delight to see Kemble, who prided himself on being always in control, so flummoxed that his jaw dropped. He collected himself rapidly, however. “Miss Spense? The Miss Spense the marquess arranged for you to marry two years ago? The one who ran?”
“Gerard and I arranged for me to disappear,” said Miss Spense, looking pleased with herself.
“I found work with Madam Hera. Imagine my delight when Gerard began working at the Golden Adonis.” She hugged Gerard’s arm and looked up into his eyes as he gazed back, both with that look of poleaxed pleasure that she had seen on the other couples around her.
Mel refused to countenance the twinge of jealousy, and chose to embrace pleasure in their obvious happiness, instead. “How wonderful you can now be free to marry,” she said.
“My lord,” said the minister. “If you can acquire a license by tomorrow, I should be happy to perform the ceremony.”
*
Her friend Winifred, now Lady Francis, insisted on taking Mrs. Blackmore to visit the Satterthwaites. “Yes, Lord Kemble,” she assured Allan. “I shall have the carriage drop Frank and myself at our home, and return to convey Mrs. Blackmore wherever she pleases.”
“I shall return to the tower as soon as I know the details of the arrangement,” Mrs. Blackmore told him, and Allan had to be satisfied with that.
“Here is the key to the door from which I emerged earlier,” he said. “We’ll be in there.”
She took it and smiled.
I would do a great deal for one of Mrs. Blackmore’s smiles. Allan squelched the fleeting thought as she disappeared into Lady Francis’s carriage, the footman closed the door, and the carriage drew away.
It was just the plethora of weddings that was turning his mind in such a direction. He’d been married once, and it was a disaster. In any case, despite his brothers’ determination to defy fate and the marquess, he had no intention of bringing anyone else into the chaos that was their family.