Chapter 5 #2
He sighed, obedient as a schoolboy, and swallowed it with a theatrical shudder. ‘You are far too much like your grandmother,’ he said weakly, ‘only kinder.’
‘That is the nicest thing anyone has said to me all evening,’ she said, smiling despite herself. ‘Oh, Father, I wish you had come tonight. The most dreadful thing happened—’
Concern flickered across his face. ‘Did your mother make a scene again?’
‘No,’ Charlotte said. ‘She was perfectly herself, which is bad enough. But there was—’
A sudden fit of coughing cut her off. His face turned an alarming shade of pale; a bead of sweat glistened on his temple.
Charlotte sprang up, calling for a maid, then helped him to his bedchamber. When he was settled and breathing easier, she sat beside him until the colour returned to his cheeks.
‘What were you saying, my Char?’ he asked at last, his voice thin but steady.
She hesitated. The truth lodged in her throat. ‘Nothing important, Papa. You must rest. Truly, you look very ill.’
‘Hmm,’ he murmured. ‘I think there is, but I shall wrangle it from you tomorrow, when I am not quite so indisposed.’ His eyes twinkled. ‘You look troubled, I can tell.’
Charlotte laughed softly. ‘Papa, you always have an uncanny ability to read my mind. But I shall only tell you if you get better quickly.’
‘Ah, my favourite medicine—a good mystery,’ he said, closing his eyes. ‘Do stay a while, Char. The house feels less cruel when you are in it.’
She stayed until he drifted into sleep, the firelight painting soft amber across his worn features.
The sight tightened something in her throat; she had not noticed before how frail he looked.
He was her one true ally in a world of sharp tongues.
But she could not burden him now—not in his present weakness.
Instead, she would confide in one of her trusted friends, someone with the strength to listen.
The next morning dawned grey, and Charlotte sat waiting in the morning room when Anne Lucas finally arrived.
She was slight of frame, quiet, yet indomitably clever.
Her timid manner owed much to a difficult upbringing, though amongst friends she was far more at ease, having long since emerged from her shell.
‘I came the moment I received your letter,’ she said in her soft voice, settling herself carefully upon the sofa. ‘What happened?’
Charlotte obliged, recounting the events of the ball.
As Anne listened, her gentle expression shifted from open curiosity to horror. Shock broke through her usual reserve as she cried, ‘The Odd Fellows! Grace would be beside herself if she knew. After all the trouble she and the Duke went through to shut down those brothels in London!’
Charlotte sighed. ‘Yes, well, I doubt even Grace could march across the sea fast enough to help now. She and His Grace are halfway to India. By the time any letter reaches them, they will be travelling back.’
‘This Wilberforce fellow—where have I heard that name?’ Anne wondered.
‘I’ve no idea,’ said Charlotte dismissively.
Anne perched on the edge of the sofa and laid a hand over her friend’s. ‘So what will you do? Lord Stanley is hunting the girl in yellow—you. And from what I hear, he is most tenacious. The maid who helped you change will remember soon enough.’
Charlotte covered her face with her hands. ‘Do not remind me. I am only too aware. His Royal Haughtiness has likely set his Bow Street Runners upon me, I am sure,’ she muttered.
Anne inclined her head slightly. ‘He has reason for his reputation for aloofness—and, well, for being generally disagreeable. His father disowned him when he turned... Ottoman.’
Charlotte paused. ‘Really?’
‘When he converted...’ Anne lowered her voice into a conspiratorial whisper, as if sharing a state secret, ‘to Islam, they say, he travelled through the Ottoman Empire for years. His father cut off his allowance and told him he was not welcome in England. I hear even his friends and family turned their backs on him.’
‘I had no idea.’ Charlotte felt a pang of sympathy for him—but only a little; the sentiment was washed away by the memory of the way he had coldly humiliated her in the card room.
‘He turned to dealing in trade and antiquities to make ends meet. When his father died, he inherited the baronacy, of course. He returned to England rich, but... changed. People say he is indifferent and heartless now. Hence the name: the Ice Baron.’
Charlotte pressed her fingers to her temples. ‘Wonderful. I saved the life of the Ice Baron who thinks of me as a hoyden and a murderer. What would Mama say if she ever found out?’
Anne smiled, a rare and fleeting expression she reserved only for her friends.
‘She would faint first. Then revive, and faint again for good measure. And once she had recovered, she would immediately begin devising a plan to secure his title and fortune for you.’ She cast Charlotte a sly glance.
‘Rumour has it he is excessively handsome?’
Charlotte laughed despite herself. ‘Handsome is one word for it.’
More like devastatingly beautiful, she thought, though she did not say so aloud.
‘Well, he may soon have greater concerns,’ Anne said. ‘The Odd Fellows are clearly plotting something. If they arrange one “accident”, they may attempt another.’
‘Which is precisely why I must warn him,’ Charlotte said. ‘Or he may well end up dead.’ She fidgeted with her bracelet. ‘But I do not wish to expose myself to further scrutiny.’
She fell silent for a moment, then added, ‘I had thought of sending an anonymous letter...’
‘That is a sensible idea,’ Anne said. ‘Tell him everything you heard—what the dying boy said—everything. Then he may manage the matter himself, and your conscience will be eased.’
‘What if he discovers I wrote it?’
‘Send your maid. Sarah is capable; she will manage,’ Anne replied.
Charlotte tapped her chin. ‘That may be wise. With luck, he will cease searching for me and turn his attention to the true culprit—this Lord W, whoever he may be.’
Anne nodded, then said, ‘What if we could find Lady Bamber’s guest list? We might identify him first.’
Charlotte stared. ‘Are you mad? Do you wish to be murdered next? The man stabbed his own accomplice! I am not traipsing through the ton playing an amateur Bow Street Runner. Besides, if I called upon Lady Bamber’s house and demanded to see her guest list, she would immediately become suspicious!’
‘Oh!’ Anne exclaimed suddenly—something she rarely did, causing Charlotte to spill her tea.
Anne sprang to her feet. ‘I knew I had heard the name Wilberforce before. You remember I am looking to go into service.’
‘Er...’ Unsure where her friend was going with this, Charlotte said, ‘You mean because of your father’s gambling debts?’
‘Yes. I was looking for a governess or companion position,’ Anne said, unfazed.
She rummaged through her enormous sewing bag and produced a folded newspaper, spreading it across her lap.
‘Look here—an advertisement for a governess and a nursemaid, urgently wanted, for a Mrs Wilberforce in Cheshire. A boy of eight. It says, “references desirable but not essential.”’
Charlotte squinted and, as if reading her friend’s mind, said, ‘You cannot be serious.’
‘Look at the address—it is near Alderley Park. That is Lord Stanley’s estate, is it not? What if Wilberforce and Stanley are connected—neighbours, or perhaps business associates?’
Charlotte’s brow furrowed. ‘You think the Odd Fellows mean to target him next?’
‘Perhaps,’ Anne said. ‘If I applied for the position, I might learn something. And I could recommend my own maid for the nursemaid’s post.’
‘Absolutely not,’ Charlotte said at once. ‘It is far too dangerous.’
‘It is not as though I shall announce myself as a sleuth,’ Anne returned.
Charlotte shook her head in exasperation. ‘What could you possibly do there? And what about your... difficulty?’
Anne’s difficulty was that she could scarcely manage more than a few syllables in conversation with any gentleman, the rest dissolving into a stammer or incoherent fragments.
‘Well, I shall not be required to speak to gentlemen as a governess,’ Anne said. ‘Only to the mistress of the house. I could observe... or, at the very least, warn this Mr Wilberforce of the danger he is in—through his wife, of course.’ She hesitated slightly at the end.
Charlotte gaped, astonished by her sudden boldness. ‘Anne, you cannot become a governess merely to snoop. You cannot even speak to your cousins’ children for longer than a minute.’
Anne faltered. ‘True. But I can... write instructions on a chalkboard.’
Charlotte tried not to smile. ‘You would not last a week.’
‘Then they will dismiss me, and I shall have lost nothing,’ Anne said. ‘But if, by chance, they hire me—well, I might uncover something useful. Perhaps even the truth about this Lord W. After all, who would suspect a governess of anything untoward?’
Charlotte regarded her in equal parts admiration and horror. ‘You are quite insane.’
‘Possibly. But I need to get away from... them. I cannot endure it much longer.’
Understanding dawned. She was desperate to escape her father and brothers. Charlotte sighed softly. ‘Very well. Apply. It will keep you occupied and out of mischief in London.’ She smiled, knowing it was highly unlikely Anne would secure the position. ‘But you must be cautious.’
Anne nodded solemnly. ‘Caution is my middle name. Well, technically it is Margaret—but close enough.’
Charlotte shook her head, smiling. ‘Who knew that beneath all that gentleness, you could be so incorrigible?’
Anne rose, tying her bonnet. ‘When the Ice Baron himself comes knocking at your door, begging forgiveness, remember it was my incorrigibility that set him straight.’
Charlotte lifted an eyebrow. ‘When that happens, Anne, I shall name my firstborn after you.’
‘Good heavens—spare the child that curse.’ Anne’s small frame slipped from the room, a determined look upon her face.
When the door shut behind her, Charlotte sat in silence for a long while, watching dust motes dance in the slant of light. Her heart felt lighter. Perhaps, between her anonymous letter and Anne’s unusual bravery, something good might come of it after all.
For now, she would remain what she had always been: invisible, careful, and overlooked. And no, she did not regret not coming forward when he asked for her. It would not do to bring more trouble to her door when she was scarcely surviving within her own family.