Cinderella Sister (22 page)

That evening in a private room at the Prospect of Whitby, Lily barely tasted any of the hearty meal that Armand had ordered. The mulligatawny soup was undoubtedly delicious even if Aggie complained that she would suffer all night after such a rich dish. The roast turkey with all the accompaniments was eaten with relish and washed down with copious glasses of red wine, although her brothers chose ale for preference. The plum pudding was a triumph and was brought into the room ablaze with warmed brandy, but Lily only toyed with a mouthful. Matt, seated on her left, was only too willing to finish it for her, and only Luke, seated on her right, seemed to notice that she was not in the best of sorts.

‘Are you all right, Lil?’ he whispered. ‘You’ve hardly eaten anything.’

‘I’m fine,’ she answered softly. ‘Just a bit of a headache.’

‘I’m not surprised with all this noise,’ Luke said, casting a glance around the table at the laughing faces flushed with a surfeit of good food and fine wine. Mark was telling jokes that even made Grandpa chuckle and brought a smile to Aggie’s lips, while Eugene and Armand vied for Nell’s attention. Molly had chosen to sit next to Armand and she was assiduous in her attempts to divert his attention from her sister. Lily felt vaguely sorry for Nell, who had done nothing to invite the attention of either of the gentlemen at her side. She looked small and delicate as she sat between them, like a pale flower trapped between two strong saplings. Molly on the other hand was definitely a briar rose, throwing out thorny tendrils in her attempts to reach the sunlight, which in her case would be a smile from Armand.

Lily’s fingers itched to sketch the scene; the faces pale and lustrous in the candlelight and the deep shadows in the corners of the room where the glow from the roaring log fire could not reach.

‘A penny for them,’ Luke said, chuckling. ‘You’ve been somewhere else all evening, Lil.’

She turned to him, forcing her lips into a smile. ‘I’m a bit tired. I think I’d like to go home.’

‘Are you unwell?’

‘No, I’ll be perfectly fine in the morning.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I don’t get much sleep thanks to Aggie’s snoring and Molly’s feet sticking in my ear.’

He squeezed her hand beneath the tablecloth. ‘At least you don’t have to listen to Grandpa wheezing and grunting all night. The cattle in Smithfield make less noise than he does.’

‘You look tired, Lily,’ Nell said, interrupting the flow of Eugene’s oratory as he attempted to talk Armand down. ‘Perhaps we should go home and leave the men to their port and cigars.’

Armand half rose to his feet. ‘No, please stay, Miss Nell. We do not make our ladies leave the table in Paris. We value their company too much.’

‘Gallantly said, sir,’ Eugene said, flushing angrily. ‘But if Miss Larkin wishes to go home, I will gladly escort her and her sisters.’

Nell stood up and both Armand and Eugene leapt to their feet. ‘No, please,’ she murmured, turning to Armand. ‘Don’t leave your own party. Luke will see us home.’ She cast a meaningful look at her brother.

‘I was going to offer.’ Luke rose from the table. ‘Lily’s got a headache and I could do with an early night. We were on a shout in the early hours and I’m ready for bed.’

Aggie heaved her body from her chair, her face shining with perspiration and her cheeks flushed. ‘Ta ever so for the dinner, Mr Armand. I haven’t had a feast like that for a long time.’

‘Get on home, woman,’ Grandpa said, scowling. ‘Don’t show us up.’

Matt raised his glass to Armand. ‘It was a splendid meal, but it’s not over yet. Sit down, Armand, and you too, Eugene. The night is still young and Luke will see
the girls safely home. It’s still Christmas and I intend to make the most of it.’

‘Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you, Miss Nell?’ Armand asked in a tone that sounded more like a plea than a suggestion.

Molly jumped up, tossing her fiery curls. ‘I’d like you to escort me, Armand. Never mind my ungrateful sister. Anyway, she’s got the schoolmaster.’

‘That’s enough, Molly.’ Nell’s sharp retort made everyone stare at her in surprise, and she blushed rosily. ‘I mean, we don’t want to drag Armand out onto the icy pavements at this time of night. To fall on a recently recovered limb might do irreparable damage.’

Armand opened his mouth as if to protest but Eugene had snatched up Nell’s shawl and was wrapping it around her shoulders. ‘I must be going anyway. I have an early start in the morning.’

‘The school is closed tomorrow and Sunday,’ Molly snapped. ‘There’s no need for you to follow us like a lovesick puppy.’

Lily could see Matt’s brow darken and Grandpa looked as though he would like to slap Molly for her cheek. Nell appeared close to tears and only Mark seemed oblivious to the storm of emotions in the room. He was cracking walnuts with his teeth and dropping them one by one into his glass of wine. ‘Splendid meal, Armand old chap,’ he said, looking up with a grin. ‘What d’you say to a flagon of buttered rum to finish off with?’

That seemed to finish the argument as Armand was obliged to ring for the waiter. With a triumphant
flourish, Eugene proffered his arm to Nell and they left the parlour followed somewhat reluctantly by Molly and Aggie.

Lily laid her hand on Luke’s shoulder. ‘I’ll go with them,’ she whispered. ‘Mr Sadler will see us safely home. There’s no need for you to come.’

All the way home Lily listened to Aggie grumbling that she would have liked to stay and sample the fine Stilton cheese that had been brought to the table, and Molly’s constant carping on the fact that were it not for Mr Sadler’s interference, Armand would have escorted them.

It had been a day fraught with emotion and Lily was glad to lie down in bed, even though Molly tossed and turned, pulling the coverlet up to her chin and exposing her feet as they rested on the pillow close to Lily’s head. Aggie had fallen asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, but Lily could tell by her soft breathing that Nell was wide awake. Most young women would be delighted to have captured the hearts of two eligible men. Molly would have crowed her triumph from the rooftops, but Nell was different. Lily knew that it was not in her nature to be flirtatious or to enjoy hurting the feelings of another person. Nell would have cut off her right arm rather than wound someone who loved her. Lily lay still, willing sleep to come and relieve her of her worries. She heard the distant chimes of the clock in St James’s church tower strike midnight, then one and two, and her brothers stomped up the stairs not long afterwards, laughing and shushing each other
in their tipsy attempts to keep quiet as they manhandled Grandpa into their room.

The building lapsed once again into a drowsy silence but sleep still evaded Lily. What worried her most was Christian Smith’s threat to expose the family scandal in his newspaper. She dared not tell her brothers. Matt was a fair man but he had a temper when roused, as did the normally easy-going Mark. She knew instinctively that any attempts to suppress the story or threats on Christian’s person would only make matters worse. Luke was the diplomat of the family, but she doubted whether his gentle nature would stand up to Christian’s bullying ways. Drifting off to sleep eventually, she realised that there was only one course open to her. Gabriel had given her his card; tomorrow morning, when everyone went about their daily business or slept off the excesses of the previous night, she would visit Gower Street and hope to find him at home. He was a man of the world, and he might know how to put a stop to the story before it became public knowledge.

‘This is a respectable house. I don’t allow my gentlemen to entertain females on my premises.’

Lily shifted from one foot to the other as she stood on the doorstep of Gabriel’s lodging house. It had taken much longer to walk to Gower Street than she had estimated, and the sky was heavy with the threat of more snow to come. The landlady, a tall thin woman with a face that showed traces of past good looks worn into lines by hard work and ill temper, barred the entrance
like Cerberus at the gates of hell. Her tight-lipped cynical expression suggested that she viewed the whole world with distrust, and young unattached females in particular.

‘If you please, ma’am,’ Lily said humbly, ‘could you ask Mr Faulkner to spare me a few minutes out here in the street? What I have to say to him won’t take long.’

‘I don’t hold with artists and models. We all know what they get up to in private. I suppose you are one of them.’ The emphasis on the word
them
was accompanied by a sarcastic sneer.

‘I’m neither, ma’am. In fact I’m related to Mr Faulkner,’ Lily said, adding truthfully, ‘in a way.’

‘They all say that. Mr Faulkner has sisters aplenty, and cousins too. Now be on your way before I call a constable.’

Lily glanced over her shoulder as she felt the eyes of passers-by boring into her back. She knew she was blushing but it was from embarrassment and not guilt. She could tell by the landlady’s intractable stare that she was not going to get past her, but then she remembered Christian Smith and she was desperate. ‘Gabriel,’ she shouted. ‘If you are in there please come out. It’s Lily.’

‘Well, I never,’ the landlady exclaimed, bristling. ‘The brass neck of the girl.’ She was about to slam the door when Gabriel materialised beside her as if by magic.

‘Lily, my dear little sister. I thought I recognised your voice.’

‘Is this one of your tales, Mr Faulkner?’

Gabriel edged past her. ‘Mrs Lovelace, would I lie to you?’

‘Frequently, sir.’

‘I’m mortified that you think so little of me.’ Gabriel beckoned to Lily. ‘Come inside out of the cold.’

Lily needed no second bidding, and she stepped into the entrance hall.

Mrs Lovelace regarded them with a quirk of her pencil-thin eyebrows. ‘If this young person is your sister you may take her into the front parlour.’

‘You are a wonderful woman, Mrs Lovelace,’ Gabriel said, throwing the door open. ‘Could I presume on your good nature a little further and request a tray of coffee? My sister looks perished.’

‘If you insist.’ Mrs Lovelace stalked off, the tilt of her head and twitch of her shoulders radiating disapproval as she disappeared into the dim recesses of the house. Lily entered the parlour, wrinkling her nose at the smell of camphor and lavender oil.

‘It is a bit strong, isn’t it?’ Gabriel said, chuckling. ‘Dear Mrs Lovelace has declared war on moths. Every piece of cloth in the house is soaked in camphor or lavender oil and sometimes both.’ He pulled up a chair upholstered in green velvet, the colour, Lily noted, of the slime on the stone steps leading down to the river. She perched on the chair, blinking as her eyes grew accustomed to the gloomy interior of the room. Dark green velvet curtains were drawn across the windows and Lily found herself wondering if Mrs Lovelace had a dislike of daylight as well as moths, but even in the twilight room it was obvious that her devotion to cleanliness was carried out with religious fervour. The heavy furniture stood self-consciously on
the polished floorboards like visitors to a museum standing before strange artefacts from foreign lands. The mantelshelf was heavily draped with matching velvet and crowded with ugly china ornaments. A fire was laid in the grate with the kindling set in a rigid pattern but it remained unlit, and the temperature in the room was little warmer than that outside.

Lily felt ill at ease but Gabriel seemed to sense her discomfort and he strode across the room to open the curtains, dodging the stiff-backed chairs and a whatnot crammed with figurines and topped with an aspidistra. A cold white light flooded the room, making it appear even chillier and less appealing than before. He moved swiftly to the fireplace and struck a vesta, igniting the tightly curled newspapers and sending flames licking round the kindling and lumps of shiny black coal. ‘There, that will catch in a few minutes and make things more cheery.’ He turned to Lily with eyebrows raised. ‘What is it, Lily? Something dire must have occurred to bring you all the way to Gower Street.’

‘Is it true?’ Lily demanded. ‘Are you Everard Faulkner’s son?’

His lips twitched. ‘It’s no secret. We share the same name.’

‘It’s not funny, and you haven’t answered my question.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you, and yes, it is true.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me that at the outset?’

He pulled up a chair and sat down beside her, leaning forward with his hands on his knees and a serious
expression on his face. ‘I didn’t want to scare you off. I realised that you knew almost nothing about Charlotte’s way of life, and I saw how her desertion had affected your whole family.’

‘But you asked me to visit her all the same.’

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t have done that, and maybe I ought not to have told her that I’d met you by chance, but I believe she’s sincere in her desire to make amends for leaving her family.’

Lily shook her head. ‘I’m not sure that’s possible, Gabriel. How did you come to terms with what happened?’

‘I was upset at the time, and at first I would have nothing to do with my father or with Charlotte, but over the years I suppose I’ve grown accustomed to their unconventional lifestyle.’

‘So what changed?’

‘I grew up, and I realised that my parents had endured a loveless marriage. I stopped blaming my father for falling in love with another woman, and I accepted the fact that they were living their lives as they wanted, even though they were frowned on by society in general.’

She was silent for a moment as she considered this statement. Her own family had not been so generous and she herself had condemned her mother without ever wondering what had led her to abandon her family. She raised her eyes and found Gabriel staring at her with understanding and compassion, as though he could read her thoughts and sympathised with her dilemma.

‘It’s hard, isn’t it?’ he said softly. ‘And you were obviously much younger than I when it all happened.’ He laid his hand on her arm but withdrew it hastily as the door opened and a chubby-cheeked servant girl entered the room carrying a tray. He leapt to his feet and took it from her. ‘Thank you, Mary.’

A rosy blush suffused her freckled face and she bobbed a curtsey. ‘You’re welcome, Mr Gabriel. Can I get you anything else?’