Elizabeth Mansfield (2 page)

Mr. Chast, ignoring her, frowned angrily at his clerk. “
Well
, Dorking?” he demanded in a tone that clearly revealed his dislike of public scenes.

“Sorry, Mr. Chast, but it’s this ladybird,” the clerk said, his demeanor suddenly becoming obsequious. “She’s trying to—”

“Keep your voice down, man!” Mr. Chast chastised. “And you will
not
refer to any of our patrons as ladybirds, is that clear?”

The clerk bit his underlip in chagrin. “Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. But I do get so sick of these ‘ladies’ who try to filch goods. Thirteen an’ four worth of cambric I cut for her, and now she says she handed me a guinea, which I swear on my mother’s grave she never did.”

“But I
did
!” Miss Chivers insisted, turning a pair of large, pleading eyes on the linendraper. “A whole guinea. All I had with me. I p-placed it right in his p-palm.”

Mr. Chast studied the girl carefully. She was a small, pale-skinned creature with a pair of lovely, dark, expressive eyes and a wealth of curly auburn hair which she’d crammed haphazardly into a dowdy
brown bonnet.
At least she’s not one of the nobs
, he told himself in relief. It would not have been the first time that a member of the
ton
tried to cheat one of his clerks. Bitter experience had proved that the nobility were just as prone to dishonesty as the rest of humanity. The difficulty was in getting justice when it was a nob you were dealing with. Mr. Chast had very painful memories of trying to exact payment from an earl whose daughter had filched a bolt of figured damask. He’d been thrown out on his ear! But
this
person, thank goodness, was not an earl’s daughter … or even a baronet’s. No baronet’s daughter—or any young lady of the
ton
—would appear in public in such sturdy shoes and so drab a bonnet.

But she wasn’t a street urchin either, he decided, for her dress was well-cut and her spencer was lined with a satin of excellent quality. She seemed a respectable type … not the sort who would perpetrate a fraud. Still, one could never be sure of a person’s honesty by appearance. “Mr. Dorking has been with Hollings and Chast for twenty years, my girl,” he said to the frightened creature before him. “I have never known him to lie. If he said you didn’t give him the coin, then I must believe him.”

“He may n-not be lying, s-sir,” the girl managed, struggling to hold back her tears, “but he is s-surely m-mistaken.”

“I certainly am not,” the clerk insisted. “If I were, we would see the coin somewhere about, wouldn’t we? And we’d see thirteen shillings fourpence entered here in my sales ledger, wouldn’t we? But there’s no such figure in the ledger—see for yourself, Mr. Chast!—and no such coin on the premises, either.”

“Mr. Dorking does seem to be in the right of it, miss,” Mr. Chast said to the girl in a voice that was firm though not unkind. “I’m sorry, but I don’t see what else we can do but ask you to leave.”

The beleaguered girl burst into tears. “But I
c-can’t
. I live n-north of King’s Cross. The ch-change from the g-guinea was to p-pay for a h-hack to t-take me
home
!”

“Enough of this,” muttered the cavalry officer who’d been watching the scene with mounting disgust. “Stop torturing the young lady. Anyone can see she’s telling the truth.”

Only one who knows the horror of being utterly alone in a sea of antagonists can guess the emotion that swept over Cassie Chivers at the sound of those trusting words.
Someone believed in her
! It was like rain to a dying bloom, a lifeline to a drowning swimmer, a gush of air to someone gasping for breath. Her heart leaped into her throat, and her eyes turned instinctively to see who it was who’d stepped forward to offer her aid. Whatever he looked like—old, ugly, scrawny, wizened or gross—she was quite prepared to find him beautiful. But she was not prepared for what she saw: a tall magnificence in a red coat blazoned with gold braid, tight-fitting white breeches and knee-high black boots, with a sword dangling at his side and a plumed shako held under his arm. He seemed quite literally to be a knight-in-arms. It was as if he’d ridden out of a medieval romance to enter the battle in her behalf. She could not believe her eyes. Perhaps she was not seeing clearly, she thought. After all, everything did look fuzzy through the tears that still clouded her eyes.

Meanwhile, the “knight,” taking no notice of the astonishment in her face, strode past Mr. Chast and threw a guinea onto the counter. “Give the chit her goods and the change,” he ordered, “and let her go.”

Cassie Chivers blinked her eyes to clear her vision. But what she now saw—and with perfect clarity—made her rescuer seem even more unreal. This couldn’t be happening to her, she thought. Not to Cassie Chivers. Cassie Chivers was not accustomed to miracles, yet here she was being championed by the handsomest man she’d ever in her life beheld.

Chapter Two

Mr. Chast’s first instinct was to tell the interfering officer—tactfully, of course—to keep his sneezer out of shop business. But after taking a closer glance, he changed his mind. His eyebrows rose. He peered at the soldier in surprise. There was something about the fellow—an air of assurance, an ease of manner, a tone of command—that the linendraper had trained himself to recognize. He knew nobility when he saw it. The uniform of a cavalry officer might very well clothe a peer of the realm. This fellow was a nob, if he knew anything about it. Besides, there was something about the set of the officer’s square chin that made one reluctant to cross him.

Mr. Chast had no intention of crossing him. Instead he bowed politely and said, “That is most gallant of you, sir. I’m sure this young lady will gratefully accept your kind assistance, won’t you, miss?”

Cassie’s dark eyes flicked quickly from one face to the other before she lowered them and shook her head. “I do thank you,” she murmured, “but … no.”

“
No
?” Mr. Chast’s temper flared up in irritation. Why was the girl prolonging the scene that was obviously more painful for her than for anyone else? “Did I hear you aright, ma’am? Did you say
no
?”

“Good God, man, don’t bark at her!” the officer ordered. “Don’t you see the young lady’s frightened?” He turned to the girl and smiled down at her reassuringly. “You needn’t fear my assistance, ma’am,” he said softly. “I mean you no harm. May I introduce myself? I am Captain Rossiter. Robert Rossiter, of the Light Dragoons.”

“
Rossiter
?” Mr. Chast tensed. “That’s the family name of the Viscount Kittridge, is it not? Are you, perhaps, a relation to his lordship?”

“I
am
Lord Kittridge,” the gentleman replied, “although I prefer to use my military rank while I still wear the uniform.” A charmingly rueful grin appeared on his face. “Unfortunately I can only call myself Captain Rossiter until tomorrow. This is my last day in service.”

Mr. Chast drew in a breath. The fellow was indeed a nob, just as he’d feared. In fact, the name was well known to him. The family of Viscount Kittridge had long been patrons of his establishment. This was the scion of a fine old family. Mr. Chast winced in annoyance. It was most unfortunate that so elevated a gentleman as the viscount had to involve himself in this sordid scene.

The girl, meanwhile, dropped a little curtsey. “Honored, my lord,” she murmured, barely lifting her eyes.

“Captain, please, ma’am, captain. And let me assure you, ma’am,” his lordship went on to explain, “that my only purpose in interfering in this matter is a desire to help you out of this ridiculous contretemps.”

“Yes, Captain, I understand,” the girl said shyly, keeping her head down and hoping that no one would notice the flush deepening in her cheeks. “I … I’m more grateful than I can say.” She tried to speak calmly, but her heart was pounding loudly in her breast. The word “grateful” hardly expressed what she felt. She was aware of so great a sense of relief that words could scarcely describe her feelings.
This magnificent knight—never mind that he was a mere cavalry officer to the rest of the world—had come to her aid. A moment ago she’d been more miserably helpless and alone than ever in her life before, terrified of being apprehended for thievery and sentenced to prison. But now, out of nowhere, had come this rescuer, tall and handsome and strong. An
ally
had risen up from among what had seemed to her a world full of enemies! It was miraculous! She could breathe again. His coming infused her blood with courage. With an ally, she could at last face her accusers with some semblance of confidence and stand up for her rights.

“You needn’t be grateful, girl,” her rescuer was saying. “You need only to accept the guinea I’ve offered you.”

“Please …” She hated to refuse him anything, but she had to. She lifted her hand as if to ward off a blow. “Don’t ask it of me. I … c-can’t.”

“But why can’t you?” he demanded.

She twisted her fingers together. “It’s a matter of … of principle.”

“Principle?” The tall officer peered down at her lowered head, bemused. “I don’t understand. What principle?”

She flicked another fleeting glance over his face before she dropped her eyes again. “It’s a matter of … of honor, Captain. If I accepted your assistance, my innocence would not be proved.” The words came slowly, as if the pronouncing of each one gave her pain. But she had to make this gentleman—this beautiful red and gold knight who’d inexplicably stood up on her behalf—understand why she was rejecting him. “Taking your money would be the same as admitting that I didn’t p-pay in the first place, don’t you see?”

The officer stared at her for a long moment. Then he shrugged. “I suppose I do,” he admitted, picking up his guinea and pocketing it reluctantly. “You want your word to be affirmed. The Truth Made Manifest, is that it?”

“Yes,” she admitted in her small voice. “Just so.”

“Mmm.” He rubbed his chin speculatively and then shrugged. “That means we shall have to
prove
your innocence somehow.” He turned to the linendraper. “How do you suggest we begin?”

Mr. Chast was disgusted. He would have to deal with a nob after all. But viscount or not, the fellow was not going to weaken his stand. The linendraper’s faith in his clerk was unshakable. “I’m afraid I haven’t a suggestion, my lord. Mr. Dorking has been my clerk for two decades. In all that time, I’ve never known him to be dishonest. It is hardly likely that he would have pocketed a guinea.”

“That’s sure as check,” the clerk muttered under his breath.

“On the other hand,” the captain pointed out, “although I’ve known this young woman no more than a few minutes, I feel just as sure she isn’t lying either. Let’s assume for a moment that they’re both telling the truth. In that case, the girl’s guinea would be here somewhere. How can we go about finding it?”

Mr. Chast took a deep breath in surrender. “Oh, very well. Let’s go over the incident in detail, Dorking. Tell us what happened, from the beginning.”

Mr. Dorking, who’d been basking in the glow of his employer’s support, suddenly began to feel put-upon. He didn’t like being made to defend himself, but he had no choice but to swallow his pride. “Yes, sir. If you say so, sir. From the beginning. This here ladybird came up to m—”

“Dorking!” Mr. Chast admonished.

“Sorry. The young lady came up to me asking for cambric. I showed her three or four bolts, and she chose the stripes here. Said she needed five yards. I measured them off and cut the piece.”

“Where did you do the cutting?” the officer asked.

“Right there, where the yardstick is.”

Captain Rossiter carefully inspected the counter and the floor below. There was no coin. “Very well,” he told the clerk. “Go on.”

Dorking smirked. “
Told
you there’s no guinea there.”

“Go
on
, I said!” Captain Rossiter snapped.

The smirk on Dorking’s face vanished at once. He’d finally perceived what Mr. Chast had noticed long before—that this gentleman was not one to cross. “Yes, m’lord. Sorry, m’lord,” he mumbled hurriedly and proceeded with his tale. “After I cut the goods, I folded it like always and then I went to the table there, where we keep the wrapping paper, and I made up the parcel. Then I took it over to the lady, handed it over and asked for thirteen shillings fourpence. And that’s when she said, I already gave you a guinea. But she never did.”

“No,” the girl said, glancing from one to the other fearfully. “It wasn’t like that.”

“Then give us
your
account, ma’am,” the officer urged. “Go on. There’s no need to be afraid.”

The girl clenched her fists bravely. “He … he cut the cambric, brought it here where I was standing and folded it in front of me. It was then, you see, that I handed him the guinea. I
did, truly
! He took the coin and the fabric, turned and walked away to the wrapping table.”

“Hang it,” the clerk burst out, “it’s a damn lie! She never—!”

“Dorking, watch your blasted tongue!” the linendraper hissed.

Captain Rossiter knit his brow in thought. “If she
had
given you the guinea, Mr. Dorking, what would you have done with it?” he asked.

“Dropped it in the cash box, of course,” Dorking answered promptly. “But she didn’t.”

“But what if she did? Where is the cash box?”

“Right there, on the table near the wrapping things.”

“Ah!” The captain’s eyes lit. “Isn’t it possible that you could have dropped the coin in the cash box before you wrapped the parcel? Without thinking about it?”

Mr. Dorking was not going to back down, even for a nob. Even for a nob as awesome as this one. He shook his head firmly. “No, my lord, not at all possible.”

“But why not? What if you were thinking of something else? You could have dropped the coin in the cash box quite automatically, couldn’t you? It
is
possible, I suspect. Dropping coins in the box must surely be a habit by this time. After all, it is something you do all day, every day.”

“It isn’t likely he wouldn’t be aware of it,” Mr. Chast put in. “You see, when he puts money in the cash box, he must note the amount on his ledger.”