Julia Justiss (8 page)

“If you wish plain speaking, then I must say I am delighted to discover that a young lady as sought after as you are still retains the unaffected manners and common sense
I
remember with such fondness. Along, I expect, with a mischievous desire to sometimes do the unexpected.”

“Alas, I can seldom allow myself that indulgence! Now that we are so much in Society, I owe Mama and Papa good behavior. But though I shall never be a Beauty, neither am I a fool. I tire of having to smile and demur at the compliments of highborn suitors whom I know, did I not possess a fortune, would never give me a second glance.”

“The more fools they,” Adam retorted.

Miss Standish’s eyes glittered with a sheen of tears. “Thank you,” she said quietly. “That is the other reason I agreed to drive out with you. Once you knew and liked me for myself. Oh, I know if I did not possess a fortune,
you probably would not have sought to rekindle our old friendship, but I also believe—and I cannot say this of any other man of my acquaintance—that my being an heiress would never be your most important motive for doing so.”

Taken aback and a bit humbled by her bluntness, Adam replied, “Thank you for your confidence in my character. Let me reaffirm that regardless of my family’s needs, I would never seek to win the favor of a lady I did not also admire and respect.”

“Now that we’ve settled that,” she said, brushing at the corners of her eyes, “we can both be comfortable. Let me tell you again how happy we are that you are finally back in England. Your father was a good neighbor to us and we grieved at his suffering. How hard it must have been for you, compelled by your duty to remain so far away!”

Adam nodded, heartened to discover how well she understood his dilemma. “With Bonaparte’s generals still wreaking havoc in Spain and Portugal, I couldn’t simply desert my post. Despite his infirmity, Papa commanded me to remain with Wellington where I might do some good, as he said there was nothing anyone but God could do for him. Still, it was…difficult.”

“Difficult, too, to return to find your estate in disorder.” When he looked over, startled, she pointed out, “We said there would be only plain speaking between us.”

Not so sure he liked blunt honesty after all, Adam said wryly, “I hope that not the whole of Society is privy to the true state of our fortunes.”

“I’m sure it is not!” she reassured him. “But remember, we are neighbors. With Claygate Manor so close, Papa couldn’t help but notice the property deteriorate over the years. Then when we heard it was to be let out…Not that you should blame poor Lady Darnell, who I expect did the best she could, but being by nature rather frivolous and lacking the firm hand on her household Mama has taught me to exercise, the decline was perhaps unavoidable.”

Before Adam could begin to take up cudgels in his stepmother’s defense, she added, “But one cannot expect a lady to master estate matters. Besides, under the most distressing circumstances, she remained a helpmate to your father through the whole of his long illness. Mama often pointed to her as an excellent example of wifely devotion. I only hope I may serve my own husband as well someday.”

Lips twitching, Adam was about to retort that he didn’t much relish the idea of languishing for years on a sickbed while his wife lovingly tended him. But Priscilla’s expression was so serious that, not wishing to offend her, he refrained from voicing that observation. “You will be just as excellent a wife to the gentleman fortunate enough to secure your hand,” he said instead.

Miss Standish gazed at him with a warmth that surprised him, even as it gratified his masculine sensibilities. “Then I must wait for the right gentleman to solicit it.”

At that moment he drove onto the carriageway at Hyde Park, where the throng of vehicles and strolling
pedestrians required him to refocus his attention on his horses. As they made their slow progress about the park, however, it soon became clear just how marked a favor Miss Standish had bestowed on him.

All down Rotten Row, the ladies or gentlemen whom they stopped to greet smiled at Miss Standish—and gave Adam frankly speculative looks. Although their conversation on the drive home was general rather than personal, Miss Standish describing for him the many activities he and the Darnell ladies could expect to enjoy during the Season, Adam began to wonder if taking Miss Standish driving had been such a wise idea after all.

He had the uncomfortable feeling that somehow in the space of a single afternoon he had catapulted from renewing an acquaintance to raising expectations among Society—and perhaps in the young lady—that an offer from him was imminent. And while he was certainly looking at her as a possible wife, he didn’t wish to have his hand forced.

Given that vague discomfort, when the young lady thanked him for the drive and then invited him to dine with her family three nights hence, Adam almost refused.

However, if he truly wished to get to know her well enough to decide whether or not to make that offer, it only made sense to accept. Having done so and given her his compliments, Adam drove off.

He was still examining his mixed feelings about courting Priscilla when he arrived at his club to meet Bennett Dixon for dinner. Before he’d even taken
his seat, his old friend came over to pound him on the back.

“You were always one to rush your fences,” Dix said, grinning. “So when am I to wish you happy?”

Trying to ignore the highly interested stares of a number of other club members, Adam said, “You are referring to my driving Miss Standish in the park—an event which was, apparently, witnessed by all the world and his brother?”

“Dash it, man, you can’t drive at the Promenade hour and
not
be seen by everyone,” Dix replied.

“Perhaps, but I must have missed something during my sojourn in foreign lands. Since when did a drive in the park become tantamount to a proposal of marriage?”

“When the lady accepting that solo invitation is Priscilla Standish,” Dix replied. “Given the vastness of her fortune, the chit can look as high as she likes for a husband. Not wishing to discourage any of the desirable contenders still manning the lists—and to keep the current suitors dangling—her parents have never before let the girl drive out with just one gentleman. Miss Standish must have raised quite a fuss to persuade them to allow it. You might as well have had heralds riding before you, announcing the banns.”

At that moment two dandies crossed the room, holding out what Adam recognized, with a sinking feeling, as the club’s betting book. “Care to enter a wager, Dix?” one of them asked, winking at Adam. “Odds are better than even that our hero here will be engaged by month’s end.”

Dix turned to grin at Adam. “See? Even I didn’t believe you could rout the competition so quickly.”

Adam took a swallow from the glass of wine Dix offered him. This was what he’d wanted—wasn’t it? He should be pleased at how quickly matters seemed to be progressing.

He needed a well-born, attractive lady he respected and admired who could manage his household and give him an heir. Miss Standish was all that, as well as a friend from childhood. And she was rich. What more could he ask?

It wasn’t as if he were waiting to fall in love. He’d experienced that heady infatuation once or twice in his salad days. The inevitable wrenching disappointment had taught him ’twas an indulgence best avoided by mature gentleman with familial obligations.

Still, a fiancée would doubtless expect him to dance attendance on her, limiting the time he would be able to spend with his family. Also limiting his ability to provide Charis, his stepmother—and their houseguest, once Bellemere deemed her presentable—with an escort.

The image of Miss Lambarth’s dark eyes and captivating smile flickered in his mind. He’d not seen her since he brought her home from the lawyer’s office. For a brief moment, he wondered how she was progressing.

Dismissing that concern, he assured himself he’d not been too precipitous, jumping with both boots into the business of courting Priscilla. But as he parried the gibes of his friends, he couldn’t quite stifle the little
voice at the back of his head warning him that the impetuosity that had had saved his skin on several occasions as a soldier might not have served the civilian quite so well.

T
HE FOLLOWING
T
HURSDAY
afternoon, Helena stood by a normally unused garden gate, the plain dark cloak Molly had smuggled to her masking her unmistakably genteel gown. A joyous excitement coursing through her, she congratulated herself on the preliminary work she’d done the previous two nights, rising after the other occupants of the house were abed to silently explore the town house from attic to cellars. She now knew the location of every exit, every window overlooking a tree branch, every sheltered corner within the garden where a person could secret herself.

Confident that she and the maid could slip away and back without anyone observing them, she’d spent the morning studying the London map an obliging footman had obtained for her. Even should Molly, who was still less than enthusiastic about the proposed expedition, fail to appear, Helena would be able to navigate her way to St. Marylebone.

Best of all, Lady Darnell had announced at nuncheon that she and Charis would spend the afternoon making calls. Certain now that her absence would not be noted, Helena had returned to her chamber and
rung for Molly to inform her they could leave as soon as the maid finished her chores.

The soft pad of approaching footsteps told Helena that the maid had decided to accompany her, despite her reservations. Reveling in the prospect of an afternoon free to achieve her most pressing purpose, she put a finger over her lips to caution Molly to silence, then placed a sovereign in her hand and led her through the gate.

They scurried down the mews without incident and made it to the hackney stand, where Helena engaged a carriage. For the length of the short drive to St. Marylebone, Helena kept her face pressed to the window, noting the street names and observing every detail.

Throngs of vehicles crowded the roads, carriages and wagons and street vendors with carts calling out their wares. Equally diverse were the people, from housemaids shaking out feather dusters to dustmen hauling refuse to richly dressed ladies and gentlemen descending the steps toward glossy carriages with crests painted on the panels….

When the jarvey announced they had reached their destination, Helena promised herself that someday soon, she would slip out on her own and explore the teeming diversity that was London. But now, to find a maid.

After paying the jarvey to wait for them, she set off, Molly at her heels. But the girl stopped short as she looked up at the large building fronting Paddington Street. “Miss, you sure the address is right? This be the St. Marylebone workhouse.”

“Then my directions were correct,” Helena replied, pleased at her navigation skills.

The maid planted her feet, her eyes widening. “You mean to…go in? Whatever for, miss? ’Tis naught but a bunch of paupers and thieves, half of ’em stricken with awful diseases! If you wish to contribute to the poor relief, better you do it at St. George’s vestry.”

“I mean to contribute—by offering employment,” Helena replied. “I need a maid. Since the inmates of this place are looking for work, I imagine I can find one.”

“Oh, you’re bamming me!” Molly said, relief in her voice. “Baxtor said you was wanting a maid. Harrison will find you one from Mr. McClaren’s agency….”

As Helena shook her head gently, Molly’s words trailed off. “Oh, miss, you cannot be thinking to hire someone outta there! We could all be murdered in our beds!”

“Molly, the workhouse isn’t a prison for cutthroats, nor what I believe you call a ‘flash house,’ where young criminals gather. I had it from the lips of a clergyman serving on the Board of Directors of the Poor for St. Marylebone that in their workhouse the unfortunates of the parish are trained for useful employment. Father Roberts said St. Marylebone is a model institution.”

Helena omitted mentioning that she’d overheard this information in a conversation on the mail coach between the reverend and a passenger with views similar to Molly’s. “Is not offering one such deserving girl a chance to better herself more desirable than putting coins in the poor box?”

“No disrespect to Father Roberts, but the poor box be a heap safer,” Molly muttered.

“I shall be very careful,” Helena promised. “If no one seems suitable, I can send Harrison to the agency. But now that we are here, I will take a look.” And unless the reverend had perjured himself irredeemably, she would hire someone. Perhaps a girl as eager to escape her prison of poverty as Helena had been to leave Lambarth Castle.

“Had I known you was coming here, I’d not have agreed to bring you,” Molly retorted, reluctantly trudging after Helena. “Iff’n the master finds out I led you to such a place, he’ll turn me off for sure.”

Would Lord Darnell be concerned if he thought she’d been placed in danger? Helena wondered, distracted by recalling the intent gaze he’d fixed upon her in the lawyer’s office.

Then the stooped old man at the door asked them their business, took their cloaks and led them to the director’s office. That official questioned Helena closely about her purpose and background before summoning a child to guide them to Mrs. Smith, the inmate who supervised the instruction of the older girls.

After passing through a large room filled with emaciated, bedridden adults their young escort cheerfully informed them were “the bad sick who’ll likely die,” they entered the girls’ ward. Here, the floor was newly swept, the rows of beds neatly made and thankfully empty.

The child led them onto the porch. A thin woman of indeterminate age, a clean but ragged shawl wrapped about her, stood supervising the work of a number of girls bent over washtubs or hanging linen on drying racks.

Mrs. Smith looked up. “Ladies, may I help you? ’Tis laundry day, as you see. The girls earn a few pence while learning to wash and iron. Are you from the parish?”

“No, ma’am,” Helena replied. “I am Helena Lambarth and this is Molly. We reside with my aunt, Lady Darnell, in St. James Square. I’m newly arrived in London and wish to hire one of your girls as my personal maid.”

The thin woman’s smile brightened. “I imagine any one of them would jump at the chance of such employment.”

“I should like to watch them for a while, if I may.”

“Stroll with me. The girls will continue working, assuming as I did that you’re from the parish committee.”

While Molly waited on the porch, Helena walked around the courtyard with Mrs. Smith, observing how some of the girls lounged about, not returning to their tasks until Mrs. Smith drew near. Her attention was drawn to a tall girl who ignored the visitors and continued her scrubbing, a boy beside her handing her linens and soap as needed.

“Who is that girl?” she asked Mrs. Smith.

“Nell Hastings, with her brother Dickon,” the woman replied. “Her father, a soldier, died at Waterloo. Her mother took in laundry, but worn down by grief and overwork, she, too, died last winter. Nell’s a fine girl, but she won’t do for you. She’s determined to keep what’s left of her family together. I doubt she would consider employment that would take her away and leave Dickon here.”

“Let me speak with her anyway,” Helena said, already beginning to wonder how she might hire the brother, as well.

Mrs. Smith called the girl over. Helena watched approvingly as Nell walked to them, her manner neither hurried nor ingratiating. “How can I help you, ma’am?”

“The lady wants to talk to you,” Mrs. Smith told her. “Excuse me, miss, while I see to the other girls.”

“You want to hire out washing, miss?” Nell asked as Helena walked her back to her washtub. “We launder and mend fine garments. Our rate is quite reasonable.”

“Can you embroider and alter gowns, as well?”

“Yes, ma’am. Madame Beaumont’s dress shop in Mayfair sends me work when they have too many orders to finish.”

“Your father was a soldier?”

A shadow of sadness passed over the girl’s face. “Yes, ma’am. Papa was a sergeant in the Ninety-fifth Rifles. He died last summer, and Mama after him.”

“Why did you not seek shelter with other family?”

“Mama and Papa’s kin live up north—I don’t know where. It seemed best to stay in London and hope for work here.”

Her decision all but made, Helena nodded. “Thank you, Nell. I must discuss the matter with Mrs. Smith.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Nell curtseyed and went back to her scrubbing.

When she began questioning Nell, Helena had set the coin purse from her reticule on the bench beside the girl’s washtub. Leaving the purse, she sought out Mrs. Smith.

“I wish all the girls were as diligent as Nell,” the matron said. “Some, I’m afraid, want only to sneak off to the main building where the boys stay. Then there’s Jane.” She indicated a thin girl with a vacant expression. “A sweet child, but not…all there.”

While Mrs. Smith spoke, Helena covertly watched Nell. A moment later, as the girl wiped her hands, her brother gathered up Helena’s purse and the two walked toward her.

“Miss, you left this. Dickon, return it to her, please.”

With evident reluctance, the brother handed it over. “You kin count it iff’n you like, but ’tis all there.”

“Thank you,” Helena said. “I’m sure it’s all there.”

“Told ya we couldda kept a coin,” the boy muttered.

“No, Dickon. ’Twould not be honest. You know that.”

Though the dress the seamstress had brought Helena at the lawyer’s office was unadorned, the material and workmanship proclaimed its quality. After looking Helena up and down, the boy said, “She’s rich enough not to miss a copper. I couldda bought us apples on the street.”

“Where you should not go anyway!” Her face coloring, Nell explained, “Dickon chafes at my keeping him here with the girls—but I’m afraid of what he learns from the boys.”

“Whereas you possess the finest of scruples,” Helena said, pleased the girl had passed her little test. “Nell, I need a lady’s maid. Would you like the position?”

The girl’s eyes widened. “You mean, work for you,
miss? Oh, yes! But…would I have to live at your house?”

A moment’s reflection told Helena she could not keep the girl’s origins secret if Nell traveled back and forth from the workhouse. “Yes, that would be necessary.”

“Take it, Nell,” the boy urged. “I kin take care of m’self.”

Clearly distressed, Nell looked from Helena to her brother. “I should love the job but…but I promised Mama we would stay together. I can’t leave Dickon here alone.”

Interrupting the boy’s protest that he was old enough to fend for himself, Helena said, “If I promise to find a place for him, too, would you accept the job?”

Nell’s face cleared. “We would both live at your house? Oh, that would be wonderful!”

“Excellent. You shall start tomorrow. Report to the kitchen and ask for Molly.” Helena pointed to the maid waiting on the porch, who offered Nell a halfhearted wave. “I will find a place for Dickon within the week.”

“Thank you, miss!” Nell cried. “We’ll work hard and not disappoint you, won’t we, Dickon?”

From the boy’s mutinous face Helena gathered he would prefer to remain at the workhouse, where he might run with his fellows without his sister’s close supervision. “Master Dickon, what sort of work would you like?”

“I dunno, miss. I’ve only ever helped with washing.”

“Yes, but that’s women’s work, isn’t it? We shall have to find you something more fit for a man.”

The boy drew himself up straighter. “Though some think I’m still a child—” he threw a resentful look at his sister “—I’m big enough to do man’s work.”

“Being a soldier’s son, I’m sure you are. ’Tis settled, then. Nell, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thank you again, ma’am. I know what an opportunity you’re giving us. You’ll not regret it, I promise!”

“Bless you, Miss Lambarth!” Mrs. Smith said softly as Nell, a beaming smile on her face, hurried her brother back to the washtub. “I know you’ll be happy with her work.”

“You will watch out for Dickon until I send for him?”

Mrs. Smith sighed. “I shall do my best. He is a handful, that one. But I believe I can keep him out of mischief for a week. God bless you, miss, for helping these poor forgotten babes!”

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith, for caring so much about them.” Touched by the woman’s probably thankless efforts on her indigent charges’ behalf, Helena impetuously handed the woman the rest of the coins in her purse. “Spend some of this on yourself, now, not just on your children!”

Mrs. Smith’s thanks following them, Helena collected Molly and returned to the waiting hackney. Once they were seated within, Molly burst out, “Miss, whatever am I to tell the household when that girl shows up tomorrow?”

“You needn’t volunteer where she came from. Just tell them she is someone you know.”

Molly gasped. “I couldn’t lie to Harrison!”

“It’s not a lie. You met her today.”

Molly shook her head, her face still distressed. “Someone’s bound to find out. I’ll be sacked for sure!”

“No one shall find out,” Helena said bracingly. “Nell will work hard and earn everyone’s respect. After a few weeks no one will care where she came from.”

“If she or that ne’er-do-well of a brother don’t rob us blind first.”

“If your suspicions prove correct, I will turn them over to the magistrate without a qualm. If anything untoward does happen, I shall accept full responsibility.”