The Orphan's Dream (12 page)

Adjusting her mobcap, Mirabel placed the empty container on a side table and went to open the door to find a scruffy boy standing on the doorstep. ‘Can I help you?'

‘Are you Miss Grace?'

‘No, I'm not. What do you want with her?'

He held out a grubby hand. ‘Got a message for her from the gent in Savage Gardens.'

Mirabel was suddenly alert. ‘Would that be Mr Kettle?'

The boy sniggered behind his hand. ‘What sort of name is that, miss?'

‘It's the sort of name that deserves a little respect from a boy like you. If you've got a message give it to me and I'll see that it's passed on to Miss Grace.'

He hesitated. ‘Gent said you'd pay me.'

‘I'm sure he rewarded you handsomely. Now either give me the note or take it back to Mr Kettle and tell him you wouldn't hand it over without payment.'

‘Or I could just throw it in the Thames.'

Mirabel could see that this was going nowhere and she put her hand in her pocket, taking out a penny. ‘Take this for your trouble.'

‘Ta, miss.' He snatched the coin and thrust a crumpled piece of paper into her hand.

She closed the door before he had the chance to demand more money. There was no envelope and it was a simple matter to unfold the sheet and read the message written in Hubert's copperplate hand.

‘What have you there?' Zilla's sharp tone made Mirabel turn with a start to see her employer standing close behind her.

‘A ragged boy delivered this, Miss Zilla. It's for you.'

Zilla scanned the note. ‘Have you read it?'

‘I caught a glimpse of the contents.'

‘You're a bad liar, Mabel.' Zilla tucked the paper into her pocket. ‘Hubert wants you to visit him at his home this evening. I'm not sure I can allow such a thing.'

Mirabel knew better than to argue. She nodded and was about to walk away when Zilla called her back. ‘Don't you want to know why?'

‘I suppose you have your reasons, Miss Zilla.'

‘Don't put on that meek and mild air, Mabel. It doesn't work with me.'

‘What would you have me say? I depend on you for my board and lodging; I have nowhere else to go and you pay me a wage.'

‘What a little sea lawyer you are to be sure.' Zilla's stern expression melted into a smile. ‘I like you, Mabel, which is why I've given you this chance to better yourself. However, I don't think it's proper to allow you to visit Hubert in his home.'

‘You don't seem to think it improper to allow men to pay for your girls' favours under your roof.'

‘My girls are protected while they work for me. Any gentleman who forgets himself is shown the door before he can inflict harm of any kind, as you well know. I can't guarantee your safety when you're away from here.'

‘Or perhaps he won't pay for my time, is that it too?'

‘That does come into it, but I need to know a little more of Hubert's intentions before I agree to such a tryst.'

‘It's nothing like that with Mr Kettle. He's an elderly gentleman and past that sort of thing.'

‘He's a man, Mabel. They're never past it in their own minds. Leave this with me. I intend to take a carriage ride to Savage Gardens. I'll let you know the outcome of my meeting with Hubert Kettle.'

‘Just a moment, Miss Grace.'

‘What is it now?'

‘I want to know what you intend to say to him.'

‘You have a cheek, girl. You work for me and you're mine to do with as I please.'

‘Indeed I'm not. You can't sell my favours.'

‘This is my business. I make the rules. Now go outside and hail a cab while I fetch my bonnet and shawl.'

That evening, dressed in her newest gown of crimson striped silk, with ruffles adorning the sleeves and an overskirt swept back to form a small train, Mirabel knew that she was looking her best. Lizzie had curled her hair into ringlets using iron tongs heated on the kitchen range, and had pinned them back with two jewelled combs, borrowed from Lucky Sue. ‘They're paste, of course,' Sue said, chuckling. ‘But the old gent won't know the difference. Anyway, he'll have his eyes fixed elsewhere, if you get my meaning.' She nudged Mirabel in the ribs and winked.

‘I'm only going to look at his collection of rare orchids,' Mirabel protested.

Lizzie and Sue exchanged amused glances. ‘If you believe that you're in for a big surprise.' Sue left the kitchen, chuckling to herself.

‘Don't pay no attention to her,' Lizzie said hastily. ‘She's just jealous. None of the molls above stairs get invited out, let alone to visit the gents in their homes.'

‘It's not like that, Lizzie. Mr Kettle is an old gentleman. He really does want to show me his rare specimens.'

Lizzie doubled up laughing. ‘You are a one, Mabel.'

Savage Gardens off Trinity Square was barely a stone's throw from Catherine Court. Terraced four-storey Georgian town houses faced each other across a narrow street with basement areas protected by iron railings. The once prosperous area was now showing signs of age and declining fortunes. Soot-blackened and with peeling paintwork, most of the buildings were now cheap lodging houses, but the few that were still owner-occupied were noticeably well cared for with shiny brass door furniture, clean windows and pristine paintwork.

Mirabel stepped out of the cab that Zilla had insisted on, it being unsafe for any woman to walk out unaccompanied after dark. Having paid the cabby, Mirabel walked up the steps to the front door. She hesitated, suddenly nervous and unsure of herself. Perhaps Lucky Sue had been right and this was a foolhardy venture, but then she remembered how kind Hubert had been, with no hint of anything in his manner towards her which would make her uncomfortable in his presence. She raised the knocker and let it fall. The sharp clatter of metal against metal echoed inside the house and was answered by the sound of swift footsteps. Mirabel had given little thought to Hubert's household and she was agreeably surprised by the plump, homely little woman who opened the door.

‘Good evening, miss. We were expecting you. Come in.'

Mirabel stepped over the threshold and found herself in a long, narrow entrance hall lit by a single oil lamp. It was too dark to see much detail but framed watercolours of exotic plants covered the walls with barely an inch to spare between them.

‘My name is Mrs Flitton. I'm Mr Kettle's housekeeper and have been for the past twenty-six years.'

‘I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, ma'am.'

Mrs Flitton held a lamp high, taking in every detail of Mirabel's appearance. ‘You seem like a nice young lady. I was afraid that he had got into bad company. I never liked the idea of him visiting that place in Tenter Street, although, of course, I understand that a gentleman has needs.'

‘Yes, well I'm not like that,' Mirabel said hastily. ‘Mr Kettle is my friend.'

‘It doesn't matter what I think, but I can see that you're not one of those wanton women. Come this way.' She bustled off along the corridor, stopping to usher Mirabel into a room at the far end. ‘Mr Kettle will be with you directly. He's tending his plants, which he does several times a day. It's like having a nursery full of babies who need caring for.'

Mirabel took in her surroundings with a sweeping glance. The furniture was old-fashioned, heavy and ornately carved in dark wood with somewhat faded red-velvet upholstery. The once elegant Georgian mantelshelf was barely visible beneath a welter of bell jars containing colourful stuffed birds, a black marble clock in the shape of a Grecian temple, two spill vases and a collection of strange objects from far-off places. The walls, as in the entrance hall, were covered with botanical paintings, and side tables were littered with books, magazines and more souvenirs brought back from Hubert's extensive travels. The ambience was more like that of a museum than a home, and entirely masculine.

Mrs Flitton waddled over to the fireplace, poked the embers into life and added more coal. ‘I'll go and tell him you're here. Make yourself at home.' She turned to Mirabel with a beaming smile. ‘It's so good for us to have young company. We were in danger of becoming old and dried up like some of the things he's brought back from foreign lands.' She held her hand out for Mirabel's bonnet and mantle. ‘I'll hang these up for you, miss.'

‘Thank you.' At a loss for words, Mirabel perched on the edge of a deep armchair by the fire. The steady tick-tock from the marble clock was the only sound in the room apart from the odd crackle from the fire, and she was growing increasingly nervous and on edge. Coming here might be a terrible mistake, she thought, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. It was just possible that Zilla might have lied in order to get her here in the first place, and the real reason for her invitation was to satisfy an old man's carnal desires. The lurid tales in the penny dreadfuls so dear to Flossie's heart sprang to mind, and the sound of approaching footsteps made Mirabel jump to her feet. This had been a terrible mistake. She would make her excuses and leave right away.

The door opened and Hubert strolled into the room clutching a potted plant in his hands. ‘Mirabel, my dear, I just had to show you this perfect specimen. Isn't it beautiful?'

‘It is indeed.' Forgetting everything other than the need to examine the delicate blooms, Mirabel moved closer. ‘I've never seen anything like it.' She touched one of the purple petals with the tip of her finger.

‘It's a
Cattleya labiata
, named after a man called William Cattley.' Hubert peered at her over the top of his spectacles, his pale eyes shining with excitement. ‘He discovered the species in a shipment of specimens from Brazil earlier this century. It's very rare. When I was younger I went on many plant-hunting expeditions, but I never came across any of these beauties, and now it is too late for me.'

‘I don't see why.'

‘I'm an old man, Mirabel. Too old to undergo the rigours that such a trip would entail.'

She gazed at the orchid, seeing it through his eyes, and was entranced. Suddenly she understood his passion for finding rare and exquisite blooms. Flowering plants were scarce in the city where even the common dandelion struggled to exist. She looked into his eyes and saw the spirit of a young man fighting to be free from an ageing body. Impulsively she laid her hand on his arm.

‘You're not too old, Mr Kettle. I believe that you could do anything you wanted to.'

He put the plant pot down and grasped her hands in his. ‘Mirabel, I hadn't meant to spring this upon you, but I have something very important I have to say to you. Something very important indeed, but I hardly know where to begin.'

ALARMED, SHE TRIED
to wrest her hands free but his grip was surprisingly strong for a man of his years. ‘Please let me go, Mr Kettle. You're hurting me.'

He released her instantly and spots of colour appeared on his normally pale cheeks. ‘I'm so sorry. Please forgive me.'

‘Perhaps I'd better leave now.' Mirabel glanced anxiously at the door, willing Mrs Flitton to make an entrance and put an end to what promised to be an embarrassing situation. ‘You seem to have mistaken my motives for accepting your invitation tonight, sir. I'm not like the rest of Miss Grace's girls.'

‘I know you're not, and I didn't mean to frighten you.' Hubert sank down on the nearest chair. His crestfallen expression might have been comical in different circumstances, but Mirabel was not amused.

‘I'm not frightened, but I am disappointed. I thought you were my friend.'

He took off his tortoiseshell spectacles and placed them carefully in his breast pocket. He cleared his throat several times before speaking. ‘Mirabel, my dear, I have the greatest respect for you. Won't you take a seat, please?'

Somewhat reluctantly she sat down opposite him. ‘I don't know why I'm here, sir.'

‘I'm very bad at this sort of thing. I've never been very comfortable with beautiful women, especially when the young lady in question is young enough to be my granddaughter. I want you to realise that I know the enormity of what I am about to propose.'

‘Please say it, sir. You're making me very uncomfortable because I don't know what you have in mind.'

‘My intentions are honourable, of that I can assure you. In fact, I'm proposing marriage.' He met her startled look with a direct gaze. ‘I know this must sound preposterous to a young lady like you, but I've given it a lot of thought. It would be a marriage in name only, but completely legal. You would by my wife, but I would expect nothing of you in the physical sense. You would have the protection of my name, and I would treat you with great respect and sincere affection. Eventually you would inherit everything I own and you would be set up for life.' He hesitated, watching her carefully. ‘Do you understand what I'm saying?'

‘You're asking me to marry you?' Mirabel stared at him in astonishment. ‘You want to marry me?'

A faint smile lit his eyes. ‘I know it sounds ridiculous, but as I said, I wouldn't make any physical demands on you. I'm a lonely old man and you are young and vital, which is not a combination that would normally work; but you're beautiful and intelligent, and even more important than that, you have a kindly disposition. You talk to me as an equal and you don't treat me like a doddering fool.'

‘You most certainly aren't doddering or a fool, and I'm very flattered, but I don't love you, Mr Kettle.' She turned her head away as the memory of Jack Starke's cynical grin and lazy drawl erased every other thought from her mind. He had left without a word and sailed away to a destination unknown, but he was not an easy man to forget.

‘Of course you don't,' Hubert said gently. ‘That would be much more than I could ever expect, but perhaps you might feel a little fondness for me? That would make me very happy, and you would have all the material comforts I can provide. I believe I'm a generous man.'