The Orphan's Dream (15 page)

‘Ladies,' Lucky Sue murmured in a stage whisper. ‘That's the first time she's called us that.'

Bodger lifted Wiley by the seat of his trousers and frogmarched him down the aisle. Gertie clapped her hands but subsided beneath a scorching look from Zilla. ‘Sorry, miss. I forgot meself.'

Wiley struggled free as they reached the outer door. Turning his head he shook his fist at Mirabel. ‘If you try to contest the will you're a goner. I'll have your liver and lights and the old man won't be able to protect you.'

Hubert slipped Mirabel's hand through the crook of his arm. ‘Come, my dear, let's leave this wretch to consider his own folly. You are my wife now and you'll be treated with the respect you deserve, or I'll want to know the reason why.'

Outside the snow was falling in earnest. Large feathery flakes swirled and spun like tiny ballerinas in the still air, falling gracefully to the ground and blanketing the pavements in pristine whiteness. Bodger was sent to find cabs to take them to Leadenhall Street, where Hubert had booked a private room at the Ship and Turtle. ‘A bowl of their excellent soup will bring the roses back to your cheeks, Mirabel,' he said softly as he handed her into a hackney carriage. He climbed in beside her and sat down, but when the door closed and they were alone together as man and wife she experienced a panicky feeling in her stomach.

She managed a tight little smile. ‘That sounds lovely, Hubert.'

He patted her clasped hands, held tightly on her lap. ‘You mustn't worry about anything, my dear. From now on it's my duty to look after you and keep you safe from men like Wiley.'

The Ship and Turtle in Leadenhall Street was famous for its turtle soup and fixings. Hubert was obviously well known there and they were welcomed in person by the landlord, Adolphus Painter. Mirabel soon realised that it was Hubert's open-handed generosity that endeared him to the staff as well as his pleasant manner. The food was delicious and with each bottle of wine consumed the pitch of the conversation rose another octave. Bodger munched his way through several helpings of each dish, washing the meal down with several pints of ale, but Gertie was a giggling heap after two glasses of claret and fell asleep over her pudding. Mirabel sat next to Hubert but she had little appetite and only took small sips of wine. If her husband noticed, he was too polite to comment and he chatted easily to Zilla and her girls, taking their teasing with a good-humoured smile even when their advice for the wedding night became too lewd even for Zilla, who silenced them with a frown.

When the last crumb was eaten Hubert rose from his seat, holding up his glass. ‘I'd like to propose a toast to my bride, who is more beautiful than the most precious orchid in my collection.' He turned to Mirabel with a tender smile. ‘Mirabel.'

Somewhat tipsily the rest of the party stood up and raised their glasses. ‘Mirabel.'

‘Mrs Kettle,' Zilla said with a wry smile.

Gertie opened her eyes, blinking in the candlelight like a small owl. ‘What have I missed?'

Bodger sat down heavily. ‘Nothing, my duck. Go back to sleep.'

Hubert remained standing, fixing his gaze on Zilla. ‘With your permission, I'd like to take Gertie home with us. I think my wife ought to have a lady's maid and Gertie would seem to be the ideal person.'

Bodger gazed at him bleary-eyed. ‘Hold on, mister. I'm her brother and her only relative so you should ask me first.'

Hubert remained unruffled by the interruption. ‘And what do you say?'

‘I say yes, of course. Anything is better than earning her living flat on her back.' Bodger's flushed face turned a deeper shade of red. ‘Begging your pardon, ladies. No offence meant.'

‘None taken, dearie,' Gentle Jane said, leaning across the table to expose a deep cleavage. ‘It takes a special type of woman to be in our profession. You're welcome to the little scrap, Mr Kettle sir. She's a bit of an amateur when it comes to knowing what tickles a gent's fancy.'

‘Do you really mean it, Hubert?' Mirabel asked anxiously. She had watched her husband drinking glass after glass of claret, although he did not appear to be drunk. It would be too bad to take Gertie away from Tenter Street only to have him change his mind when completely sober.

He held out his hand. ‘Of course I do. Mrs Flitton has enough on her hands without extra duties being thrust upon her. She'll enjoy having a young person to boss around.'

Gertie raised her head. ‘I don't feel too well, Mabel.'

Mirabel leapt to her feet and with Bodger's help lifted Gertie from the chair. They managed to get her outside into the back yard before she vomited. Bodger wiped his sister's lips on a grubby hanky. ‘That'll learn you, Gertrude Tinker. Wine ain't no good for girls your age.' He lifted her in his arms. ‘I'll take her outside and hail a cab, Miss – I mean Mrs Kettle. You will look after her for me, won't you? I got to find another ship as quick as possible because I'm broke.'

‘Of course, I'll take care of her,' Mirabel said firmly. ‘She's my friend.'

Any awkwardness Mirabel might have felt on entering her new home was quickly dispelled by the urgent need to find a bed where Gertie could sleep off the excesses of the wedding feast.

Mrs Flitton pursed her lips and folded her arms across her chest, but when she realised that Gertie was not at all well she turned her disapproving face to her employer. ‘What possessed you to allow this child to drink alcohol, Mr Kettle?'

Hubert bowed his head like a schoolboy caught out in a naughty deed by a stern governess. ‘I didn't realise that she had imbibed so much wine, Mrs Flitton.'

‘Don't worry,' Mirabel said hastily. ‘I'll see to her.'

Mrs Flitton raised an eyebrow. ‘She's staying here?'

‘It's all right, Mrs Flitton.' Hubert gave her an encouraging smile. ‘This won't mean more work for you. I've taken the girl on as my wife's maid, and she'll relieve you of some of your more onerous duties.'

‘Are you saying that I'm getting too old to run this house, Mr Kettle?'

‘No, of course not. You know I didn't mean anything of the sort.'

Mirabel could see that this argument was going to escalate and Gertie was no light weight. She hooked the semiconscious girl's arm around her shoulders. ‘Gertie will need your help, Mrs Flitton,' she said tactfully. ‘She hasn't had the benefit of training, but she's willing and eager to please. I'm sure she will respond to someone like yourself who is experienced in such matters.'

Mary Flitton puffed out her chest. ‘Indeed, ma'am. I have trained such girls in the past, although I'm a little out of practice. There's a small room next to mine. I'll make up the bed, but in the meantime I suggest you put her in the parlour. The sofa is quite comfortable and I can keep an eye on her until she's recovered enough to climb the stairs.'

‘An excellent suggestion, Mrs Flitton. I know I can rely on you for a commonsense solution to every problem.' Hubert's relief was palpable as he slipped Gertie's limp hand through the crook of his arm. ‘The sofa will do nicely, as Mrs Flitton so wisely says.'

‘Thank you, sir.' Mrs Flitton walked towards the staircase with her head held high.

Hubert winked at Mirabel. ‘Well done, my dear,' he whispered. ‘Mary is a good sort, but get on her wrong side and you're in trouble.'

‘I think I've passed the test,' Mirabel said cautiously. She had won a small victory and she hoped that it boded well for the future.

When Gertie was settled comfortably in the parlour Hubert closed the door, facing Mirabel with a satisfied smile. ‘She'll be in good hands. Mary will look after her.'

‘I'm sure she will.' Mirabel looked round the sombre wainscoted entrance hall with the sudden realisation that this was her new home, and she was overwhelmed by a feeling of being trapped and unable to break free. She clenched her hands beneath the silken folds of her wedding gown, fighting for each breath like a drowning woman. The excitement of the wedding preparations was over and now she must face the reality of living with a man she barely knew. She was no longer a girl; she was a married woman with all that entailed.

Seemingly oblivious to her state of near panic, Hubert laid his hand on her arm. ‘I have something to show you, Mirabel.'

‘Really?' To her surprise and relief her voice sounded quite normal. ‘What is it?'

‘Come with me.' He led her towards the baize door at the rear of the entrance hall. ‘I'll go first in case you fall. Perhaps I should have allowed you to change into something more suitable, but I can't wait to show you my treasures.' Holding her hand, he led the way to the basement kitchen.

‘I hope you don't expect me to cook for you, Hubert,' she said with an attempt at levity. ‘It's not one of my accomplishments.'

‘Of course not, my dear.' He sounded genuinely horrified and his pale cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

‘I was joking,' she said hastily. ‘What is it you want me to see?'

He avoided her amused gaze, staring at a point somewhere above her head. ‘I'm not very good at seeing the humour in jokes. It was always a cross I had to bear at boarding school, and did little to endear me to my fellow students.'

She slipped her hand through the crook of his arm. ‘I'm sorry, Hubert. You must have had a difficult time.'

‘I was always a little out of step with the other chaps. Wearing spectacles puts a boy at a disadvantage, especially when sport is an important part of the curriculum, and I'm afraid I was what they called a swot. The fact that I was passionate about botany and collecting wild flowers set me apart from the others. It was not a happy period in my life.' He took a deep breath, forcing his lips into a smile. ‘But you will see the result of my lifelong studies now. It's a secret I've been keeping for this moment.' He guided her through the kitchen and the scullery, stepping outside into the small back garden, most of which had been given over to a large conservatory. He opened the door and ushered her inside. The heat and humidity almost took her breath away as did the heady scent emanating from the delicate blooms. The rows of staging were packed with clay pots overflowing with orchids of every shape, size and colour.

‘This is where I spend the majority of my time,' Hubert said proudly. ‘Each plant has its own special requirements, and I treat them all as individuals. You might say that they are my children, and I love each and every one of them.'

Mirabel hesitated, gazing at him with new insight. ‘You haven't been married before, have you, Hubert? We've never discussed such matters and I didn't think to ask.'

‘No, my dear. I've rarely met a woman who mattered to me as much as you do. I suppose it might have been nice to have had children, but as I said, my orchids fulfilled my need to nurture and care for living things.'

She moved along the rows, inhaling the fragrance of each individual bloom as she examined them closely. ‘They are incredibly beautiful,' she said softly. ‘I've never seen anything like it.'

‘Really?' His voice shook with emotion. ‘Do you mean it, or are you just saying that to please me?'

She looked up in surprise. ‘I wouldn't lie about something that you care for so deeply, and I can see now why you are so enthusiastic about these lovely flowers.'

‘Flowers,' he repeated, frowning. ‘Roses are flowers, daisies and daffodils are flowers; these delicate blooms are far and away superior. You should see them growing in the wild, Mirabel. They inhabit the most inhospitable places and their beauty shines out, taking one's breath away. If it's the last thing I do I want you to see the miracle for yourself.'

‘I would love to see them in their natural state,' Mirabel said enthusiastically. ‘I've always dreamed of travelling abroad.'

‘Men have died in their search for rare specimens, and some have committed murder to further their ends, while others have plundered an area and then destroyed what was left so that their rivals would gain nothing. It seems that the world has gone mad with orchid fever.'

Mirabel gazed at him in surprise. The passion in his voice was matched by the fire in his pale eyes, and his face was flushed, with beads of sweat standing out on his brow. ‘Are you all right, Hubert? It is very hot in here. Perhaps we ought to go outside and get some air.'

He shivered as if feeling a sudden cold draught, and the wild look in his eyes faded. ‘Of course, my dear. You are unused to these temperatures. We will go indoors.'

‘I'm quite all right,' she protested. ‘I would like to hear more about your collection.'

‘Later, perhaps.' Like a man exhausted by an overwhelming burst of emotion, he moved slowly to the door and opened it. ‘Hurry, my dear. We mustn't allow a sudden drop in temperature.'

She stepped outside, taking deep breaths of the icy air. It had stopped snowing and darkness was already overtaking the city. Pinpricks of starlight pierced the indigo sky and frost particles sparkled on the surface of the fallen snow. Mirabel felt the cold strike up through her satin slippers and she wrapped her arms around her body in an attempt to keep warm as she hurried into the house. Hubert followed more slowly, having taken time to check the fire in the boiler house which heated the conservatory.

Mrs Flitton looked up when Mirabel entered the kitchen. ‘I thought he wouldn't be able to keep his little darlings a secret much longer,' she said, smiling. ‘You'll get used to it, ma'am.' She slapped a pastry lid onto the pie dish. ‘Those plants come first above everything else.'

‘I'd better check on Gertie.' Mirabel headed for the staircase. ‘And I need to change out of my gown.' She hesitated, conscious that she was blushing. ‘I – I don't know which room is mine.'

Mrs Flitton wiped her floury hands on her apron with a barely suppressed sigh. ‘I'll show you the way, ma'am.'