The Rake's Unveiling of Lady Belle (17 page)

‘Well?' Why was that important? Of course the lady was wed. ‘All his lady friends are married.' Even Belinda realised that married women were a rake's normal grazing ground. It was generally acknowledged once an heir and a spare were born, most ladies—and gentlemen—took a lover. It was something she abhorred, and as far as she was concerned, another reason for not accepting Phillip. Could he really change so much as to not take a lover and instead be faithful? ‘It's the norm, and you know that.'

‘Maybe, but not in his case. Not for an age,' Tippen said stubbornly. ‘Why are you so insistent not to open your eyes and accept that?'

Belinda lifted one shoulder wearily. She knew if she ever married it would be for love, and faithfulness would be her own private vow. Therefore even though she accepted she was more than halfway in love with Phillip, Belinda couldn't say yes to his proposal. A marriage without fidelity would never be for her.

He said it would be different, but…there is still the problem of my family…and Rosemary.

‘Come back into this room,' Tippen said as she used her elbow to nudge Belinda.

‘Oh Lud, I'm sorry I was…'

‘Away in your mind, yes, I could tell. Now come back and stay here for a moment. Put aside whatever made you look so melancholy and fasten your mind on this instead. Do you think so little of Phillip that you believe he would cuckold his closest friend?' Tippen shook her head and began to count on her fingers. ‘One, he would never cheat on a friend, in this case probably his closest friend. Two, they were youths who watched each other's backs at school and Oxford. Remember I was on the estate all the time and servants are the worst gossips around. Those two young men's antics were the talk of the servant's hall, and we youngsters used to overhear our parents regaling them. Three, they wenched together until Lord George wed, but never poached. That was the talk of the estate, I tell you. Honour among gentlemen upheld. Four, Lord Phillip was right-hand man for Lord George. Five…'

‘Enough.' Belinda laughed, reluctantly. ‘I take your word for it. To be honest you have only reinforced what I thought. Phillip and Lady Louisa are close, but close in the manner of you and I, or Clarissa and I. Friends, very good friends, but not lovers.'

Tippen nodded her agreement. ‘I was able to study them when they didn't know I was looking. Their camaraderie was lovely, and something most of us would envy.' She nibbled the end of her index finger. ‘However, not one ounce of lover-like inclinations. It is, in the words of the boy who delivers the coal, friends without fiddling.'

‘Fid…oh goodness, no fiddle no diddle.' Belinda wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes, left her spot by the window, and walked to the cupboard where she kept a few decanters of spirit to offer to her clients and their escorts. ‘Madeira or whisky? No damn, the whisky is in the sitting room. Madeira or, well, Madeira?'

‘Oh in that case I'll have Madeira.' Tippen sniggered. ‘And you are correct with regards to Lord Phillip and Lady Louisa Frampton. A put-up job. Or in the case of his pego, a non put-up job.'

Belinda swivelled round so fast her skirt took a moment to catch up with her and stuck to her legs. The decanter tilted and she righted it hurriedly, as she spluttered, and tears ran down her face once more.

‘T…Tipp…oh my.' Belinda put the decanter down, none too steadily, and giggled uncontrollably.

Tippen open her eyes wide, and blinked several times before she snorted and laughed out loud. ‘N…non p…p…p… put-up. Or in, or wave hello, or…' She collapsed into a chair and shook with mirth.

Belinda copied her actions and took the opposite chair, as she laughed until she ached. Tippen didn't seem much better. Eventually their mirth dropped into the odd snort or giggle and then to mainly silence with just an occasional titter.

‘Oh Lud, I needed that,' Belinda wiped her eyes on a spare piece of linen, and passed a similar piece to Tippen. ‘Life has been much too worrying lately, even with red, dark or fair downstairs. Who do we have at the moment?'

‘Darke, and he says Redding will take over for the night shift. Lovett has made sure they have a key for access so we won't be bothered. Oh, and victuals. No ale. Mind you, not that they'd take one. Evidently they told Lovett their rules when on duty. Strict but fair, he opined, and no alcohol was the first thing they said.'

‘Luckily that doesn't apply to us. Let's go upstairs and have a dram instead of Madeira. We deserve it.'

One dram became three, and they finished the fourth dram as they ate the excellent supper prepared by Mrs Lovett who, Belinda insisted, needed to slow down. Three nights a week she went next door to her own quarters at a sensible time, as Belinda argued she and Tippen were well able to fend for themselves. Mrs L had retorted—eventually successfully—that sometimes she'd rather be with them for the company, and so as to ensure her kitchen wasn't a mess. Lovett, she said, had a tendency to sit in ‘his' chair and snore the evening away. They needed to give him more work so he was healthily tired, she opined, not just in her expression dozing for dozing's sake. As Lovett was their general factotum, Belinda knew he did over and above his allotted amount of work.

However, Belinda accepted both arguments and they had come to the agreed compromise, with one night a week the nearest she ever got to a family meal, when all four of them sat together.

Now as Lovett pushed back his chair and patted his stomach, Mrs L cleared her throat.

‘Miss Belle, we need to make a plan of action.' She was the only one who insisted on calling Belinda Miss not Madame. Belinda rather liked it.

Belinda looked up from her plate where she'd just scraped up the last piece of quince pudding. ‘Why?' She fiddled with her spoon, turning it over and over between her fingers.

Mrs L plucked the spoon out of Belinda's hands, and rapped her knuckles with it. ‘In case we need one.'

‘Who has been telling tales?' She sucked her maligned hand and looked at Tippen, who shook her head.

‘Oh don't misunderstand me, I was going to, but someone got there before me.'

Mrs L nodded sagely. ‘And rightly so. To only be told, oh we need a man on the door to look more intimate is not on, and well you know it.'

Belinda reddened and heat rushed into her cheeks. ‘I wanted to spare you worry.'

‘Well, believe me, you didn't,' Mrs L retorted acerbically, in the manner of an old and trusted retainer. ‘I knew something was bothering you and Tippen, and Lord Phillip has been popping up here like a jack-in-the-box and changing his ladies as often as Mr Keane changes costumes. So I took it upon myself to ask him what was going on. Those three downstairs wouldn't give anything away, so Lord P it had to be. And…' she waggled her finger in the air ‘…he put me in the picture. That trollop indeed. How dare she?'

Belinda shrugged. ‘A woman scorned, I think.'

‘Hmm, he should have known better than to revisit old pastures. After all no one should plough the same furrow twice.'

Whisky and ale went all over the table as Belinda, Tippen and Lovett all spluttered and coughed. Mrs Lovett tut-tutted, and got up to fetch a cloth. ‘Look at you, the mess—I don't know, worse than babes in arms.' Her eyes twinkled even as she scolded them. ‘Messy as pups.' She wiped the table. Lovett chuckled, and patted her bottom as she whisked past him.

‘We don't wet ourselves in other…'

Mrs Lovett shut her husband up, by the simple method of putting her hand over his mouth. ‘Enough of that. Isn't it time you checked that whoever is downstairs is all right before we go next door and cosy down?'

‘Ah, right enough.' Lovett stood up. ‘I'll do that in a moment. First though, your plan?'

‘Oh my, I almost forgot.' Mrs Lovett sat down with a thud that rocked the sturdy wooden chair. ‘Now then, Lovett has rigged up a bell from each of the rooms over here, to our rooms next door. Just in case.'

In case of what, I wonder?

‘Don't you look at me like that, now,' Mrs Lovett said. ‘If that besom thinks she knows you—and even if she doesn't—I wager she'll try to stir things up. She doesn't even need a big wooden spoon to do it either. Her tongue stirs well enough. So anything at all you're worried about you ring for one of us. It'll work by the door as well, but…' she sighed ‘…I have a feeling in my waters. Something is amiss and about to cause trouble.'

Belinda bit her lip to stop herself grimacing. Although, Mrs L and her ‘waters' were usually correct in predicting something was awry. ‘You best show me which bell,' she said. ‘So I don't ring for you when I want one of the girls to bring some hat trimmings in, or tell them it's time to stop work.' She stood up.

‘And,' Mrs L went on inexorably. Once she started on a theme she was an unstoppable force. ‘We have to have code words.'

‘Code words?' Tippen asked in a puzzled voice. ‘What for?'

In case it's the only way you can tell us something's amiss,' Mrs Lovett said darkly. ‘If…if…oh well just if.'

‘What do you suggest?' Belinda asked as she frowned at Tippen who had turned away to have a very suspicious coughing fit. ‘Bring me the books?'

‘Nothing so complicated. May we have tea?'

Tippen snorted. ‘If it's rodent Rosemary, you'd not get a chance to ask for tea. And if it was anyone else it'll look odd if you or Lovett came charging up and we really did want tea.'

‘Ah,' Mrs Lovett said. The sides of her lips turned down as she realised how impractical that suggestion was. ‘What do you suggest?'

Tippen opened her mouth and closed it again hastily as Belinda glared at her. Belinda's head throbbed, and all she wanted to do was go to the sitting room alone and think. ‘I suggest, if we send a message and say, “May we have the refreshments we arranged,” that should work.' She stood up. ‘Silly thought it may seem, I need peace and quiet to think. I'll see you all in the morning.'

‘Ah, I'll do my rounds, check all's well downstairs and lock up.' Lovett left the room.

‘Off you both go.' Mrs Lovett made a shooing gesture to Belinda and Tippen. ‘We could all do with some quiet time.'

Belinda had no idea what woke her from a deep and dreamless sleep. For a moment she wondered if in fact she was dreaming, but the chill of the air, which wafted through her open window, soon disabused her of that idea.

She would never say she was gifted with extraordinary perceptions or second sight like some claimed, but at that moment she had a tingle on her scalp that was distinctly unnerving. The last time she'd experienced anything similar, her brother had appeared and forced her arm up her back so she'd hand over the last few pennies she'd saved. She had been a mere thirteen and her father had thrashed her for hiding money, no matter it was hers given to her by Lady L for her birthday. Belinda had never divulged that happening to anyone.

Now, as the sensation intensified, she slowly and cautiously moved her head and looked around the room. Nothing seemed untoward, but still the itchy tingle remained. Belinda stayed as she was for several minutes and listened intently.

Nothing. Except…

Was that something or someone scratching somewhere?
My lace.
Honiton and Brussels and very exclusive. She didn't want that to disappear. Very carefully, Belinda pushed the covers back, swung her legs over the side of her bed and thrust her feet into her soft house slippers. If it was someone sneaking around she wanted to know who and why.

It took mere seconds to don her robe and walk soft-footed towards the door. Should she ring the new bell? For a second she hesitated as she held her hand over it, but was it worth it? When it was probably a rat in the wainscoting or the roof timbers creaking? Did she really want to disturb other people's sleep just because she herself had been disturbed, by the wind, or…

Mrs Lovett's voice seemed to reverberate though her mind.

You need to take care. That woman is more than repellent, she is dangerous, and you saw her scorned.
She'll never forgive you or Lord Phillip for that.

However, Belinda was convinced that whatever she heard, if indeed she did hear something, was nothing to do with Rosemary. She'd be more likely to complain of a poorly turned seam in the company of her cronies at Almack's. More likely a faulty window catch or a rodent of the animal kind.

Belinda opened her door slowly, and stepped over the uneven floorboard so it didn't creak underfoot. She kept to the edge of the hallway and peered down the stairs.

Nothing.

She hovered there, uncertain what to do next. In the darkness with very little moon to shed any light through the window, it was easy to imagine all sorts of scary monsters and impossible scenarios looming ahead.

There was another creak, a bang and a groan of pain.

Belinda threw caution to the wind and pressed the nearest bell with scant regard as to whether it was the one she needed or not. She lifted up a brass candlestick from the console table nearby, picked up the hems of her night-rail and robe and headed down the stairs two at a time.

Doors above her opened, doors below her slammed and she had no idea in which direction to turn.

The decision was taken from her when a gust of wind told her the front door had been opened. With a devout prayer that Lovett was on his way, and Redding ready to do whatever was necessary at the door, she headed down the next flight of stairs in that direction.

Three feet before she reached the open door that swayed back and forth in the night air, a large hump on the floor groaned and moved.

Belinda stopped inches before she fell over it, and crouched down, surprised to see it was Darke who lay there groaning and clutching his arm, and swearing under his breath.

‘Darke, what on earth? What's happened?' Behind her there was the sound of footsteps pounding down the stairs. ‘I thought it should be Redding. Where are you hurt?'