Vintage Love (130 page)

“No,” she said. “I’ll speak to them in the morning. There’s nothing they can do now. I’ll stay with him and see he doesn’t come to any harm. You go along!”

“Not much of a fine gent now, is he?” the lad said with a glance of disgust at the snoring Gregg. Then he left.

She went to her room and got a blanket. Then she made herself as comfortable as possible in a plain chair in the room with the sleeping man. She wrapped the blanket around her and sat watching him by the single candle’s light. After a few minutes, her chin dropped and she slept awhile. She woke up several times and found him still asleep.

“Damnation!” The word came clearly and loudly to wake her from a cat nap, and she saw that Mark Gregg was standing in the tiny bedroom looking around him with blank amazement. His stern face turned her way; he seemed unable to believe what he saw.

She threw off the blanket and fully-dressed from the night before, stood up to confront him, saying, “You’re feeling some better?”

“How did I get here?” he snapped at her.

“You were robbed last night and left in the alley across the street,” she said nervously. She was beginning to realize he might think her in on the robbery, or accuse her of bringing him to this sad state. “I’m the barmaid from next door. The lad who helps there gave me a hand in bringing you here.”

He continued to stare at her, as if he doubted her. “You found me in an alley?”

“Just across from here. You must have been set upon as soon as you left the tavern.”

The cut above his eye looked swollen. His face bore bruises and he looked very sallow. He touched a hand to his temple. “I remember,” he said in a low voice. “Yes!”

“I could not leave you there,” she apologized.

He paid no attention to what she said. He had both hands at his temple now, and he was seemingly making an effort to remember. He said, “I was drinking last night. Went to a tavern. Very drunk. When I came out into the street, four men set upon me. They dragged me into the alley and attacked me and stole my purse!”

“We heard your moans,” Becky said.

Now he turned to stare at her again. He said, “You say you are the barmaid at the tavern?”

“Yes.”

“And you made this effort to save me?”

“I would have done as much for anyone in your plight,” she said. She did not think he recognized her as the girl whose father had been killed in his shipyard, as the one who had thrown his golden sovereigns back in his face.

“Would you, indeed?” he said, rather quietly.

“Any Christian would.”

“I wonder,” he said. “I believe myself to be a Christian, but I pay scant attention to the problems of those unknown to me.”

“I knew you were Mark Gregg,” she said. “Mr. Crown, the owner of the place told me so.”

Mark Gregg frowned. “I was most unwise last night. I seldom venture into the streets in that manner.” He glanced towards the window. “It will soon be dawn.”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

He surveyed himself with distaste. “I was drunken and ill! My clothes are filthy from the dirty alley. I still have a most monstrous head! It would seem I might have lost my life had it not been for you. I owe you a most handsome ransom.”

“I want nothing,” she said firmly. “I will accept nothing. I did what I did because I felt it was right. I warned Mr. Crown as you left that you might come to evil, but he did not seem to care.”

“Willing to sell me his liquor but not to worry about what happened to me after I left his place,” Mark Gregg said with some bitterness. “Well, that is the way of the world, my girl. Only a few take notice of the problems of others, it seems. Fortunately for me, you are among the few!”

“Would you like some hot tea before you leave?” she asked. “I have a small stove in my room.”

“That might help,” he agreed. “And if you could bring me soap and another basin of water, I might make something more presentable of myself.”

“I’ll fetch the soap and water for you,” she told him.

And she did. When she returned with a tea tray bearing a small pot of tea, two cups and saucers and some plain cookies, she found that he washed both himself and the worst spots from his clothing and did look and smell less repellent than before.

“This is most kind of you,” he said. “I will leave as soon as I have the tea. I would not wish to be seen in this condition.”

She poured out tea for him and herself, saying, “A gentleman such as you should not wander alone in these mean streets after the midnight hour.”

He sipped the tea with relish. “You are right,” he said. “I usually travel about in my carriage after dark. Last night I was not myself.”

“I understand, sir,” she said.

“Do not call me, sir, in that fashion,” he rebuked her. “I would hope we are friends. My name is Mark Gregg. You may call me Mark. What is your name?”

“Rebecca Lee,” she said. “Everyone calls me Becky.”

“I prefer Rebecca,” he said, in a return to his rather brusque manner. “I suppose you are used to seeing drunken men, since you are a barmaid.”

“There are many who drink unwisely,” she said. “Though most of our patrons come for conversation and a bit of beer. To them it is a place for comradeship.”

He eyed her sharply. “I suppose the pub is a working man’s club. I have no one to blame but myself for abusing the drink. I rarely do so.”

“I’m sure of that,” she said, not daring to call him Mark nor wishing to annoy him by referring to him as sir.

“Have I ever met you before? You have a remarkably pretty face.”

“I’m sure you would remember me if we had met,” she said, carefully. “I doubt that our paths ever crossed.”

“Why do you work as a barmaid?”

“I have no family,” she said. “I’m alone. Work is not easy for a lone female to find.”

He finished his tea and held out his cup for her to refill. And he said, “Of course it isn’t. There is no dishonor in what you’re doing. You are to be congratulated for working hard to make a respectable living.”

“Thank you,” she said somewhat shyly.

“You have a working class way of speaking,” he said.

“I come from a working class background,” she told him.

“But your beauty could grace any mansion,” Mark Gregg said. “And the equal of your goodness would not be found in many society belles.”

She made no reply to this and found herself uncomfortable with his compliments. He seemed more in character when he was sharp and inconsiderate. His face was not all that stern when he relaxed, as he was at this moment. And in truth, the strong, square-jawed face was rather handsome in its own way. It was strange that he had not married before this. He must be in his mid-forties.

He finished his, tea and put the empty cup down. Rising, he said, “I will go now.” He moved to the door and said, “I will not soon forget your kindness.”

On her feet, she said, “It was nothing.”

“It was a compassionate act,” he said. “Which I hardly deserved. Like yourself, I live alone. I have no family. There are times when I’m overcome with the futility of existence. A black despair strikes me, and I go out blindly on a drunken binge. That is what brought me low last night.”

“You must take more caution in the future,” she counselled him.

“I shall try,” he said quietly. And with a nod he left.

She followed him out to the street door. She saw him halt and study the tavern, then cross the street to the alley where she had found him. There he retrieved his somewhat soiled top hat. She watched from behind the door as he placed it on his head and then returned to the sidewalk and made his way along the street in what she presumed must be the direction of his home. There were several streets of rich shipyard owners’ houses not all that far away.

She did not expect to ever see him again. And for the next ten days it seemed that she was right in this belief. Then, one early evening he entered the tavern and caused the usual stir. He was well dressed as he had been the last time, but on this occasion he was strictly sober!

Becky was carrying a tray of drinks as they met. He removed his hat, bowed, and smiled. “I see you are still hard at work!”

“Yes,” she said. “It is a busy night, though some have been busier.”

“I wish to speak with Crown for a moment,” he said in his lofty way. And with a nod for her he moved on to the bar.

She went on to place the drinks on the table before the group who had ordered them. It seemed that Mark Gregg had recovered from his unhappy adventure and was not inclined to pay any further attention to her. She was relieved at this. She wanted neither his gratitude nor any reward for what she’d done. If she turned back money offered her again, he might remember her— and she did not want that.

By the time she returned to the bar Mark Gregg vanished. Mrs. Crown, busy filling some mugs with ale, turned to tell her, “Luther wants to speak to you! Right off!”

“Very well,” she said, puzzled. And she went over to where the bartender stood at the other end of the bar, wondering if she were to be reprimanded.

Luther gave her an odd look when she reached him. He said, “You’re off for the night.”

Her eyebrows raised. “Off for the night? What are you talking about?”

He leaned close and eyed her earnestly with his one eye. “To be truthful, I don’t know. But Mr. Gregg pressed a pound note in my hand to give you the night off. And at this very minute he’s waiting outside in his carriage for you to join him.”

“I can’t!” she protested.

“You’d better,” Luther told her. “I promised you would. In my opinion, he wants to give you some gift for your helping him that night he was robbed!”

“I don’t want anything!”

“Don’t be a fool!” Luther Crown told her. “He has plenty. But do what you like, as long as you go out to him. The missus and me can manage alone. It’s not a busy night.”

She sighed. “I’ll go tell him he’s gone to a lot of trouble for nothing!”

Removing her cap and apron, she quietly made her way outside to the summer night. And exactly as Crown had said, Mark Gregg was seated in his carriage with the driver standing on the street. Seeing her, the driver opened the carriage door and Mark Gregg stepped down to the sidewalk.

Unsmiling, he said, “I propose to take you to a fine restaurant for dinner.”

Her eyes widened. “I can’t go! I’m not properly dressed!”

“You live only next door as I recall,” he said in his business like fashion. “I’ll give you a quarter hour to dress.”

Becky protested, “There’s no need!”

“Please don’t disappoint me,” Mark Gregg said. “I have the private dining room engaged and the menu selected. Let me make at least one charitable gesture in my life.”

She said nothing but turned and hurried to Number Eight. She was in a turmoil of emotions and thoughts as she quickly found her best linen suit and donned it. She freshened herself up as best she could in the short time at her disposal, spending long minutes with her hair. At last, she surveyed herself in the mirror and felt she might pass!

Mark Gregg was on the sidewalk talking to the driver of his carriage when she returned. He glanced at her and said, “A most remarkable transformation!”

She sat beside him dumb with embarrassment during the ride from the run-down dock section to the busy center of the great city. Soon they had reached the theatre district, with its crowds in the streets and its blazing gaslights.

“We are going to the Holborn Restaurant in High Holborn Street at Queen,” he said.

When they reached the eating place, she was impressed at the magnificence of its entrance. He ordered the coach back in two hours, and a doorman opened the huge door to let them inside.

A white-haired, amiable headwaiter emerged from the great main dining room where concert music was being played in the background and came to greet them.

“Good evening, Mr. Gregg,” he said with a bow. “Your private room is ready, and I shall send a waiter up as soon as you are seated.”

He led them up a red-carpeted stairway and down a hall to an open door. The private dining room was on a balcony which looked over the main room and through the open window of which music from downstairs could be heard faintly. The table was set with gleaming white linen, silver, and a vase of flowers. Mark Gregg tipped the headwaiter generously. And before he left the waiter took the champagne bottle from its ice bucket and poured them drinks.

Mark passed her a glass and took one for himself. As the old man vanished, he smiled at her and said, “To our second meeting!”

“I’m overwhelmed,” she told him.

“I hoped you would be,” he said frankly. “Do drink your champagne. Enjoy it while its bubbly!”

The waiter came and Mark ordered turtle soup, boiled salmon with lobster sauce, pigeon and peas, and dessert and coffee to follow. As the waiter left he told her, “You must try the trifle here! It is excellent!”

She had several glasses of champagne before the first course. And more wine with the meal. She felt a little like Cinderella transported from the dingy bar to this feasting and elegance. She noted that Mark Gregg was dressed formally.

Mark Gregg did not have too much to say during the meal. And she spoke little, nor was she able to properly think her situation out. The wine made her feel relaxed and happy, the rich food filled her with content, and the relaxed atmosphere gave her a kind of happiness she had not known in a long while.

Over the dessert, he asked, “Do you approve of the trifle?”

“It is as good as you promised,” she said.

“I’m pleased,” he told her. And his slight smile made her think again that he wasn’t altogether grim. He was truly rather good-looking, if somewhat worn.

She said, “It was a wonderful thought to repay me. And I shall always treasure the memory of this evening.”

“That is kind of you,” he said. “But surely there will be other evenings?”

Becky stared at him. “I don’t understand.”

He studied her seriously. “I have a confession to make. I’ve tried to forget you, but I’ve not been able to. Your lovely face has haunted me ever since the other night. I can’t shut out the vision of it. I’m obsessed by you!”

His urgent tone left her no doubt that he meant what he was saying—it frightened her. She protested, “You think kindly of me because you are grateful to me!”