Reckless Rules (Brambridge Novel 4) (19 page)

Goodness, she would have thought it would be the other way round. She hoped that being ‘grateful’ wouldn’t turn up with his list of reasons, if he was able to come up with thirteen, that was.

“Whyever did you ask her now, Bill? I can’t deny there is an attraction between you but usually a woman needs to be wooed first.”

“Something you know so much about.”

“We’re not talking about me. We’re talking about you, and the high and mighty Lady Colchester.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“You do really want to marry her, don’t you?”

“I wouldn’t have asked her if I didn’t.”

That was her cue to leave. Disappointed somehow—as if she had been expecting just the smallest protestation of love, Victoria nodded at Willson, who silently handed over her stole. Who was she trying to fool? Her reasons for her proposition to Bill had had no consideration for love whatsoever. She was angling for some companionship, some more treatment, something to keep the darkness at bay. Surely?

Wasn’t she?

“I’ll see myself out, thank you, Willson.”

“Don’t forget your dog.”

Victoria sighed, and looked for the familiar carpet rug in the corner of the hall. “Brutus, kindly release Ponzi to me please.” As the small dog appeared from under the shaggy coat of the large wolfhound, Victoria frowned. Brutus and Ponzi didn’t seem to have needed all of this proposition and engagement planning. They’d taken one look at each other and decided what they’d wanted, and to damn with their owners’ wishes. Did they have thirteen rules that they lived by? Looking into Ponzi’s mournful small eyes, Victoria groaned. It didn’t seem like she did. Brutus stood up and followed Ponzi to Victoria’s feet. As Victoria opened the door and put Ponzi on a small leash, Brutus padded after her.

“Stay, Brutus,” she said, backing away from the head of the dog that came almost up to her chest. “Ponzi has to go home now. You need to stay with your master.”

Brutus yawned to reveal a strip of very sharp teeth. Victoria marveled at how much the dog looked like his master had earlier before he had asked her to marry him. And she had broken his nose.

Her white barouche stood outside the house. She walked lightly down the steps and, after lifting Ponzi onto the opposite seat, settled herself down to wait for the coachman to close the door. The coach creaked and the smell of wet stockings assailed her nostrils. With little regard for the white leather upholstery, Brutus hauled himself into the carriage and onto the seat next to Ponzi.

“Well I never. Brutus, get down and out.”

But Brutus merely thumped his great tail and uttered a very satisfied ‘woof’. Ponzi answered with a yip.

“What shall I do, my lady?” Oswald peered up from the bottom step of the barouche, looking in horror at the large dog that had invaded the carriage. “I’m not sure that I can remove him.”

Oh dear.
“Brutus, get out of the carriage.”

Brutus stayed put.

“How about you try a different command, my lady?” Oswald said dubiously.

“Brutus, get off the seat.” With one movement, Brutus got to the floor of the carriage and laid his head on the seat next to hers whilst still looking back at Ponzi.

So that was the way the land lay? He would do anything she said, as long as he was with his beloved. Victoria sighed. “Run and tell Willson that Mr. Standish can come and pick his dog up when he comes to see me in a week.”

She waited patiently as the coachman ran up the steps and relayed the message to a very surprised Willson. Who was she to stand in the way of companionship, something that she was looking for herself? Perhaps in a week it would be over, and the big dog would be ready to go back to his master.

“Oswald. I wish to visit Hoxton. More specifically number twelve Queen Street.” It was time to devote some attention to these missing girls. Something was
still
not quite right. Mr. Durnish, Paul Butterworth had been touring the pauper farms for maids, and yet professed directly to her not to have been doing so. He was a dangerous man and knew about the rules. She knew she was shying away from addressing this directly. There could be an obvious explanation for it; Paul had known her husband through his brother in their youth. Perhaps it was something they had concocted together. And then there was the man that Carruthers had met—

It was easier to focus on the girls, on their tangible disappearance. It resonated with her again. It would be interesting to see if a Mr. Durnish had visited Hoxton too.

“Lady Colchester, how wonderful to see you again. This is an unexpected pleasure.” Thomas Tipple, the proprietor of the Hoxton pauper farm, bowed low over her hand and bared his teeth in a smile. “We are indeed blessed to have had so many illustrious visitors today. Mr. Durnish has just left us after coming looking for new maids for his household.”

Had he really? Interesting.

“It is lovely to see you again too, Mr. Tipple,” Victoria said sweetly, retrieving her hand. “Indeed, I was just thinking the other day that it would be a nice thought to come and visit all the poor people here, and see how my money is helping them.”

“But of course, Lady Colchester, your money has been used to set up a small teaching school where the ladies can learn to sew and do their letters.”

“A valuable skill.”

“Indeed it is. Would you care to see it in action? I believe they are holding a class as we speak.”

“I would be delighted.” This was the first time that one of the pauper farm owners had invited her to see how her money was being spent. Perhaps she had misjudged Mr. Tipple, who had seemed the worst of the bunch in terms of creating wealth for himself at the expense of the paupers.

The classes were being held in a small room at the end of a dark corridor. The room smelled of damp, although the ladies looked cheerful as they gathered round a thin looking lady who was holding forth on the benefits of chain stitch. They all looked up as Victoria and Mr. Tipple entered, but quickly returned to their work again as Mr. Tipple glared at them. That wasn’t what interested Victoria most, however. What was more interesting was that the lady giving the lessons was Mrs. Prident, last seen at Mr. Robertson’s establishment as his matron.

“Mr. Tipple,” Victoria laid a hand on his arm and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “I would just so love to be left alone with some of these ladies, and even try my hand at some chain stitch myself.”

Mr. Tipple frowned. “You would?”

“Of course! Did you not know that sewing is one of the essential things that a lady must learn since she is young? I believe chain stitch was always far beyond me, however, and I would love to master it with your very able looking teacher.”

“She is very qualified.” Mr. Tipple smiled. “If you are sure? I need to do some paperwork. Mr. Durnish indicated that he was quite interested in taking Rosie and Maisie with him so I need to make sure that my invoices to the different parishes are up to date.”

“Rosie and Maisie?” Victoria cocked her head on one side.

“The two sitting either side of Mrs. Prident. I’ll be sorry to see them go. They are like wildflowers here.”

Indeed Rosie and Maisie were. They were young girls of only around fifteen years of age, with long brown hair and clear complexions. They were also quite beautiful.

“I see.”

“I’ll leave you to it. Do drop by my office on your way out.”

“I’ll be sure to,” Victoria murmured. Mr. Tipple gave another glare to some of the girls that had stopped listening to Mrs. Prident, and left with a bang on the door. Victoria settled herself on a small bench at the back of the room and waited for a break in the lesson.

It wasn’t long before Mrs. Prident raised her voice. “Right girls, attempt to create a small circle in chain stitch for the next five minutes, and then we’ll have a look at your results.”

The girls bent their heads to the small pieces of material in their hands and Mrs. Prident stood up and glided to where Victoria sat at the back of the room. Victoria nodded.

“Mrs. Prident.”

“Lady Colchester.”

In the small silence that followed Victoria wondered how to approach the two questions that she had. She sighed and patted the bench next to her. “Please sit down.”

With a straight back, Mrs. Prident sat, looking forward at the busily stitching group in front of her.

“I was surprised to see you here,” Victoria said gently. “I understood that you occupied a very important position in Mr. Robertson’s establishment.”

Mrs. Prident sniffed. “I did.” She pursed her lips. “But he didn’t like me showing him up in front of you. He let me go without giving a reference.”

“That’s not good. But it was your own choice.”

“Something had to be said!” Mrs. Prident said in a strident voice. Several of the girls looked up. She lowered her tone. “I knew when I saw you that you would pick up on what I was talking about. Those girls weren’t the first. We had a whole batch of them go missing. I thought I would alert you to the fact by being clever, but I was too clever. Mr. Robertson thought I had done it deliberately.”

“Hmm. A few have gone missing from the place in Mile End too.”

Mrs. Prident turned to look at her. “No? I thought perhaps Mr. Robertson was involved in the girls’ disappearance, but that would make it impossible. It was one of the reasons I didn’t mind leaving.”

“Have any gone from here?”

“Not that I know about, but I haven’t been here long enough.”

Victoria blinked. Perhaps she had gained a head start on this business at last. “Mrs. Prident, how much do they pay you to work here?”

“Not enough. My husband’s at home. He was a soldier in the war. Got a nice pay whilst he was able to work but his leg was blown off. Do you know what an injured soldier’s pay is? Barely nought. It’s a travesty. And now that I am here as a sewing mistress, not a matron any more…”

Victoria drew out a handkerchief from her pelisse and silently handed it to Mrs. Prident.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Prident blew her nose noisily on the linen.

“Would you care to work for me for a little while whilst you are here?” Victoria said carefully. “I would be able to pay you ten pounds a week as a retainer. And then after I may be able to see about getting you another job.”

Mrs. Prident turned to Victoria with shining eyes. “You would do that for me?”

“I think it might be dangerous.” Victoria said quietly. “You see, I am interested in those missing girls. And their disappearance coincides with the visit of a certain gentleman each time.”

Mrs. Prident nodded.

“I would like you to keep an eye on Maisie and Rosie.”

Mrs. Prident nodded again. “That is easy enough. They are very interested in sewing and their letters. They are very eager to learn. I can give them extra lessons.”

“Good. And I want you to let me know if a Mr. Durnish appears again.”

“The man that has just been here?” Mrs. Prident said in horror. “I met him at Mr. Robertson’s tool I assumed that he hadn’t found what he was looking for in terms of staff.”

“I don’t know if he is connected,” Victoria said hurriedly. She didn’t want Mrs. Prident doing anything rash. “I just don’t trust the man.”

“Neither did I,” Mrs. Prident muttered darkly. “He professed to be an older man but when he looked into my eyes I could have laid a hand on my bible that he was much younger.”

There it was again. The youthful man that was impersonating Mr. Durnish. But she had met Mr. Durnish herself. What was going on?

“If you see anything funny, or find out anything, contact me directly. My staff will bring you directly to me. Carruthers, my butler is aware of the situation.”

Mrs. Prident nodded again. “I will.”

CHAPTER 18

Bill sat back in the chair as Willson laid his hands on his nose, and with one quick swipe, pushed the bone back into place.      

“Owww. And you say, oof, that she heard everything we said after she walked out the door?”

“Yes Sir.” Willson wiped his hands on his uniform.

“And how did she take it?”

“She seemed more put out by your dog.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, in fact on that subject, Mr. Standish, I regret to inform you that Brutus left with her.”

“She kidnapped my dog?”

“I rather think it was the other way round sir. Brutus did not want to leave her, or rather
her
dog.”

“Oh.”

Freddie, who had been silent, laughed. “One less thing to worry about, Bill.”

“She said you could come back and collect him when you called on her in a week’s time.” Willson nodded at Freddie. “Permission to clean up, sir?”

“Of course, Willson. Thank you.”

The butler backed out of the room. Bill wiped the last of the blood from his nose. “You heard her, didn’t you?” he said plaintively. “I have to give her thirteen reasons as to why she should marry me.”

“At least it wasn’t thirteen reasons about why
you
want to marry her,” Freddie pointed out. “As far as I can see she has been entirely pragmatic about the whole affair. Why on earth did you propose?”

“She offered me a carte blanche,” Bill mumbled. Freddie clapped a hand to his ear.

“I’m sorry, I’m having terrible problems with my understanding today.”

“I said she offered me a carte blanche. No strings attached. She called it a proposition.” Bill could feel the heat rising from his head. He wasn’t blushing, was he?

Freddie raised his eyebrows. “Devil take it, man. Why didn’t you say yes? What possessed you to ask her to marry you instead? If a woman had asked me for a carte blanche I would have vaulted over fields and hedges to make it possible.”

“I know.” Bill hung his head. Something must have possessed him. He had pursued Lady Colchester faithfully for a year. Flowers, notes. Nothing, and then suddenly she had turned round and offered a man’s dream. He clenched his fist. This was all about his identity—showing that he was good enough for the rest of them. A wedding to Lady Colchester, one of the highest in the ton, would make sure of that.

“I had better let you get to work on that list, then,” Freddie said, standing. “How are you getting on with Pedro Moreno?”