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There would be no more Jack. No more Silas Clifford. No more Uncle Henry. Somehow she must find her way back to her own kind, but first she must have money, and Adam would give her that. She would find the boy Toby and take the reward he had promised for herself.
Her spirits strengthened, the following morning she left her squalid room for the last time and took her first steps into an uncertain future. If Jack caught her, there was no telling what he would do. But maybe he wouldn’t catch her. It was a risk she was willing to take.
For three days Edwina scoured the vast network of alleyways and yards of St Giles, certain they had been built for the very purpose of concealment. It was like a vast jungle, which harboured criminals with as great a security as accorded to wild beasts in the jungles of Africa and India.
Careful to avoid the places where she knew Jack would be, she entered and searched places she would have steered clear of before—the meanest hovels, from the cellars to the rooms stacked on top. In the streets clouds of flies hovered over horse dung and offal from the slaughterhouses, mingling with the stench of unwashed humanity. Edwina was oblivious of everything outside her own purpose. She questioned fellow thieves and beggars. Everyone had seen crippled boys, and there were some who did fit Toby’s description, but they were nameless.
It was almost dark and Edwina, utterly dejected and suffering from exhaustion, found herself in Covent Garden. Sitting on a low wall at the base of some iron railings, she kept herself awake only by a prodigious effort of will. Her whole body ached as if she had been beaten, and she blinked like a night-bird at the many bright lights around her.
She often found her way to the busy piazza. It was famous for its gaming, rowdy taverns, chocolate and coffee houses, and brothels filled with loose women. Its marvellous fruit and vegetable market and theatres giving it flavour and vitality, Covent Garden was pervaded by an atmosphere of uninhibited pleasure, attracting all kinds of folk—in particular actors, painters and writers—both day and night. Tonight was no different to all the others, as people came to savour the high life. Even in the fading light the vibrant colours drew Edwina into the tableau, and she listened to the din of voices as they laughed and boasted, cursed and argued.
Theatre-goers were beginning to arrive for the evening’s performances in fine carriages, and she watched enviously as fashionable men and women in glittering and dazzling attire climbed out, the ladies holding froths of lace dipped in perfume to their noses to kill the unpleasant odour of rotting garbage. Creamy bosoms bedecked with jewels rose out of fitted bodices, slender waists accentuated by flowing skirts.
The gentlemen were no less magnificent in their leather pumps with silver buckles, white silk stockings and knee-length pale-coloured breeches, and superbly tailored frock coats over elaborately embroidered waistcoats. Most of the upper classes, both men and women, wore powdered wigs, but those of lesser means could not afford them. Eager to see the night’s performances, with much laughter and light-hearted chatter, they alighted from their carriages and disappeared inside.
Edwina was about to stand up and move on when a carriage carrying two ladies and two gentleman stopped and caught and held her attention. Her eyes became riveted on one of the gentlemen. She watched him spring down and hold out his hand to assist one of the ladies with the tender care of a devoted friend—or lover. She was a tall, glittering young woman dressed in cobalt blue silk, her dark hair arranged superbly on her proudly erect head, the silken tresses threaded with sparkling jewels.
The gentleman was a tall, extremely striking man. He was impeccably dressed, his knee-length claret coat and rich dark hair emphasising the pristine whiteness of the cascade of lace at his throat and wrists. He declined the wearing of the customary wig, and Edwina thought how suited his own hair was to him. Suddenly her heart was beating wildly. She stared wide-eyed at the man, unaware that she had stood up. It was Adam. She was sure it was. If only he would turn his head, so she could see his face more clearly.
As if he felt the pull of her eyes he spun his head round and met her gaze head on. An expression Edwina couldn’t recognise flickered across his handsome features, and even from a distance of several yards his eyes seemed very bright. Then one corner of his mouth cocked up in a smile, the same mocking smile she remembered. A sweet longing radiated through her, setting her pulse racing.
Not wishing to embarrass him by drawing further attention to herself, she turned. Just as she was about to disappear into the crowd, something clamped her upper arm like an iron band and spun her round. Rage edged Jack’s deep voice as he thrust his face close.
‘So, you young guttersnipe. Thought you’d run out on Jack, did you? Thought you’d escape me?’ His small black eyes blazed. ‘I said I’d find you—told you what would happen.’
Overcome with fear, Edwina panicked. A groan of terror tore from her constricted chest, and she pulled away, cringing from the blow she knew would follow. When it came she fell to the ground. Coloured sparks exploded in her eyes and the world began to spin, before blackness enfolded her.
From across the street, horrified, Adam saw what had happened. His eyes flashed with blue fire. ‘Go in, will you,’ he said quickly to his companions. ‘I’ll join you shortly.’ They watched in stunned amazement as he ran across the street.
The crowd that had gathered around the unconscious youth parted to let him through. ‘Stand back,’ he ordered. ‘Give the lad some air.’ Crouching down beside Edwina, he raised her up. Her head fell back limply and blood began to trickle from the cut on the right side of her small face. Adam raised his head and looked at the thug responsible, a murderous glint in his blue eyes.
‘Damn you! If the lad doesn’t recover, you’ll regret this,’ he said, and, for all its quiet, his voice was like a suddenly unsheathed blade.
Jack turned and lumbered away. He disappeared down an alley, moving with a speed and agility that could not have been anticipated in a man of his bulk.
Adam gently raised the broken, pitiful burden into his arms, and to the amazement of the crowd he carried the lad off across the square. His arrival at the house just off the piazza with an unconscious street urchin in his arms caused a furore of bawdy comments from both male and scantily clad female occupants, who sat around talking and laughing and openly caressing each other.
With the supreme indifference of a true gentleman toward lesser mortals, Adam ignored the lewd remarks and addressed a servant, his voice rich and compelling. ‘Fetch Mrs Drinkwater at once.’
Right on cue an elegantly attired woman in middle age moved slowly down the stairs.
‘Why, it’s you, Adam. I figured it must be. Who else would make so much bluster? Still, ’tis a pleasure to see you.’ She gave the man she had known since childhood an adoring, almost sainted look, before dropping her gaze to the boy and bending over him with concern. ‘Bless me! What have we here?’
Adam’s voice was urgent. ‘I need your help, Dolly. The lad’s injured and needs tending.’
‘I can see that. Who is he?’
‘A friend.’
Looking at the deeply etched lines of concern and strain on Adam’s face, Dolly realised the boy must be quite special. ‘Tell me what happened?’
‘Some thug being too liberal with his fists,’ he ground out.
‘Oh, the poor mite. Bring him upstairs. We’ll find him a bed right away.’
Following Dolly up the stairs and into a bedroom, Adam gently deposited his burden on the bed and loosened the fastenings at Edwina’s throat. She groaned and rolled her head from side to side, but didn’t open her eyes.
‘Who is he?’ Dolly asked as she busied herself with the unpleasant task of pulling off Ed’s oversized, almost worn-out boots.
‘He lives in St Giles. I hired him to help me find Toby.’
Dolly glanced up. ‘Still no news of the lad, then?’
‘No, unless Ed has something to offer.’
‘I do hope so,’ Dolly said sympathetically, knowing how important it was to Adam that he find Toby—his cousin Olivia’s boy. ‘And your cousin Silas?’ she asked quietly, keeping her eyes down. ‘What has become of him? It’s so long since I had news of any sort from Tap-low—not that I seek it or care.’
Looking at Dolly’s bent head and recalling the dreadful business that had forced her to leave Taplow Court, where she had been employed as housekeeper, Adam’s expression softened. ‘Silas is dead, Dolly—a month ago.’
She looked at him and nodded, digesting his words and straightening her back, knowing Adam would feel no remorse over the demise of that particular gentleman—and she even less—although there was a time when there was nothing she would not have done for Silas Clifford. She had been at Taplow Court just one month when he had taken her into his bed, and, though he didn’t have an ounce of affection for her—taking her body night after night without the courtesy of a caress, without the slightest endearment and with less feeling than a dog for a bitch—she became a necessity in his life and she had loved him with a passion that had made her ache.
‘Thank God,’ she said.
‘I always admired the way you put what happened behind you and got on with your life, Dolly. It can’t have been easy.’
‘It was very hard, Adam. But I cured myself of what Silas did to me before a serious depression could occur. Sadly the same cannot be said of your cousin Olivia—poor thing. What happened to the young lady Silas was to marry?’
Adam shrugged. ‘She disappeared without a trace.’ His firm lips curved in a wry smile. ‘Apparently Silas inspired in her nothing but repugnance and she refused to be forced into marriage. Young women of seventeen do not willingly give themselves in marriage to licentious monsters more than twice their age. When her uncle insisted, it appears she ran away and has not been seen since. I never met her, but, whoever she is, I admire her courage.’
‘And what of you, Adam? As heir to your cousin’s estate you are now the Earl of Taplow. Are felicitations in order—or commiserations?’
His look was sombre. ‘I never sought the title, you know that, Dolly. I always hoped Silas would marry and have children. My profession and my position as the Earl of Taplow do not rest easy together. There are many who would not approve.’
‘Since when did Adam Rycroft care what others think?’ Dolly remarked quickly. ‘In that you and I are alike. Approval and disapproval are not words in my vocabulary, Adam.’
Adam grinned. ‘You know me too well, Dolly.’
‘In that you are right,’ she said, laughing lightly. Thinking of Tap-low Court, she had a vision of happy children playing in the deserted gardens, running through the empty rooms, injecting them with life. ‘Some might say Taplow Court is a grim and gloomy place, but despite what happened I liked it there. Silas never appreciated it—he never appreciated anything. What that house needs is a family living in it—children, Adam. You should give it some thought.’
‘I have, Dolly, but what I do suits me. It is a part of me. The city is my home.’
‘Hertfordshire is only a few hours away from London. You could quite easily reside at Taplow Court and still manage your business here. You don’t have to sell your house in town.’
‘I suppose you’re right, but here I come and go as I please, and no man commands me. At Taplow, where I was never at ease, I shall be forced into habits, restricted, which will eventually kill my initiative—my spontaneity—which is an important part of my work.’
‘Being the Earl of Taplow will not necessarily change that.’
‘I wish I could be so sure. I do not want to become part of a system that stifles—a cog in a wheel that’s forever turning and going nowhere.’
Dolly could understand what he was saying. The tragedies of his personal life had made him cynical.
He combed a rebellious lock of hair from his forehead with an impatient hand, and paced the carpet between the window and the bed with long, vigorous strides, his eyes constantly drawn to the still figure laid out on the bed. Dolly could sense the restlessness in him.
‘You haven’t been back to Taplow?’
‘No, not since I left all those years ago. But I will. I have no choice. As yet I have not divulged my elevation to the title to anyone, Dolly, and I would prefer it to remain so until I’ve been back to Taplow. Had Toby been legitimate, the estate would have passed to him. You, more than anyone, will remember the circumstances of Toby’s birth, and the day Silas threw Olivia out of Taplow Court after slaying her lover.’
Dolly nodded. It was something she had tried so hard to forget, but the memory of Joseph Tyke, Silas’s incredibly handsome head groom, his blood pouring from a gaping wound in his chest and draining him of life, of Silas standing over him, gloating, bloodied knife in his hand, meant that she never would. That was the day she had come to hate Silas Clifford with a virulence that almost choked her, and made her turn her back on him and his home. She recalled Lady Olivia as being a demure young woman with a sweet nature, and, unfortunately, very poor health.
‘I do. It was a truly wicked, cruel act on his part.’
‘I know. He should have been apprehended for what he did—hanged, even, but he had the establishment background, wealth, power, influence, and the bland confidence of a noble lord,’ Adam said with snarling bitterness. ‘When Olivia knew she was dying, destitute and with no one else to turn to, in desperation she returned to Taplow Court and begged her brother to take care of the boy. You can imagine Silas’s reaction.’
‘Yes, I can. Your cousin was a man used to his own way, a ruthless man, too unprincipled, too wealthy, with too much of everything, who thought the world should pay obeisance to him.’
‘He also found disfigurement of any kind abhorrent…’ Adam paused. His face was hard with memory, the muscles tight, and his blue eyes were hard too. ‘Silas couldn’t bear to look at Toby with his twisted leg, so when Olivia died he cast him out—gave him like a bit of old garbage to some passing tinkers.’
His voice was calm, much too calm, carefully modulated, but Dolly knew that beneath the calm Adam seethed with anger, and the striking gentleman in claret velvet and lace became the youth again, the fervent, embittered boy who had been forced to live under Silas’s tyrannical dominance at Taplow Court. He took a deep breath and ran a hand across his brow. When he spoke his voice was still calm, but each word might have been chiselled from ice.
‘Olivia wrote to me shortly before she died, explaining her situation, but I was out of the country at the time and when I returned it was too late for me to help her. I failed her, Dolly. I saw Silas when he came to London. He told me what he had done—coldly and without an ounce of remorse. If he hadn’t died, I think I would have killed him with my bare hands. I have to find Toby—for Olivia’s sake. If it’s the last thing I do, I will find him.’
His voice was so full of conviction that Dolly believed he would.
Adam stood back as she continued to administer to the inert figure with a cool efficiency he’d always admired. Despite her chosen profession, one that caused her to be shunned and looked down on, he respected Dolly and would defend her to the death. Apart from his parents, she was the only person he had ever loved. She had taken him under her protective wing when, at the age of six, following the tragic death of his parents, he had been sent to Taplow Court to be brought up by his cousin Silas.
Dolly was a shrewd businesswoman. When she’d left Taplow Court she’d come to London and opened a dress shop, which had proved a huge success. She was extremely likeable and vivacious, and she soon became a popular figure.
Having made a huge profit, but not content with that, and liking the sound of clinking gold, she’d opened a gambling house in Covent Garden with investments from some of her wealthy gentlemen friends. The downstairs’ rooms were sumptuously decorated and the tables run by competent, attractive young women. Upstairs there were a number of private rooms where these same young ladies, and others whose job it was to please the customers, could retire with well-heeled patrons.
Adam suddenly remembered his companions at the theatre, and knew that Barbara, who was Dolly’s niece, would be livid because he’d deserted her. ‘I don’t think the lad’s badly hurt, so, if you don’t mind, Dolly, I’ll leave him in your capable hands. I have to go. I promised I would escort Barbara to the theatre tonight and had to leave her with Steven Hewitt and his wife. As you know, your niece has temper that would shame the devil. My life won’t be worth living if I abandon her completely.’
‘You have my sympathy. I know just how difficult Barbara can be—even at the best of times. You’d better go.’
Adam glanced with indecision at the recumbent form on the bed. ‘I know you’ll take good care of the lad. For some reason I feel responsible for him now. Send for the doctor if need be. I’ll be back to see how he is in the morning.’
Chapter Three
E dwina opened her eyes. Darkness pressed around her. She winced at the pain in her head. Gingerly she turned it an inch at a time. Curtains were drawn across a window, so it must be night. She was in a bed, the mattress soft—as soft as her own had been. Tobacco smoke and the sweet, cloying scent of women’s perfume permeated the air, and from somewhere beyond the room she could hear voices.
Her hands were resting on top of the covers. Sliding them underneath, she was horrified when she felt her naked body. Someone had removed her clothes—not just her breeches and jacket, but everything. She couldn’t remember being without her undergarments, except before she had come to London, when she had taken her bath. Fighting down her panic, she wondered what kind of people would take her clothes and—worse—how many had seen her without them?
Anger flared through her and she sat up, clutching the bedcovers to her body. She must escape, but how could she when she didn’t know where she was and had nothing to wear? The pain in her head pushed her back against the soft pillows and, closing her eyes, she drifted back to sleep.
The soft singing of a woman came to Edwina. She opened her eyes to find the cosy room flooded with morning sunlight. The familiar hubbub of the streets drifted from beyond the walls, and above it all a cacophony of sound from the city’s many church bells. From somewhere in the house doors opened and closed, and the smell of warm bread and frying bacon wafted into her room.
She tried to remember what had happened—seeing Jack and how he had lashed out at her in anger. A chill ran through her. She recalled being lifted up by someone else, but she couldn’t remember who it had been.
Unable to conjure up his face, she forced herself to relax and enjoy the warmth and safety of the bed, at least for the moment, letting the pleasant smells of the house and the woman’s song lull her. Edwina wondered who she was. The singing stopped and whoever it was spoke to someone else. Other voices could be heard now, laughing and giggling.
Hauling herself to a sitting position, she leaned back, pulling the covers up to her chin. After a few moments a young woman came into the room, humming softly under her breath. Her auburn hair spilled to her shoulders in a luxuriant mass. She was bearing a tray weighted down by a pot of tea and a platter of eggs and bacon and bread and butter. The delicious aroma tempted Edwina, who’d had nothing to eat since the previous midday.
The young woman stopped when she saw Edwina sitting up in bed, and a smile stretched across her pretty face. ‘Good, you’re awake!’ she said, her voice as clear as her glowing complexion. She placed the tray in front of Edwina on the bed. ‘Here, get that down you. Mrs Drinkwater says you’re much too thin for comfort and insists we feed you up.’ She took a step back. ‘I’m Harriet Crabtree, by the way, and I’m pleased to meet you. How do you feel?’
‘Better, thank you—at least I shall when my clothes are returned to me.’
Still smiling, the young woman cocked her head. ‘I can’t say that I blame you, but when you were brought here, Mrs Drinkwater refused to let you lie between her clean linen in what you were wearing.’
‘Mrs Drinkwater?’
‘The owner of this establishment.’
‘And what kind of establishment is this?’
Harriet had no time to reply, for at that moment a woman bustled in, carrying some clothes over her arm. She smiled when she saw her young guest sitting up in bed. ‘Hello, dear. Dolly Drinkwater,’ she introduced herself. ‘I’m glad to see you awake at last. You took a nasty knock on the head last night and had us all quite worried, I don’t mind telling you.’ Her voice was rich and warm like the peach dress she wore. Fifty years old, Dolly Drinkwater had a face that was lined, but her figure was still slender, and there was a sparkle in her eyes that age would not dim.
Draping the clothes over the back of a chair, she stood looking down at Edwina. Despite her outward composure, the poor young thing looked extremely tense, frightened, almost. ‘You can put them on when you’ve eaten and had a bath. We had difficulty with the dress size—you being so small, you understand—but Harriet made a quick adjustment to the seams so that it would fit. I’ve told one of the maids to have some hot water brought up.’
‘Thank you—and thank you for the bed. It’s the best I’ve slept in for a long time. You’ve been very kind.’
‘What’s your name, love?’
‘E—Ed,’ she replied hesitantly, her voice hoarse.
The older woman raised an elegant brow. ‘Oh, come now. It was no stripling lad I undressed last night—though you’d have everyone believe that, wouldn’t you? You might have fooled Adam, but you can’t fool me.’
Edwina’s composure began to crumble when she recalled seeing Adam outside the theatre. He must have witnessed what happened and rescued her from Jack. ‘Adam? Adam brought me here?’
‘That he did, and most concerned he was, too. Now, what’s your real name?’
‘Edwina.’
‘And how old are you?’
‘Eighteen.’
Dolly’s stare was forthright, her tone gentle. ‘Why are you masquerading as a boy? Running away from someone, are you?’
‘You—might say that,’ she answered, convinced Jack would come after her—or worse, that he would put the law on her.
‘Well—you’ll be safe now. There’s no where safer in the whole of London, dearie, than Dolly’s Place. No constable will venture inside this house.’
‘No?’
‘It’s a bordello, love,’ Harriet quipped saucily, her eyes twinkling. ‘Of the prestigious kind, of course. Don’t you worry, though,’ she said, winking cheekily. ‘You needn’t sell your favours if you have no mind to. Although, we could teach you all you need to know to be a fitting companion for the gentlemen who visit here—but,’ she went on, wrinkling her nose with distaste at Edwina’s greasy hair and dirty face, ‘we’d have to fatten you up a bit and do something about your appearance first.’
‘Stop it, Harriet,’ Dolly reproached, a chuckle taking out the sting. ‘You’ll embarrass our young guest.’
Edwina stared from one to the other in shocked incomprehension. She was in a bordello, a den of depravity, and this kindly lady was a procuress. ‘Companion? You mean whore!’ she blurted out hotly. ‘I will not sell my body.’ She had not given up her life as a thief to become a whore. That would be too much to be borne.
As soon as she had said the words Edwina was contrite. It was a harsh remark, and it must have hurt, she could see that. Harriet didn’t reply at first, and then a faint smile curved her lips. The lovely, vivacious young woman with lively, laughing hazel eyes was too worldly to be upset by a remark that must have been hurled at her many times.