The pale, drooping shadow that crept from Selina’s sparsely furnished room while Jeannette thanked the old woman had nothing in common with the dancing little ghost who left the George Street house less than an hour earlier.
Jeannette caught up with Annie in the dark stairwell. The stench of poverty, of too many unwashed bodies, of stale or rancid food, the stink of grimy floors and walls permeated the whole tenement and made her gag. But she had to speak to Annie before they joined Isabella in the phaeton.
“Annie, I am so very sorry!”
Annie gave no sign of having heard but slunk down the second flight of stairs.
“Please stop a moment, Annie.” Holding her skirts high, Jeannette followed. “I have a suggestion.”
“And what good is a suggestion? There’s nothing that can help me now.”
Annie finally stopped on the first floor landing and faced Jeannette. “You heard her, Lady Caroline. The tenement burned. And every last one of my family with it!”
Indeed, more than half of Basket Lane, from Cheapside to the print shop, had burned to the ground forty years ago, and many of the tenants, including Annie’s family, had died in the fire.
Old Selina had been fortunate. At the time, she lived in the building next to the print shop. It was the house ordered demolished by the owner of the tenements to stop the fire from spreading farther. But at least Selina and her family had time to get out.
“Why did it have to be a fire?” wailed Annie. “I was in a fire at Stenton Castle. I know how it feels. The heat! The choking! Gorblimey, Lady Caroline. Why did it have to be a fire?”
Hurting with compassion but utterly helpless, Jeannette could only repeat, “I am so sorry, Annie.”
“Where are they, Lady Caroline? I’m still around, aren’t I? Why can’t they be?”
“I don’t know. But I was taught when I was a little girl that people who die go to heaven.”
“Or to hell,” muttered Annie. “I was taught, too. But all I heard was stories of hellfire and brimstone.”
“Well, the nuns taught me about heaven, and I’d rather believe in that than in hell.”
For a long time, Annie said nothing, then, with a little sniff, she asked, “And what was your suggestion?”
“That you return to Stenton Castle.”
The shadow that was Annie drooped even more. “Knew I’d be a nuisance to you.”
“Not at all. But you’ve told me more than once that at Stenton you felt strong, that you could make yourself heard and seen by anyone you fancied.”
“Aye.”
“Which makes me think your destiny lies at Stenton.”
“My destiny? The reason I’m still around instead of in heaven or hell?”
Jeannette nodded.
“Gorblimey! If you’re right …”
Annie’s shape grew denser. Jeannette saw the outline of the huge mobcap, the striped skirt, the dark blue overdress.
On one of the floors above, a door slammed. Footsteps pounded on the stairs.
Jeannette and Annie exchanged a look and hurried on, toward the ground floor.
“But how will I get there?” whispered Annie.
“Don’t worry. I’ll find someone. Lord Decimus, perhaps. He has missed you.”
“I’ve missed him, too. I should have talked to him once in a while. Only it gets difficult at times. You see, he thinks I’m human.”
There was no time for more. They had reached the ground floor. Annie slipped outside. Jeannette was slower, since she must first open the door.
And then she stood motionless on the stoop as her gaze fell on the gentleman talking to Isabella, minding the horses.
Simon.
He came toward her.
“I see you found old Selina.”
“Yes. Isabella knew of her.”
Strangely breathless, she descended the two steps to the street.
Someone burst through the door behind her, clattered past, and hurried toward Cheapside—a butcher’s lad, late for work, tying his striped apron as he ran.
She searched Simon’s face, his eyes, for a sign of warmth—or even ire at her presence in Beggars Alley—but encountered only polite indifference, a most daunting sight.
“Simon, can we talk?”
He inclined his head. “I’m at your service, of course. But I am on my way to see Mrs. Hunter’s niece. My client may go to trial as soon as tomorrow, and I need Bess to testify on his behalf.”
“The man who had gaol fever? Who might be hanged?”
“Yes. He recovered and will stand trial.”
She held out her hand.
“Then go. I’ll say a rosary for your client.”
A spark lit in his eyes then, but was ruthlessly extinguished with a quick lowering of his lids.
“Thank you, Lady Caroline. You’re most gracious.”
And he bowed and strode off toward the print shop, about nine or ten doors down the alley.
“He told me I could work as a clerk at one of his factories in Lancaster,” said Isabella, her voice throbbing with suppressed excitement. “A cotton spinnery. He cleared it with the head clerk, and he’ll be sending someone over with the details and the directions.”
“What do you know!” Annie bounced into the phaeton. “Not only my problems are solved, but Isabella’s as well.”
But all Jeannette could think was that he hadn’t even bothered to tell her.
He had called her Lady Caroline, gravely, and without the hint of mockery that accompanied the title while he believed her an imposter. And he had walked off without a promise to call after the trial.
That night, a messenger arrived with a letter from Simon, directing Mr. Neal Doolittle, head clerk of Ashton Spinnery, Lancaster, to employ Miss Isabella Herder as junior clerk, employment to commence on the fifteenth of July.
“That’s in two weeks!” Isabella snatched her gowns off the hook behind the door and flung them on the bed. She pulled a drawer from the chest below the window and dumped the contents on top of the gowns. “I must pack! I must get a stagecoach ticket!”
Jeannette laughed at the girl’s excitement. “You’re not going anywhere tonight. So clear off your bed again and look what’s inside the box Mr. Renshaw also sent.”
“It’s a hat box.”
Isabella frowned at the elegant silver and blue box from London’s leading milliner dangling from Jeannette’s hand. Her face drained of color. Her eyes, wide, horrified, flew to Jeannette’s face.
“Lady Caroline! Surely he wouldn’t—he couldn’t expect—”
“No, Isabella.” Jeannette’s voice was crisp. “I’m sure Mr. Renshaw is not sending you a hat, and he is not expecting any favors in return for giving you employment. I suggest you open the box before you say anything else.”
Isabella set the box on the bed and with trembling fingers pulled off the lid.
Inside, neatly folded, lay a pink lace gown.
Jeannette feared her heart would stop. But, of course, it did not. It had more sense than that.
But a gown! What could Simon be thinking of! A gown was worse than a hat.
“My wedding gown,” whispered Isabella. “He went to Mrs. Pelham and fetched my things.”
Jeannette found that, suddenly, breathing was easier. As if she had doubted Simon.
Reverently, Isabella lifted the lacy folds.
“There’s something else,” said Jeannette. “Wrapped in tissue.”
“Mum’s locket!”
Isabella tore the tissue in her haste to unwrap the locket. She snapped it open.
“My grandparents. Won’t they be surprised when I get to Lancaster almost as soon as my letter? And I can tell them that I have employment at the spinnery—as a clerk! Oh, I’m so grateful to you and Mr. Renshaw, I could cry.”
And Isabella did cry, but that was the following morning when Jeannette saw her safely into the stagecoach to Lancaster.
Neither her father nor Mrs. Effington was home when Jeannette returned to George Street. The footman disclosed that Lord Decimus had called, and a few minutes later all three, Lord Luxton, Lord Decimus, and Mrs. Effington had left together in a great hurry.
Jeannette did not enjoy being alone. Silence made it too tempting to think about Simon. She was determined not to give in to despair again, but it could not be denied that he had sent no personal message to her when he sent the letter for Isabella.
She had mulled over that brief meeting in Beggars Alley until her head started to throb. But she didn’t mind the headache, for she had remembered that spark of warmth in his eyes when she told him she would pray for his client.
He had no reason to hide that warmth as quickly as he had done—unless he was indeed, as Mrs. Effington said, one of those tiresome men who would not court a lady he believed above his touch. Who would not send a personal note or call lest the gestures were misconstrued.
Truly, this time she would not despair. How could she, when above all she felt exasperated. She wanted to shake him but was denied the pleasure since he did not come near her.
What was a lady to do with an exasperating, tiresome man, who fetched a girl’s wedding gown from a brothel and who defended those in court who could not pay for the services of a barrister?
The lady had no choice but to get into trouble. Or, at least, lead him to believe she’d be in trouble but for his intervention.
The answer was so simple, she couldn’t understand why she hadn’t thought of it before. Now, she only needed to figure out what sort of trouble would best suit her purpose. She did not want him to come dashing to the rescue in Beggars Alley or at the docks. She wanted him right here, in the front parlor, where they had met twice before.
She spent the day staging the scene in the front parlor. It did not worry her that she didn’t immediately come up with a spot of trouble that would bring Simon hotfoot to George Street, but she did begin to worry when the afternoon progressed and her father had still not returned.
He could not have intended to be gone long, or he would have left word. But Mrs. Effington and Lord Decimus were with him. Even if he had been taken ill suddenly, she need not fret. Her chaperone was a sensible woman and would see to his care.
Finally, at five o’clock, her father’s carriage stopped in front of the house. Her father, obviously in excellent trim and not a bit unwell, helped Mrs. Effington out. But there was no sign of Lord Decimus.
Drat! She wanted to talk to him about taking Annie to Stenton Castle.
Her father and Mrs. Effington stepped into the parlor.
Moving away from the window, Jeannette said, “Papa, I wish you had brought Lord Decimus with you! I particularly wanted to speak to him.”
“I’m afraid you’ll have to wait awhile, my dear. Decimus followed Prinny to Brighton. That’s why he stopped by this morning. To take his leave.”
“Oh.”
Lord Decimus might be in Brighton all summer. She’d have to think of something else.
She noticed that her father and Mrs. Effington still stood just inside the door, Mrs. Effington’s gloved hand resting lightly on his arm.
“Papa? Mrs. Effington? Is something wrong?”
Her father tugged at the collar of his shirt. Mrs. Effington’s rosy face turned a shade darker.
Jeannette’s eyes widened as she looked at the couple.
A couple. That was precisely the impression they gave.
“Papa?”
“Jeannette, my dear. Mrs. Effington has done me the honor of becoming my wife.”
The room spun around her.
“Lady Caroline!”
A firm hand clasped her arm.
“Sit down, Lady Caroline. You mustn’t swoon. Gracious! We should have broken the news more gently.”
Jeannette protested, “I’m not the swooning type.”
The spinning furniture settled. Her gaze focused on Mrs. Effington’s plump, worried face close to hers. She looked at her father, still near the door, his expression a mixture of anxiety and sheepishness.
“Papa, you eloped!”
“My dear, we didn’t mean to do it this way. But I had no choice when Decimus said he was leaving town for the summer. He was to be our witness.”
Mrs. Effington said, “I didn’t think you’d mind. Not with your future being settled here in London and your dear Papa returning all alone to New Orleans.”
Jeannette tried to retain composure but gave up the struggle as impossible. She burst out laughing.
“My chaperone and my father. Eloped!” She gave another choke of laughter. “Oh, this is precious! Something to tell my children, and my grandchildren, and my great-grandchildren.”
She hugged Mrs. Effington, who beamed, and kissed her father, who looked vastly relieved.
Suddenly, all thought of laughter fled. “Papa, which name did you use for the marriage register?”
He raised a brow, sure of himself and in command of the situation.
“There’s only one name I use. Hugh Dundas, Marquis of Luxton.”
Jeannette glanced at Mrs. Effington, who smiled complacently. “It suits me to be a marchioness for the last years of my life.”
“But—”
“There’s no but, Lady Caroline. I know what I am doing, and I’m doing it with my eyes wide open. Your papa and I were both alone. He offered me the comforts and elegancies of life I’ve sorely missed, since my late husband neglected to provide for me. And I will give your father the care and companionship he needs, for he’ll be lonely without you.”
“Please, Mrs. Effington! You owe me no explanation. And believe me, I’m very happy for you both. It’s just that …”
Helplessly, Jeannette looked at her chaperone, who fancied being a marchioness, yet couldn’t possibly be one. Who might not even be married since the groom was using a false name.
“I understand, dear,” Mrs. Effington said softly. A mischievous look flitted across the plump, comely face. “But who’s to know? No one who would tell.”
“No, indeed.” Jeannette shook off doubts and concern. There was no need for anxiety. Mrs. Effington, the sensible chaperone, had much in common with Hugo Winters, alias Hugh Dundas.
“And what’s more,” said Hugh, echoing Jeannette’s thoughts, “… we are very well suited.”
“Down to the last card.” Laughter danced in Jeannette’s eyes. “The moment I learned Mrs. Effington is as much a gambler as you, Papa, I should have known you’d snatch her up.”
Hugh rubbed his hands. “I feel like celebrating. Shall we have champagne?”
“Papa, when are you taking Mrs. E—your wife to New Orleans?”
“I’d like to be gone before autumn, but, of course, I’ll stay as long as it takes to get you settled.”
Jeannette’s brow knitted as a scheme formed in her mind.
“Papa, my future is all but settled. Give me a day or two, and in the meantime, I want you to book your passage to New Orleans. Immediately.”
It took some persuasion and several reminders that Dr. Moore had suggested more than once he should return to the warmth of New Orleans as soon as possible, but finally Hugh agreed to book cabins on the next available ship.
“And I’m sure,” the new Marchioness of Luxton said helpfully, “Lady Anne would look after dear Lady Caroline if she cannot be married immediately.”
“Please don’t ask Aunt Anne! Or, at least,” Jeannette amended hastily when she saw her father’s frown, “… don’t say anything to her just yet. There’s no point, if I end up married long before you leave.”
“Very well,” said Hugh. “Though I’d like to know where this unexpected suitor will spring from, when throughout the Season you didn’t look at any of the eligible young men.”
Jeannette smiled, a secretive little smile, and one of relief.
Her suitor might be reluctant, but she could deal with that. Only Aunt Anne to the rescue had not fitted the scheme at all.