Part 8 (1/2)
”Oh, yes. From now on, you give all the bills to me, and I forward them to Mr. Fotherby for payment. I cannot get power of attorney to pay your bills myself because I am a woman, Catholic, and Irish.” She ticked off the items on her fingers.
”I call that downright prejudiced,” he joked.
”Well, at least it is more misdemeanors than the law allows,” she agreed. ”I am not sure which of the three is the least palatable.”
There was no regret in her voice, but only that businesslike tone that gave him the distinct impression that he had cast himself into capable hands. She had a relaxed air about her, as though she had just come from a hot bath, or an entertaining party. I suppose it is given to some to bask in the toils of finance, he thought. He indicated a chair.
”Be seated, Emma, and tell me which necklace I should give to Fae,” he ordered. ”I thought a peace offering would be in order when you visit her.” He looked away and coughed. ”A bauble might make her not suffer so much when I cut the connection.”
He held out several necklaces, and placed them in her lap. She scrutinized them with the same intensity she had tackled his bills, then picked up a simple chain with an emerald. ”This one, by all means,” she said, her eyes s.h.i.+ning with more animation than he had seen before.
As Emma held it up to catch the vault's fitful light, he was struck by how elegant it would look around her neck. The stone winked at him as he took it from her hand and replaced it in the velvet-lined box.
”No, Emma, that one will never do. Think in terms of greed and avarice, and then choose between these three,” he said, struck by the knowledge that he was about to come to the end of five years of Fae Moulle's demands. Greed and avarice? Now, why did I never see that before, he asked himself as Emma frowned and picked up a particularly gaudy chain with diamonds and rubies alternating.
”Excellent!” He put the rest back in the box and returned them to the teller, who hovered at his elbow. He slid the necklace into a velvet pouch and handed it to Emma. ”Take this to Fae with my compliments, and see if you can figure out how the deuce to get her to let go of my purse strings.” He sighed. ”I know she is attached to me, but as you say, it is time to reform.”
”Very well, my lord,” Emma said. As the teller was replacing the jewels, she picked up a plain gold chain. ”Is this valuable to you, Lord Ragsdale?” she asked.
”No. Do you want it, Emma?” he teased.
She shook her head, blushed, and took a deep breath. ”If you were to send this to the governor at Newgate, he would make David Breedlow's life almost pleasant.” She looked at him, as if gauging his mood. ”Or you could send it to his sister. He told me her name is Mary Roney, and she lives in Market Quavers.”
He s.n.a.t.c.hed the necklace from her and replaced it in the box, wondering at her nerve. ”No, and that is final! You have stretched my philanthropy far enough for one day. Now, now, just go home and reconcile my books,” he ordered. ”You can see Fae in the morning.”
She left hurriedly, as though afraid he would turn her impulsive effort into a humiliation. When she was gone, he took out the necklace again, and another one, which he handed to the teller. ”Make up two packages. Address this one to the governor of Newgate, and this to Mary Roney,” he said. ”I will write a note for both in Fotherby's office.”
So there, Emma, he thought. I really am a fine fellow. I only hope Fae does not repine too long over the news you bring.
Chapter 9.
If anything, it was colder the next morning when Emma left the house on Curzon Street. Where is spring? she wondered as the wind whipped around her dress and exposed her ankles, much to the noisy appreciation of a road crew replacing some curbing. She tugged her cloak tighter, grateful at least that the stench of Newgate was fading from the fabric. Even the scullery maid, no stickler for cleanliness, had insisted that she leave it outside the room the two of them grudgingly shared.
Emma hurried along, convinced that her earlier visit to Newgate was a pleasant excursion, compared to this task before her. ”Lord Ragsdale, you should have been drowned at birth, to have foisted this a.s.signment on me,” she muttered. It was one thing to go to prison for him; it was quite another to initiate his dirty work in sloughing off a mistress. Duties of a secretary, indeed, she thought. What it really smacks of is the most monumental bit of laziness imaginable, and so I should tell you to your face, Lord Ragsdale.
She felt in her reticule for the necklace, wondering at the bad taste of someone to wear such a bauble. Satisfied that no leprechaun had spirited away the necklace, she kept her head down and turned into the wind on Fortnam Street. No, I shall not scold you, Lord Ragsdale, although you richly deserve it, she thought. Not now, at least, when we seem to have declared a truce of sorts.
Last evening spent with Lord Ragsdale in the book room was more pleasant than she had any hope to expect. To begin, when he had requested that Lasker bring him dinner on a tray, the marquess did not eat in front of her, but shared his meal. It had been so long since she had eaten food of that quality that she could hardly force it down at first. Not until Lord Ragsdale looked at her and remarked, ”Really, Emma, if you're thinking about smug-, gling this rather remarkable loin of beef to my d.a.m.ned secretary in Newgate, I don't think you could get it past the matron.”
I suppose I was thinking about Mr. Breedlow, she reflected as sne blushed and took some food on her plate. She chewed the ten-derloin thoughtfully, amazed that Lord Ragsdale cared even the slightest what she was thinking.
He had been silent then, his long legs propped up on the desk, the plate resting on his stomach, concentrating on his dinner. Actually, Emma considered as she watched him, you should dress in a toga and recline. His profile was strong, and while his nose was not Roman, there was something patrician about the whole effect that impressed her. She smiled to herself, and looked away, think-ing, If I can be impressed by Lord Ragsdale, when I have seen him bare and blasted by last night's liquor, I suppose anything is possible.
”Do I amuse you, Emma?” he had asked.
She looked up, startled at first, and then relieved to notice something approaching a twinkle in his eye. Only candor would do, she thought as he waited for her reply.
”In a way, I suppose you do, my lord,” she replied, crossing her fingers and hoping that her own a.s.sessment of his character was not misplaced. ”Only think how far you have come from yester-day morning, my lord. Reformation agrees with you.”
There, now, make something of that, she dared, and took another bite.
”Perhaps it does,” he agreed, setting his plate aside, but not moving from his relaxed position at the desk. ”I have, only this day, forsaken liquor and my club. I have advanced some coins tofeed my worthless secretary, and plan to discard my mistress tomorrow. Next you will tell me that I must go to church, stop gambling, give up the occasional cigar, and take in stray dogs.”
Emma laughed. ”All of the above, my lord.”
He pulled out his watch and stared at it. ”And this time next week, we will go to Hyde Park, and you can watch me walk on water! Come, Emma, to the books. I want to get to bed early so I can be fresh enough in the morning to find more ways to torment you.”
And so you have, Emma thought as she hurried along the street. I am to go to your mistress and find a way to diplomatically ease your useless carca.s.s out of her life. Oh, dear, I hope there isn't a scene. How does one do this?
She looked at the direction Lord Ragsdale had written down for her, and to her dismay, the narrow house-one of a row of elegant houses-was precisely where he said it would be. Did you think it would blow away? she scolded herself as she took one last look at the address, then raised her hand to the knocker.
The woman who opened the door was obviously the maid. She started to curtsy to Emma, then stopped when she took a good look at her shabby cloak and broken shoes.
”Servant's entrance is through the alley behind,” she said, and started to close the door.
Emma stuck her foot in the door. ”I come from Lord Rags-dale,” she said, leaning into the crack that still remained open. ”I have something for Fae Moulle.”
”Miss Moulle to you,” snapped the maid. She left the door, and returned in a moment. Standing behind her was an overblown woman with hair of a shade not precisely found in nature. She had large blue eyes, and lips of a color that the homely word ”red” would not do justice to.
Emma moved her foot from the door and suppressed the urge to laugh. Goodness, Lord Ragsdale, she thought, you really are in need of reformation if this is your idea of beauty. She touched the necklace in her reticule again, thinking how well it would suit.
”I am Lord Ragsdale's secretary, and I have something for you from him,” she repeated.
”You cannot possibly be his secretary,” said the woman who must be Fae. ”My lord's secretary is languis.h.i.+ng in Newgate, I believe.”
She smiled and stuck her hand through the narrowing crack in the door. ”Miss Moulle, he won my indenture in a card game, and we have resolved that I am to straighten out his affairs.”
Her choice of words almost sent her into whoops, so she turned away and coughed, hoping the hilarity that threatened to consume her would pa.s.s. Now what will appeal to you, Miss Moulle, she thought as she turned back. She reached into her bag and pulled out the necklace.
”He has commissioned me to bring this to your notice,” she said, dangling the gaudy bauble just out of reach.
The door swung open, and Emma felt herself practically sucked inside. The necklace was s.n.a.t.c.hed from her hand at the same moment the maid relieved her of her cloak. In another moment, she found herself arm in arm with Fae Moulle, being propelled into the sitting room as Lord Ragsdale's mistress issued orders for tea, cakes, and more coal for the grate.
As she glanced around the sitting room, it occurred to Emma that Lord Ragsdale did not stint on his mistress. The expensive draperies complemented the costly furniture, which sumptuously set off the deep carpet. She had to consciously force herself not to kick off her shoes and run her bare feet across its softness. Emma suppressed another smile; the only thing that didn't seem to fit in the room was the young man sitting on the sofa.
Fae's rather shrewd eyes turned a shade anxious as she followed the direction of Emma's gaze.
”Miss...”
”Costello,” Emma offered.
Fae gestured toward the sofa and its occupant, who appeared poised to bolt the room. ”This is my ... brother,” she said.
If this is your brother, then I am the Lord Mayor of London, Emma thought as she nodded to the young man. ”Delighted,” she said. ”How fortunate for Miss Moulle to have relatives in the
city.”
A small silence followed that no one seemed to know how to fill. His cheeks flaming the shade of Fae's lip color, the young man leaped to his feet, babbled something about work to do or people to see, and fled the room. Fae watched him go, her face filled with a longing that disappeared as soon as she fingered the necklace.