Sophia James – Miss Lottie's Christmas Protector (страница 8)
‘So I am supposed to just leave it at that. Allow Harriet to be used and then discarded? Allow her to simply throw her young life away?’
‘How old is she?’
‘Nineteen.’
‘And how old are you?’
‘Twenty-two.’
‘Only three years’ difference and you think I should allow you to throw your life away in a senseless and stupid attempt to make it otherwise. This is not the sort of thing you should be getting yourself mixed up with, Miss Fairclough, and if your brother was here he would say the very same thing. Under no circumstances whatsoever should you go to that laundry and especially not by yourself.’
The controlling way Jasper said these words made Lottie stand on her tiptoes and face him directly.
‘You cannot stop me—besides, I have no care for your opinion. Harriet White is my friend and she needs help so I am going whether you like it or not.’
Rosa beside them was crying constantly now, her nose running and her eyes red, and the rain suddenly decided to step up a notch and turn into a downpour.
‘Then get in. Both of you. How far is it to this laundry?’
Lord, Jasper thought, save me from women who have no sense or wisdom. The fact that Charlotte Fairclough would even consider the prospect of going into battle alone infuriated him, but he could not allow the consequences that might follow without making an effort to restrain her.
He would go into Old Pye Street himself to try to find the missing Harriet White and God help anyone who tried to fob him off once he was at his destination.
The scars on the face of the woman opposite pulled at his heartstrings, too, he supposed. Those on his legs were bad enough, but at least they were not on display for the whole entire world to see. Charlotte Fairclough now had her hand entwined through Rosa’s and was patting the top of it in an effort to calm her down, though it did not seem to be doing much good.
Did she not see how small she was, how impossibly delicate? How was it she did not recognise the danger of striking out to right all the injustices in the underbelly of London town? Her curls had fallen out further so that it barely looked as if any hair was left pinned up. She was coughing again, too, and that worried him. Miss Fairclough should be at home tucked up in bed with a hot lemon toddy and some tender loving care. Yet here she was in wet boots that looked as if they had seen better days and a cloak with patches upon the pockets. The rain had made her cold because she was shaking and he noticed she swallowed often in between her coughing fits as if to beat back tears. Or take in air.
She was nothing like anybody else he had ever met. Even Verity Chambers, whom he had once thought perfect, sensible and polite, would not have struck out to help another in the way Charlotte Fairclough had. He grimaced.
How did she do this to him so easily, raise an ire that had been largely indifferent or dormant for years? He swore under his breath and thought with resignation that it was turning into a full-time occupation just trying to keep Silas Fairclough’s stubborn sister safe.
Frank Wilkes was taciturn and silent on first meeting, but under the pressure of their questions he did open up a little.
‘It were Jack Nisbett who said he’d seen her, Miss Fairclough. He said he had noticed Miss White in Old Pye Street. He said that perhaps she were in one of the upstairs rooms there. When I told Mrs O’Brian what I had discovered she cried and ran out of the place with a stack of laundry to finish by tonight to boot. I am that glad to see her back, mind.’
‘I am sorry, Mr Wilkes.’ Rosa stepped forward and began collecting a large pile of unfolded clothes heaped across a long table. ‘I’ll see to these straight away.’
Charlotte Fairclough, meanwhile, stepped from foot to foot and gave the impression that all she wanted to do now was to run and begin her search. Jasper moved across to stand beside her and took her arm, anchoring her in place. Unexpectedly she allowed him to, waiting as he got a blow-by-blow account of the environs from Wilkes.
Local knowledge was always invaluable, the many years of working in his civil engineering firm attesting to that fact. When he had a good idea of the layout of Old Pye Street he turned to Charlotte.
‘What exactly does this Harriet White look like?’
‘She is tall and thin and she has bright gold hair. Her eyes are brown and she has a birthmark just here.’ Charlotte touched her own chin to one side. ‘It is a mark in the shape of a small circle.’
Such a particular description heartened Jasper. Surely someone would have recognised the girl and could give him information.
‘Right then, you stay here and leave me to it. I will be back within the hour.’ He turned to Frank Wilkes. ‘Is it possible to give Miss Fairclough a cup of tea? She has been coughing badly and it might soothe her throat.’
‘No. I am going with you. I won’t be left here. I need to be helping.’ Her voice was strong and certain.
‘You will help me by staying out of the way and by being safe.’
But Charlotte shook her head fiercely. ‘If you leave me here, I will simply follow you, Mr King. Two sets of eyes are far better than one and I can identify Harriet no matter what. If she has dyed her hair…’
‘I can look for the birthmark.’
‘Which could be easily covered in make-up. There is no telling what she might look like now, but I would know Harriet anywhere. You, on the other hand, have never met her.’
Such a rationale was persuasive. ‘Should I agree to this you have to give me a promise that you will stay out of the way and if there is any trouble you will run back to my carriage as quick as your legs can carry you.’
‘Agreed.’
‘Hell.’
He was going to let her come and if anything happened because of it he would never forgive himself. Neither would her brother.
Jasper King’s size was comforting and the limp he was afflicted with gave him an added danger. He was a man who had known battle and pain, yet lived. He gave no impression at all of a nob who was out of his depth as he strode through the crooked pathways crossing the intersecting labyrinths that led into Old Pye Street.
The place was dank and wet and any daylight was swallowed up by the narrow thinness of the buildings above them, a Stygian stinking gloom all that was left.
An older woman with a basket attached by straps to her back was the first person he talked to.
‘We are looking for a young friend of ours, a girl with blonde hair and a birthmark on her chin. She would be new around here and frightened, perhaps.’
‘Whores all look the same, sir. Frightened at first, but resigned before long. The money’s what brings ’em and it ain’t called the Old Pye Street for nothing.’
‘So you haven’t seen her?’
As she shook her head Charlotte began to speak.
‘She is a good girl even if she has been foolish and any help would be very welcome.’
‘The One Tun public house is five doors down. Perhaps you might look in there for the patrons of many of the places hereabouts are often found drinking in that establishment. You might be able to ask them.’
‘Thank you.’ Jasper’s voice was deep and he passed a penny over to the woman whose demeanour changed remarkably as a result.
‘Ask for Mr Twigg. Tell him Annie sent you. If anyone has seen her, he will have.’
Then she was gone, trudging down the alley with her large basket and calling out to those about her to sample the wares.
‘It’s a start,’ Charlotte said to Jasper as he took her arm and led her on. ‘I’d forgotten just how easily a coin loosens the tongue.’
‘And I have many more of them, Miss Fairclough.’
She liked his smile and she liked the way his fingers tightened around her wrist. In protection. She’d never have been able to manage this alone despite her telling him the opposite. It wasn’t that every person they passed looked as if they might do them harm, but more the understanding that a woman alone would have been fair game for those with a mind for the sort of activity the road was renowned for. She was thankful beyond words to have him striding along beside her.
The One Tun pub was wreathed in the mist of tobacco smoke, with a one-legged man just inside the door begging for alms. Jasper laid another penny in the tattered hat and she saw him tip his head in a shared understanding. Then another was in front of them, a heavy man with a reddened face and a receding hairline.
‘I’m after Mr Twigg. Annie sent me.’
Interest passed across his eyes and he led them to a table, signalling for them to sit.
‘That’d be me, then, so what’s your business?’
‘We are looking for a girl who is new to Old Pye Street. Harriet White. She was taken from the laundry in Horseferry Road and we want her back.’ He gave Harriet’s description and the man pondered it.
‘A birthmark, you say, and right here?’
‘You’ve seen her, then?’
‘Just for a moment, but from memory her name were not Harriet and the last I saw of her were when she went off in a carriage with a fine toff who had a crest painted on the side of it and all.’
‘A crest?’ The surprise in Jasper’s voice was plain to hear.