Helen Dickson - The Earl and the Pickpocket

‘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.’

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.’