Different Tides (15 page)

Alexandra didn’t know what to do, so she whispered half-heartedly, ‘Stop it, Roland.’

He gave a regretful sigh, took her hands in his and carried them to his groin, where she encountered the result of her teasing. ‘See what you’ve done to me, my love.’

Reluctantly, she drew her hands away, but slowly, because she was curious. He pushed against her hands and she removed them.

‘Allow me to kiss your breasts, just once.’

She didn’t answer, but closed her eyes, expecting him to kiss her through her clothing. Instead, he unbuttoned her jacket. Her breasts fitted comfortably into his palms as he lifted them from her bodice like precious pearls from an oyster, and she didn’t have the will to protest. He inclined his head so his mouth closed around them. Sucking her gently into his mouth his tongue curled warmly around them one at a time so they swelled into his mouth.

She groaned, and then sucked in a breath.
Oh goodness
. The core of her dampened and tingled. Was there anything more delicious? She couldn’t wait to be married and have her husband bestow such intimate attentions on her, without her having to reap the harvest of guilt she gathered at the thought of such encounters with him. She pushed him away. ‘No, Roland, it isn’t decent.’

‘Neither is what you’ve just allowed. You are longing to be indecent, and I’m just the man to be indecent with.’

‘I know.’ Her face glowed. ‘I’m sorry. I promised my mother I’d keep myself … innocent for when I wed.’

‘Marry me then, Alexandra, you know I love you,’ he said. ‘You can play the innocent with me.’

‘I can’t. My father wants me to marry a man of means, so I’ll never want for anything.’

‘I’ll be a man of means eventually. I’m being offered so much work that I can hardly keep pace with it and am thinking of moving to London and taking on an apprentice.’

‘But not soon enough. I want to enjoy myself while I’m young.’

‘Doesn’t it matter that you’d spend a lifetime with a man you disliked just to achieve wealth for its own sake? I’ve got money put aside, and I’m earning more and more from my artistic endeavours.’

‘Yes it matters. I’ve just learned that my parents fostered me. My real mother wasn’t an ordinary woman, you see, but a baroness. There is a legacy and I’ve been poor for a long time. I want good clothes and to be respected and welcome at social gatherings. That’s what I was brought up to do by my foster parents. I often wondered why, and now I know.’

‘I see, so I’m not good enough for you now. Think on, my dear. Was your mother a baroness when you were born, or were you the result of some by-blow she opened her legs for? Why else would she have farmed you out?’

Near to tears, she choked out, ‘I came here to visit your mother and you have been totally disrespectful. You disgust me, Roland Elliot.’

‘No I don’t. You know perfectly well which day my mother goes out. You came here to see me – to flaunt yourself to a man who loves you because you can, and it makes you feel powerful. And far from being disgusted, you’re excited and aroused. That I can tell from the feel and the smell of you.’

He slid her breasts back into their cups and buttoned up her jacket. His fingertips caressed the velvet for a moment and then he took her face in his hands and gazed into her eyes. ‘You’re a trollop at heart, Lexie. You long for a man to teach you how, while you simper and torture the poor sod just for the fun of it in the meantime.’

If he touched her again like he just had she wouldn’t be able to stop herself. ‘Then I mustn’t visit you alone again.’

‘As to that, please yourself, but do this to me again and I won’t be responsible for the outcome. As for your delightful breasts … they’re perfect and I’d like to spend more time playing with them, but I have work to do.’

A thrill shafted through her body at the thought of such promiscuous excitement. ‘That’s disgusting. I was going to allow you to draw them, but now I won’t.’ She straightened up her bodice and secured it.

‘You’ve already allowed me to. They are sketched indelibly on my mind and my palms. I know every inch of them now, from the golden freckles on the orbs to the pert turned-up nubs. I know exactly how they feel and look, and will add them to the portrait. I might even paint another portrait with your face on it.’

He laughed when she gazed at him in horror. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I’m not that vindictive. Nobody will know the breasts on that harlot are Alexandra Tate’s gilded treasures – nobody but me. I’ll derive satisfaction from knowing that some rich old man is drooling over them with lust in his eyes after having paid me a fortune for the image of them.’

‘You don’t mean that.’

‘No … I don’t mean it, because I love you and I’d rather nobody but me did the drooling. But take heed of the young woman in the sketch. That’s what’s likely to happen to you if you discard your friends and go chasing the elusive pot of gold. Most men are far from being fools where women are concerned.’

She placed her hand gently on his arm. ‘I’m sorry, Roland. I want to leave this life behind and take up the new one that’s being offered me … the one I was born to. I’ll come and say goodbye when the time comes for me to leave.’

‘As far as I’m concerned we’ve just said it.’ He reached out to pluck a trio of porcelain figurines from a showcase and placed them in her basket. ‘Here’s something to remember me by – Harlequin, Pierrot and Columbine. It’s a farce. Both men were fools who fell in love with the beautiful but treacherous Columbine.’

‘I’ll remember you anyway, Roland.’

‘You know where I am if you need me. I’ll show you out.’ Taking her by the elbow he steered her through the workshop and showroom, where he helped her into her cloak. Unlocking the door he propelled her gently through it into the street.

The door closed with a brassy tinkle behind her.

Three weeks later Alexandra watched as Samuel Tate was buried next to his wife in a modest funeral he’d provided for through payments to a funeral club.

Many people came to pay their respects at the graveside, including Roland Elliot and his mother. Alexandra felt relief, because although she’d loved the man who’d raised her, caring for him had become a chore. However, she didn’t show it, and accepted the condolences with grace, as a good daughter should. And she dabbed away her tears with the linen handkerchief with the Z embroidered in the corner, her thumbs tracing over the letter.

Roland nodded his head to her but said nothing, just stood next to his mother while she prattled on about how wonderful Samuel Tate had been. Resentment niggled in her. They should have told her she was someone else’s child. Her real mother had arranged payment, so she must have cared. And now the woman was dead and neither of them would have the opportunity to meet each other.

Alexandra had unknowingly earned her board by being a good and obedient daughter, even though she rebelled against it at times. There was a sense of freedom in her now and she was ready to break out.

But that didn’t mean she wasn’t sad, because Samuel had been both kind and loving in his treatment of her, as though she was his real daughter. She would miss him.

‘I’ll write to you,’ she said to Roland.

‘Please yourself.’ He grinned suddenly. ‘Don’t forget me.’

Despite her sadness and her reluctance to lose Roland’s regard, within a week Alexandra had sold most of their household goods to the incoming tenant. She booked a seat on the London stagecoach and packed her bag, wrapping the gift from Roland in her stockings.

She sent him a note asking him to meet her at the coach station to say goodbye. He hadn’t answered and neither had she seen him amongst the milling crowd. So much for true love, she thought.

It was a cold December day when the coach set off and her heart nearly burst with excitement at doing something so daring and new. At the same time it was breaking at the thought she might never see Roland again.

Zachariah was preparing for his trip to Dorset, and he wasn’t looking forward to the journey, especially in December, when the weather was uncertain.

Not long ago he’d nearly convinced himself to sell Martingale House. He held no fondness for the place. He wasn’t a farmer and had no family – no wife or children. Besides, he owned a comfortable house in London where he conducted his business. The Dorset estate was too far away to visit often.

The only thing that had stopped him before was the fact that the estate was now making a profit under Mr Bolton’s management, and if he’d sold it Gabe would have turned up, waved the title over him and demand the place back. That wouldn’t happen now, but he had a different set of responsibilities to shoulder.

There was no room in his bag for the Noah’s Ark he’d bought as a gift for the children, so he had to carry it by hand. Clemmie would like the toy. No doubt she would fill their heads full of nonsense, telling them a story of the biblical flood. There was also a dissection of the map of the world. It could be fitted together so they could learn about the geographic values of the world they lived in.

The stage was fully booked, but he managed to get seats for himself and Evan on the mail coach. It was uncomfortable because it ran during the hours of darkness as well as daylight, and with frequent stops, and it bounced through the potholes, making sleep impossible. But it also made him less vulnerable to the predators that prowled the highways, usually in pairs and looking for easy victims, for it carried an armed man on the back to guard the mail.

Long ago he’d heard that plans were on the drawing board for the railway to be pushed through from London to Southampton. He and John had spent an evening poring over a map and they plotted out the details of the route, then speculated by investing in a wide stretch of land. That had recently sold for a handsome profit.

The mathematics of that exercise had also given them a travelling time of three hours to cover the seventy-seven-mile journey.

‘Incredible,’ Zachariah had said. ‘The railway has done wonders for commerce in the north, and will do the same for the south. Imagine getting all the farm produce off to the London market while it’s still fresh.’

‘You’re beginning to sound like a farmer.’

‘I suppose I am one really … though an absent one. I still have to know what’s going on in the marketplace. However, I’m not thinking of farming now so much as transport. Imagine getting to Southampton in such a short time. Keep your eyes on the situation, would you, John?’ he had said. ‘I’m of a mind to buy some shares in the railway – as many as I can get.’

He picked up a parcel wrapped in brown paper. It was heavier than he’d thought. He’d take it inside the coach if there were enough room.

There was.

The other two passengers were men, and would be armed to the teeth, as he was himself. They preferred to sit behind the driver. Collectively, they would represent a formidable force to engage with.

Half-frozen to death the passengers huddled in their cloaks and swore a lot as the vehicle tore through the darkness. The guard blew the horn loudly when they reached the stops, and with lamps blazing in case something was coming in the other direction. Evan huddled in a corner looking a picture of misery. He was not a good traveller.

‘Cheer up, Evan, the journey won’t last forever, and at least we are on the inside,’ he said.

‘I won’t be able to stand up when we get there.’

‘You will, I assure you. In fact your backside will be so sore that you’ll never want to sit on it again.’

Evan had saved his bacon in the past, when Zachariah had first embarked on his life of crime. He’d been caught with his hand in Evan’s pocket.

Evan had been about twenty, and had grabbed him by the collar. ‘What do you think you’re up to, you thieving little bugger?’

‘I’m hungry.’

‘Well, you won’t find the price of a meal in my pocket. I’ve just lost my bleedin’ job as it is.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I’m a fetch-and-carry in the theatre. I wanted to be an actor, but I got up the skirt of the manager’s wife. What do you want to be when you grow up?’

‘The wealthiest man in the world, so I can tell everyone else what to do, even the king.’

Evan had laughed. ‘Well, I reckon that’s a good enough occupation to aim for. You won’t achieve that by stealing from another pauper, but by going to school, learning your lessons and having respect for other people. When you achieve your aim I’ll be your man. In the meantime we’ll join up, since we’ve got to eat. Tell you what, lad, you come with me to the Quakers’ kitchen. They’ll give us a bowl of soup and they’ll listen to your troubles and help you if they can. You sound like a bit of a toff to me. Where you from, lad?’

‘The country. My pa was a baron.’

‘I reckon he might have been at that. So what are you doing picking pockets in London?’

‘The family didn’t like me, so they sent me to be raised by a relative.’

‘Who beat you half to death so you ran away. Or were you kidnapped and held to ransom? If so I might as well hand you in and collect it.’

Zachariah still remembered his surprise – first, that any of his family would pay a ransom to get him back, or that Evan had known his story – until he said drily, ‘I think I’ve read both those play scripts before somewhere.’

‘No … honestly. That’s what happened,’ Zachariah had insisted.

After that Julia had rescued him. John hadn’t turned a hair when she’d taken him home. They’d found Evan a job and they’d remained in touch, and when Zachariah had realized his ambition, Evan had indeed become his man.

The passengers dashed into the bushes to quickly relieve themselves while the lathered horses were swapped for fresh ones. Zachariah hoped the drivers would delay long enough for them to buy a chunk of pork pie and a tankard of ale before setting off in a mad chase on the next leg.

They reached Poole the following day, early in the evening. They left the dusty red and black mail coach to take on its load and a new driver.

After a bit of a search they found a cab that would take them the rest of the way.

‘Martingale House is it? You must be the squire, then, I reckon.’

Zachariah neither confirmed nor opposed the assumption. The fewer people who knew his business the better he liked it. Still, the man was pleasant enough, and accommodating.