Lady Rogue (5 page)

Bounding to his side like a frolicsome puppy, Oliver pounded Garrick on the back in gratitude.  "Thank you, Gar.  Thank you.  I knew you wouldn'
t let me down.  I owe you one."

"And I intend to see that you pay up!"  Carefully rolling up his own drawings, Garrick pushed them aside with a sigh.  He'd just have to see to his own sketches later, as soon as he returned.  Hopefully this business of Oliver's could be settled quickly and he would
find himself back behind his desk before another hour was out.

Chapter Four

A
cacophony of voices and sounds rose from the waterfront, a blend of peddlers’ chants, the drunken singing of sailors celebrating their stay in port, and the chattering of dock workers and passersby.  The exotic mix of tongues and dialects, including those supposedly English, reminded Garrick that the unfortunates of the city spoke a language all their own.

"Would you like me to wait, Sir?"  Garrick's young carriage driver cocked his brows hopefully as he opened the door.
The new cravat he was wearing and the cologne gave proof that he had made plans for the evening and was anxious to be finished with his duty.

"No, I don't know exactly how long this meeting will last.  I wouldn't want to spoil your plans, Vinnie."  Garrick patted the youth on th
e shoulder with a smile.  "Is it Rowena who is waiting?"

Blushing to the roots of his dark brown hair the
young man nodded.  "Yes, Sir."

"Then I must say you've got an eye for beauty."  The young woman was one of th
e prettiest ladies' maids in all of London and conveniently in the employ of Garrick's neighbor.  "Enjoy your night off with my blessing.  I'll hire a coach when I'm finished here."

"Thank you, Sir!"  With a sudden bounce to his step the youth hurriedly bought a bouquet of violets from a flowergirl standing near by
, then jumped back upon the seat.  He was off like a shot leaving a chuckling Garrick behind.  Garrick made it a practice to treat his servants kindly.  Besides, the young man had served him well these last months.

Ah, young love
, he thought. 
Love
.  That was something he'd not had time for.
Love
.  It was a weakness. An insanity. He was sensible. He would never allow himself to be entrapped
again
. A bevy of lovely women paraded through his life and shared his bed. But Garrick had always made certain that his women understood the rules. He had no immediate plans for marriage nor any intention of aiding any aspiring female in her upward social climb. When an affair ended, that was that. In turn he played fair, lavishing his current paramour with gifts and attention while their passion flamed high.

And yet long ago he had been naïve and vulnerable, and his heart had been bruised. He only hoped that young Vinnie would have better luck than he’d had. Garrick was disillusioned enough to shy away from serious entanglements, yet he was not so jaded that he did not realize that there were women worth giving one’s heart to, however. Precious jewels among women. Warm, loving, loyal females whose hearts were steadfast and unwavering. That was what he wanted for his young carriage driver. Something he’d never had the good fortune to experience himself.

Garrick had been just about Vinnie's age when he'd fallen under the spell of wide hazel eyes and curly dark hair that framed a pertly pretty face. Like a man consumed by a fever he had fallen for Anne, a barrister's daughter, who had sworn undying love.  Garrick had made plans to marry her, thwarting his mother’s plans, ignoring his friend’s warnings that the seemingly gentle miss was not all that she seemed. He had been captivated by the young woman, but his mother interfered. Giving the young woman money, she stipulated that Anne Hyde stay out of Garrick's life. It had been a cruel lesson. So much for avowals of love.  

When the Prince Regent had turned his eyes  in Anne's direction
, the foolish girl had given in to the Prince's urgings, hopeful of furthering her ambitions.  It had earned her a townhouse, an elegant wardrobe and acquaintances in all the right places.  For a time, it had seemed like a fairytale until the prince tired of her.  Working her way down among the gentlemen of her crowd, Anne slipped drastically from favor, only to end up as a whore parading up and down in St. James Park.

Nor could he put his own mother’s tawdry past completely behind him. Garrick’s mother had used her considerable charms, first enticing his father to marry her, then going on to yet another advantageous marriage two weeks after James Seton died.
Garrick had never completely forgiven her.  It had been a source of contention between mother and son for several years.  That his mother took lovers much younger than herself was common knowledge.  While her old, befuddled husband lay abed suffering his apoplexy, Mary Seton Charing indulged herself with ostlers, butlers or handsome young servants who caught her eye.  Her lascivious behavior had hardened Garrick's heart towards women of easy virtue. He would never be so vulnerable as to let such a woman use
him
. A scheming woman of easy virtue would never get past the cold, protective shield he wore around his heart.

"Coo, ain't yer the fine one.
” A brightly painted and feathered bawd accosted him now, startling his thoughts to the present. “Will yer buy me a bit o' gin  at the Cap 'n Crown, lovey?  I'll maike it worth yer while, I will."

Garrick avoided such women as if they had the plague. Indeed the disease they carried could be just as injurious. “Most definitely not!”
  Without even a grimace of pity Garrick strode on by.  He felt deeply moved by urchins, waifs, beggers and the like and showed them generosity whenever he could, but he was bitterly contemptuous of women who strutted about the streets and sold themselves to any available man.

"Clean yer boots, Sir?  Shoeblack, yer Honour!  Black yer shoes, Sir!"  A boy stepped out from the crowds carrying his three-legged stool and a pot of blacking.  Clutching his brushes
, he looked so forlorn that Garrick paused to let him black his boots though they needed no such tending.

"A hurried shine is all that I need."  Garrick was no true dandy though he thought of himself as fashionable.  A true dandy spent too much money, time and trouble for his liking.  All out of proportion to sensibility.  Unlike Oliver, Garrick could not spend hours discussing the shape of his cravat nor did he shrink with horror at sight of a badly cut coat. 
Even so, he was an elegant sight in beaver hat, tan breeches and square-cut black coat, double-breasted and long in the lapel.  He carried a cane which he planned to wield should a cause arise and a large leather case stuffed to capacity with Oliver's drawings.  He would guard the plans as diligently as if they were his own.

"There ye be, Sir.  Maide yer boot
s look as good as new, I did."

"So you did.  Here, take this shilling in token of my gratitude," bending down Garrick pressed the coin into the boy's hand.  It was the payment for at
least ten shoeshines or more.

"Blimey!  Thank ye, Sir!"  Biting the coin to ascertain tha
t it was real, the bootblack beamed his gratitude, then hurried off down the quay just as an approaching night watchman announced the time.

"Nine
o'clock and all is well.  Bit o' fog a comin' in."  The watchmen, affectionately dubbed Charleys, had several duties besides announcing the time.  It was their business to guard the streets and waterfront and take charge of the public security, as well as to give information on the weather.

Nine
o'clock
, Garrick thought.  He'd arrived fifteen minutes early for his meeting.  Even so he hurried to the appointed spot, anxious to meet with the merchant, perhaps have one ale at the nearby tavern, and then be on his way.  Since it was summer, it wouldn’t get dangerously dark for another hour, but nevertheless, he was fidgety. He wanted  to be about his business and then return home. Already he could feel the dampness of the approaching fog, mingling with the brisk sea air.  The Thames was crowded with barges and ships, all laden with goods from far away places. 

Gazing out over the water,
Garrick remembered his own sea-going adventures. For a time he'd even toyed with the idea of being a sailor, but common sense had rescued him. Still, whenever he smelled the salt in a breeze or caught sight of the white billowing sails, he was touched by his boyhood dream.  Gliding about like swans on a lake, the ships were an inspiring sight.  The farther down the river his eyes scanned, the more closely packed were the vessels on either side, a visible sign of how quickly London was growing.

Taking out his pocketwatch, he
noted the time.  The merchant was late.  Trying to calm himself, he gazed out at the forest of masts that loomed on the horizon.  A stray flag fluttered in the breeze, a sailor hung on the spars of a ship, another sailor, agile as monkey, sky-larked on the topmost cross-trees of a vessel anchored at port.  Sailors strolled the docks, making their way to the tavern.  One entertained Garrick with a sailor's hornpipe and a "double monkey" somersault before moving along.  Even so, Garrick's annoyance increased with each passing minute. As the shadows lengthened, he instinctively clutched his leather case closer and secured his pocketwatch in an upper coat pocket.  Each moment that ticked by increased his frustration.  He always made it a point to be prompt; why couldn't others?  Watching the fog drift in, he breathed a sigh, wishing he had not been quite so accommodating to Oliver.  Well, at least
he
was enjoying the evening.  Garrick hoped that when at last this night was over, he could say the same.

Chapter Five

It was a dull, murky evening.  A
light fog now covered London in a wispy shroud.  The streets swarmed with hackney coaches and carriages.  Silk lined, leather Sedan chairs transported splendidly dressed men and women to various destinations; theatres, taverns, cozily lighted inns or more intimate rendezvous. 
The nobs
, Dawn thought, and among such as these she was to find a likely pigeon.

Leaning against a large rain barrel, hiding in the shadows as she tried to gather her courage, Dawn peered anxiously at the throng of people who rode and walked about the cobbled streets.  Nabbing hankies was her special lay
, and she had no liking for this new task.  None whatsoever.  Dealing with the swells always brought a body close to trouble.  Black John's greed and Robbie's overconfidence were sure to be their undoing.  Hopefully it would not be hers as well.

"All we'll get for this is a one waiy journey to new
South Wailes," she mumbled beneath her breath to Robbie and Black John who followed close behind.  "Or a necktie maide o' twine."

She felt devastatingly self-conscious in her high-waisted, low-cut gown, which showed much more of her bosom than she thought proper, though her careful stitchery had made it more decent than had been originally planned. The satin gown with a matching train attached to the back of her shoulders had once been pearl colored but had lost its original luster. Still, it was a far
more beautiful dress than she had ever hoped to wear.  And still stylish too, she thought.  Grecian some called it.  The low bodice and short sleeves were bordered with narrow net frilling of gold that matched the narrow belt of gold ribbon she wore at her waist.

The dress was a purchase Robbie had made for three shillings from the Rag Fair in
Rosemary Lane, a bargain he was quite proud of himself for making.  Under different circumstances she might have felt some pleasure in wearing it.  As it was, the only emotion she could muster up was fear.

"Come on.  Come on.  We ain't a gonna gi' our toff if we 'ide 'ere in the shadows all noight.  Git it going."  Black John offered a well-aimed poke to Dawn's ribs,
pushing her out of her hiding.

"It's jus' that I feels nervous, I do."  Tugging at Robbie's shoulder
, she had a sudden change of heart.  "I ain't ready, I'm not.  Let's do it another time.  Tomorrow.  Next week...."

"Roight now!  I didn't part wi' me shillings jus' fer the fun o' it.  I expect ter maike a profit, I do."  In a sudden, rare show of affection Robbie pinched her cheek.  "Besides, ye look lovely, Dawnie.  I swears 'a
t ye do.  Don't she, Johhnie?"

Dawn thought to the contrary she looked horrid.  Her hair was parted in the middle, worn in a tight bun at the back of her head.  Covering her hair was a hat of gold and black satin with three large ostrich plumes protruding.  The one that was broken kept falling haphazardly over Dawn's left eye
, and she had to blow on it to keep it from blocking her vision.  Her cheeks and lips were smeared with scarlet rogue, her green eyes outlined with kohl.  Why would any man even want to give her the time of day?  It was a puzzlement, though Black John smiled and told her she looked very appealing.
              "There be a ripeness 'bout yer mouth, a huskiness in yer voice that will soon ‘ave the toffs eager ta sample wha' ye offer, Dawnie me dear."  Much to Dawn’s dismay, he punctuated his words with a pinch on her buttocks.  She shrieked indignantly in answer, raising her fists in warning.

"Keep yer 'ands te yerself!"  I'll poke ye in the nose and march meself back 'o
me if ye do 'at agin, I will."

"Now, now...."  Black John threw up his hands in defeat, agreeing to do as she asked.  As they proceeded on their way
, he was whispering a tally of what he hoped to gain form the night's pickings.  "We'll get 'is watch a course.  Any money.  Rings and stick pins, all fetch the 'ighest price.  And if we're lucky 'e'll 'ave a silver snuff box.  Might keep that, I might.  Always wanted to set meself up loike a gen'leman."

Dawn sniffed in derision.  "Taike more 'n a snuff box ta maike a nob outta
you, Black John, I dare saiy."

A bell from a tower somewhere tolled nine times.  Even so
, there were still a few vendors out and about.  The baked-potato man, the kidney-pie man, the cheesemonger--all hoped to arouse the gentry's appetites with their sing-song chanting.

"A pie.  A pie h
ave I, meaty and tantalyzing."

"Potatoes.  Hot baked potatoes.  Eat 'em wi' the
skins or peel 'em.  Potatoes."

Seeing that the crowd had seriously dwindled, the cheesemonger drew in his blind, eyeing a small group of rag
ged boys warily.  The boys crouched in little knots in the projecting doorway, holding out their hands in supplication for a small piece of cheese.  Indeed the red, gold and pale yellow cheese did look appetizing.

"Go on with ye.  Get, or I'll bring the watchmen down on yer head," the proprietor threatened.  Without another blink the children took to their heels.  No doubt they would either find a way to steal what he denied them or go to bed hungry.  Dawn remembered when she had been in the very same depths of destitution before she'd met Black John and softened her anger towards him.  Robbie was right in what he said.  Those that had, didn't give a farthing for the poor who had not.  It was obvious by every look, every gesture.  Why then should she regret what she was about to do?  No doubt the toff they picked would have watches aplenty.  He'd merely deck himself out with another, meanwhile telling the story of his fortitude in surviving his unfortunate experience with the underworld.  The rookeries
, were for a fact, the topic of many a conversation in ale houses and taverns, or so Robbie and the other men declared.

From out of the fog a mournful voice keened a song
.  A ragged woman with an infant in her arms was attempting to earn a penny or two.  A pitiable sight, thin, pale, her eyes dark and sunken, she tried to cover her child’s nakedness with a remnant of her own scanty shawl as she whimpered her tune.  Brutal laughter was all she received for her efforts.  Reaching in her pocket, Dawn took her last penny and placed it in the woman's hand.

"God bl
ess ye."  The woman's eyes shone with gratitude.

"She'll soon be goods fer the body snatchers," Black John grumbled. 
"Why waste yer coins on 'her?"

"Somethin' 'bout 'er reminded me of me mum, it did," Dawn replied, taking a last look at the wretched sight over her shoulder.  "Wish I could 'elp 'er more, I do.  Somedaiy I will.  I swear 'at somedaiy when I'm a grand laidy I'll not pass 'er kind by wi' out being generous."  Rolli
cking laughter was her answer.

"Dawnie a laidy.  'At's a good one."
Black John slapped his thigh.

"Somedaiy I will be.  Ye'll see."  Lifting her chin  proudly
, Dawn affected a graceful walk as they trudged over the cobblestones.  It was a dream not even the London streets could take away.  In truth it was all that kept her going from day to day.  Someday the life she was living now would be just a memory.  Someday....

The stench of the river
told Dawn that they had almost reached the docks. The garbage and refuse that was dumped into the waters gave forth a terrible smell.  It was even said that those who made their living rowing boats on the Thames grew ill if once they  fell into its rancid depths.  Strange, Dawn thought, for on those nights when the moon illuminated the waters they looked deceptively inviting, even magical.

"Oars!  Oars!  Will you have any oars?"  Mistaking Dawn for one of the gentry a small group of watermen came running towards her, only to shrink back
and erupt in ribald laughter.

"Oars.  Ha. Ha.  It's an oar she be all right.  Well, take ye along with yer lass unless ye've a mind to give us a
free sample"  Raising a dirty lantern he tried to get a look at Dawn's face.  "This one don't look so bad.  Maybe even could be called pretty."  They spouted off a long list of vulgarities, greeting passengers in all the passing boats with outlandish and fanciful insults and derision as was their custom.  It was custom to respond in kind, a good natured bantering which all but the shy or inarticulate returned.  Raising her fist, Dawn uttered a stream of swearwords she had learned from the streets.  Call her a whore, would they.  And yet that was what she was pretending to be.  The notion pricked her.  This time when Black John took her to task for loitering, she hurried along, anxious to get this bit of business over so she could return to the security of the Dials.

The
Thames was at high tide, the waters lapping loudly over the quay.  Even with the fog Dawn could see the sails of the ships that lay at anchor in the open river.  As thick as flies, the ships were forced to stay there, sometimes for weeks at a time because movement was restricted.  London had become the largest trading center in the world, yet there were no proper docks.  The quays had not been enlarged for more than a hundred years, Black John Dunn had said.  It was not unusual for ships' crews to be discharged before cargo could be unloaded.  So much the better, John proclaimed, for it enabled his mudlarks to, as he said, "have an easier time o' it."

Even at such a late hour there were m
en walking along the wharf side with ropes swung over their shoulders.  At first glance they looked respectable, but Dawn knew differently.  River pirate was their real profession.  It was a known fact only to those of the underworld that there existed a labyrinth of secret passageways and concealed trapdoors beneath certain taverns' and inn's floors through which smuggled goods could be transferred.  The docks, as a matter of fact, had several rookeries, criminal districts and flash-houses, pubs frequented by criminals.

"Come on.  Come on, Dawnie there mus' be someone 'ere who is a likely mark.  P
ick a bloke out and be quick about it."  Black John Dunn readied his cloak for the proceeds.  It was a specially tailored, though tattered mantle lined with pockets.

"Don't 'urry me.  Don't be impatient!  I wants
te taike me time."  One tavern seemed to have attracted a crowd of frock-coated and top-hatted men.  It was an anthill of activity, with men of all sorts going in and out. Dawn peered in at the window to see  the patrons elbow to elbow as they lifted their tankards high.  "There’s a likely one 'ere, I’ll wager."  Cautiously she scanned the crowd.

"Forget the pub.  I see jus' the one."  Tugging at her arm, Robbie pointed to a man pacing back and forth in the shadows.  "Whatever 'e's got in that sachel must contain a great prize.  Look at 'ow 'e guards it, 'anging on ti
ght.  "At's yer man, me girl."

"I don't know..."  Now that the moment had come she was filled wi
th apprehension.  What if something went wrong, as it had this morning?  Besides, if the leather case was so valuable, the man would certainly put up a fight for it.   "Robbie...?"  She stood there indecisively, wishing she could tell Robbie that she had changed her mind.  She wasn't afforded the chance, for his firm hand propelled her forward.

"Go on!"

Taking a deep breath, Dawn walked forward, exchanging her graceful gait for the exaggerated sway Doris had taught her.  Holding her hands brazenly on her hips, she smiled. 

"Ev'nin', luv..." she crooned.  Though she had practiced the strut and the smile for several hours
, it still didn't feel quite right, but it was much too late to back out now.  "Nice ev'nin', ain't it.  'Ows 'bout you and me 'avin' a bit o' fun?"  To her dismay she could see that he was intent on ignoring her.  Looking over her shoulder at Robbie, she shrugged, but his annoyed gestures urged her on. Unlike some of the others she had passed, this man did not smell of gin or rum. Warily she eyed him. A sober toff might well pose a danger.  She could see only a silhouette and thus took a few halting steps closer.  "I was sayin' 'ow you and me ought ter get ter know each other better and..."

In that instant the man turned his head.  "I beg your pardon, Miss, but I'm here for a very important reason that does not include dallying with such as your ki
nd.  Excuse me if you please."

Gasping in surprise
, Dawn was dismayed to find herself looking into a face she recognized.  How could she ever forget that face, handsome as it was.  It was the very same man who had rescued her this morning.  The man whose carriage she had ducked in to hide.  Now her face burned under the scrutiny of his gaze, expecting him to recognize her too.  Mercifully he did not.  The gown and the rouge had aged her.

"B...beggin' yer pardon s..s..sir.  I'll be goin' on me
waiy."

Backing away
,  all she could think of was flight, but it was dark and she stumbled on the slick, uneven boards of the quay. Long, firm hands gripped her, breaking her fall.  Suddenly she found herself closer to him than even Robbie might have schemed and Dawn found it was a heady feeling,  like  partaking of Black John's gin.  Her breasts were lightly brushing against his hard chest and a heady warmth enveloped her, a quivering tension as taut as a bowstring.  Her hand trembled in his as he helped her to her feet.

"Are you hurt, Miss?"  His voice was a soft, deep rumble sending a shiver all the way from her
head to her toes.

"I'm fine.  Really I am."