Marrying Harriet (12 page)

‘There!’ said Harriet triumphantly. She wrested the gun from Miss Spiggs and backed away. Miss Spiggs stared at her in horror. In a flash, she realized Frank would never forgive her. She would be alone for the rest of her life. No more adventure, no more excitement. With a cry, she darted forward and threw herself on Harriet. There was a deafening report as the pistol went off and Miss Spiggs crumpled to the floor, blood spreading across the front of her gown.

Harriet stood stricken, the smoking pistol in her hand. She heard footsteps pounding up the stairs, heard someone rattling at the door-handle, and then, with an almighty crash, the door burst open and Lord Charles hurtled into the room.

He stopped short and looked gravely down at the dead Miss Spiggs and then solemnly at Harriet, who stood white-faced and glittering-eyed, with her hair cascading about her shoulders.

‘I have killed someone,’ said Harriet. ‘It was an accident. God forgive me.’

‘Come with me,’ he said. ‘Come away. You are safe and I have found you. Come, my brave girl.’

He went forward and caught her as she fell and picked her up in his arms. Frightened faces peered in at the open door.

‘This lady has fainted,’ said Lord Charles. ‘Tell the constable that Lord Charles Marsham will answer all questions.’

Harriet recovered consciousness as he carried her to his carriage. Tears started to her eyes. ‘Gently, now,’ he said. ‘There’s my brave girl.’

Ignoring the staring crowd that had gathered, he lifted her up into the seat, unhitched his team and drove off just as the angry rattle of the watch sounded at the end of the street.

Fog had closed down, yellow choking fog, blotting out the buildings, turning London into a nightmare City. ‘Stop the carriage,’ cried Harriet in a shaky voice. He cast an anxious glance at the white blur of her face and slowed the open carriage to a halt.

Harriet leaped down and then he could hear dismal retching sounds from the back of the carriage. He got down himself, but she pleaded, ‘Don’t come near me. I am so ashamed.’

His voice came to her from out of the enveloping fog. ‘I am here, nonetheless. Do you feel better? I am anxious to get you home.’

Harriet came towards him and once more he helped her up.

‘I am all right now,’ she said faintly. ‘How did you find me?’

‘Your Mr Feathers saw you being taken away and made a mental note of the number of the hack.’

‘That poor, unfortunate woman,’ said Harriet, meaning Miss Spiggs. ‘What happened to that horrible red-haired man?’

‘He is dead. An accident. I was trying to find your whereabouts and tracked him down to the Gold Lion. I hit him and threatened him. He had an apoplexy. It is better this way. Both would have hanged and you would have had to endure the rigours of giving evidence at their trial.’

Harriet put her hands over her face and shivered. What a bleak world of violence. She slowly lowered her hands and stole a look at her companion. She could barely see him, although he was seated close to her, the fog was so thick. But what she could see revealed the usual lazy, elegant man that was Lord Charles Marsham. She could not imagine him hitting anyone or threatening anyone. And yet he had kicked down the door to rescue her, splintering the lock and leaving it hanging crazily on its hinges. She wanted to go home and then realized she really did not have a home. For the first time she wondered what would happen to her if she did not marry. Lady Owen might keep her as a sort of poor unpaid companion but was more likely to wash her hands of her and damn her as a failure. She was sure the Tribble sisters were fond of her, and yet she was a client to them. They had to earn their living and therefore could hardly be expected to support a dependant.

‘What is the time?’ asked Harriet.

‘Five o’clock.’

‘It seems a lifetime since I was taken away.’

‘Apart from cutting off a piece of your hair, did that monster harm you in any other way?’

‘No, but he threatened to. He said he would send them a letter this evening, telling them a time and a place to hand over the money tomorrow, and if he returned without the money, then he would send them one of my fingers.’

‘My poor heart,’ he said, and at the sound of his voice Harriet’s own heart leaped wildly, as she thought first it was an endearment and then settled down as she convinced herself he must have been joking about the state of his own heart.

‘I am most grateful to you for trying to help me,’ she said.

‘You had helped yourself by the time I arrived, Capability Brown.’

‘No, no. If you had not attacked that dreadful man, he might have returned while I was still struggling with that woman.’

‘Kind of you to say so, but I am not exactly your knight in shining armour. Alas, such capable ladies as yourself do not need us weak men to ride to the rescue.’

‘I would not like you to think I was missish.’

‘No, Miss Brown, you are not missish in the slightest.’

‘Thank you,’ said Harriet, although she was sure, coming as it did from him, that it was not meant as a compliment.

He drove on, inching his way through the fog, wondering, too, what was to become of Harriet Brown. She would either marry some man like Feathers or return to Scarborough and to good works.

And why am I sneering at the very idea of good works? he then chided himself. Is it because I fear this lady is superior to me in every way?

By the time they arrived at Holles Street, Harriet was beginning to shiver uncontrollably.

The front door flew open before they could reach it, the sisters, demented with worry, having been watching from the window. Not only were Amy and Effy there, but Mr Haddon, Mr Randolph, Mr Lawrence and Mr Feathers, who had not been allowed to leave in case Lord Charles returned and wanted to question him further.

Harriet was hugged fiercely by first Amy and then Effy. She could never in her life remember anyone hugging her before.

Mr Randolph and Mr Lawrence were crying noisily to show their sensibility, but Mr Haddon was grim-faced.

He had arrived after Lord Charles had left, to be met with the tears and fears of the Tribbles and to have it explained to him that Mr Lawrence had volunteered to be the sisters’ saviour.

Mr Haddon was set in his ways. He did not like change. He was overjoyed that Miss Brown was safe, but at the same time he saw a future without any more comfortable evenings with the Tribbles.

Lord Charles suggested Harriet be put to bed immediately and took his leave.

Harriet was borne upstairs. Amy ordered a bath of hot scented water to be drawn for her and, mindful of Harriet’s modesty, left her alone to bathe in peace but with a large handbell beside the bath ‘in case you come over faint’.

When Harriet was at last in bed, Amy and Effy came in carrying a hot drink, followed by Baxter, who put extra blankets on the bed. Then the sisters questioned Harriet, exclaiming in horror on learning that Miss Spiggs had been a party to the plot.

Amy cut short Harriet’s tearful regrets over the killing of Miss Spiggs. ‘Better than watch the wretched woman hang,’ she said robustly. ‘We owe a great debt to Lord Charles Marsham, although I gathered you saved yourself, but at least he got rid of Frank. Never could stand that young man. Now you must lie back and sleep. Lord Charles will no doubt be round here with a magistrate, but we will tell whatever authority that arrives that you are not to be disturbed until the morrow. Dear Mr Lawrence. We were at our wits’ end as to how to raise the ransom money and he promptly offered to pay it while that wretched Haddon did not even trouble to call.’

‘But he is here now,’ protested Harriet.

‘He did not get my note until later, but he should have come the first time he was summoned. Unfeeling brute,’ sniffed Amy.

Harriet looked at the two sisters, at Amy’s honest horselike face, at Effy’s faded pretty one, at their concern and love, and her eyes filled with tears again. She was only one of their clients, and yet they had shown her more love than anyone had ever done before. She must do her best for them. They did not know that Lord Charles had inveigled Mr Lawrence into paying court to them. What if the plan had already backfired and both sisters had fallen in love with the uncle and forgotten their beaux?

‘Send Mr Haddon to me,’ said Harriet faintly.

‘Mr
Haddon
? If you are thinking of thanking anyone, then it should be Mr Lawrence you want to see,’ pointed out Effy.

‘No. I wish to have a private word with Mr Haddon. Please do not ask questions. It is Mr Haddon I wish to talk to. Just for a few moments, and then I will go to sleep.’

The sisters left after only a few more protests, and eventually Mr Haddon came into the room. ‘Shut the door behind you,’ ordered Harriet feebly, for she was beginning to feel warm and drowsy and longed to sleep.

The nabob did as he was bid and then approached the bed.

‘Now turn about smartly and open the door again,’ ordered Harriet.

Mr Haddon again did as she ordered and started back as the Tribble sisters, who had been leaning on the other side, nearly fell across the threshold.

‘I wanted a
private
word with Mr Haddon,’ said Harriet sternly, and so the sisters left, after protesting that Effy had dropped a pin right by the door and all they had been doing was stooping to look for it.

Mr Haddon approached the bed again. He looked down at Harriet and reflected that it might not be too amazing if Lord Charles was really interested in her. She was not beautiful by accepted standards, but her eyes were fine and her mouth was generous and sensual.

‘Bring forward a chair and sit down,’ said Harriet wearily. ‘Why did you not call on the sisters when you were first summoned?’

Mr Haddon frowned. He found the question impertinent, but Harriet looked so weak and ill, he did not like to upset her by refusing to answer her. ‘I did not know the severity of their problem,’ he said stiffly. ‘I was too busy. I then went out for a walk and did not receive Miss Amy’s letter until later. I came as soon as I got it. It is ridiculous to believe that Lawrence could ever pay such a sum. He is a gambler and has not a feather to fly with.’

‘But Lord Charles is very rich, I believe,’ murmured Harriet. ‘No doubt Mr Lawrence knew he would foot the bill.’

‘Of course!’ Mr Haddon’s face cleared. ‘I must tell Miss Amy.’

‘It won’t do any good,’ said Harriet. ‘You will only look churlish. Mr Lawrence was prepared to find the money, and even if it came from his own nephew it will not diminish his glory one whit. And why should you care?’

Mr Haddon sat in silence, his face unreadable in the lamplight.

‘Please humour me,’ said Harriet with a wan smile.

‘I suppose I
am
being churlish,’ said Mr Haddon with a sigh. ‘I do not like change. I enjoy my life. I enjoy Mr Randolph’s friendship and our visits to the Misses Tribble. I wish things did not have to change. According to Lord Charles, Lawrence is set on marriage, although which one he prefers I do not know.’

‘Your life need not change,’ said Harriet gently. ‘There is no reason why it cannot go on as it is now, but with one simple alteration.’

‘That being?’

‘If you married Miss Amy and Mr Randolph married Miss Effy, then you could continue your walks and visits to the club and then come home to the sisters, your wives.’

Mr Haddon began to laugh. ‘I? Marry Miss Amy? Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘Then, in that case, I shall do everything in my power to discourage your visits and encourage those of Mr Lawrence,’ said Harriet crossly.

‘But . . .’

‘No. No more,’ said Harriet. ‘Go away. My head hurts.’

Mr Haddon descended to the drawing room. There was no one there, but he heard the sound of voices rising from the ground floor and went on down. Amy, Effy, Mr Lawrence, Mr Feathers and Lord Charles were in a saloon to the left of the hall with a magistrate, a beadle, a watchman and two constables.

Mr Lawrence seemed to be holding the floor and was being deferred to by the magistrate. Useless old roué, thought Mr Haddon spitefully as he noticed Amy hanging on Mr Lawrence’s every word. He felt old and cross and wanted to go home, but felt obliged to wait politely until the forces of law and order had been dealt with before suggesting to Mr Randolph that they take their leave. As they walked out, two gentlemen of the press were being ushered in, one from
The Times
and one from
The Morning Post.
Mr Haddon half-turned to go back, but reflected that it was wise of the sisters to give the press their version, otherwise a story based on scandal and rumour would appear, and he could not bear to stay and see Mr Lawrence pontificating and acting as the hero of the day again.

Little Mr Randolph trotted alongside his tall friend, glancing nervously up from time to time at his set face. The fog had thinned slightly and the shadows cast by the parish lamps transformed Mr Haddon’s face into a hard geometric pattern of black and white planes.

‘Let us go to Brother’s coffee house for a bottle of something,’ said Mr Haddon at last. ‘Or several bottles.’

‘You are upset. What did Miss Brown say?’ asked Mr Randolph.

‘I would rather tell you when I have had several glassfuls of wine to fortify me,’ was the reply.

Mr Randolph became increasingly worried. He knew his friend to be a man of sober habits, enjoying an occasional glassful of wine, but not given to tippling whole bottles.

Once seated in the coffee house with the bottle between them, Mr Haddon began. ‘I declare I do not know whether to laugh at what Miss Brown said to me or be furious at her impertinence. But I must remember she is an ingénue and not accustomed to the ways of the world.’

‘What did she say?’ demanded Mr Randolph impatiently.

‘I was regretting the incursion of Lawrence into our well-ordered lives. It looks as if our friendly evenings at Holles Street are going to come to an end. Of course, I realize Miss Brown was suffering badly from shock, but she pointed out, very coolly, mind, that our lives need not change at all. I should marry Miss Amy, and you, my dear friend, Miss Effy.’

Mr Randolph took out his quizzing-glass, polished it furiously on his sleeve, and raised it to survey the expression on his friend’s face better.