The Promise (14 page)

Finn’s ears were assaulted by a voice sharp enough to cut glass coming from a crone in an enormous plum-colored bonnet with bobbing peacock feathers. Several other women were listening intently, their eyes and mouths wide open.

“The man with the
Times
told me Miss Gray is the lovely lady larcenist they wrote about in the paper,” the woman bobbed her head as if to confirm it. “Tried to sell an expensive bauble what she took from Rutledge when they was lovers. He cast her off an’ she got desperate raising his by-blow with no help from him. Tried to pawn her ill-gotten gains an’ that’s when her troubles began. Almost thrown into Newgate she was, but the duke took mercy on her being she’s his old lover an’ all.”

Another woman nodded excitedly and added, “Rutledge must have pulled some strings to keep her off the gallows. The nobs live by a different set of rules than the rest of us. There’s no denying.”

“That’s a shameful way for a rich man to treat the mother of his child, baseborn or no. He wouldn’t miss the coin it cost to keep her. King William had ten bastards, and
he
gave them all titles.”

Jesus! Poor Miss Gray!
Finn thought, surveying the bloodthirsty horde. They didn’t care about the truth just as long as they got to enjoy some juicy gossip. He briefly considered cornering the reporter and planting him a facer, but good sense prevailed.

It was obvious Finn could not enter the shop through the front. Even if he could muscle his way through the crowd, the reporter would recognize him. The conclusion he would draw from Finn’s presence was obvious. He skirted the gawkers, catching snippets of conversation as he made his way toward the narrow alley running alongside the building.

“Who would have thought? Miss Gray seemed like such a nice woman. Come to find out she’s naught but a whore. ’Tis one thing for Rutledge to cast off his strumpet when he’s had his fill, but ’tis shameful to cast off a child.”

Several women in the crowd murmured in agreement. Finn winced.

“The toffs don’t stay rich by giving away money. If they was free wiff it, they wouldn’t stay rich for long, now would they?”

“Have you seen her?” one sharp-eyed woman asked.

“No. Squeezed in earlier, but she’s hiding in the back like a frightened little mouse. Ashamed to show her face I expect.”

“She’s a pretty woman. Sure an’ she is,” one of the kinder women in the crowd said. “Friendly, too. ’Tis a pity she was used ill. Her life won’t be the same now it’s out.”

Finn had heard enough. Miss Gray was under siege and he had to find a way to rescue her. He looked around to see if he was being observed before slipping down the alley. Halfway down he found a door propped open with a brick. A blast of heat hit him full force as he stepped inside. There was a cramped set of stairs on one side and a short hall on the other. He followed his nose to the kitchen and turned the corner to find a distraught Miss Gray cowering in the corner of a pantry between large sacks of flower.

Finn waved his arms in the darkness of the hall and whispered, “Over here, Miss Gray!”

Jane crouched down as if ducking enemy fire and crept out into the hall.

“You received my message,” she said with obvious relief.

“I don’t know what to say, Miss Gray. I am so sorry you find yourself in this situation.”

“Thank you, my lord, but it is hardly your fault,” Jane said.

“Is there someplace more private we can speak?” he asked.

“Yes, come with me,” she led him back into the hall and climbed the stairs to her room. He followed her into the tiny chamber. She motioned for him to take the sole chair while she sat on the edge of the bed.

“It’s highly improper to bring you here, but there is nowhere else.”

“Think nothing of it. It’s not as if we have a choice.”

“The odious little man outside offered me twenty-five pounds if I would tell him about my affair with the Duke.
My
affair! With the
Duke
! Of all the nerve, I almost slapped him blind! Can you imagine?” Jane was scandalized.

Finn laughed, causing her to scowl at him. “I’m sorry, Miss Gray, but I can’t imagine you slapping anyone.”

“Can he print lies like that? Aren’t there laws about these things?” she fumed.

“There are, but the newspapers are good at printing fabrications and innuendo in such a vague way they cannot be prosecuted,” Finn said.

“But everyone knows who they’re talking about! For heaven’s sake, it’s obvious enough to me, regardless of whether they use Lord Finn Wallace or Sir Finwally,” she quickly covered her mouth with her hand. His romantic exploits were often chronicled in London’s scandal rags, but by mentioning it she essentially admitted to reading the columns herself.

How embarrassing!

Finn watched her blush with amusement. “When my friends wish to annoy me, they call me Sir Finwally, among other things. I wish the writer had come up with something a little more dignified.”

“I meant no offense.”

“None taken,” Finn grinned. “My life isn’t nearly as exciting as they present it. I stopped worrying about it years ago. They’ve chronicled affairs with women I’ve never met.”

“That is fine for you, but this will follow Pip for the rest of her life!” Jane cried.

“Calm yourself, Miss Gray, the reason I came was to get more details, but I think I gathered a fairly clear picture outside. This reporter planted a seed and it has already sprouted. Whether printed or not, this fabrication will be all over London by tomorrow morning,” Finn ran his fingers through his hair.

Jane made a distressed sound and looked at him helplessly. “I’ve never felt so powerless to protect her.”

“Please try not to worry. I’m confident I can persuade the
Times
to delay the story. The crowd will lose interest soon and you should be able to visit this evening as usual. By then Cameron and I will have determined the best way to handle this.”

“Thank you. It’s such a relief to know I don’t have to face this alone,” Jane exhaled.

He rose to his feet and she led him back down the stairs.

“Courage, Miss Gray. I know for a fact you’ve faced greater difficulties and prevailed,” Finn slipped a hand beneath her elbow and squeezed it gently.

She smiled ruefully. “If only you knew what an understatement that is.”

Finn’s eyebrows lifted a fraction. “That sounds mysterious. Now my curiosity is piqued. You’ll have to share more details about those difficulties when we are at our leisure.”

“Drab and dreary tales, my lord. I’ll do you a favor and keep them to myself.”

Finn tilted his head and considered her words, but did not comment. He cupped her cheek in his palm and said, “Have heart, Miss Gray. This too shall pass.”

Jane was confused by the affectionate gesture. She pressed her hand over his briefly then stepped away, breaking contact. He smiled affectionately. “Until tonight.” The phrase combined with his warm expression made her stomach wheel as if she had been dropped from a great height.

Finn circled behind several buildings before returning to the street. With the “duke’s doxy” nowhere to be seen, there was nothing to hold their interest and the crowd was thinning. He surmised the stragglers would be long gone by the time Jane made her nightly pilgrimage.

The injustice of her situation made him furious. She had done nothing to deserve public ridicule, nothing to inspire mean-spirited speculation about her character. If the story didn’t have the power to harm his family, he might have found humor in the absurdity of it. It was difficult to imagine a life more mundane than hers. Miss Gray, a quiet young woman whose existence was marked by drudgery and selflessness, was soon to be portrayed by London’s tabloid press as a jewel thief and courtesan.

Unless he could do something to prevent it.

Chapter Eleven

Less than a half hour later, Finn strode into the depressing gray lobby of the
Times
furious and ready to do battle. He slapped his leather gloves impatiently against his thigh as several clerks eyed him nervously. After conferring in hushed whispers, one approached him.

“Good afternoon. May I help you?” he asked timidly.

“I must speak with the publisher. Immediately!” Finn said through a tight jaw.

“I’m sorry, he’s not available…” the man began, then eased back as Finn took a threatening step forward. “Mr. Kittery is honeymooning on the Continent. He’ll not return for several weeks, I’m afraid.”

“You should be. Afraid, that is,” Finn growled.

Damnation!
Not good news. Matters such as distribution and advertising sales were the utmost concern in a publisher’s mind. Coercing a man motivated strictly by the balance of red and black ink was a simple matter… boycotts, lawsuits, court injunctions… anything that threatened profits would work to stall or kill the story. But in the publisher’s absence he would be forced to deal with someone in the editorial department who would be eager to print an
exposé before competitors caught wind of the story
.

No matter. He would simply adjust the angle of attack he had been planning since first reading Miss Gray’s note earlier that day.

“Who’s in charge in his absence?” Finn inquired.

“Myles Copeland, the managing editor, but this is the busiest time of day. I doubt he’ll be able to see you now. He’s putting the morning edition to bed,” the man explained.

“The content of the morning edition is precisely what I wish to discuss. You will announce me now,” he ordered imperiously.

“And who should I say is calling, sir?” the man blanched under Finn’s withering regard.

“Lord Fionnlagh Wallace. I come on behalf of my brother, the Duke of Rutledge who is none too pleased with the vicious smear campaign your miserable excuse for a newspaper is planning to launch against our family.” Finn thought if ever there was a time to wield the family hammer, this was it.

“I see. Very w-well,” the clerk stammered. “Please wait here. I’ll be just a moment.” He trundled down the hall in a flustered rush, failing to notice that Finn followed several yards behind.

The end of the hall opened onto a cavernous space with no interior walls, filled with row upon row of black iron letterpresses bolted to pitted oak floors. The rhythmic din of platens striking metal type drowned out the noise of Finn’s boots on the grimy planks. Light filtered through tall soot-coated windows, illuminating the bulky sheet-fed presses attended by operators in heavy canvas aprons who monitored print quality by adjusting wheels, levers, and rollers. The air was sharp with the tang of ink and chemicals.

As he shadowed the unsuspecting clerk, he thought about Miss Gray’s ‘home’… a depressing little hovel that barely warranted the word. Although he had carefully schooled his expression, the austerity of her surroundings had shocked him. The furnishings were sparse and of poor quality, the walls unadorned except for children’s drawings. Her bed was a small straw-filled pallet that Finn assumed she had shared with Pip after she outgrew the cradle. The surroundings did not fit the woman.

He was intensely curious about Miss Gray’s background. Based on her genteel manner, Finn suspected there was more to her than met the eye. Most women of her class were illiterate, but she was obviously well educated. She had taught Pip to read and write by the age of five and had nurtured the child’s intellectual curiosity by taking her to museums and libraries. There were many ways Miss Gray might have acquired an education, of course. She could have been the daughter of a governess or steward who had been taught alongside the children of the house, as Peckham’s son had been. Perhaps she was born into a wealthy merchant family that had fallen on hard times.

Finn would have expected a woman from her background to be dazzled by the grandeur of Carlisle House. But after the first few days, she had seemed perfectly at ease with the servants, and comfortable with rituals such as high tea. She also was familiar with the copious serving pieces used for the evening meal; he had never observed her looking sideways to see which was the proper fork or spoon to use for a given course. Had she once worked in a nobleman’s household, he wondered? There were more details that didn’t add up. Jane spoke French with an upper class inflection, indicating her mother had not come from common origins.

Yes, Miss Gray was a mystery that intrigued him more with each passing day.

Finn wondered what she would look like in sumptuous silks rather than her omnipresent white shirtwaist and drab brown pinafore. Crimson silk would suit her, he mused, with blood red rubies against her creamy skin. What Miss Gray needed was a protector… a wealthy, powerful man to lift her from her humble surroundings and ensconce her in a cozy love nest. Perhaps he would set her up in a quiet neighborhood convenient to Marylebone from which she could visit Pip. And when she was not attending to Pip, he could attend to her. His mind painted a beguiling picture… of Jane opening her door with a slow smile, dusky eyes welcoming, her slender body swaying toward his in anticipation. Finn doubted he would tire of her quickly. It would take many months, maybe a year or longer to act out all the fantasies she inspired.

Lost in thought, he slammed into the back of the clerk, who in turn slammed into the door of the editor’s office. The room had been portioned off from the rest of the floor by a paneled knee wall and a bank of windows. The dust-covered slats of wood blinds provided a louvered view to the interior where two men sat in conversation.

“Sir, I intended for you to remain in the lobby!” the clerk puffed, straightening his spectacles.

“I realize that. I had other ideas, however,” Finn fired back.

Inside, both men looked up in surprise. Finn recognized one as the suspicious ferret-faced character he had observed loitering in the public square across from Carlisle House all week. He had asked a footman to keep an eye on the man, thinking he might be a housebreaker planning a job. Now it was apparent the man had been gathering information for a story. For the second time that day, he fought down the urge to slam his fist into another man’s face.

The editor opened the door and gestured for Finn to enter as the vermin from the park slithered past.

“Myles Copeland, my lord,” he introduced himself with an outstretched hand.

Finn ignored it and indulged the animosity that had been building in him all day.

“I recognize that man,” he squinted at Harry Barnes’ retreating back. “He has been spying on my family for weeks.”

“He is a reporter, not a spy,” Copeland said evenly. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit?”

“A reporter, you say? Well, that
reporter
has been closely observing the comings and goings at Carlisle House. How is that different from spying?” Finn’s eyes flashed. “One of your minions accosted a close family friend at her place of business this morning. His harassment and slanderous accusations distressed her greatly. I’m here to ensure that not a word of those lies is printed.”

Enemy engaged. Perhaps not the most tactful approach, but at least battle lines were clearly drawn. Finn had never been one to beat about the bush.

“Lord Wallace…” Copeland began, as if placating a child. “When Rutledge approached the
Times
and several other newspapers to assist him in locating stolen property, we were very cooperative, were we not? In fact, our effort to publicize details of the crime ultimately led to the recovery of the missing jewelry. Is that not so?” the editor smiled tightly. “Our sources tell us the thief was apprehended, but not arrested. Most peculiar, don’t you think? Naturally, the public is curious how the story ends. We are simply following leads.”

“I could have supplied that information, if only you’d asked.” Finn made a conscious effort to rein in his temper. “It was simply a misunderstanding, that is all. The necklace was given to a family friend and His Grace, being unaware of that fact, reported the item stolen. End of mystery.” Finn swiped his palms together as if brushing off dirt.

“I see. That explains the necklace,” Copeland rubbed his jaw. “In the process of looking into the missing jewelry, however, my reporters stumbled upon a more interesting story,” the editor said, a tad smugly to Finn’s ears.

“Despite what your reports think they know, I assure you, Miss Gray is not my brother’s mistress, nor has she ever been. He certainly did not father her child. If you say so in print, we will seek reparations in court.”

“Miss Gray is
your
lover then?” the editor probed. He leaned forward intently, resting his palms on the desk.

The question sent a strange jolt through Finn
. Jane’s lover. If only!

“Certainly not,” the words came out as an angry growl. “Your so-called reporters have all the essential facts wrong, Mr. Copeland.”

“Indeed?” Copeland scoffed. He hadn’t missed Lord Wallace’s startled reaction to his question. “In the interest of ‘getting the story right’ I will tell you the facts as we know them, and you may put them in context. Agreed?” He sat down behind his desk and gestured for Finn to take the seat vacated by Harry Barnes.

Against his better judgment, Finn acquiesced. If nothing else he would learn how much they knew. After a brief summary, Copeland leaned back in his chair and waited for a response.

Finn had to concede the editor’s conclusions were logical, if inaccurate. But what could he say that would protect Pip, Maura, and Miss Gray from a public airing of the Wallace family’s most painful secret?

“Why is the
Times
interested in our private affairs… I mean private business? How does it fall under the category of news?” Finn tried an alternate approach.

“My lord, you forget
we
did not seek out this story. On the contrary, the
Times
became involved at Rutledge’s request. We are journalists, independent members of the fourth estate, not lackeys for the peerage. We follow wherever the facts lead without prejudice.”

“And I repeat, you have it completely wrong. If you print this story, you’ll defame an innocent woman and her child.” Finn’s assertion was met with a skeptical smirk.

“Innocent women do not have children out of wedlock.”

For the
third
time that day, Finn considered smashing another man’s face in. As his mind raced for the right words to say, the seed of an idea took root. It was an elegant solution to all their problems; all he needed was a little time.

“Mr. Copeland,” he smiled, suddenly all charm. “If I were to promise you an exclusive, would you agree to postpone the story for a day or two?”

Copeland was dubious. “Why? What could possibly change in that time?”

“I am not at liberty to say at the moment, but I
can
guarantee you exclusivity.”

Copeland’s eyes narrowed as he weighed Finn’s sincerity. “You give me your word you will communicate only with the
Times
? No other publication?”

“Yes,” Finn said unequivocally. “You have my word you’ll get the story first.”

“Very well. Let’s shake on it,” the editor leaned across his desk and thrust out his hand again. This time Finn took it.

GASLIGHTS SEEMED TO float above the fog that twisted in gauzy strands through London’s damp streets and alleys. A fine mist hung in air perfumed by wet dust and stone. Jane locked Sugarmann’s front door behind her and hurried toward the Duke’s carriage, an inky silhouette in the diffuse light. She shivered. On nights like these, it was too easy to imagine spirits rising from the catacombs at Nunhead and Kensal Green to haunt the living. Jane quickened her pace.

The weather matched her dreary mood; she had not been so lonely since her first days in the city. She looked forward to the brief time she had with Pip each night, but it wasn’t nearly enough. There was no more animated chatter in the background as she went about the monotonous routine of her day, no more spontaneous, affectionate hugs. Without Pip, life seemed barren. She had too much time to think about loss, of daughter, her parents, the landscape of her childhood. Memories were cold comfort. She struggled to conquer unpleasant emotions, sensing that to give in would leave her embittered.

If losing Pip weren’t bad enough, now she had to contend with all the mischief the
Times
reporter had stirred up. It was anyone’s guess how long it would take for
that
to die down. To make matters worse, her job was in peril. Mrs. East made it clear she blamed Jane for the entire brouhaha, and had threatened to replace her several times. It was all thoroughly disheartening.

Simmons vaulted down from his perch, lowered the steps, and unlatched the door. Jane smiled at the man who had shuttled her back and forth from Carlisle House for several weeks.

“Good evening, Miss Gray,” Simmons said, his manner amiable, but detached.

“Good evening, Simmons,” she responded. He always seemed in a hurry and she wondered if he resented these nightly missions. Would he be home with his wife and family had he not been tasked with squiring her back and forth?