Carola Dunn (4 page)

At last left in peace with his breakfast, Ashe discovered he had lost his appetite. He drank a second cup of coffee while he read the political news, then repaired to his study to write some letters.

After staring at a blank sheet of paper for some minutes, Ashe decided he was as much in need of fresh air and exercise as Colin. He would ride out to Hampstead Heath for a gallop this morning, instead of going to his club as planned. Sending for his horse and his valet, he went up to his chamber and changed into riding clothes.

Attired in boots and buckskins, he turned at the door as he left. “Oh, by the way, Mills, will you clean out the middle drawer of my dressing-table? Burn the letters. The rest you may dispose of as you choose.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“Except the most recent acquisition. The handkerchief must be returned to its owner.”

“Will you take it now, my lord? Or shall I send a footman to deliver it?”

“No, no, no hurry. Let it stay where it is for the present.”

And he went out to try to gallop the unfamiliar restlessness from his bones.

Chapter 3

“The last two jam tarts are mostly crumbs,” Peter observed, setting out the scanty remains of the basketful on the rickety table.

“I don’t mind,” said Michael eagerly. “They taste just as good.”

“It will make them easier to divide into three,” his brother pointed out with some severity.

Michael’s face fell. “Not the jammy bits.” After a momentary struggle with himself, he said in a rush of generosity, “Lissa, you can have my share of the jammy bits.”

Lissa hugged him. “Thank you, pet, but you and Peter may have the tarts. I’m not very hungry.”

The day after her supper with Lord Ashe, she had awoken ravenous. Recognizing that her unwonted indulgence had roused an unsatisfiable craving for food, she had sternly disciplined herself to eat next to nothing all day. By the following day the gnawing pangs of hunger had faded. In fact she seemed to have altogether lost her appetite, and she ate only as much as she thought necessary to keep up her strength.

If she fell ill, they would be in dire straits indeed.

Lord Ashe’s provisions had lasted longer than she expected, but the last morsels were even now disappearing into the mouths of her two growing boys. And she did not dare try the same trick again. His lordship had made plain the risk she had taken, she thought with a shiver. How unbelievably lucky she had been to fall in with so kind and generous a libertine!

“It’s off to market again tomorrow,” she said cheerfully, trying to forget the thinness of her purse.

“Lissa, won’t you let me try to make some money?” Peter pleaded. “Lots of boys my age do.”

“What of your studies? And I need you to take care of Michael while I am at the theatre.”

“I can take care of myself,” Michael said stoutly.

“No, you can’t,” said Peter. “You’re too young.”

“I’m not!”

“You are, too. But Lissa, listen, I can’t study the whole day, and I can find jobs in the streets where I can keep him by me.”

“The street-boys are thieves and beggars.”

“Not all of them,” he argued. “Some are quite respectable--well, honest at least. And people will trust me because I’m clean and decently dressed and speak properly. I can hold horses, and only the other day a hawker offered me a pocket full of nuts to watch her barrow for a few minutes. I said no, because I knew you would not like it, but truly, Lissa, I’d come to no harm.”

“Nor me neither,” said Michael.

The harm Lissa feared was nothing that could be explained to small boys. She was afraid they would associate with the unfortunate children running wild in the streets and absorb their values, losing sight of the principles instilled by their upbringing. The harsh, rigidly judgemental aspects of those principles she had somehow, against all odds, succeeded in softening. Her brothers were all she would wish them to be, but as they grew older her influence was bound to wane. She did not want it replaced by the influence of ragamuffins and guttersnipes.

“We shall see,” she temporized. “For the moment, I have enough money to go marketing tomorrow. But now I must go to rehearsal. Peter, did you bring up enough water from the pump to wash these dishes?”

“Yes, plenty. Lissa, I have a splendid idea! We don’t need all these pots--I am sure I can sell them.”

“I expect you could,” Lissa said regretfully, “but they belong to the Piazza Coffee House. They only lent them. In fact, when they are clean you had best pack them all into the basket and return them right away. It’s in Covent Garden. Just give Lord Ashe’s name.”

* * * *

When she came home from the rehearsal, Lissa found the boys in alt.

“They gave us money,” shouted Michael, racing down the stairs to meet her. “A whole crown!”

“Two half-crowns,” Peter confirmed, standing at the top, holding out his hand to show her the two shiny silver coins.

“Five shillings? Who?” Lissa enquired, bewildered and not a little mistrustful. “What for? No, let me take off my bonnet and boots and sit down before you tell me. My feet are tired.”

Michael fetched her slippers and Peter moved two of their three wobbly chairs so that she could sit with her feet raised on one of them. They were too excited about their sudden riches, though, to wait to tell their story.

“The man at the Piazza Coffee House gave it to us,” Peter informed her.

“We went across the bridge, like you said,” Michael put in.

“As I said.”

“As you said. We saw lots of boats, Lissa. I want to be a waterman when I grow up.”

“Yesterday you wanted to be an ostler,” Peter said scornfully.

“I expect you will change your mind several times before you are grown, Michael. That’s much better than being too obstinate ever to admit you might be mistaken. So you crossed the bridge, and then along the Strand and up Southampton Street.”

“It was easy,” Peter said.

“It was an awfully long way,” Michael contradicted.

“I mean it was easy to find the way, sapskull, with Lissa’s instructions.”

“Don’t call me sapskull!”

“No, don’t, Peter. Your statement was not clear, and even if it had been, you know a gentleman does not call another hurtful names.”

Peter flushed. “Sorry. Anyway,” he continued hastily, “we went to the kitchen and gave them the basket and said the crocks had been lent to Lord Ashe.”

“And the man went away.”

“And we were afraid he might think we had stolen the stuff.”

“But then another man came and gave Peter the money!” Michael exclaimed.

“A tip?” Lissa asked doubtfully. “It is far too much.”

“Not a tip.” Peter frowned. “He didn’t look very pleased. He said it was a refund of the deposit. What’s a deposit, Lissa?”

She explained. “But I’m sure five shillings is more than the lot was worth,” she said. “No doubt they overcharged Lord Ashe, thinking he would not notice and would not take the trouble to return the things. That must be why the man was annoyed at having to refund the deposit.”

“Who cares if he was cross?” said Michael. “We’re rich!”

“I’m afraid not,” said Lissa, casting a regretful glance at the two half-crowns before her on the table. “The money is Lord Ashe’s.”

Peter heaved a sigh. “I thought it might be,” he said philosophically.

“Oh.” Michael bit his wobbling lower lip. “You mean we can’t keep it? But the man gave it to us.”

“Only because it was you who took the basket back, pet. It was Lord Ashe who paid the deposit in the first place, you see.”

“But if he paid a whole crown,” Peter argued, brightening, “just to borrow some old pots, and not even caring if they were taken back, then he must have lots of money. He’s not poor like us. He doesn’t need it and won’t even miss it.”

It was true. Lissa stared temptation in the face--and after a brief battle she won. To yield to the all too plausible argument would set her brothers precisely the example she feared.

“That would be dishonest, Peter,” she said gently. “Indeed, it would be just as much stealing as if you picked a gentleman’s pocket of his handkerchief, however little he might miss it.” She missed hers, though, and she castigated herself again for so carelessly leaving it at the coffee house. She had not cared to tell the boys to ask after it. “You must take the money to Lord Ashe tomorrow, if it is fine.”

“I suppose so.” Peter made a determined effort to be cheerful. “I daresay he may give us a tip. Do you not think so, Lissa?”

“Very likely.”

“Is it far?” Michael asked with deep foreboding.

Lissa retrieved Lord Ashe’s card from her hiding place. “39, Dover Street, Mayfair,” she read, trying to recollect the map of London she had studied before coming to the great city. “Quite a way, I think, but there are lots of parks, so you may take a nuncheon and stop for a rest and a picnic.”

“Is it across the river?” Michael wanted to know next.

“Yes, you will cross Westminster Bridge, if I am not mistaken.”

“We’ll stop on the bridge so you can look at the boats,” Peter promised.

“I shall ask at the theatre tonight for precise directions. Someone is bound to know.”

So next morning Lissa saw her brothers off, with a bit of bread and cheese and the two half-crowns in their pockets. Wistfully she watched them walk down the narrow, dirty street. At the corner, looking very small, they turned to wave, and she waved back.

She would have liked to go with them, perhaps to catch at least a glimpse of Lord Ashe, but she knew she must not. In the first place, she needed to save her energy for her exertions at the theatre, which she found more and more tiring. In the second place, she had an unsettling feeling that it would be unwise to see Lord Ashe again. He might take it as encouragement to pursue her, and that she could not bear.

* * * *

“Who was that, Halsey?” Ashe enquired, descending the stairs as the butler closed the front door.

“A pair of young lads, my lord.” He stared with a puzzled frown at something in his hand. “Very odd, my lord. They gave me some money to give your lordship.”

“Not messengers from someone who lost to me at cards? I cannot recall that I hold anyone’s vowels at present.”

“Only five shillings, my lord.” Halsey handed over two coins.

“Not a gaming debt, then.”

“For the pots, they said, my lord.”

“Pots!” Distinctly odd, but so insignificant an amount was hardly worth investigating. Ashe started to shrug, then a thought struck him. “Two young lads?”

“Small boys, my lord. Respectable-looking,” he added as his master dashed past him towards the front door, “but lads that age are always hungry. I took the liberty of sending them down to the kitchen, my lord.”

“Good man!”

Striding down the front steps, Ashe ignored his groom, curricle, and high-bred pair awaiting him in the street and continued down the area steps. The two boys at the bottom, the elder about to knock on the kitchen door, turned at the sound of his boots on the flags.

Ashe had only seen Lissa’s brothers by the dim light of a tallow candle, in their night attire, and at the time he had been more interested in their sister. These two, soberly clad in black short-coats and low-crowned hats, might be nothing to do with her. Was he making a fool of himself? “Peter Findlay?” he said uncertainly. “Michael?”

“Good afternoon, my lord.” The elder raised his hat and bowed, nudging his little brother, who followed suit.

“Which of you is which?”

“I’m Peter, sir, he’s Michael. Did the man give you the money?”

“He did. I should like an explanation. Come with me.”

Michael hung back. “Please, sir, the man said we can have something to eat.”

Ashe smiled at him. “So you shall, but upstairs, while you tell me all about it.”

“In your house?”

“In my house.” On the way up, he called to his groom, “Tool them about for half an hour, Burr. I’ll join you presently.”

“Is that your curricle, sir?” Peter asked.

“Yes. So you know a curricle from a phaeton, do you?”

“Oh yes, Lissa said I ought....” He pulled himself up short, then went on with an air of inspiration, “She says if I want to earn tips holding gentlemen’s horses, I ought to know what vehicle they are driving.”

“But she won’t...,” Michael started to protest.

“Yours is a capital rig, sir,” his brother drowned him out. “I daresay your team is very fast?”

“They have a fair turn of speed,” Ashe agreed gravely, wondering what the boys had been about to say. He did not want to alarm them by probing. “Refreshments in the breakfast room, Halsey,” he said as they approached the butler, still standing at the open door. “Substantial refreshments.”

“At once, my lord,” said Halsey, but he looked--insofar as a first-rate butler is capable of such a look--as if he thought Ashe had gone out of his mind.

Perhaps he had.

He went to the head of the table and invited the young Findlays to be seated on either side of him. “Now, if you please, tell me about the money,” he requested.

This they were perfectly willing to do, in great detail. By the time a footman arrived with a laden tray, Ashe had learnt all about the boats on the Thames and how Michael was going to be a waterman when he grew up.

“Unless I change my mind,” the child said seriously. “Lissa says it’s all right to change your mind.”

“By tomorrow, he’ll probably want to be a baker,” Peter observed to Ashe, man-to-man.

Over cold meat, bread and butter, plum pie, and tall glasses of milk--the children had excellent table manners, he noted--with a mug of ale for Ashe, he heard about the delivery of the basket to the coffee house, and the refunded deposit.

“So that’s it!”

“I thought we were going to be rich,” Michael mourned, his face adorned with a milk moustache. “But Lissa said it’s your money ‘cause you paid it.”

“I own I had forgotten all about it. It was exceedingly kind in you to bring it to me.” He would have liked to return half-a-crown to each of them, but to do so would negate their efforts. It might also cross Miss Findlay’s pride. Perhaps a shilling each when they left would be a proper and acceptable tip.