Ruined (12 page)

He had not expected to see Mrs Machin and her party at the theatre that evening; but then he had not expected to see them in any fashionable place. Mr Lusty’s sister’s house was in an unfashionable part of town and, from what he had seen on his brief visit, she lived in a very quiet, modest way. He was glad that Jez had had the
opportunity
to enjoy such a treat, but he had been horrified at the way in which Mrs Machin and her buffoon of an escort had managed to draw attention to their acquaintance with himself. What was more, they had also drawn the attention of Sir Wallace Weary. The baronet had noticed Jez at almost the same time as he himself had seen her.

‘There’s that dashed pretty wench from the bookshop,’ he had murmured. ‘Damned if I wouldn’t like to make her better
acquaintance
.’ Fortunately at that point one of the other men had invited him to go on to another function and the moment had passed. But 
the danger was still there. They were two women, living alone without the protection of a man. Mrs Machin was more naïve than a widow of her age had any right to be. Jez had no idea of how to go on in London; and there was Weary, a man whom he barely
tolerated
at best, starting to think that they were both prime articles because of Mrs Machin’s silliness. What on earth could he do to protect them?

‘Raff! Raff, I say! Windmills in your head?’

Roused from his abstraction by Toby Wayland’s hearty voice, the earl realized that he had arrived at the corner of St James’s Street. He responded to the greeting and putting aside his anxieties he
accompanied
his friend up the steps and into Brooks’s, ready to enjoy a night’s gaming.

Chapter Ten

N
ow that Mrs Machin had abandoned the fiction of copying and ordering her husband’s writings, and composing moral tracts, the two ladies generally breakfasted together. On the morning after their visit to the theatre, when they sat at table, Mrs Machin said, ‘My mind is positively buzzing with ideas for my novel. Will you excuse me, my dear, if I disappear into the
book-room
to work? There is so much that I must write down whilst it is fresh in my mind.’

‘Of course,’ Jessie replied readily. ‘Shall we perhaps have a walk later?’

‘Yes, perhaps,’ agreed Henrietta. Jessie could see from her
expression
that she was already back amidst the sights and sounds of the theatre. It seemed as though her sense of obligation as hostess had not entirely deserted her, however, for she was three parts out of the door when she turned and said, ‘How will you occupy your time? Do you have something to do, or would you’ – she swallowed - ‘prefer me to entertain you in some way?’

‘By no means,’ laughed Jessie. ‘Pray do not tear yourself away if the muse is upon you. Only tell me if there are any charitable
institutions
nearby where I may make myself useful for an hour or two.’

Mrs Machin looked thoughtful. ‘The parish of St George has a poor house,’ she said after a brief consideration. ‘I don’t know what they do there by way of education. I know they do some teaching at the Foundling hospital but that is rather a long way to walk.’

‘I will go to St George’s, then,’ Jessie answered, ‘and see if I can 
help with anything.’ After a short pause, she added, ‘Is St George’s church really the nearest?’

‘I haven’t the slightest idea,’ said Henrietta frankly, ‘but it’s by far the most fashionable. See if Mr Hinder wants to go with you. His presence might be valuable to you.’

Seeing the sense of this, Jessie went to Mr Hinder’s house and found him in the very act of preparing to go out.

‘I’m going to Paternoster Row,’ he answered in response to her enquiry. ‘I want to talk to a bookseller there. I’ll gladly take you to where you want to go first.’

The journey initially followed the same path as their route to St George’s, Hanover Square. Jessie was beginning to get used to this walk as she had now visited the church on more than one occasion. It was, however, the first time that she had been alone with Mr Hinder, so she took the opportunity to ask him something about his family and background.

‘I know that you have five sisters,’ she said. ‘That must have been a busy household.’

‘There wasn’t much to go round, so Papa reckoned I would be best off entering the church,’ he disclosed, a piece of information that did not surprise her.

‘Do you think that you might do so in the end?’ she asked him curiously.

‘I don’t think so,’ he answered. ‘I have no calling, you see. I would like to make my living by writing.’

‘Like Mrs Machin,’ Jessie remarked.

As they arrived outside the poor house, Mr Hinder declared himself to be very happy to wait for Miss Warburton, and escort her home again. Jessie knew that he had an errand of his own, so she told him not to trouble. ‘I shall ask the matron to send for a hackney for me,’ she promised.

The quality of the lady visitor was quickly understood by the servant who admitted her, and the matron, a stout dame in a starched apron and cap, soon came down to greet her, and took great pleasure in showing her round the whole premises.

‘It’s been enlarged three times that I know about, miss,’ said the woman. She explained that people who came into the workhouse were separated according to sex and age. Furthermore, the children 
were taught to read and write and say their Catechism. When the matron heard that Jessie would like to help in this work, she was overjoyed. ‘We do what we can, miss, but it’s very hard to educate them, what with so many other things to do.’

Jessie smiled. ‘My hostess is often occupied in the mornings, so I would be very pleased to help you while I am in London.’

After enjoying a cup of tea in the matron’s sitting-room, Jessie made her farewells, promising to call again soon. She was very well pleased at her morning’s work. It was an activity that she could report upon in her next letter to her fiancé, unlike the visit to the theatre, which she had decided that she would not mention for the time being. Perhaps later, she thought blushingly, she might drop the visit into the
conversation
, giving the impression that it was a concert of sacred music. Whatever happened, she would certainly not mention how Mr Lusty’s own sister had waggled her fingers at Rake Ashbourne!

It was only after the poor house door had closed behind her that Jessie remembered that she had intended to ask the matron to summon a hackney. She had no idea how to do such a thing, and was reluctant to make herself look foolish by knocking on the door again. She would just have to walk, she decided. It was a fair walk, but well within her capabilities. Then, as luck would have it, it suddenly came on to rain heavily.

She was just contemplating the possibility of arriving back in Sloane Street looking like a drowned rat when a carriage drew up beside her, the door was flung open, and a familiar voice drawled, ‘Climb in, Jez.’ She only hesitated briefly before doing as she was bid. After all, she told herself, it was an emergency.

She watched Ashbourne as he gave the direction to the coachman, then settled back in his place. The contrast between them was almost painful. To visit the poor house, Jessie had worn one of her older gowns, a brown silk with a cream fichu modestly tucked in the
neckline
. Her cream shawl and her bonnet had fared badly from the sudden onset of the rain, and she felt distinctly shabby as well as damp and rather grubby. Lord Ashbourne, by way of contrast, lounged very much at his ease in the far corner of the carriage, one immaculate buff pantaloon-clad leg crossed negligently over the other. He stared at her quizzically before taking out his snuff box and helping himself to a pinch. 

‘Where is your escort?’ he asked her.

‘I am only a stone’s throw from home,’ she told him.

‘That does not answer my question,’ he replied.

‘A lady surely does not need an escort when about charitable
business
,’ she declared, reminding herself that she was thirty years of age, and not answerable to him or to anyone else for her actions.

‘A lady walking in London needs an escort whatever business she might be about, as I believe I told you before,’ he answered. ‘You appear not to have heeded my warning. Where have you been, anyway?’

‘I went to St George’s poor house,’ Jessie told him. ‘You see, it really was no distance at all, and besides, Mr Hinder walked with me from Sloane Street. I was only walking home on my own.’

‘That, of course, makes it perfectly acceptable,’ replied Ashbourne sarcastically. ‘Rakes such as myself never molest women on their way home, only as they are setting out.’

‘Oh, for goodness sake!’ exclaimed Jessie, exasperated. Then, in tones of real alarm, she added, ‘Raff! What are you doing?’

He had leaned towards her and with one swift movement, whisked her fichu from the neckline of her gown, thereby exposing rather more of her bosom than she had originally intended. He then leaned back in his place, taking up his former position, waving the fichu negligently in front of him like a handkerchief.

‘Give it back at once!’ she demanded, colouring. She half sat forward as if intending to try to take back her property.

Ashbourne uncrossed his legs again, and leaned towards her. ‘Oh, please try to wrest it from me,’ he purred. ‘I would enjoy it so much.’ He glanced down at her neckline. ‘That’s a very attractive view, by the way.’

Immediately, she sat back in her seat, placing as much distance between them as possible. ‘You really are a libertine,’ she declared, her colour still high, her heart beating rather fast. ‘I don’t believe you have any proper feeling.’

‘No I haven’t,’ he agreed. ‘I’m a rake. All proper feeling is drummed out of us at rakes’ training academy.’ She had to laugh, albeit reluctantly, for she was still angry with him. ‘Didn’t you believe it before?’ he asked, raising his brows. ‘Well, next time you obey the dictates of modesty by covering up your excellent shape, 
remember who uncovered you and take more care in the future. I’m not the only rake in town, but I’m by far the most friendly, at least as far as you are concerned. What would you have done had you met with Wallace Weary rather than with myself?’

‘How can you say such a thing?’ she demanded. ‘It was you who introduced him to us.’

‘Given your friend’s eagerness to claim me as an acquaintance, I had very little choice. Anyway, if we are talking of our encounter in the bookshop, you did not seem at all averse to going aside with him.’

Jessie remembered how offensive the other man had been, and how she had said nothing of it so as not to cause trouble between the two men. Swallowing anything she might have said about the baronet’s behaviour, therefore, she merely replied, ‘He was very amusing.’

‘In that case, I’m surprised you did not wiggle your fingers at him in the theatre in emulation of your friend’s example,’ he answered unsmilingly, and with less of his customary suavity than usual.

‘I would not dream of doing anything so’ – she was about to say vulgar, then she recalled that it would be disloyal to Henrietta – ‘silly,’ she concluded.

He laughed. ‘Egad, I believe you wouldn’t,’ he answered. ‘Has the green silk made up well?’

Jessie smiled. ‘It has, and you should have seen Dilly’s expression. That was very kind of you, Raff.’

He waved a hand dismissively. ‘It was nothing,’ he replied. He laughed derisively. ‘To tell the truth, I couldn’t bear the thought of the wench’s tear-stained face.’

‘Plenty of men would not have bothered,’ she answered, ‘but I know how kind you are.’

‘Pray keep it to yourself, my dear,’ he drawled. ‘Here is your
destination
.’

As the carriage drew up, Jessie made ready to alight. Fortunately, the rain had now eased. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply. ‘You have saved me from a wetting.’

‘The pleasure was mine,’ he responded. ‘And do tell your friend not to wave at me in public. It will tend to give people the wrong impression.’ 

Seeing at last an opportunity to get her own back, Jessie said, ‘I’ll tell her, but I doubt it would make any difference. No doubt you will find her wiggling her fingers at you everywhere you go. She wants to observe you, you see.’

‘To observe me?’ he echoed, drawing his elegantly shaped brows together.

‘She is writing a book about a rake,’ Jessie replied. ‘I will tell her that you are a perfect specimen. Good day, Raff.’

His brows shot up. Before he could reply, she had gone indoors, feeling satisfied that in the end, it was
she
who had caught
him
unawares. It was only after she was inside that she remembered he had not given back her fichu.

Two days later, Jessie visited St George’s poor house again to read with some of the children. This time, she made arrangements with Mr Hinder to take her on his way to transact some business, then collect her on his way back. It was not that she felt the slightest need to obey Lord Ashbourne, she told herself; it was simply that the wretched man was sure to appear if she went abroad alone, contrary to his instructions.

On their arrival back at the house, Jessie invited Mr Hinder to come inside, an invitation which Mrs Machin, putting her head round the door of the book-room, endorsed. ‘I have had a perfectly splendid idea for my next chapter,’ she said, ‘and I want you to help me to carry it out. Hector, you may stay for something to eat if you wish.’

Mr Hinder gratefully accepted – the provisions in his lodging not being of the best – and soon they were sitting down in Henrietta’s dining-room enjoying some bread and cheese followed by fruit whilst she told them about her plan. ‘It has occurred to me,’ she said, as she carefully peeled an apple then cut it into quarters, ‘that if Lady Meredith is a woman of the world then she really ought to visit Vauxhall Gardens. They have just reopened in preparation for the season and I wondered whether we might go one evening. Would you like to go, Jessie?’

Jessie had heard of Vauxhall Gardens, but she had never, ever thought that she might go. She was very curious to see the famous pleasure gardens but had one very strong reservation. ‘What of Henry?’ she asked. ‘Do you think he would approve?’ 

Henrietta straightened her spine. ‘His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales has been,’ she said with great dignity. ‘How can Henry possibly take exception to anything that his prince might do?’

Thinking that there were a good many things that the prince was said to have done, to which Henry might take great exception, Jessie contended herself with merely looking thoughtful.

‘Anyway,’ Henrietta went on, ‘are you not aware that there is a statue of
Handel
in the gardens? What could be more proper than Handel, pray? And if there is a statue of him, they will surely perform music that he has composed. You cannot tell me that Henry would disapprove of a concert of sacred music.’ After a brief pause, she completely spoiled the virtuous effect that she had created by saying, ‘He need not know that we are to attend, after all, and what he does not know will not hurt him.’