Ruined (20 page)

She was conscious of a quite unexpected pang of regret. Not that she wanted to spend her time rescuing her friend from the
consequences
of her folly. She was, as she had told Henry, a countrywoman, but she had discovered that she could enjoy town living as well. Perhaps, once they were married, they would be able to visit Mrs Machin from time to time. Of course they would not visit Vauxhall. Probably they would not attend the theatre either, and if they did, they would leave before the farce. They might
occasionally
catch sight of Ashbourne, squiring Lady Gilchrist, or Lady Ashbourne as she would be then. She gave a small sigh.

Eventually they drew up outside a house which, at first glance, looked very little different from any other. ‘There,’ said Sir Wallace. ‘Madame Laura’s. Shall we go in?’ Jessie hesitated. ‘I could go in alone, of course,’ he murmured, ‘but Mrs Machin would find your presence more reassuring, particularly if she has become alarmed by what is going on.’

‘No, you are right, of course I will go in,’ Jessie agreed, making sure her mask was in place.

He helped her down out of the carriage, and she looked at the doorway in front of her. ‘It sounds like a dressmaker’s
establishment
,’ she observed. ‘In fact it almost looks like one.’

‘It’s very discreet,’ he assured her. ‘Miss Warburton, in order to get 
in here without causing any remark, I am going to have to behave rather familiarly towards you.’ Seeing her look of alarm, he went on, ‘If we arouse suspicion, we may not be able to get right inside and find Mrs Machin.’

‘If she is there,’ Jessie pointed out. ‘How do we know that this is the correct establishment?’

He looked at her with an expression that for a moment looked almost like exasperation. ‘That’s a thought,’ he conceded. ‘I’ll send someone round the back to make enquiries. Servants always know what’s going on.’ He beckoned to the footman who had clambered down from the box in order to open the door for them. ‘You know what to do,’ he said. The minutes that the man took to go to the back of the house and then return seemed interminable. Eventually he reappeared, looked at his master and gave a nod.

‘Come along then,’ said Sir Wallace, catching hold of Jessie by dint of putting his arm around her waist. Before she had time to protest, he had swept her in through the lighted doorway.

Chapter Eighteen

T
he half-open front door, by which they entered, led into a square hall with stairs leading to the next floor on the right and a passage on the left. A pair of double doors gave on to a room from which a lot of cheerful sounding noise was proceeding. A brawny woman dressed in a very low-cut gown in a vivid shade of green lounged at the foot of the stairs.

‘New friend of yours?’ she asked the baronet.

‘We’re merely in search of someone,’ Weary answered.

The woman gestured up the stairs with a jerk of her head. ‘Up there,’ she said. ‘Number five.’ She held out a key in one plump hand, the bracelets jingling on her wrist as she did so.

Sir Wallace took the key and led Jessie past the insolently grinning woman and up the stairs.

‘Is Henrietta up here?’ she asked him.

‘So it would seem,’ he said, his arm still around her. At the top of the stairs, there was a corridor, with a number of doors leading off it. Various sounds proceeding from behind the doors betrayed the fact that the rooms were occupied by visitors to the brothel; doing what, Jessie did not dare speculate. Eventually, Sir Wallace opened one of the doors, stood back for Jessie to go in first, then followed her inside and, to her alarm, locked the door and placed the key in his waistcoat pocket.

‘What are you doing?’ she asked him.

He did not answer her. Instead, he walked over to a side table, where there was a tray with a decanter and glasses. ‘Some wine?’ he asked, before pouring a glass for himself. 

‘No thank you,’ answered Jessie absently. ‘Sir Wallace, what is going on? Is someone fetching Henrietta?’

He turned round and smiled at her. It was the same lascivious expression that had been on his face at Vauxhall, and which had been almost entirely absent from his features from then until now. ‘I would have thought that that was quite obvious, my dear,’ he answered. ‘It’s a seduction. I suggest you take off your cloak and mask. You’ll be much more comfortable.’

Jessie looked at her surroundings for the first time. A fire burned in the grate. There were candles on the mantelpiece, and on the table from whence the baronet had collected the wine. To her left, a large bed lay in shadow. The room was carpeted in shades of gaudy red and a brassy shade of gold, a colour scheme that was reflected in the curtains and bed hangings. The air was full of a heady scent. The whole effect was one of decadent opulence.

‘Where is Henrietta?’ she asked him abruptly.

‘No doubt trying to discover why Mrs Smales is so vigorously denying having sent any kind of message, I should think,’ he answered. ‘Oh don’t worry. She hasn’t come to any harm.’

‘Then why…?’ Her voice tailed away as she finally began to understand what he was about.

‘You really have no idea how alluring you are, have you?’ He finished his wine and poured another glass. ‘That air of cool elegance, contrasted with your brazen behaviour at Vauxhall, not to mention your eagerness to help your companion with all kinds of research for her rather risqué novels. Just think, my dear, how helpful you will be to her now. You will be able to describe a brothel and a seduction at first hand.’

Jessie took a step back. His eyes were gleaming, his forehead
glistening
with tiny drops of sweat. ‘You are talking rape, not seduction, sir,’ she said, trying to remain angry, for if she could keep anger to the forefront of her mind, she might forget to be afraid.

He burst out laughing. ‘That’s rich,’ he declared, ‘coming from one of the Fallen Angel’s paramours!’

‘You hate him, then,’ said Jessie, trying to look around
surreptitiously
to see whether there was anything to hand that she might be able to use as a weapon. ‘Why is that?’

‘Oh, for a number of reasons,’ he replied. He took a mouthful of 
wine. Jessie wondered whether she could get hold of the decanter. It was one of the few things in the room that looked as it could be used as a weapon. ‘He can get any woman he wants, to start with. My wife – my own wife – only married me because she couldn’t snare him. Then
his
wife had the good sense to die, leaving him with a son, whilst
mine
remains like a millstone around my neck, not even having presented me with so much as a puling daughter. Yes, I hate him.’

Jessie took a breath. ‘So do I,’ she answered, pleased at how steady her voice sounded. ‘It appears that we are in agreement.’ She took off her cloak and mask and laid them on a chair, judging that to comply with his earlier request would help to lull his suspicions. She knew that she must do that if she was to emerge from this nightmare
situation
intact. Then she walked over to the side table. ‘May I pour myself some wine after all?’

Sir Wallace waved his hand in an assenting gesture. ‘By all means, but don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes. You adore him – all the women do.’

Borrowing Lady Ilam’s phrase, Jessie said calmly, ‘He’s too pretty for me. Besides, I’ve known him for nearly twenty years and he’s never noticed me.’ This time employing Lady Agatha’s terminology, she added, ‘I’m not the sort of pretty slut who appeals to him, and I’m tired of being ignored.’ She poured herself a glass of wine.

‘You surprise me, my dear,’ said Sir Wallace. ‘Pray do not suppose that you will deter me from my purpose by this remarkable
confession
, though. I have made up my mind to have you.’ He walked towards her, his back to the door. ‘Do not think to use that decanter as a weapon against me, either,’ he added.

Jessie looked down at the decanter which she still held in her hand. ‘Weapon?’ she said in a puzzled tone. ‘I was merely going to offer to fill your glass, sir. Why, do you not want me to … minister to you?’

He grinned, holding out his own glass. ‘Maybe this will be even more amusing than I thought,’ he said. ‘What say we go and find Raff tomorrow, and tell him what an entertaining evening we have spent?’

‘Why not?’ Jessie murmured.

He took a step closer to her, and put out his hand to cradle her 
jaw, then run a finger around the edge of her neckline. She barely repressed a shudder. ‘Then, of course, there’s dear Henry,’ he remarked. Naturally enough, Jessie and Henrietta had spoken a little of Henry during their outings with the baronet. ‘I’m afraid he isn’t going to want you after I’ve finished with you either; but don’t be afraid. I can always find a place for you here.’

As he angled his head in order to kiss her, she let her eyes wander past him towards the door. ‘Oh, good God!’ she exclaimed. It was not hard to sound terrified. The very idea of feeling his lips on hers made her flesh crawl, and she could not imagine how she would escape if this did not work.

‘What the—?’ exclaimed Weary, turning his head. In a flash, she lifted her arm and brought the decanter down on his head, wine running down her sleeve and on to her gown as she did so. To her horror, he did not fall immediately, but clutched at her gown, tearing the bodice as he fell to his knees. She hit him again, a more glancing blow because her hands were not quite steady. He fell then, but still appeared to be more stunned than unconscious. With trembling fingers that stumbled over their task, Jessie extracted the room key from the pocket of his waistcoat, unlocked the door, and sped along the corridor and down the stairs.

Perhaps the hall was now lit differently, or the arrangement of rooms was more complicated than she had thought, or maybe she was simply confused because of the experience that she had just had. Whatever the reason, instead of running straight for the front door, somehow Jessie found herself on the threshold of the lighted room, with the open double doors.

The room was lit by plenty of candles, the light being reflected by big mirrors over the fireplace and between the windows. A pianoforte was being played in the far corner of the room, and two rather dishevelled gentlemen were bellowing what seemed to be a bawdy song. A man was seated on a chair next to the fireplace, with a scantily dressed young woman on his knee. He was engaged upon unfastening her very minute bodice, egged on by her laughter and the encouragement of another couple, their arms entwined about each other. Two men were seated upon a sofa whilst the
brassy-looking
woman who had met Sir Wallace and Jessie in the hall lolled between them over the back of it, and another approached the group 
with glasses of wine. Various other persons were disporting
themselves
about the place.

The sudden nature of her entrance drew attention to her; and although the gown that she wore was modest and not designed to draw attention, in a brothel, its very simplicity had the opposite effect. Those already in the room were not so occupied that they failed to notice this unusual sight. The two men by the pianoforte stopped singing; the older lady who was playing rather inaccurately halted her performance a few moments later, and for a very short time, silence reigned in the room. Suddenly reminded of the damage caused to her gown, Jessie caught hold of the torn pieces of her bodice with one hand.

‘It’s a governess come amongst us,’ exclaimed one man. ‘Come on in and enjoy yourself!’

Then one of those who had been singing wandered towards her unsteadily, picking up a glass from a table as he came. ‘Sweetheart!’ he cried, hiccoughing, which spoiled the effect a little. ‘Have some wine.’ He held the glass out to her, then realized that it was empty. ‘Never mind,’ he went on, reaching out to catch hold of her hand. ‘Plenty more where that came from.’

Jessie stepped back. ‘I was … was looking for …’ she stammered.

‘Looking for me, I daresay,’ said a familiar voice from behind. An arm crept around her waist, and she looked up to see the face of Sir Wallace Weary. Evidently the blow she had struck had only been sufficient to stun him for a few moments. Behind his lascivious gaze there was anger and determination. ‘Let’s go back upstairs, shall we?’ he said. ‘We’ve unfinished business.’ The arm about her waist felt vice-like and his fingers dug into her waist, the pressure almost causing her to cry out.

She looked at the other occupants of the room. There could be no help from them. Weary would tell them that they were playing some kind of game of chase, and they would believe him. She braced herself. He would not get her upstairs while she still had the means to resist him. Nevertheless, she knew in her heart of hearts that there could be only one result. Then, as she looked at the faces of those in the room, desperately hoping that she might be able to appeal to someone’s better nature, she realized that their attention had been caught by something – or someone – behind them. 

‘Ah, there you are, m’dear,’ said Ashbourne’s voice. ‘I believe I warned you not to wander about in London without me to advise you. Weary, your servant.’ Ashbourne was in evening dress, as immaculate as usual. In its way, his faultless appearance among all these dishevelled people, made him look as out of place as did Jessie. He was greeted good-humouredly by several people in the room. Plainly he was known by a number of those present.

The baronet turned, his grip on Jessie slackening in his surprise. Taking advantage of this, she pulled away from him and took a step towards Raff, who saw the damage to her gown for the first time. ‘You appear to have met with a little misadventure, my dear,’ he said softly, taking off his own cloak and putting it round her. ‘Who is responsible?’

Weary grinned unpleasantly. ‘You know how it is, Raff,’ he said.

‘Tell me.’ Again, the tone was very soft; but the room was filled with an air of menace. Despite the rowdy nature of the proceedings up to this point, the rest of the room was completely silent.

‘They play hard to get, but they all like it when you’re a bit rough.’

‘Do they? Let’s ask, shall we?’ Ashbourne turned to Jessie. ‘Did you find this oaf’s attentions entertaining?’

She shook her head. ‘He told me Henrietta was here,’ she said. ‘I was coming to rescue her. I never wanted—’

‘Watch who you’re calling an oaf,’ Weary interrupted, his eyes on Ashbourne’s face. ‘You’ve only that light-skirt’s word for it.’

Raff turned back towards him. His movements were still graceful and unhurried, but there was a menacing light burning in his eye. ‘You heard her,’ he said, picking up a glass of wine from a nearby table. ‘She does not find you entertaining, and neither do I.’ With that, he tossed the wine into the baronet’s face. ‘When, and where you like,’ he said. He turned to Hector Hinder, ignoring the
spluttering
, cursing baronet. ‘Take her to the carriage and send her home; then attend me here.’

Jessie turned her white face up to his. ‘Raff,’ she said, putting her hand on his arm.

‘Go,’ he said, his face as white as hers. Without saying any more, she turned and went out with Hinder to the waiting vehicle.

On Jessie’s arrival back at Sloane Street, Henrietta held out her arms and the two women embraced and wept a little. Mrs Machin was horrified at the sight of Jessie’s torn gown, and told her to go straight upstairs and change into her night attire. ‘I will bring you some warm milk and then you will feel better,’ she said.