Secret Night (11 page)

"You ain't used to the good stuff, eh? Perhaps you would wish for more?" he asked, pushing the remainder of the cake toward her. "Here—you got it all, Maddie—all."

"Cannot—" This time, when she blinked her eyes, they did not want to open. "Sleepy—too sleepy." Her shoulders slumped forward, then she managed to lift her head back one last time. "Too much."

Again, she felt the overwhelming weakness, and she knew she could not fight it. Her head was heavy, her mind confused, and as the blackness enveloped her, she was unable to cry out for help. She scarce felt it when he reached across the table to fold her arms and ease her head onto them.

"Old whore," he muttered contemptuously.

He glanced furtively around them, but most were too befuddled with drug to note anything. Rising carefully, he bent as though he would speak to Maddie, then he straightened, pulled his hooded cloak closer, and went to the door. The big man there glanced to where Maddie Coates seemingly dreamed over her opium, and he shook his head.

"Have ter carry 'er home, eh?"

The hooded man handed him a guinea. "Mrs. Coates said you was to buy a pipe while you wait fer her." He looked back, shaking his head. "It might be hours ere she wakens."

Big Tom considered it for a moment. "Aye, if I was ter tarry a bit, mebbe she'll come 'round enough ter save me the trouble," he decided, brightening. "Got twelve stone ter her, she does."

"And I'd not waste the stuff on the table, you hear? Like I told her, 'tis the best to be had."

With that, he ducked out, leaving Big Tom with the coin. For a long moment the manservant hesitated, then he went back to the dim corner where Maddie slept. Torn between spending his guinea or pocketing it, he took a seat. She wouldn't care, he decided, or if she did, she was too gone from the drug to know it. Reaching beneath her arm, he helped himself to what was left of the pressed opium cake, scarce bothering to cut it with the sugar.

It had been a satisfying morning in the Bailey, ending with a decision not to bind Patrick's client over for trial. Dodging a chagrined Ned Milton, Patrick emerged into crisp autumn air. Without waiting for the privacy of a hackney, he tore off his barrister's wig and loosened the neck of his robe. "Hamilton!"

Patrick spun around as Bartholomew Rand hailed him, then waited, forcing a smile. The older man approached hurriedly, puffing from the exertion.

"Was waitin' to take you up, sirrah—aye, thought mayhap you'd be a-thirstin' from all the arguments you was making. You was masterful, Mr. Hamilton— masterful. Damme if you didn't have that Milton fellow nigh to apoplexy."

"Thank you. Actually, I was thinking of merely going home for a quick nuncheon," Patrick admitted.

"Aye, you are afeared I mean to disgrace you, ain't you?"

"No, not at all," Patrick lied politely.

"Aye, you are-—I can see it in your face." Rand smiled diffidently. "Didn't make m'fortune without knowin' what folks was thinkin', you know. Cannot blame you though if you was to turn your back on me."

"No, I am merely tired, and my day has scarce begun."

"Well, Em and Ellie would have it as I made a fool of myself the other night. Allowed as though they was mortified, but I was hoping you wouldn't cut the connection," the old man went on. "Was in my cups, that's all."

"You are not the first man to drink too much," Patrick assured him.

"Then you wasn't offended?" Rand asked hopefully. "No."

"Well, then I got just the ticket! Come along to Garraway's—I got me a table there, don't you know? Coffee's good for drowsiness, ain't it? Be a better man in no time." The old man clapped Patrick on the back familiarly. "Got excellent meals at fair prices, if I do say so."

"I have appointments in my office beginning at two."

"Got plenty of time! Carriage's waiting 'round the corner, and I won't be offended if you was to wish to take off your robe in it" When Patrick still hesitated, Rand persisted. "Look, I got to make amends for the other night, don't I? And I owe you for seeing my gel home yesterday-—ain't no telling what was to happen to her if you hadn't come along. Near thing it was, or so she said."

"She told you about it?"

"Course she did! Oh, I ain't saying as we don't disagree mightily on this reformist business, but she's a good gel."

Not knowing if Elise Rand had mentioned Pearl to him, Patrick forbore saying anything more than, "I was happy to oblige."

"Got no business there though—didn't mean you, of course, 'cause you're a man—but I ain't liking for her to be where she might be harmed." As he spoke, the old Cit took Patrick's arm, directing him to the waiting coach. "Been given too free a rein, I guess, but as I only got the one, I been inclined to indulge her, probably more'n is good for a gel, if you want the truth of it But we've been pretty open in the budget with each other, which is good 'cause her mama ain't the sort as understands me or Ellie. M'gel's always come to me when she was in the basket. Not that Mrs. Rand ain't a good woman, mind you,"

he added hastily. "Proud of her—demned proud of her. I think I told you she was a Bingham, didn't I?"

"Yes, I believe you did," Patrick murmured.

"Good blood there, but none of 'em has got much more than a farthing to pay the porter with, no matter how it pleases 'em to look down on me. But now as I got the blunt, they ain't shy about hangin' on m'sleeve."

"I trust Miss Rand suffered no real harm, then?" Patrick asked, hoping to distract him before he launched on another discourse about his wealth.

"No—though she's a bit bruised where she went into the pavement, but she'll come about. Brave thing, Hamilton—deuced brace—and like I was saying, I owe you for it." As they'd reached the curb, Rand nodded to his liveried coachman, who responded with alacrity, opening the carriage door with a flourish. "Don't go to the coffee houses much, do you?" the old man went on. "Or if you do, I ain't seen you about."

"No, not very often."

"Aye, being Quality, I'd expect you was to prefer the clubs, eh?" Without allowing any time for an answer, Rand rambled on. "Ain't been any of the gentie-men's places—to the nobs I ain't but an encroaching mushroom, you know." He stepped back to allow Patrick to swing up onto a padded seat, then he climbed with an effort to take the one opposite. Wiping his brow with a lace-edged handkerchief, he muttered, "Ain't as young as I was to wish. No, sir, I ain't a young buck like yourself."

"Sometimes I don't feel particularly young anymore," Patrick admitted ruefully.

"You didn't take any harm when you was saving Ellie, did you?"

"No."

"She said you ruined a fine coat."

Patrick shrugged. "Nothing that cannot be replaced, I assure you." As the ornate town carriage lurched forward, he wondered why he'd committed himself to an hour or more of the old man's company.

"I’ll wager 'twas Weston's finest, wasn't it? Well, I don't mean to let you stand the loss, sir. If there's anything Bat Rand does, 'tis pay his honest debts."

"It was an insignificant amount at best," Patrick said dismissively.

"Insignificant? You saved my daughter from being run down, Hamilton! No, sir, I'm standin' you for a new one! What do them as caters to the bucks get for good coats anyways?"

"I'm afraid you'd have to ask my secretary."

"Ain't saying, eh? Well, I mean to find out." The man stared into the passing street for a moment, then looked again to Patrick. "Ellie's dear to me, Hamilton. Oh, she's got her queer starts, but she's a good gel. Pretty, too, but I don't need to tell you that—you saw
her." ,

"Yes, she is," Patrick agreed warily.

"I might've been nigh to beneath the table the other night, but I still got eyes—I could see the way you was looking at her." When it appeared as though Patrick might speak, Rand lifted a silencing hand. "Told you—I ain't one as beats around the budget. If I think something, I'll say it." His pale blue eyes fixed on Patrick's face, and his expression sobered. "I want my gel to be happy, that's all."

"She told me about Samuel Rose's son," Patrick said quietly. "I'm sorry."

The old man's eyes went cold, then were veiled as he appeared to consider the watch fob that stretched across his rounded belly. "I ain't," he said finally. "I wasn't pleased about the boy at all, and I don't mean to say I was. I didn't make millions of bricks so as she could waste herself on no cent per cent. Rose!" he snorted. "Even the sound of it's namby-pamby, ain't it? A demned flower!"

"I rather like Sam," Patrick murmured. "I've sent a few clients to him."

"Borrowing money from 'em is one thing— marrying 'em is quite another!" Rand snapped. Recovering himself, he smiled again. "But it don't make no difference now, anyways, does it? Boy's gone wherever it is they go, ain't he? And I've been real patient with

Ellie, but I got to think of her future. It ain't as I was going to be around forever, you know."

Patrick picked at a crease in his black barrister's robe, then returned his attention to the old man. "There is much to admire in Miss Rand—she is possessed of beauty and kindness, which rarely come together. But if you are wishful of honesty, I will have to tell you that ere Christmas, I expect to be sending my own betrothal notice to the papers," he said gently.

It was as though all the bluster left Bartholomew Rand. "I see. Aye, that does put a different complexion on what I had intended to say," he managed finally.

"But even if my interest were not already fixed elsewhere, I very much doubt that Miss Rand would have me."

The old man studied him for a moment. "What you was meaning to say is you wouldn't have a Cit's daughter, ain't it? I ain't one as needs sugar with my medicine, Mr. Hamilton."

"Not at ail." Patrick's mouth twisted wryly. "If anything, Miss Rand is far too good for me."

"Aye, and you don't know the half," the old man said, sighing. "Got too kind a heart. Even before the Rose boy, she was taking in all manner of creatures. Let me tell you, sirrah, I've had every sort of mongrel under my roof since she was old enough to cry over 'em. Why, there was dogs as would hurt you to look upon—aye, and a one-eyed cat even," he recalled with feeling. "But the worst was a chimney sweep as was so black 'twas only his eyes as could be seen above the filth. He had sores, she said. He was being beaten, she tells me. And he
was
naught but skin and bone, but I was wanting to give him back to his rightful master."

"But you didn't."

"Even Em agreed with me, but when the man came to get him, Ellie was in such a taking as I had to let him stay. The More woman's got him now, making him pray for his food, I'll wager."

"Something ought to be done about the deplorable way we allow climbing boys to be treated."

Rand's head jerked back, and for a moment he regarded Patrick. "You ain't a reformer surely?" he demanded suspiciously.

"No. In fact, I expect to declare myself a Tory."

"You don't say! Well now, I knew I liked you, sirrah—from the moment I saw you, I knew I liked you!" He leaned across the seat. "Aye, we got to let the females preach a bit, but we ain't for changing the order of things, eh?"

"Even a Tory can have sympathy for the plight of children," Patrick retorted.

"Aye, mayhap so," Rand conceded, "but that don't mean we ought to attempt fixing everything, does it?"

"No."

Apparently satisfied, the old man sat back. "I was hoping to find a husband as would steer Ellie better than I have," he said almost wistfully.

"With her face and form, not to mention her fortune, I should not think it a difficult task."

"No—no, I suppose not. Well, as we are nearly there, I wouldn't take it amiss if you was to want to take off the robe, sir."

"Thank you."

As Patrick unfastened the heavy black overgarment, silence descended between them. It wasn't until he'd struggled out of it that Rand spoke again, this time distantly.

"She was fortunate you was at the whorehouse. Ain't no telling as what could have happened to her." "Yes."

"I don't know what to do save clap her up at home like she was a demned prisoner." He stared out the window, then sighed heavily. "I thought I had the blunt to tempt you." When Patrick said nothing, he sighed again. "I thought as you would defend the whore, you could be bought."

"Shall I return your five hundred pounds?"

"Lud, no!" Turning troubled eyes back to Patrick,

he shook his head. "If I wasn't to need you now, there ain't no telling but what I might ere long."

Patrick's eyes narrowed. "We are not speaking of your daughter now, are we?"

"No."

"Mr. Rand, if you are truly in need of my services, nothing but the truth between us will suffice. I shall have to know the whole."

"Aye, but now ain't the time," was the evasive answer. "We are arrived at Garraway's."

"Mr. Rand—-"

"Oh, I ain't hiding anything," the old man assured him.

A chill, steady drizzle descended from the gray sky as the carriage weaved its way through clogged, muddy streets. Patrick stared moodily out the side window while the girl opposite him maintained a determined discourse, describing Lady Witherspoon's card party of the previous evening.

She stopped midsentence. "You are not attending me at all," she said, accusing him.

He managed to smile ruefully. "I am caught out, aren't I? Then I suppose I must plead the press of business, my dear."

"Well, you are not very flattering either, are you? If you had no wish to accompany me to Hookham's, I am sure I would have understood."

"No, no, you mistake the matter," he assured her smoothly, reaching to possess her gloved hand. "Dearest Jane, when we are at Dimleith, I mean to be all yours."

"Papa's, you mean," she said peevishly. "He will have you out shooting all day, and I shall only have your company for the evening."

"The best part of the day, then." He leaned closer. "Shall I tell him I wish to remain at your side?" he asked wickedly.

She flushed and pulled her hand away. "As if he would listen to you." Sighing expressively, she added, "Sometimes I think I am but his political pawn."