CHAPTER TWO
* * *
The Tin Soldier was all lit up like a beacon, or perhaps more appropriately a glowing spider in its web of dark alleys and lanes. Averil thought the noise coming from the tall building was quite jolly. Laughter and singing and voices raised to be heard. Jackson had told her it was still a popular club for London’s rich bohemians, who liked to rub shoulders with the underclasses, and also a popular spot for the serious gamblers who preferred, for one reason or another, not to visit the more well-known clubs—Averil took that to mean that they had been blackballed. Jackson admitted that The Tin Soldier had gone downhill since her mother was here, but Averil imagined the circumstances of the staff and the needs of the customers were much the same, which was probably why her mother had been drawn here, desperate and ill as she was.
“Sally Jakes, the woman you want to see, runs the place,” Southbrook spoke, adjusting his grip on her. “Are you sure you haven’t changed your mind, Lady Averil? This is hardly the spot for a young woman like you, but I’m sure you already know that.”
Averil gave him a decided stare. “Of course I haven’t changed my mind. Put me down and I’ll go inside and find her.”
Another mocking look. “I think not.” And with that he carried her up the stone steps and inside one of the most notorious gambling dens in London.
Noise and color swirled around her, and her nose twitched with the smells of alcohol and tobacco smoke, as well as other less easily discernible odors. In this room there were people gathered about a small stage, where a woman in a short skirt was singing her heart out, as well as groups seated at tables or standing about. Through a far door she could see another room, where it looked as though the serious gamblers were gathered.
It was the place to which desperation had driven her mother in the final months of her life. Not back to her father; he had washed his hands of her and put notices in the newspapers to that effect, refusing to pay her debts or help her in any way. Averil understood his bitterness, but she still couldn’t forgive him.
A girl who appeared to be barely more than a child, dressed in a style of clothing far too old for her, looked up and gasped with surprise when she saw the earl carrying a young lady in his arms.
“Lady Averil has met with an unfortunate accident,” he said. “However she has an appointment with Mrs. Jakes she wishes to keep.”
The girl goggled at him a moment and then pulled herself together and pointed toward some narrow stairs. “Up there. Room at the end of the passage. Sal’s waiting for ’er ladyship.”
The earl looked up the stairs, then looked at Averil, and then he sighed. “You’re getting rather heavy,” he said unflatteringly.
Averil felt herself flush. “I’m sorry if I’m too fat to be carried. I did tell you to put me down.”
He looked surprised, and then he grinned in a way that suddenly made him look much younger. And, if Averil hadn’t been so cross and mortified, she would have thought him even more handsome.
“My dear young lady, you are beautifully formed, and far from being too fat, I find your proportions exactly to my taste.”
Averil knew her face was on fire as they climbed the stairs, and she couldn’t think of anything to say. It seemed best just to let the subject drop, which she did. As they climbed she was careful to keep her hands away from the greasy-looking banister, and when the earl reached the passage that led from the landing, she made a mental note that he didn’t seem too much out of breath.
The door they wanted was at the end but there were other doors. Murmurings were coming from behind them, and once a sharp shriek of laughter. “Whatever is afoot is none of our business,” the earl informed her calmly. “When you are in the East End, Lady Averil, it is best to keep your eyes down and to mind your own business. Take my advice and you will be relatively safe.”
When they reached the door, Averil knocked on it.
Sally Jakes was waiting. She answered immediately, and when Averil opened it she saw across the comfortably furnished room a seated woman in a neat and unremarkable dress, her flame-colored hair carefully arranged beneath a flutter of lace pinned to the top. The lamp cast a warm glow over the woman and her desk, where she had several heavy-looking ledgers opened out before her.
“Sit down,” Sally said, without looking up. “I just ’ave to finish this.”
Averil glanced up at Lord Southbrook and he cleared his throat.
Sally’s eyes flew upward and she stared a moment in astonishment. And then she smiled. “Lord Southbrook,” she said, with a familiarity Averil found disconcerting. “An unexpected pleasure.”
Lord Southbrook came forward and deposited Averil in the chair set opposite Sally. “I shall leave Lady Averil with you, Sally. I believe she wishes to speak to you on a private matter and I have some business of my own. Downstairs.”
Sally put down her pen and wiped her inky fingers carefully on a cloth. “I understand the ’onorable James Blainey is downstairs, my lord. With a young companion.”
The earl’s face darkened. “Yes.”
“When I ’eard I was most strict in my instructions concerning the boy.”
“My thanks.” Lord Southbrook bowed, and with a brief press of his fingers on Averil’s shoulder, left her alone with Sally. As the door closed, the other woman said, in a businesslike voice, “You’ve come about Anna, then?”
Lady Anastasia Martindale.
“Yes. She was my mother.”
This didn’t seem to surprise Sally. “You don’t look much like her,” she said without emotion. Evidently all her smiles had been used up on Lord Southbrook.
“I hardly remember what she looked like,” Averil answered honestly. “There was no portrait of her. At least, if there was, my father got rid of it.” Her father had been a bitter man after her mother left, and seemed full of regrets.
Sally nodded. “I remember your ma well from those days. She was beautiful, but a bad picker when it came to men.” She pulled a face. “I worked ’ere then, but I’ve never been one to let my ’eart rule my ’ead, and now I own the place.”
“You’ve done well.”
Sally bowed her head in acknowledgment. “I ’ave.”
Averil chose her words carefully. “I know my mother died not long after she was here . . .”
“Aye, she did. She was at the end of her rope by then. The man she’d run off with, he was gone or dead or something. I forget. Anyway she was on ’er own, ’er and the little ’un.”
“My sister.” Averil leaned forward a little. “I only saw her once. I wondered if you knew what happened to her?”
She tried not to hold her breath as she waited, tried not to let hope overwhelm her.
Sally nodded matter-of-factly. “She went to the orphanage at St.Thomas’s. Nowhere else for her to go, no one would take her, poor little mite.”
Averil took a moment to calm herself. The images in her head were almost too poignant for her to bear but this was not a time to break down. “Do you know her name?”
“Pansy? Rose? Something like that. Anna called ’er ‘petit coeur’.” Sally smiled, then shrugged. “Sorry, it was a long time ago an’ I try not to think about the old days too much.”
“Of course, but . . . I’ve been searching for her. I need to find her. I need to know she is alive and-and well.”
Sally stared at Averil and then she sighed, her shoulders slumping. “I wish I could ’elp you, me dear, I really wish I could. But I can’t.”
Averil swallowed the lump in her throat.
Sally reached out and pulled an embroidered bellpull, and a moment later the young girl appeared in the doorway. “Go and fetch Lord Southbrook. Lady Averil is finished now.”
She picked up her pen again and dipped it into the ink, and Averil was dismissed.
“No,” she said, using the desk to help her rise to her feet. “I can manage. Don’t fetch him. If you could help me down the stairs . . .?”
The young girl came forward at a nod from Sally and Averil slipped her arm about the girl’s shoulders. Her knee was very painful but she much preferred the pain to having Lord Southbrook comment on her proportions again. Slowly, very slowly, they made their way down the stairs.
Rufus pushed his way through the crowd in the card room, ignoring the dark looks and comments. It was a brave man who would tackle him, and usually his scar made even brave men think twice before doing so.
The Tin Soldier was much noisier than when he’d carried Lady Averil upstairs, and women in gaudy clothing hung on the arms of gentlemen who should have known better. The fact that Averil had been so desperate to speak to Sally Jakes made him curious—some secret there that he’d like to uncover—but right now he had other things on his mind.
He was searching for his uncle, and as he stepped into the gambling rooms he heard James’s voice at once. Relief washed through him and he strode across to the group of men hunched over their cards in the far corner, scanning the table anxiously for Eustace.
The Honorable James Blainey had taken off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeves; his cravat was askew and his graying dark hair was sticking up as if he’d been running his hands through it. No doubt he’d been tugging at it in frustration.
Rufus stood a moment until some of the gamblers looked up and noticed him. Their faces froze with dismay at the sight of him. They probably thought him some species of pirate. It was the scar; he’d been called a buccaneer more than once.
“Well, deal, damn you!” James cried, and then, seeing the direction of the man’s gaze, turned his own head and looked up. His shock was almost comical but Rufus wasn’t in the mood to laugh.
“Rufus, my boy! There you are.” James was good at bluffing his way out of trouble. “Eustace was sure you would come but I told him you had better things to do.”
He’d hardly begun speaking when a dark-haired boy, who’d been half-asleep on a chair by the wall, darted up and threw himself into Rufus’s arms. Thin, tall for his age, Eustace clung to him for a moment, and then scowled up at him.
“Where were you, Papa?” he demanded. “I’ve been here for ages, and Uncle James won’t go home.”
“Well, he’s going home now,” Rufus promised in an icy tone.
James went pale, but to his credit he didn’t try to bluster or make excuses. He knew better. He put his cards down and pushed his chair back, rising to his feet.
Rufus was taller than his uncle—indeed, he was taller than most people—and now he loomed over the older man. James was very like him in looks, apart from the broadening of his frame, the graying of his hair, and the lines on his face. He was a handsome man, the man Rufus might have been without the scar.
“How much do you owe?” Rufus asked in that same icy voice.
James cleared his throat, his brown eyes sliding to his nephew’s and away again. “Actually, Rufus, I was winning.”
One of the other men pushed a few coins toward the edge of the table and James scooped them into his hand and then into his pocket. Rufus marched him toward the door.
“I don’t suppose there’s any point in me apologizing?” James said in a meek voice.
“You’re right, there isn’t.”
“No, I didn’t think so,” he said smugly, as if his being right gave him some sort of satisfaction. “I told Eustace you wouldn’t listen to me. Told him I just can’t seem to help myself sometimes, when the cards call. I didn’t want him to come with me, you know. He insisted.”
“Eustace is seven years old,” Rufus reminded him.
“Well, I couldn’t shake him off. Next time tell him not to attach himself to me like that.”
“There won’t be a next time. You are going to Southbrook Castle and there you will stay. Indefinitely.”
James cast him a despairing look. “Rufus, how can you send me there? You know how I hate it. I don’t understand how you can be so fond of the horrible pile. I was always sent to Southbrook when I was bad, and now you are sending me there again. What must I do to stop you? I’ll promise anything.”
His remorse seemed genuine, but Rufus was beyond caring. “Then you’ll be pleased to know that I am about to lose Southbrook, James. And the London house. I am going to lose it all, and I have you to thank for it.”
James seemed to shrink into himself. “Oh, my dear boy, not everything? I can’t believe that is entirely my fault. Your father . . . well, he was quite a one for the horses and the cards. I think he should share some of the blame. And you yourself, Rufus, when you were younger and more jolly, had a tendency to frequent certain places where the wagers were rather high.”
Rufus didn’t answer. He thought if he did he might take his uncle by the throat and strangle him. The worst of it was that James was right, it wasn’t all his fault. The whole Southbrook family had contributed to their downfall; it was just that Rufus was the heir and the only one left who cared. And what of Eustace? Southbrook was his inheritance. How could he explain to the boy that he’d lost the lot?
“Papa, why is that lady showing her legs?” Eustace was staring at the woman on the stage, who was kicking up her feet and showing a great deal of leg beneath her short skirt.
“Turn away, Eustace.”
Eustace seemed disinclined to turn away but he was a good boy and did as his father told him. “Can we go home now, Papa?”
“I have to collect someone first. She is hurt and requires a ride home in the coach.”
“The lady over there?” he asked hopefully, and James chuckled.
Rufus shook his head. “No, not the lady over there. At the moment she’s upstairs but she should be with us very soon. Ah, here she is.”
And they all looked up as Averil, with the help of the girl, made her way with painful slowness down the stairs.