Lady Lightfingers (23 page)

The money had become the price of her downfall, and she'd labelled Charles as the devil himself for advancing it to her on such a promise. She smiled to herself. How odd then, that despite half of her not wanting to disappoint him by becoming what he'd wanted then – his whore – the other half of her wantonly craved such attention from him, as she imagined it would be.

She'd reached a fork in the road of her life on that day of the loan. Taking it had been the first step on a downward path. She had since decided to give the money back to him. Until she could do so, whilst still remaining undetected, the money mocked her, tempting her to use it.

‘The house belongs to my aunt, and I can't incur a debt on her behalf.'

‘Then allow me to give you an advance on the sale of the silver, which I'll sell to a dealer in London, one who I know will pay a fair price for it.'

‘It may embarrass my aunt to know what I've done.'

‘Embarrassment is a small loss of pride when compared to the pains of hunger. Don't worry, I'll make sure she doesn't see it.'

‘Thank you, Charles.' When she handed him the mug, he took a note from an inside pocket and placed it in her hand. ‘This is too much.'

‘Since when have you been an expert on the value of silver?'

‘Never . . . when have you?'

He laughed. ‘Stop arguing.'

Her eyes slanted to him as he escorted her back along to the town hall and beyond to the High Street, where, halfway along, the suite of offices Charles shared with James was situated. How handsome and confident he looked. He certainly drew the eyes of women and Celia felt proud to be paraded on his arm.

His eyes met hers, dark and unfathomable. She was absorbed into the liquid of them, and saw herself reflected there. ‘You have a pretty mouth, Celia. Like a ripe peach. I'd like to kiss you until you went crazy from it.'

He'd said before that her mouth was like a peach – before he'd kissed her that last time. Her mouth began to tingle and her knees felt weak, as if her body was falling apart like grains of sugar melting into sweet rivulets of honey.

‘Charles, please don't talk to me like that,' she whispered, wanting to lean into the strength of his firm body and be consumed by it.

‘Oh, don't worry, Celia my little innocent, I won't kiss you here in the street with the world looking on. But before too long, I'll find the opportunity.'

Celia knew she'd die from the pleasure of it if he did. She dragged in a deep, ragged breath as Charles held open the door to the offices for her to pass through, and he said against her ear as he followed her through, his voice as delicate as a strand of golden silk, ‘That's a promise.'

She couldn't allow it, because it couldn't be. They couldn't be. Charles was a fine man. He was sensitive to the needs of others, honest, and he represented the law of the land.

The day would come when she'd have to tell him of her background – of the way she'd deceived him. No matter that she'd shed her rags and now knew which fork and spoon to use, she was a child of the London slums – one who'd stolen from him, and who would steal again to keep herself and Lottie alive if it became necessary.

Women with her background might attract professional gentlemen, but professional gentlemen didn't marry them. And she craved Charles' admiration, his respect and his attention. She was damned if she confessed her past, and damned if she didn't, because secrets had a way of getting out once they'd become the property of another.

Because of that she could never become a companion of any sort to Charles Curtis, no matter how much money he offered her.

So let this meeting be the end of it, she thought, feeling the warmth of him at her back as he closed the door behind them. He took off his top hat, placed the mug inside it and laid it on the hallstand with his gloves over the top, to conceal it from the sight of Harriet.

The secretive smile he winged her way endeared him to her.

Fourteen

It seemed to Celia that everyone turned up for the Christmas morning service.

The church was decorated with holly and mistletoe, and they sang carols. Celia had read the nativity lesson about the three wise men, her voice suitably hushed as the miracle of Christmas was revealed – and the congregation equally hushed because word had spread about her literary alliance with the famous poet Thomas Hambert, and he now smiled at her from the second pew, despite some of the villagers having thought it was one of Celia Laws' highly unlikely tales.

After Celia introduced him to the presiding reverend, a rather serious younger man, they left the church and walked to the carriage through a line of curious people.

Mrs Hardy was overheard to say softly to her neighbour when Celia was in range, ‘I don't know what she's got to be so fancy about, when her father was a rogue. Where is he, that's what I want to know?'

‘I heard he'd died; and there's no smoke without fire.'

‘I told you that. But the girl tells me he's coming back. I wouldn't be surprised since I saw him in London; he was working under the name of Daniel Laws. There can't be another man on this earth who looks and sounds like him, can there? And Alice Price was too proud of him as she walked down the aisle. There was something fishy about that marriage right from the start. Nobody can say any different.'

‘My Rob said that Celia Laws stole into the village after dark, as though she didn't want to be seen. He said she was dressed in rags and pushing a cart with that small girl in, just like a beggar.'

‘And how did he see that in the dark?'

‘He thought she was a robber, and he followed her to see what she were up to. Miss Price and her servant opened the door, and Miss Price let her in. Rob tried to see what were going on through the windows, but the curtains were drawn across.'

‘I'd better make sure I keep mine closed from now on then if your Rob is prone to sneaking round the village at night peering through windows at folks. Where did that small girl come from, that's what I'd like to know.'

No doubt she would, Celia thought, but she wasn't going to satisfy her curiosity. A quick glance revealed that the second woman had turned away in affront at the disparaging remark aimed at her Rob's nocturnal activity.

Not by a flicker of an eyebrow did Celia reveal that she'd overheard the spiteful remarks, though flags of red flew into her cheeks and her fists bunched. She would have liked to snatch the silly pink feather from Mrs Hardy's even sillier bonnet – which had more decorations than a Christmas tree – and snap it in half under her nose.

But although the woman didn't know it, her comments had done Celia a favour by giving cause to reawaken her almost dormant desire, which was to confront her father. It was all right settling cosily here like a hen on a nest, but there were issues from her past she had to resolve, and finding out about her father was only one of them.

All the same, she thought ruefully, managing with great effort to keep her temper under control, it was easier to hide in the crowd in London. Here in the village of Hanbury Cross, anything out of the ordinary attracted comment and rumour – and Celia knew she was out of the ordinary, even after all this time.

Harriet gave no indication that she'd heard anything amiss, but offered her a sympathetic smile when she was assisted into the carriage. The hood was up, a fur rug spread over their knees to keep them warm. James took a place on top with the coachman, and they were off.

They spent pleasant Christmas and Boxing days with Thomas, Abigail and James. Patricia, the daughter of the Kent household, was blue-eyed and fair-haired. Her quiet husband and two boisterous children were introduced. Even Millie had been invited to the festivities.

Celia had half-hoped that Charles Curtis would be there, but he'd gone to London to spend some time with his family.

‘He's left a gift for you under the tree,' Thomas told her.

The gift was a prettily enamelled bird in a cage of silver gilt, which whistled a tune when it was wound up. How pretty it was, and she wished she had something to give him in return. But for his own sake he mustn't be encouraged.

After dinner, Thomas drowsed in the chair in front of the library fire, while the women helped the servants – who'd dined with them on this special day – to clear the dishes from the dining room and wash them up.

When James took Harriet by the hand and led her into the drawing room, Celia and Abigail gazed at each other and smiled expectantly. Thomas disappeared into his lair in the library.

A little later Thomas came into the drawing room with a wide smile on his face. He busied himself setting out champagne, kept cold in a bucket of ice for the expected announcement, and glasses.

‘Well?' Abigail said.

‘Be patient, my dear.'

‘I do hope you haven't been listening at the keyhole, Thomas. You used to when you were a disagreeable boy. Father caught you doing it once and gave you a good thrashing.' It was an accusation that made everyone present laugh.

‘I had a good excuse; I was trying to find out which school I was going to be sent to.'

‘What is going on? Pray tell me at once, since I'm dying of curiosity.'

Thomas gave a great huff of laughter. ‘My dear Abigail, considering you've talked of nothing else for the past few days, I'm surprised that you profess to be so unaware of the situation.'

James and Harriet came in. James was smiling proudly, and Harriet had a shy and pretty pink glow to her face. Celia had never seen her look so beautiful as she was in her dark-rose gown with its pink velvet bodice.

Thomas gazed round at them all, now armed with a glass of champagne. He cleared his throat. ‘It's my pleasure to announce that my dearest nephew, James, has asked for the hand in marriage of Miss Harriet Price . . . to which proposal, Harriet has very bravely agreed to take him off of our hands.'

Glasses were raised and toasts drunk, laughter and congratulations rang out. Harriet showed off the love token that would bind her promise to James, an elegant band of rose gold set with three perfect diamonds that flashed and winked in the gaslight.

‘You're now looking at the happiest man alive,' James said, his affection towards Harriet plainly inscribed in the glance he gave his intended.

The couple's happiness gave extra sparkle to the house party, as they sang carols around the piano and played charades. The children played happily together, and Celia was glad that Lottie had some company of her own age.

The next day Thomas said to her, ‘I have a couple of engagements in London next month. Would you care to accompany me and do a reading, Celia?'

She looked towards Harriet, who nodded. ‘Millie and I will be happy to look after Charlotte for you. We're so proud of you, you know.'

It would be an opportunity to sort out the issue of her father. The theatre was a small world, one she'd longed to belong to. But that dream had faded now. She realized while working on her serial for the magazine that it had been her mother's dream to act on the stage – and her mother had gone.

Celia couldn't live her mother's dream for her, but must live her own. Somebody must know about Jackaby Laws though – know what had happened to him. All these years later had he resurrected himself under the name of Daniel Laws, as Mrs Hardy had once suggested? If she could meet him, she'd ask him outright, for surely he wouldn't deny his own child.

‘I'd hoped to visit Johnny Archer and the Busby family at their inn near Lymington. They were good to me when I needed them, and I'd like to satisfy myself that Johnny is happy and well cared for.'

‘How old is the boy?'

When she answered him with, ‘He must be fifteen years old by now,' Thomas smiled.

‘He's almost a man, then?'

‘Yes . . . I suppose he is, but he was small for his age.'

‘Then we shall go there in the carriage and stay the night at the inn so you can satisfy your mothering instinct. William can take us on to the train station in Southampton before returning home with the carriage. I should like to meet the Busbys.'

‘I'm sure you'll like them.'

Celia, though, was surprised at the change in Johnny Archer. Though still slim and hard-muscled, he'd grown considerably upwards.

He hadn't recognized her at first, and she concealed herself behind Thomas when he called out, ‘Ma . . . we have guests.'

Aggie Busby came bustling through, a warm smile on her face for Thomas. ‘Good day, sir . . . madam. Will you be staying?'

‘Two rooms and accommodation for my coachman and horse for the night.'

‘Take their bags up to the front rooms, Johnny—'

‘The rooms warmed by the chimney,' Celia said, and she stepped forward with a smile on her face. ‘Have you both forgotten me already then?'

‘I'll be blown down by the wind,' Johnny said, an expression used by Busby himself, Celia recalled.

She gave the woman a hug while Johnny stood grinning warily at her. ‘I'm not a hugging sort of man, so keep your hands off me, Celia,' he said.

She poked him in the stomach, instead. ‘I can see that Mrs Busby's been fattening you up.'

Aggie looked behind Celia. ‘Isn't young Lottie with you?'

‘She stayed behind with my aunt. Reverend Thomas and I are going to London on business, so thought we'd visit you first.'

‘Well, I'm surprised; for I can't say I've given anyone cause to visit us before, especially for social. We don't know anyone, that's why.' She gave a throaty laugh. ‘Take them bags up then, Johnny boy, then go and see to the horses. The coachman will want to know where the stable is.'