Never Run From Love (Kellington Book Four) (13 page)

Lord Vincent swaggered up to within inches of Mrs.
Seton.  “Why don’t you go back to where you came from? And take your dowds with
you.  You don’t belong in this part of town.  And it can be right dangerous for
the wrong kind of people.”

“You, sir,” said Mrs. Seton, “are a jackanapes good
for nothing!”

That made Lord Vincent’s friends laugh, which made
him angry.  He raised a hand as if to hit her.  Hal quickly inserted himself
between the damned earl’s son and the foolish reform leader.

“There’ll be none of that,” hissed Hal.  Just the
thought of raising a hand to a woman made him angry.  He’d like nothing more
than to lay Lord Vincent out, but he was afraid that his friends would
retaliate against the women if provoked.  And he had no doubt Mrs. Seton would
provoke them.

Lord Vincent looked his surprise, but lowered his
hand.  “Kellington, what the devil are you doing here?”

“Ensuring that no one makes a mistake,” said Hal,
eyeing Lord Vincent and his friends.

“I’m not the one obstructing the right of way.  The
do-gooders should take themselves off to a place where they have a chance of
doing good.  It’s certainly not here.”

Inwardly, Hal had to agree with him.  But he hated
to think Lord Vincent would get his way.  If it came down to it, he could take him,
Bennington and perhaps one other in a fight.  But he’d rather avoid it.

For his part, Lord Vincent looked to be standing his
ground.  Hal hoped he could draw him away from the ladies.  But, suddenly, the
problem was taken out of his hands.

“Problem, Hal?” 

Hal turned to see an amused Charles Francis walk out
of Dill’s, followed by its proprietor, Conrad Patton.

“Nothing I can’t handle, Francis,” said Hal,
relieved that his friend was joining him.  Francis could always be depended on
in a fight.  And he suspected Patton would back them, since they had to be two
of his better customers.

Lord Vincent must have sized up the odds as well. 
“I see you don’t believe in a fair fight,” he said to Hal.

“On the contrary,” replied Hal.  “You and your
friends still outnumber us, although I confess to having the advantage in
sobriety, brains and sense tonight.  Normally, I usually only have the
advantage in two of those things.”

There were a few titters of laughter among the
women, who no doubt felt less threatened than they did a moment ago.

Lord Vincent looked like he still wanted to plant
Hal a facer.  But instead he beckoned to his friends.  “I can’t believe Dill’s
has gone to the dogs.  We’ll take our blunt elsewhere.”

With that, he, Bennington and their friends stumbled
off down the street.

“Sorry about the loss of business, Patton,” said Hal,
when the others were gone. 

“I’ll survive,” said the owner, as the ladies began
to sing once again.  “If only the women could be got rid of as easily.”

“We refuse to move from this spot,” cried Mrs. Seton
with righteous indignation, breaking off the hymn.

“Mrs. Seton,” said Melanie, as she made her way to
the reform leader.  “Perhaps we should conclude our protest tonight.”

Hal was immediately suspicious as to why she would
want to end the protest at such an early hour.  Then he remembered her
unfinished business at Madame Thurmond’s.

“No, Miss Sutton,” he said as he guided her back to
her place.  “I believe Mrs. Seton is right.  The night is still young and there
are many more sinners to come.  We should raise our voices in song.  Should we
not, ladies?”

The women in the group, who’d avidly watched his
confrontation with Lord Vincent, all murmured their agreement.  Mrs. Seton
looked suspicious of his motives.  And Melanie looked disgruntled, no doubt
because he’d spoiled her plans. 

Francis simply looked amused as he watched Hal take
his place, smile at the reformers, then pretend to sing.  The last Hal saw of
him, he was chatting with Patton and laughing as they re-entered the gaming
hell.

It was all Hal could do not to laugh himself. 
Because the last thing he thought he’d be doing tonight was voluntarily
spending more time with Mrs. Seton and her ladies.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Life as a reformer would drive a more
sober man than he to drink
, mused Hal as he stood in the back
of Mrs. Seton’s group singing hymns outside of Madame Thurmond’s.  Of course,
he wasn’t actually singing them, but merely moving his lips in such a way that
might fool the dour leader of their group.  His goal was always to stand as far
away from her and as close to Melanie as possible.  Fortunately, since Mel
seemed to have little more liking for the woman than he did, they both tended
to congregate toward the back.

As a group, the reformers dressed in dark clothes,
no doubt because Mrs. Seton disliked anything that even hinted at gaiety. 
There was little levity during her meetings because Mrs. Seton saw nothing
funny about sin.

Which was odd since Hal often laughed long and hard
whilst in the midst of committing it.

The other ladies in the group weren’t quite as grim
as their leader.  Some had joined the protests because they were truly
concerned about the rise of crime and vice.  Others seemed to simply be looking
for ways to fill their days. 

Hal couldn’t blame them.  He’d often reflected on
how lucky he was to be born male.  He could choose his profession – or lack
thereof.  He could carry on liaisons with as many women as he wanted without
harm to his reputation.  Indeed, his standing among his peers was only enhanced
by his activities.

Women, however, were almost wholly dependent on men
for not only the basic necessities of food, shelter and clothing, but also for how
they spent their time.  With few activities for them to pursue outside of the
social sphere, reform work seemed to be a popular choice.

The group generally met at Mrs. Seton’s house twice
a week to plan their protests.  They also wrote letters to members of
Parliament and made signs.  Most of Hal’s suggestions for signs were rejected
by Mrs. Seton as too vulgar.  That did not, however, stop him from making more
suggestions.

Hal learned quite a bit about women during the
meetings.  He’d never given much thought to the intellectual pursuits of ladies,
other than he did his best to discourage poetry writing among his lovers.  But
these women took an active interest in the world and often discussed
legislation that would affect the poor. Unsurprisingly, Melanie usually led the
discussions, bringing a distinctly American disregard for class.

“Really, Miss Sutton,” admonished Mrs. Seton one
day, for she almost always disagreed with what Melanie had to say.  It was yet one
more reason for Hal to dislike the woman.  “I hardly believe the sins of the
lower classes can be laid at the feet of the aristocracy.  The lower classes
are the way they are because they are born that way.  There are generations of
thieves, drunkards and whores in every family.”

“Mrs. Seton, I cannot believe a baby born into
poverty is evil, any more than I can accept that one born into the aristocracy
is inherently good.”

Here, Mrs. Seton looked as affronted as Hal was
amused.

Mel continued.  “Each person has a destiny and that
life is shaped by his surroundings.  If a child has no food unless his parents
steal it, it is no wonder why children born into poverty may have a different
understanding of right and wrong.  That does not make their actions right, but
goes a long way toward making them understandable.”

“Rubbish!” said Mrs. Seton.

“Actually,” said a timid woman who was the wife of a
tobacco importer, “I believe Miss Sutton is on to something.  I have met many
of the men who work for my husband and they are a decent lot.  Honest and
hard-working.  And on occasion I have met men from the upper classes who are his
clients, many of whom I do not trust.  No offense, Lord Henry.”

“None taken, Mrs. Edmonds.  My findings are similar
to yours.  Whether a man is trustworthy or not has nothing to do with where he
was born, but everything to do with how he chooses to conduct himself.”

“Hear, hear,” said Mrs. Seton, seemingly unaware of
her hypocrisy.

Mel could only roll her eyes.

The group generally protested once or twice a week, usually
in front of a gaming hell.  Hal could have told them that their chosen hours of
protest between eight and ten of the clock were too early to catch the lords most
likely to be affected by their protests.  Hardened gamesters would pay them no
heed.  But it might be possible to reach younger men, those who’d only been on
the town a short while and might be in the process of losing their family
fortunes at the tables.  They were usually at
ton
events until well
after midnight – a way to keep their dear mamas satisfied.  It was usually only
after that when they descended to the hells
en masse
and well-lubricated
with spirits.  And it was usually then that vast fortunes were lost.

But Hal had no intention of telling that to the
group because he wanted none of them to be on the streets at such a late hour,
especially in the company of drunkards.  They may have thought there was safety
in numbers.  But Hal knew it was often his presence alone that had kept the
troublemakers at bay.  The hired muscle at the hells and brothels wouldn’t
think twice about making the group disperse through unsavory means.  And since
many of the establishments had the Watch on payroll, there would have been
little to no protection for the women.

For some reason Hal was unable to comprehend, Mrs.
Seton had decided that the protests should increase to six nights a week.  It
was a pace many of the women found hard to sustain and their numbers began to
dwindle because of it. It was now a Thursday and a mere half dozen women were
at a protest outside of a brothel named Delilah’s.  Hal was there because
Melanie was there.  And she was only there because Mrs. Seton’s heightened
lunacy had given her the opportunity to pursue her own crusade for four nights
in a row.  She was ecstatic because she’d persuaded three women to seriously
consider moving to America.  It gave her lovely face an added glow.

He wanted to kiss her right there.  He wanted to do
a great deal more than that.  But none of it could be accomplished under the
gimlet gaze of their leader. 

Instead, he stood next to Mel, breathing in her
sweet scent and fantasizing about making love to her in every position he could
think of.  And he could think of quite a few.

His mind was thusly engaged, so he didn’t notice the
crowd that was gathering.  They drew onlookers at every protest, mostly drunken
lords who wanted to make a few jokes before moving on to the next part of their
evening’s entertainment.  Occasionally, men stood in front of them for the sole
reason that further movement would induce vomiting.  Occasionally, men stood in
front of them and vomited.

With Hal’s preoccupation with Melanie, he hadn’t
notice the approach of four big men who looked to be bully boys charged with
keeping the peace at Delilah’s.  But as the singing came to a halt, he looked
up to see the men’s menacing stares.

“Listen, you ruffians,” said Mrs. Seton with her
trademark inability to defuse a dangerous situation.  “Be gone with you now. 
We have just as much right to be here as you do.  More so, considering we are
decent folks and you’re just four sinners who fornicate with fallen women.”

“Hear that?” asked the first man, who looked to be
in his middle thirties and was missing most of his hair and more than half of his
teeth.  “We’re fornicating wif fallen women.  And I thought we was just
fucking.”

That was outside of enough for Mrs. Seton, who
gripped her cane and was on the verge of striking the man when Hal stayed her
arm.  He held it in a firm grip, even as she struggled to continue her assault.

“Mrs. Seton,” said Hal quietly, without looking away
from the four men, “they cannot help it if they fornicate with fallen women, since
the good women do not fornicate.”  That got a snort of laughter from one of the
men.  The one nearest Mrs. Seton, however, simply stared at the woman with
hatred in his eyes.

“Mrs. Seton, I believe Lord Henry is on to
something,” said Melanie, as she went to stand on the other side of the woman,
presumably to stop her from attacking the man with that hand.  “Just as we have
every right to protest peacefully, this gentleman…”  Here she looked up at the
hulk of a man and smiled brilliantly.  “May I have your name sir?’

Evidently the brute was more prepared for violence
than kindness because he looked totally taken aback by the question.  After a
moment, he answered “Crusher.”

“What an interesting name, Mr. Crusher,” said
Melanie.  “Are you a Londoner by birth?”

“What’s me birf got to do wif anyfink?”

“I have never heard the surname before and thought
it must be local.”  Here, Hal let out his own snort of laughter, which made Mel
frown at him.  “Mr. Crusher, I am sure Mrs. Seton did not mean to threaten you
with violence.”