A Match of Hearts: A Regency Romance (4 page)

Just then, the door opened once more,
and a young girl entered quietly, a heavy, leather-bound book in her arms. She
was dressed with the greatest propriety in primrose-yellow sprigged muslin and
wore her dusky locks in demure ringlets, but her relationship to the older
woman was apparent. La Signora confirmed it.

‘Susanna,
cara mia
, make your
curtsy to Lady Brookenby.’ As the girl obeyed with particular grace, she waved
a hand towards her and said, ‘May I present to you my daughter, Miss
Fallowfield?’

Zanthe’s eyes widened in surprise as she
held out her hand. ‘How do you do?’

The girl just touched it. Her eyes were
lowered as she said in a soft, sweet voice, ‘How do you do, Lady Brookenby.’
She then sat down beside her mother on the sofa and, together, they perused the
volume.

Eventually, the Signora placed her
forefinger upon the page and exclaimed ‘
Buono
, I say I shall sing for
you this concert in one month’s time, on Thursday, the twentieth of June, at
eight o’clock
precisamente
. It is my
giorno della nascita
, my
birthday.’

‘That would be perfect. Mr and Miss
Cholmondeley will be so pleased.’ She rose to take her leave.

‘No, sit, please sit. I have more I wish
to say to you. Susanna, leave us.’

The child dropped a curtsy and left the
room as quietly as she had entered it. The Signora flashed her eyes at Zanthe
and laughed. ‘Ah, it is a mystery, yes? How do I, the wicked fallen lady from
Napoli, come by this little English daughter, you wonder?’

‘Not at all, Signora. It is no business
of mine.’

‘But yes! I wish it to be your business.
Listen!’ She stood and walked over to the mantelpiece, where she picked up a
miniature that stood on a little gilt stand. She smiled down into the painted
countenance and then handed the miniature to Zanthe, who took it wonderingly.
‘That is a portrait of the Honourable Mr Richard Fallowfield,’ the Signora said
in accents of purest cockney. ‘My husband.’

Zanthe was so surprised she almost
dropped the miniature. ‘You are English!’

The Signora laughed again. ‘Born and
bred in the slums of Whitechapel, my Lady. More years ago than I care to
remember. But my Dickie married me, right and tight, for all that.’

‘Fallowfield? Was he any relation of
Lord Fallowfield?’

‘His brother. And that makes my little
girl his legal niece. For Dickie married me six weeks before she was born, and
that makes her legitimate, whatever his high-and-mighty Lordship may have to
say.’

Zanthe gaped at her, helplessly. ‘I am
honoured by your confidence, Ma’am, but I am at a loss to understand—does
Launceston know of this?’

‘Well, of course, he does. I can’t keep
on talking Italian all day and all night, can I? It’s far too fatiguing. But
he’s the only one—apart from my manager in Italy and—my confessor.’

‘But Susanna—Miss Fallowfield, I mean—surely—?’

‘No. She’s been at school here in Bath
since she was a nipper. That’s why I come over every summer to sing. I spent
the war years touring: St Petersburg, Stockholm, even Boston. I couldn’t have
her with me. So, the truth is we don’t know each other very well. She thinks we
come of an aristocratic Neapolitan family that lost everything in the recent wars.’

‘But, forgive me, Ma’am, why are you
telling me all this? You are taking a terrible risk are you not? What if I were
to spread the tale?’

The Signora shrugged. ‘Who would believe
you? Besides, I’ve only to look into your pretty eyes to know you’re not that sort.
No, the likes of you would be torn apart by wild horses before you’d betray a
confidence.’ She reached out and placed her hand over Zanthe’s. ‘We can help
each other, you and me, Lady Brookenby. See, I’ve got what you want, and you’ve
got something I want.’

‘What is that?’

‘Respectability. Oh—not for me—for my
girl.’

‘I still don’t quite see—’

‘I want you to take Susanna to live with
you. Introduce her around. Ten to one, she’ll get an establishment by the end
of the summer.’ She saw Zanthe about to protest. ‘I’m not asking you to present
her at Court or anything like that. I just want her to marry some nice,
well-bred young fellow that’ll look after her. I can settle any amount of money
on her, you know’

‘I see. And, if I do this, you will give
Lord Launceston his congé?’

‘Now, how would that help you? He’d just
leave Bath and ten-to-one have some lightskirt in keeping before the cat can
lick her ear.’

‘Then how do you propose to help me. For
that, as I understand it, is the bargain.’

The Signora regarded her shrewdly. ‘Just
how far are you willing to go to get him back?’

‘As far as is necessary.’

‘And you’ll follow my advice, whatever
it is?’

‘What do I have to lose?’

‘Then we’ll get him for you—poor old Jarvis.
He doesn’t stand a chance.’

The Brookenby ladies’ alliance with the
Cholmondeleys was now a settled thing and, although Zanthe could have foregone
Miss Cholmondeley’s frequent visits with equanimity, she grew very fond of the
Reverend. Once one penetrated beneath his shyness, he was revealed to possess a
keen intellect and a good deal of quiet humour.

Plans for the
concert went on apace, but more direct acts of charity were not forgotten. Zanthe
frequently made excursions into the meaner parts of town with the pair and was
astonished to discover that, in a very few minutes, they could be out of the
gracious, elegant streets and crescents and into the teeming slums.

One morning, the
brother and sister called upon the ladies in the Royal Crescent with a proposal
to visit a family in whom the Reverend had an interest. These were not of the
criminal or venal classes but hard-working, worthy people who had fallen into
unfortunate circumstances.

‘Critchlow was a
journeyman carpenter in a good way of business until he lost his hand in an
accident with a faulty lathe,’ he explained. ‘Since then, they have had to move
out of their cottage and into lodgings that are not at all what poor Mrs
Critchlow has been accustomed to. She was a seamstress before her marriage and
takes in a little sewing; but her customers are as poor as she is, and it
cannot bring in much. However, she does not complain.’

Zanthe was
touched by this story. ‘What a dreadful shame! By all means, let us visit them
and see what can be done.’

The Critchlows
resided in a mean, cobbled side-street, much cluttered with refuse. The tiny
house, however, was scrupulously clean, and the two children, who stared shyly
at their visitors, were plump and neat. Their mother, however, was so thin that
it seemed probable that she had starved herself to feed the children.

She came forward,
wiping her hands upon her apron, and dropped a slight curtsy.

‘Well, Reverend,
ladies, it’s right good of you to come to see us. I just wish I’d known an’ I
would ’ave baked a bit and had something nice for you to taste.’ She spoke in a
soft West Country voice but broke off to cough into a handkerchief. The whole of
her thin body was wracked by the paroxysm.

Mr Cholmondeley
regarded her gravely, ‘Martha, I see you still have your cough. I had hoped this
delightful warm weather would have helped you.’

‘Oh yes, Sir, it
has. But there’s always one thing or the other. When it’s cold, then I cough real
bad, but when it’s warm like today, why the smell out on that street is enough
to send a body sick, it is really, Sir.’

Zanthe could not
but agree. It must surely be unhealthy to breathe such foul air into ailing
lungs. And bad for the children, too, although they looked robust enough.

‘Where is
Critchlow? I had wanted a word with him? Is he not usually home for his dinner at
this time of day?’

Mrs. Critchlow
shook her head. ‘Not these days, Reverend. He lost that job you got him wi’ the
carrier ‘cos ‘is hook tore a bundle and ruined some fine cloth as they was
transporting. You can’t blame them, but since then he’s out all hours lookin’
for work. It fair breaks my heart to see him come ‘ome that tired and
discouraged. It ain’t fair that a man as is willing to work can’t get none.
He’s bin talkin’ of us goin’ up north Manchester way so me and the children can
find work in them mills they have up there, but to my way of thinking it ‘ud
just be changing one bad lot for another.’

Zanthe was
appalled. ‘No, no, you cannot do that! Why, the conditions in those places are
dreadful. You must not go to another big, smoky city. You need fresh air. I
must think what is to be done.’

Although she had
always been ready to succour the needy who belonged to the Baguely estate, Zanthe
had not previously given much thought to the living conditions of the working
poor in cities. It would be a huge task to clear these slums and make life
better for the inhabitants, but they could at least offer assistance, one
family at a time.

‘We must find Mr
Critchlow another situation but, in the meantime, please take this.’ She thrust
her purse into the woman’s hand. ‘Mr Cholmondeley tells me you are a seamstress,
and so Miss Brookenby and I will procure some sewing work for you among our
friends, which will soon make you very much more comfortable.’

They were about
to take their leave when the door opened and the master of the house entered,
bending his head to avoid knocking it on the low door frame. Like his wife, Mr
Critchlow had the air about him of one who has seen better days. He bowed civilly
to the ladies and shook Mr Cholmondeley’s proffered hand, wiping his own left
hand upon his breeches before clasping the other man’s awkwardly. ‘It’s good of
you to take the time, Reverend.’

‘I was sorry to
hear about you being laid off again, Critchlow. Unfortunate about your
—your—er—’

Critchlow lifted his right arm to display
a steel hook. ‘My ‘ook, Sir? Aye, ripped a pack of fine cotton to shreds, I
did. Terrible put out the master was, an’ I’m sure I don’t blame ‘im. The thing
is, I’m not used to it yet.’
He sighed and put his arm around his
wife’s shoulders. ‘Poor Martha here sez we should give ‘im the value of it but,
bless you, it ‘ud take years to pay off, even if I had a job to earn the
money.’

‘Well, that is
easily resolved,’ said Mr Cholmondeley. ‘Give me his direction, and I shall
settle it for you.’

‘Nay, Sir. I
couldna’ let you do that!’

Since nothing
they could say would induce Mr Critchlow to agree, Zanthe could only hope that
the sewing she could send out and induce other ladies to send out to Martha
would enable them to become beforehand with the world once more.

When Critchlow
heard of the arrangement, his eyes filled so that he turned his head away to
wipe them with his muffler before saying, ‘Bless your sweet face, my Lady. An’
if the day should come when you or yours is in need of any ’elp that the likes
of us can give, well, me an’ my rib, we’d be right proud to do ought we could.
An’ that’s the truth, so ‘elp me.’

The Critchlows
followed them to the front door, and they stood chatting for a few moments on
the doorstep. Presently, they were interrupted by a good deal of cheering, loud
laughter and coarse, ribald language, which caused Zanthe and Margery to blush
but left little Miss Cholmondeley quite unmoved. The sounds were coming from
the open door of an inn that sat upon the corner where the little side-street
met Avon Street. A dilapidated sign hanging above the door depicted a large
black bird, a rook or raven by the look of it, but the lettering was too faded
to be legible.

‘What place is
that?’ demanded Zanthe curiously.

‘That be the
Bird in Hand, my Lady. A terrible bad place! An’ what goes on there I wouldn’t let
on to a lady like you if my life depended on it.’

Zanthe took a
step further into the street and craned her neck, much intrigued by this
condemnation. Just as she did so, a familiar figure staggered out of the
doorway of the Bird in Hand and reeled into the street.

‘Parry!’

‘Hello, Zan.
What you doing here?’ her brother demanded, frowning. ‘Not the kind o’ place
for you at all. Not the thing!’

‘Never mind what
I’m doing. I know very well what kind of place that is, and
—
’ A sudden
thought occurred to her. ‘Was this where you got so odiously foxed that Sunday when
Launceston carried you home? Does he go there often
—is he there
now?’

‘No—haven’t seen him this age. Nothing
to upset yourself with, Zan. Just been watching a famous match, fight of the
century! Rattie the Rat versus Freddie the Ferret. Laid my money on Rattie to
take first blood and, by God, he was a little bruiser! Won a pony, I did.
Ferret got him in the end, of course.’

‘Won a pony?’ Zanthe was quite
bewildered by all this talk of rats, ferrets, and ponies. ‘Where shall you keep
it? There is no room in the stables for another animal.’

Critchlow chuckled. ‘The young gentleman
means he won a matter o’ twenty-five guineas, my Lady. They’ve been setting
rats an’ ferrets to fighting in the back yard.’

‘Yessir, I did! Pleasure to meet such a
knowing one. Give me your hand, Sir.’

The rickety inn door opened once more,
and a group of men strolled out. The tallest, who seemed also to be the most
sober, was smoking a cigar and leaned negligently against the door jamb,
watching one of his companions being violently ill in the gutter.

‘I told you not to touch the brandy,’ he
commented.

Parry turned from wringing Critchlow’s
hand and called out, ‘Duke, Duke, old feller, come and meet my sister.’

Zanthe was very taken aback. ‘That man
is a duke?’

‘No—Duke ain’t a duke, he’s a baronet.’

‘Then why do you call him Duke?’

‘’Cos it’s his name, silly.’

The gentleman thus hailed threw his
cigar into the street, trod it with his heel, and advanced upon the little
group. ‘This is your sister, Parry? I am quite charmed.’

Zanthe shrank back a little, misliking
the look in the gentleman’s eyes. Rather to her surprise, Mr Cholmondeley, who,
with his sister, had been tactfully silent during Parry’s incursion, stepped
forward as if to shield her from the other man. The tall man looked down upon
Mr Cholmondeley with a sneer.

‘And who might you be, my good Sir?’

‘My card, Sir,’ bowed the Reverend.

‘Ah, I see I was correct, you
are
a—good—sir.’ He shrugged. ‘What a bore! Are you coming along with us, Parry?’

‘Where you goin’?’

‘As we discussed, to my lodgings. You
had challenged me to a game of Hazard. Don’t you remember?’

‘I did? Well, a fellow can’t draw back
from a challenge, can he?’ He flourished his hand and giggled. ‘Lead on.’

The little party on the doorstep watched
him lurch down the street at his friend’s heels.

Zanthe clasped her palms to her hot
cheeks. ‘Oh, I have never been so mortified. Dear Miss Cholmondeley, Mr
Cholmondeley, I would not have subjected you to such a scene for the world! But,
pray, do not judge Parry too harshly. He is spoiled and very stupid but, truly,
he has a good heart.’

The Reverend took her hand comfortingly.
‘No need to tell me that, Lady Brookenby. I have known many such who turned out
well in the end. But I strongly advise you to do all you can to wean him from
his friendship with that man. I know a little of him by reputation. That is Sir
Marmaduke Carlyle and he is a very dangerous influence on the young men of
fortune who look up to him.’

She sighed. ‘I will try, but he does not
mind me as he used to. But there is one comfort at least
—
Parry has no fortune at all.’

Mr Cholmondeley looked thoughtful. ‘Is
that the case? Then I wonder what Carlyle wants with him? It does not make
sense, and I very much mistrust what does not make sense.’