Never Run From Love (Kellington Book Four) (17 page)

“Wot do you think you’re doing?” she asked in her
working voice.  “I was looking forward to getting rode by you.  It’s never good
to keep a girl waiting.  Or are you the shy type?”  She tightened the grip on
the knife and readied herself to lunge past him.

Suddenly she was grabbed from behind.  The brute
behind her, who was solid muscle, knocked the knife out of her hand and pulled
her back to him, securing her firmly.  She started to scream, but the man
clapped his hand over her mouth.

The figure in front of her stepped closer and she
finally saw the man who’d hired her.

“I’m not shy,” he drawled lazily.  “And I shan’t do
any riding today.”  He nodded to the brute behind her, who put her neck in the
crook of his arm and squeezed.

Sonia kicked back at the man, as she clutched at his
arm.  He wasn’t strangling her but the room began to blacken as she slowly lost
consciousness. 

*                    *                    *

If Melanie’s previous meetings at Mitchell House had
been distinctive for the lack of interest shown by the participants, her
current meeting was quite the opposite.  Unfortunately, the interest was all
directed toward their handsome guest from America and not to anything related
to reform.

Half a dozen women were in attendance.  Angela the
opera dancer and Lydia the burgeoning courtesan were both there.  There were
three women who worked at various brothels, as well as a friend of Angela’s
from the theatre.  Angela hadn’t been especially pleased to see her, so Mel
suspected the two women would be vying for Richard’s attention.

It didn’t take too long for her to realize she was
right.

Anne Cartwright was not in attendance.  After
setting out the tea, she’d excused herself by saying she needed to do housework. 

Richard gave a brief presentation, which the women
listened to with rapt attention.  Unfortunately, Mel felt their sudden interest
in America had more to do with snagging Richard as a husband or protector than
in any desire to start life anew on the frontier.

She looked at Richard objectively and could
definitely see why they were interested.  He was a handsome man and had a
self-effacing sense of humor.  He treated the women with respect and that was undoubtedly
the rarest of occurrences for them.  He was charming, persuasive and seemed to
have an answer for everything.  

“So tell us, Mr. Parker,” said Lydia, as she bent
forward to get her teacup, thereby exposing an abundant bosom.  “Why have you
never married?”

Oh no
, thought Mel. 
This could only end badly.

“Well, Miss Lydia, I believe I haven’t yet found the
right woman.  Or, rather, I haven’t convinced the right woman to marry me.”

“I cannot imagine anyone refusing to marry you,”
said Angela.  “They’d have to be dicked in the nob.  And you wouldn’t want to
marry no lunatic, would you?”

“No, Miss Angela, I would dearly not.”

“How ever will you amuse yourself on the long
journey home?” asked Angela’s friend.  “I can imagine you’d grow awful lonely.”

Richard was saved from answering by Anne
Cartwright’s appearance.  Mel noticed she was losing a bit of her usual shyness
with Richard, but still tended to play least in sight.  Richard rose as soon as
she entered.

“Forgive me for interrupting, but Mr. Parker had
asked me to let him know when the post came.  You have two letters, sir.”  She
held out a platter with both pieces of mail on them.  Mel noticed she was still
turned slightly away, keeping her scarred cheek away from him.

“Yes, thank you, Mrs. Cartwright,” he said, as he
all but leapt at the excuse to leave the room.  “If you’ll excuse me ladies, I
must attend to my correspondence.”  He bowed, then quickly departed.

It was no surprise to Mel when the gathering came to
an end quickly thereafter.  Soon, she was left with only Lydia and Angela.

“La, but Mr. Parker is a fine bloke,” said Lydia.

“He is at that,” said Angela.  “I never done it with
a Quaker.  I did a vicar once.  Well, almost, but it was naught but a handjob
in the stables.  I’ll bet Mr. Parker would all but burn up the sheets.”

“Aye,” said Lydia.  “The quiet ones always do.”

“Lydia, Angela, this is not an appropriate
conversation,” said Mel, wondering what exactly was involved with a handjob. 
“Mr. Parker is our guest.  It isn’t proper to speak of him in such a way.”

“Of course it ain’t proper,” said Lydia.  “There’s
nothin’ fun about proper.  But we didn’t mean to offend you, Miss Sutton.  We
forgot what way you was.”

 “What way am I?”

Lydia and Angela looked at each other as if the
answer were too obvious to state.  “Why you’re a maiden,” said Lydia.  “Never
had a man between yer legs.”

“Yer not high and mighty like a lot of toffs, but
you don’t have no ken of earthly matters,” added Angela.

That was all too true.  And Mel found it downright
vexing.  “But what if I would like to acquire some knowledge?” she asked
slowly.  She shouldn’t even be asking, but after those wicked kisses and caresses
from Hal, she’d been wondering what might come next. 

“You mean for Mr. Parker?” asked Lydia with great
disappointment.

“Of course not,” said Mel.  “It would be improper of
me to act on this knowledge with anyone.  I simply would like to have the knowledge
for the sake of knowing.” 
Now that was quite a bouncer
.

“Well, as long as it’s for yer education, I guess it’s
all right to tell you things,” said Angela, studying her closely.

“Yes,” chimed in Lydia.  “Far be it from us to stop
you from educating.  What would you like to know?”

“All of it,” said Mel. “Everything I would need to
know.”

“Well, to start with,” said Lydia, “you’ll need to
learn the difference between real jewels and paste.  And that ain’t as easy as
it sounds.  Some blokes can be quite tricky when it comes to paying what they
owes.”

“That’s not what she’s talking about you nodcock,”
admonished Angela.  “Miss Sutton don’t need to know that part.  I suspect she
only needs the ‘what goes where part’.”

“You don’t know any of that?” Lydia asked Mel
incredulously.  “I thought everyone knew the basics.  Couldn’t help but see it
all around where I grew up.”

“Well, I have some knowledge – theoretical, of
course – of the basics,” said Mel, blushing.

“Theoretical, huh?” said Angela.  “Well it’s a lot
different in real life, 'specially when their peckers don’t hold up.”

“Their….peckers?”

“Cocks,” clarified Lydia.  “Many a time when we sees
a man he’s in his cups, which gets in the way of his intentions.  But you can’t
let him think it’s his fault.  So you have to praise him and stroke him and
make him seem like a big man, even if his little man ain’t paying attention.”

“Sometimes that’s a relief,” said Angela.

“A lot of times that’s a relief,” added Lydia.  “But
you have to do what you can to coax him up.  You know, make it hard.”

“And how would one do such a thing?” asked Mel, even
though she had a feeling Hal’s manhood would never need to be coaxed.  Not that
she was gathering this knowledge for an interlude for him.  She just liked to
know things.  It was quite scholarly of her, really.

“With your hand, your mouth, your bosoms,” began
Angela.  “There are blokes who like to get themselves hard while they watch you
get yerself off or be with another girl or a cove.  Sometimes both.  But I
don’t think you’ll have this problem with Mr. Parker.  He don’t look the type
to have pecker problems.”

“As I said, Angela, this has nothing to do with Mr.
Parker.”

“Then you won’t mind if I have a go with him?” asked
Lydia.

“Oi!  I want my chance, you silly cow.”  Angela ignored
Lydia’s affronted look.

Mel cleared her throat.  “Ladies, I am not Mr.
Parker’s keeper – nor yours.  However, I believe Mitchell House discourages
such contact, does it not?”

Both Lydia and Angela nodded, looking disgruntled.

“Do you still want yer lesson?” asked Angela.

“If you wouldn’t mind too terribly, yes.”

“We’d best get more tea,” said Lydia.  “There’s a
lot to teach you.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN

It was already common knowledge within the Home
Office that when reaching the shared office of Lord and Lady Arthur Kellington
and finding the door closed, one knocked loudly then waited – sometimes several
minutes – before being asked to enter.  And then if upon entering the office
one or two things looked slightly out of place, like an improperly buttoned waistcoat,
or flushed cheeks, or a large part of the desk cleared away, well, one simply
didn’t mention it.

Lord Willingham was the Assistant Director of Home
Office Operations.  He was the man who supervised threats to the Crown from
within England, and he also coordinated with Bow Street and the fledgling
Metropolitan police on issues of basic law and order.  But because of urgent
business at his country estate, he’d promoted one of his best operatives, the
former Vanessa Gans to act in his place, along with her husband, Lord Arthur
Kellington.  The two had previously worked together to recover priceless
artifacts for the Crown.  They were fast gaining a reputation as being diligent
spymasters.

Even if one did have to exercise caution when
approaching their office.

After a relatively brief wait of only three minutes,
a young Home Office clerk named Mr. Reed was allowed admittance.  He entered
the office to find Lord Arthur at his desk, while Lady Vanessa was pouring tea.

“Would you like a cup, Mr. Reed?” she asked.

“Thank you, my lady.”

She waved him to his seat.  “Lord Arthur?  Would you
care to join us for some tea?”

“Thank you.  I find that I have worked up quite a
thirst.”

If Mr. Reed thought Lady Vanessa’s lips quivered, he
said not a thing.

The three of them sat down to tea and biscuits,
another difference from when Lord Willingham was present.  While many had been
reluctant to have a lady in charge of such important business, there was no
denying that the place was a bit more civilized with Lady Vanessa running
things.  Even if she was a more fearsome operative than any of them.

“What do you have to report, Mr. Reed?” asked Vanessa.

“A few suspicious ships have been spotted off
Cornwall, but the Revenue seems to think they’re only local smugglers looking
to make some coin.  The war may be long over, but old habits die hard.”

“I’m sure they do,” said Arthur, brushing against
his wife as he leaned to get more sugar for his tea.  “What else?”

“Still some grumbling up north, but just the usual
Scottish complaints.  We received yet another summons from the Duke of
Newcastle demanding payment for his shattered chalice.”

“The Duke of Newcastle can go hang,” said Arthur.

The Duke of Newcastle had been in illegal possession
of an ancient artifact.  When it had been broken by a stray shell at the end of
Arthur and Vanessa’s last mission, the duke had been none too pleased about
it. 

“I believe what Lord Arthur means, Mr. Reed, is that
the Duke of Newcastle can petition the House of Lords regarding his loss. 
However, I’m not sure his claim to the chalice would hold up under questioning
from the Duke of Lynwood and the Marquess of Riverton.”  Vanessa leaned over to
take a biscuit, brushing Arthur’s arm as she did so.

Mr. Reed cleared his throat and continued.  “As per
your request, Lord Arthur, we have found no trace of Frederick Mortimer, nor
the jewels from the chalice.  We think he may have gone to America.  Would you
like us to send an agent after him?”

Lord Arthur regarded his wife, who did not look up
from the tea tray.  Mortimer had been one of the villains who’d stolen the
jewels, but he had also protected Vanessa and been instrumental in saving
Arthur’s life.  He had also been his wife’s first love.  “No, Mr. Reed.  Send
no one after Mortimer at this time.”

“Very good sir,” said Reed as he made a note of it. 
“There is one more thing, but it could be nothing.  A number of, uh, women have
gone missing from the East End.”

“I have heard nothing of this,” said Vanessa.

Mr. Reed cleared his throat again.  “They were prostitutes,
my lady.  We don’t know how many are missing, nor how long they’ve been gone. 
Those are the type of people no one pays much heed to, if you know what I
mean.  Some said they were going to America with some sort of church group.  So
it didn’t ring an alarm when they didn’t show up again.  But now there are more
missing and girls seem to be disappearing by the week.”

“Have any bodies been discovered?” asked Vanessa.

“It’s London, so there are always bodies.  But not
the women we’re looking for.  And the problem is we have no idea how many we’re
looking for, nor names that can help us find families.  When theses girls come
to London they almost always change their names.  Their relations often times don’t
even know where they are.  Bow Street contacted me because they say the problem
is getting worse.  What do you want to do?”