The Countess' Lucky Charm (32 page)

To add to her misery, just this morning, she had had another drowning nightmare which if nothing else, had garnered sympathy from Tess.

“Not that I blame you for having a nightmare in here,” Tess said, patting her shoulder.

Simone nodded miserably. She sat hunched over, head between her knees, cloak drawn tightly about her.

“You know, you might be able to sell that cloak of yours for a favour.” Tess fingered the fabric. “The wool is very fine.”

Simone turned toward her companion. “What would that get me?” she said, her voice listless. “Food and drink for a day or two? Only to prolong this misery?”

“I thought you might sell it for a note.”

Simone looked at her, suspicious at the sudden change of heart of the other woman.

Her suspicion must have shown for Tess hastened to explain herself. “It’s just that if you are who you say you are, you’re probably of more benefit to us if you’re on the outside. “

Ah yes, purely selfish motives on Tess’ part. However it sparked a flare of hope in Simone’s breast. She opened her mouth to answer but before she could utter a word, Tess spoke again.

“And it would be of more benefit to the baby you’re carrying.”

Gape mouthed, Simone stared at Tess. “What? What did you say? No, oh, no,” she protested, shaking her head emphatically. “I’m not carrying a child.”

“Suit yourself,” Tess shrugged. “But to me it appears as if you’re suffering from morning sickness.”

“Oh no.” Simone shook her head again. “It’s the food in here. It doesn’t agree with me.” That and the sickening knowledge she had failed Temple.

“When did you have your last monthly? You haven’t had it while you’ve been here and that’s been two weeks already.”

“Why, it can’t have been much before then.” She wracked her memory. On the ship, her last monthly had been on the ship. Three weeks later, they had reached London, then two weeks at the Wellington townhouse, a week back at the workhouse, now two weeks here. She ticked them off on her fingers.

Aghast, she raised her head to look again at the other woman. “Eight weeks,” she whispered. “It’s been eight weeks.”

“Well, I would say that’s as much confirmation as one would need. Isn’t that right, girls?” She looked over to Bonnie and Elizabeth. They giggled and nodded their heads in agreement.

“I can’t have my baby in here,” Simone whispered. Shock numbed her mind, reducing her thoughts to only one—a child. She carried Temple’s child.

“Sell your cloak, then. It should buy you a note.”

“A note? What do you mean? I have no means to send a note.”

“The guards will do it, providing you can pay. They lower notes from the windows to the street outside.”

“Do you think it could work?”

“I don’t know.” Tess scratched her lice ridden head. “But it’s the best chance you have.”

Being cold or having her child, their child, in Newgate. The choice was easy.

“Here,” she said, ripping it off her shoulders and handing it to Tess. “What do I have to do?”

* * *

The past two weeks, decided Gentry Ted, had been an unmitigated disaster. It had started with the disappearance of Simone, his certain ticket to financial reward. That evening, he had started down the alley to retrieve the cart when he heard men approaching from the opposite direction. Instinct told him their arrival did not bode well for Simone and her lord, so he had successfully diverted their attention, leading them on a wild goose chase back toward St. James Palace. When he returned to the warehouse, he discovered, much to his puzzlement, Simone had left, leaving behind her lord.

Then he had tried to take Lord Wellington back to his home. He had almost succeeded, however, within a few houses of reaching his destination he had been drummed out of the posh district by the local constabulary, barely escaping with his hide intact.

To make matters worse, the past few days had been slow, with nary an easy mark to be found.

Consequently he sat in his favourite corner of the Royal Swan with just enough in his pocket to pay for a couple of pints and a bit of food.

“Have ye heard the news?” the barmaid said as she plunked down a plate of bubble and squeak.

“News?” He frowned, trying to recollect what the woman might be referring to.

“
Yer
favourite, Mona Dougherty. She’s in Newgate.”

“No.” He shook his head. “Mona’s too good to be caught. How would you know, anyway?”

“There’s a note from her. The puff guts over there has been bragging about it.” She pointed to a chubby gentlemen holding court in the centre of the crowded pub.

“I see.” Ted narrowed his eyes. The man, William Merriweather, was well known to him. A braggart with a bit of a mean streak, he made his living hanging around Newgate preying on the misfortunes of the inmates.

Ted ate his meal slowly, watching and listening to Merriweather as the other man made a show of waving the sheet of paper clutched between pudgy fingers.

He stopped chewing as an idea hit him with the stunning precision of a prize fighter’s fist.

Choking down the food in his mouth, he pushed the half-empty plate away and sprinted toward the door, snatching the note from
Merriweather’s
hand as he charged past and out the door. Ignoring the shouts behind him, he darted down the street and disappeared into the seething crowds.

Head down, he hurried on, not stopping until he reached the steps of the Wellington townhouse. He squared his shoulders and adjusting his cravat with one hand, reached up with the other and grabbed the knocker, banging it with a ferocity that echoed down the street.

The door swung open on well-greased hinges to reveal a cadaver-like man. He stifled a smile. The butler appeared more suitable for opening the gates to Hades rather than a house of the upper crust.

“We’ll have no beggars at the front door,” said the haughty butler. “Off with you.”

“I am no beggar, sir. Rather, I have information regarding the Earl’s wife.” Ted patted the pocket where securely sat the folded note. “His lordship should see this.”

“What nonsense is this?” The butler looked down his rather large nose. “His lordship is in no state to accept visitors.”

“I wager he’d be happy to see me,” Ted said confidently. “I have news regarding Lady Simone’s whereabouts.”

The butler started at the mention of Simone’s name and blinked several times, obviously considering whether or not the shabby man on his doorstep spoke the truth.

“What have you got to lose?” Ted spotted the butler’s indecision and pressed his advantage. “I have a note from her ladyship. Asking for help.”

Being unable to read, Ted was not absolutely certain the note contained a plea for help however, he made his voice confident. “Please see that Lord Wellington reads it.” He handed the precious paper to the butler. “
Er
, may I come in while I wait?” Without waiting for an answer, he brushed past the stunned butler and sat down on an embroidered bench.

The butler scuttled off, holding the note between two fingers as if it were a noxious substance rather than simply a piece of paper.

Idiot, Ted thought, he’s run off and left the front door open. He leaned over and gave it a push. It swung back and closed with a lazy click. Ted found himself alone inside the rather impressive entryway of Lord Temple Wellington’s town home.

A satisfied smile crept across his lips. Hell’s bells, it looked as if the rotten luck of the past two weeks was about to turn.

* * *

“Leave me, Tedham. I’m in no mood for company.” Temple’s voice was querulous. His head ached, his shoulder ached, and his heart ached. All in all, he was in a foul mood. He opened one bleary eye to see a flushed Tedham standing beside his bed.

“A, ahem, gentleman brought this, my lord.” The butler’s tone clearly indicated the man was no gentleman. He held up a greasy, folded square of paper.

What rubbish. For that, he had been disturbed from his rest? Temple groaned and closed his eye. “And?”

“He claims it’s from Lady Simone, my lord.”

“What?” Temple sat bolt upright in the bed. Stars prickled his eyes and he swayed for a moment before he reached over to grab the paper. It reeked of stale ale and cooking oil and his first inclination was to drop it. With shaking fingers, he unfolded it and read it, once in disbelief, twice to make sense of it all.

“My lord? What shall I tell the gentleman?”

“Tell him I shall be right down.” An unsteady Temple lurched to his feet, grabbing his robe before jamming his feet into his slippers. Bloody hell, according to the note, Simone sat in Newgate prison. How could that be, he had sent Constable Wyndham Jones there to inquire for her. It must be a lie.

But maybe, maybe, it wasn’t.

With pounding head, he staggered his way downstairs to confront the shabby man sitting in the entrance foyer.

 
“How can I be sure this isn’t a ruse?” Temple waved the note in front of the stranger’s nose.

“Why would it be?” The man jumped to his feet and adjusted his dirty cravat before thrusting his chest forward. “Are you accusing me of being a liar?”

“I’m accusing you of taking advantage of a sad situation. How did you know my wife had disappeared?”

“Because I know her as Mona Dougherty.”

Temple
’s jaw dropped. The man had called her Mona. Maybe this wasn’t a ruse, after all.

Gentry Ted bowed. “My name is Gentry Ted. I’ve bin looking out for Mona for years. I saw her on the street a few weeks ago and she told me the whole story, about you taking her to New Caledonia, and marrying her and all.”

Scarcely believing his ears, Temple said nothing. With bated breath, he waited for the rest of the explanation.

“I put two and two together,” Ted hastened to explain. “That you were one and the same as Lord Scoundrel. I knew ye were in the clutches of Mortimer Rae. I told her that and she insisted on finding you. Mona has a heart of gold,” he added. “That and she loves you.
Yer
a lucky man.”

“She loves me? A woman who loves her husband does not run away at the first sign of trouble.” His mind tumbled with the news or perhaps it was just being on his feet for the first time in days that affected his equilibrium. He stood there, swaying. Bloody hell, his head throbbed so, he couldn’t reason properly. What had Ted just said? Simone loved him?

Then he realized the enormity of the words. A thrill of joy coursed through him—Simone loved him! But why hadn't she told him?

“Believe me or not,” Gentry Ted continued, “it’s true. In any case, Mona,
er
, Simone and I found you. We had a spot of trouble and by the time I got back to the storehouse with a cart to move you, she’d disappeared.”

“Are you the one who brought me home?”

“Aye.” Ted nodded. “The constables didn’t take too kindly to me hanging about. I had to run.”

“How did she end up in prison?” Temple rubbed his forehead; his shoulder ached abominably, making it difficult for him to concentrate. And one thought kept beating through his mind: she loves me, she loves me, she loves me—making it even more difficult to concentrate.

“I don’t know.” Ted shook his head. “I only know, she’s been gone for perhaps a fortnight. And Newgate
ain’t
the most pleasant place. I’m guessing you’d like to get her out of there and the sooner the better.” He stopped talking and leaned back on his heels.

Temple
read Ted’s expectant attitude correctly and reached into his pocket, pulling out a sack of coins. “For your trouble,” he said, tossing it toward Ted before hobbling over to the door to pull it open. “Thank you for informing me of my wife’s whereabouts.”

With a pleased expression, Ted pocketed the coins. “It were my pleasure. I always had a soft spot for her.”

“Perhaps you should be on your way.” Temple pointed out the door. He didn’t mean to appear ungrateful but there was not a moment to lose. He must rescue Simone.

“Thank you,” replied Ted. With a broad smile and a tip of his hat, he bounced out the door. He walked away with a spring in his step. His little Mona had a fine husband who cared for her. Aye, he would miss her but she didn’t need him anymore. Whistling, he turned the corner and headed toward the friendlier environs of the east side.

An elated Temple closed the door and leaned against it for a few seconds to catch his breath.

For the first time in weeks, he had firm proof of Simone’s whereabouts. Newgate Prison. Nasty business, that, but with the help of his solicitor, he should have his wife home by the end of the day.

Gritting his teeth, he mounted the stairs one agonizing step at a time. Bloody hell, all he wanted to do was race to his wife’s rescue but his body wasn’t cooperating in the slightest. Sweat prickled his forehead and dampened his palms but he ignored it. Simone needed rescue and his physical discomfort was of no consequence.

* * *

White-knuckled, Simone gripped the railing and stared at the grey-bewigged magistrate who sat before her.