Mistress at Midnight(18)

'You are the talk of the town, Mrs St Harlow, for Hawkhurst's ball has elevated you to the status of acceptable.'

'I have paid my dues, sir, as far as any legal requirements are concerned. Now I just wish to be left in peace.'

'Sylvienne might say the same.'

'Sylvienne?' Her voice was harsh even to her own ears. 'If you hurt even  one hair on her head, Delsarte, I shall see to it that the truth about  your questionable morality and allegiance is made known and you will be  crucified for it.'

'A case of the pot calling the kettle black, Mrs St Harlow.'

She shook her head. 'Mama was a fool to have allowed you into her bed  and I am even more of one to have been persuaded to deliver your  letters. Lord Stephen Hawkhurst has been asking after your movements and  it would be very easy to tell him all that I know.'

'Do that and you will be up there in the hanging noose alongside me, my  dear. The British Government would have little sympathy for the daughter  of a French whore.'                       
       
           



       

His anger made Aurelia take a step backwards. She was caught in the game  as certainly as Delsarte was, her mother's welfare taking precedence  over any allegiance to King or to country. Unsavoury, she knew, but  Sylvienne was walking a knife edge and Aurelia could not let her fall.

The same man she had seen at the hospital suddenly crossed the street in  front of them and Delsarte hurried away. Another player in the game of  espionage and secrets? A further threat to the safety of her mother?

A note came in the late afternoon to Park Street as she was trying to  fit in a few hours' work. The man who brought it had been instructed to  wait for an answer and when she read the contents she was very glad  Henry Kerslake was out and about.

Lord Hawkhurst wanted to see her and had asked her to come in the  provided carriage to his town house within the hour. Worrying about the  implications of such a summons, Aurelia wiped the sweat from her palms  on the skirt of her gown and looked up at the waiting servant.

Should she take a risk and go? She had heard rumours that Stephen  Hawkhurst worked for the British Service though nothing had ever been  confirmed. Perhaps he had come snooping because of the money she sent to  France. Or perhaps he had something to tell her about the entailment of  Braeburn House? The cold fear of discovery was choking and she knew it  would be better to face him in private and alone than in some crowded  soirée.

'I will need ten minutes before I could accompany you.' Aurelia was glad her voice sounded steady.

'Very well, ma'am.'

When he left she stood, the ridge of fur on Caesar's back raised in  warning, his growls subsiding at his departure. 'I wish you could come … '  she whispered and threw him a bone from a box beneath her desk. As the  hound set down to the task of gnawing on it Aurelia crossed to the  mirror in the small back room.

In the silvered reflection she looked both tired and shocked, her eyes  uncannily like those of her mother's. Pinching her cheeks to try to  produce some colour, she reached in habit for the pendant at her throat  and stopped. No, it had gone, too, in the pretence and the deceit. There  was nothing left to protect her family with but her wiles and her  willpower.

Her coat hung on a hook by the door and as she pulled each button  through she counted. Eight buttons. One for every year since she had met  Charles St Harlow at the Redmonds' ball in Clarence Street. Eight years  since she had been truly happy. Eight years since she had slept all  through a night and woken in the morning with dreams that had made her  smile.

The peal of the bells from the nearby church were loud as she came into  the wind and with her head held high she allowed Hawkhurst's man to help  her into the conveyance.

He should not see Aurelia St Harlow alone and so late in the day, but he  wanted to look into her eyes as he asked her his questions, and know  the truth. She had been seen today in the company of both the French  doctor and Freddy Delsarte. He knew that if Shavvon were cognisant of  such associations she would have already been brought in for  questioning, such was the power of the Government's uneasiness over  foreign collaborators.

His own desires and needs were another factor entirely, though he had  never been a man to put himself first. But he was disconcerted by the  blood in him that raced with possibility when everything about such a  reaction was wrong.

He heard the carriage and stood, cursing a rising need.

'Mrs St Harlow, my lord,' Wilson introduced her and left, shutting the  door behind himself firmly. Hawkhurst had already given orders that he  was not to be disturbed under any circumstances and their relationship  was such that he knew his instructions would be obeyed to the letter.

The heat from a well-stoked fire fell across the room and he watched as  she unbuttoned her coat, her fingers shaking with the effort. After the  heavy outer shell was discarded she carefully laid it upon the sofa  beside her. In the silken lining he caught the same rows of stitched  repair that seemed evident in all of her apparel.

'Thank you for coming.'

Her countenance was pale and drawn. When he indicated a chair to one  side of the room she moved towards it, but did not sit. Her hands were  gloveless and she wore no hat. 'Would you like a drink?'

'I seldom partake of any alcohol, my lord,' she returned, the formal edge on her words unnerving and her voice low.

'Wise,' he echoed as he emptied his own glass for the third time in as  many minutes. 'You will excuse me for displaying no such abstinence.'

The slight nod of her head made him turn, her nose tip-tilted against  the fire's flame and her dimples deep even when she did not smile. No  wonder her cousin had offered her marriage in so short a time. Alfred  had made it known that there had been many others vying for Aurelia  Beauchamp's hand in her first Season and society had been as shocked as  her father when she had chosen the self-indulgent Charles.                       
       
           



       

His cousin had whisked her from London the day of the wedding and she  had not returned until her court appearance three years later, a devoted  wife wrapped in widow's weeds and a hefty dose of sorrow.

For just a moment Stephen hardly knew where to begin. 'I could order tea  if you would rather?' The quick shake of her head stopped him, so  instead he tried another tack. 'How long have you worked in the Park  Street warehouse?'

The spark in her eyes told him she had been expecting just such a  question. 'Nearly four years. The mills at Macclesfield had lain vacant  for a long time and I made use of them again. The warehouse here is the  London base for the business.'

'And some of your silks come in from France?'

'Yes. With the lifting of import duties it is often cheaper to bring the  hand-loomed silks in as an adjunct to what we can weave.'

'So you have contact with the traders in Paris?'

She hesitated before nodding. 'I do. Is there some problem with that, my lord?'

'No problem at all. Curiosity is just one of my many faults.'

'Somehow I doubt that. Palmerston has the thought that all citizens with some link to France must be traitors.'

'You make it a point to understand politics?'

'I try to. The tariffs for the silk trade here are hefty, yet France  enjoys little government intervention. Without a good knowledge of the  changing pattern of the new bills and laws, my margins would suffer.'

Despite himself he laughed. 'My cousin could barely string a thought  together about anything other than himself or fashion. How did he ever  end up with a woman like you?'

A flash of panic crossed her face. 'I realise it is a difficult thing to  understand, but I am trying to build a life again, my lord, trying to  fashion a better existence for my family.'

'Why did you meet with Delsarte today, Aurelia?'

Anger whipped up fire in her eyes. 'You have had me followed?'

'England's safety comes with good intelligence.'

'Your man has poor skills, then. I spotted him both at the hospital and in the street.'

'Perhaps he wished to be seen.'

'Because you would warn me … ?' Her question wavered into silence. The  material in her ugly gown caught the lamplight and one of the ties at  her throat was loosened so that the bodice hung away from her skin.

Dipping into his pocket, he brought forth the pendant he had located in a  pawnshop two days ago. The look of surprise on her face had him  reaching for her gloveless hand. Her skin felt hot and smooth as he  placed the bauble within her palm and closed her fingers around it.

'It looked like a family heirloom. I thought perhaps you had lost it?'

A shake of her head brought him the truth. 'I sold it to pay the Davies  stables for the rent of their carriage on a Monday. It was my  grandmother's.'

Her teeth worried her bottom lip and for just a moment Hawk thought she  might begin to cry. But Aurelia St Harlow was thankfully made of sterner  stuff.