Page 20 of Reforming Lord Ragsdale
Emma sighed and deposited the papers from her lap onto the desk. “Perhaps I had better ask Lord Ragsdale, though I would almost rather ingest ground glass than do that.”
The footman laughed out loud. “I don’t think he’ll cooperate with you today.” He went to the door and peered out, obviously on the alert. “He told me to tell you that pigs would fly before he lifted another finger on your behalf.”
“Oh, he did?” she said as she looked about for a pencil and tablet. “Well, then, this mountain will obviously have to go to Muhammad.”
“Miss?”
“If the Almighty upstairs is in a twit, I will just have to visit his former secretary, won’t I? Please tell me how to get to Newgate,” she asked again.
The footman stared at her and shook his head. “Miss, didn’t you hear me? You can’t go there!”
Silently, she agreed with him.I have had my fill of prisons, she thought.I hope the walls are thicker at Newgate than they were at Prevot. I don’t want to hear anything.“Of course I have to go,” she said out loud. “How else am I going to find out how to straighten out His Excellency’s books?”
“I don’t know, miss,” said the footman, his voice doubtful.
She could have left it at that, admitted defeat, and returned to pushing around papers into neater piles. It was on the tip of her tongue to say so, but as she regarded the footman, she knew she had to go ahead. If Lord Ragsdale knew he had the upper hand by refusing to help her, she would never be able to reform him.And I will not stay in this indenture one more moment than I have to, she thought grimly.
“Well, then, Hanley, if you won’t help me, I’ll just start out walking and ask the first person I meet.”
The footman blanched. “You can’t do that, either. Oh, very well.”
Armed with Hanley’s directions, she left the house on Curzon Street before the noon hour. The footman had suggested that she ride the distance into the City, but she had no money.I’ve walked farther, she thought as she tugged her cloak tighter about her and set off at a brisk pace.I’ve walked from County Wicklow to Dublin, most of the time carrying my little brother. This will be a stroll.
The day was cold, and she kept her head down, wishing for the luxury of a warmer cloak and a muffler for her neck. Pedestrians all around her were dressed for the weather,with fur-trimmed cloaks, muffs, and stout shoes. She hurried along, knowing how out of place she must appear in that elegant neighborhood, and hoping that her shabbiness would not attract the attention of a constable. Well-groomed horses minced by on dainty hooves, pulling curricles and phaetons of the latest fashion. She wanted to admire the bonnets of the ladies who passed, but she kept her eyes before her on the pavement, looking up at each curb to make sure she was following the footman’s directions.
The broad streets of Mayfair, with its stylish row houses, gave way to the business end of Picadilly. She paid closer attention to her surroundings, knowing she had to watch for the streets that would eventually lead to the Strand and then Fleet Street. The cold clamped down, bringing with it a whiff of sewage from the river. She wished she had not come.
“So help me, Emma Costello, if I have to call your name one more time, I’ll leave you here to freeze your Irish bones.”
Surprised, she looked over her shoulder and then back down at the sidewalk.Calm, calm, she told herself.No one knows you in London. It must be a mistake.She started walking faster.
“Emma!”
There was no mistaking that peremptory voice. She stopped and looked into the street this time.
Lord Ragsdale, wearing a heavy overcoat and sitting under a lap robe, walked his horse and curricle beside her on the street. A tiger, fashionably dressed in the family livery, shivered behind the seat. When his master reined in his horse, the little Negro leaped down and indicated that she should allow him to help her into the curricle.
Emma stared in amazement and then allowed herself to be seated.
The tiger smoothed the lap robe over her too and then resumed his chilly position behind the seat. Lord Ragsdale snapped his whip over the horse, and they entered the stream of traffic again.
They passed several blocks in silence before Emma worked up the courage to speak. “I am going to Newgate, my lord.”
To her further surprise, Lord Ragsdale smiled. “If only they would keep you, Emma,” he murmured, before his voice became firm again. “Hanley told me. Tell me, Emma, and don’t be shy. Is your head filled with porridge instead of brains? Have you not a single clue that you were walking into a neighborhood that not even a gypsy is safe in?”
As she listened to his bracing scold, she realized the idiocy of her plan. When he finished, she raised her chin and looked him in the eye.
“I only want information that will help me straighten out your bills and receipts, my lord.” It seemed foolish now, and she stared back down at her hands.
“Your energy continues to astound me, Emma,” he said dryly. “But why on earth did you leave my house with no gloves, no bonnet, and no muffler? I call that silly.”
“I don’t have any of those things, my lord,” she replied, trying to keep the embarrassment from her voice. It was his turn to be silent for several blocks.
“Well, you should have waited for warmer weather, then,” he muttered finally. “Those bills have kept this long; they’ll keep until warm weather.” He was silent then, his eye on the traffic.
Emma glanced at him, hoping he was not too angry with her.Somehow I must learn to get along with this man, she thought as she watched his expert hands on the reins guide his horse through city traffic. She was impressed, despite her suspicion.
He spoke to his horse, pulled back slightly on the reins, and looked over his shoulder. “Are we going back?” she asked.
