Page 51 of Touched By a Traitor
“Oh, my… I am sorry, Andrew. It had not occurred to me they might be the same Charlotte. I thought it was a coincidence.”
Andrew watched his sister’s mind whirl with possibilities. He could do nothing but stare at her, his mind reeling with the consequences of his actions.
Unforgiving
16 December 1836—London
Andrew waited threedays for the swelling to subside before seeking Madam’s counsel. Despite the newspapers’ unflattering portrayal of him, he made his way to Madam Tansley’s brothel, the place where he had first laid eyes on Charlotte.
In Madam’s private parlor, she displayed concern mixed with mild amusement in her voice as she remarked on his appearance. Andrew declined her offer of tea or stronger drink, his head throbbing with pain.
“How is Charlotte faring?” Madam asked, her directness a comfort to Andrew.
“She left with the duke… I haven’t seen her since,” Andrew replied, wincing at the pain.
“So, tell me. Were your intentions honorable? Or did you act on behalf of those scoundrels you prefer to call shareholders?”
“All I could think about… was her… pledging herself to another.”
The older woman’s eyes narrowed, her silence enveloping the room. She spoke after a long moment. “What shall you do now?”
“I will offer for her. I shall… dedicate myself to ensuring her happiness.”
“And will you allow her to pursue her career?” Madam asked, her words sharp and pointed.
Andrew hesitated, the weight of his responsibilities heavy on his shoulders. “I can’t. Not unless I’m prepared to lose… my shareholders and jeopardize… my business. Countless employees… and your charity depend on me.”
“Must you destroy a soul to keep your shareholders satisfied?” Madam’s disappointment was palpable. “Shame on you, Andrew.”
His eyes searched Madam’s face for understanding. “My company has been my life, my joy… I have nurtured it for two… decades, pouring my heart and soul into its success.”
“You can always start anew,” she said. “You will never again face hunger.”
Frustration welled up within Andrew as he turned to gaze out at the rain-soaked streets. Madam’s words pierced the silence: “You found her after all these years. If you fail to understand the importance of her pursuits, you will lose her once more.”
“How I have longed for her…” Andrew admitted, his voice heavy with emotion. “I can’t bear the thought… of losing her again.”
Madam’s final words carried the weight of wisdom: “This is one instance where you cannot have everything you wish.”
*
Discouraged by Madam’swords and frustrated by his longing, Andrew climbed into his awaiting carriage. He didn’t dare show his face in public when an artist would make a few shillings for a sketch of his hideous face. Instead, he had the driver park in front of London Bank. Adams promptly boarded and, credit to him, didn’t flinch upon seeing his friend’s mug.
“I’d say good evening, but I suspect it isn’t,” Adams said with a grimace.
“It sure as hell isn’t. I trust… your journey was a productive one?”
“Not entirely.”
Andrew frowned, then winced at the pain. “Go on.”
“I discovered Miss Morton had paid ten pounds monthly to one of her professors for his silence.”
“What is the crook’s name?”
“Buckley.”
“Buckley… Where do I know that name from?”
