Page 50 of The Marchioness of his Desire
“Cheapside, she has lodgings in Cheapside,” Ian Bennet said as Nicholas met him in the smoking room of their club.
“Cheapside? Whoever heard of a countess residing in such a place,” Nicholas said, looking at his friend in astonishment.
“There was no mistaking her. I saw her with my own eyes, and whilst she may be a countess, there is no doubting that she has fallen upon hard times.”
“Did you speak with her?” Nicholas asked.
He had come to the club to speak with Ian, who had promised to make further enquiries about the countess, but he had not expected such a strange revelation, the mystery growing deeper by the moment.
“I did not dare, for she is a formidable woman and, the Landlord told me, inclined to drink. She took the rooms some months ago, and, there is more,” he said, checking around them that no one else was listening, “it is not her who pays the rent.”
“On the rooms, you mean?” Nicholas replied, and Ian nodded.
“It is Mr. Edward Johnson. The Landlord was quite free with his information. He wants rid of the countess as soon as possible, child or no child,” Ian replied, and Nicholas let out a low whistle.
“Then that proves it. It is Edward who employed this scheme with her. No doubt he discovered her misfortunes and promised to pay her a handsome sum for the deception. It would be easily accomplished; I admit that there are times when my memory of women is hazy due to drink, but even I would remember such a woman. No, this deception went too far. But I have a plan,” he said, and he explained to Ian his intentions to hold a dinner at which all the protagonists would be present.
Later that day, Nicholas took a carriage to Cheapside. It was a poor part of the city, filled with beggars and urchins, the houses built close together, and sewage running freely through the streets. There was a terrible smell about the place and having instructed the carriage driver to wait, Nicholas picked his way through the alleyways and passages, arriving eventually at the Old Bell public house, where Ian had informed him that the countess was lodging.
“You are the second gentleman to ask about her in as many days, sir,” the Landlord said, after Nicholas had explained his intentions.
“And there is a sovereign in it for you if you simply show me to her rooms and be done with it,” Nicholas replied, drawing out a small purse of money, which the Landlord looked at greedily.
“Most generous, sir, most generous,” he said, pointing to a door in the corner of the tap room, “up those stairs and to the right, last door.”
Nicholas nodded and made his way up the rickety staircase which led onto a narrow corridor above, lit only by a grimy window to his left. At the far end was the door the Landlord had indicated, and Nicholas knocked hard, listening, as a shout came from inside.
“I told you, I did not want to be disturbed,” the imperious voice of the countess called out.
“It is Lord Somerset, open this door,” Nicholas demanded, and he could hear scuffling from inside the room.
A moment later, the door was thrown open, and the countess, dressed in a long silk gown, looked out.
“So, you have come to accept my terms,” she said, smiling at him, but Nicholas shook his head.
“No, countess, I have come to tell you that the matter must be discussed further. Would you dine with me this Friday evening?” he asked.
The countess seemed surprised, as though she had expected more resistance from him, an argument even, but her face soon changed, a smile playing across her lips.
“I will join you,” she replied, “but Lord Somerset, the terms are very simple, we hardly need dine together to discuss them.
“Listen to me,” Nicholas hissed, “I know this is all a ruse, a wicked deception, but I am willing to talk about it. If it is money you want, then you shall have it. But I will not discuss the matter in this … hovel.” He looked around in disgust.
The room behind the countess was poorly furnished, an unmade bed lay in one corner, and a chair sat by the window. There was a washstand with a chipped jug and basin, and a small fire in the hearth, which could barely have provided heat to warm the hands.
“I will come. I had every intention of doing so anyway. You will soon give in to my demands,” she said, smiling at him. “You could always stay with me.” She beckoned him inside.
“If I did, it would be the first time, and I have no intention of making it so,” he replied, and turning upon his heels he marched off down the corridor.
“I look forward to dining with you, and with your wife. Is she terribly upset?” the countess called out, but Nicholas made no reply.
Back out in the street, he heaved a sigh of relief, glancing up at the windows above the tavern. He saw the countess watching him from one. Grimacing, Nicholas made his way back to the waiting carriage, urging the driver to return him home with all haste and cursing the countess for her loose morals and easy ways.
“She is nothing but a harlot,” he told Ian Bennet later that day.
“And that was why she was so easily led by Edward Johnson to do his bidding,” his friend replied as they shared a brandy.
“I am only thankful that Rebecca has realized the truth of the matter,” Nicholas said, and Ian nodded.
