Louise Allen - Regency Scoundrels And Scandals

‘Your ladyship?’ The modiste hurried forward from the rear of the shop.

‘What do you have that would set off my cousin’s colouring and that would be suitable for a nice, practical walking dress?’

‘I have the very thing my lady, newly come in. Paulette, the ruby twill and the emerald broadcloth.’

Elinor rolled her eyes. ‘I have better things to do with my pin money.’

‘To please me?’ Bel tried again. And Mr Layne, perhaps. She was not going to give up hope. He was not boring, his temper appeared lively yet equitable and he was intelligent and hardworking. Perfect.

So perfect, in fact, that Bel was conscious that, if it were not for Ashe, she might feel a fluttering of her own pulse at any attention from Patrick Layne. As it was, she could indulge in a little harmless, and probably futile, matchmaking and enjoy his company, quite unruffled.

Bel managed to persuade Elinor into a walking dress and a carriage dress and even a new pelisse to go with either. Both were rigorously plain, but a least none of the garments were dun-coloured.

‘Where to now?’ Elinor asked patiently, evidently resigning herself to a further round of shopping.

‘Hookham’s Library.’ Bel’s driver raised his whip in acknowledgment and the ladies settling back on the cream squabs. ‘I hope that is all right with you?’ Elinor nodded, no doubt relieved to be back on safe and familiar ground again. ‘I would like some new novels, but I mainly want to find some directories which will tell me about charitable institutions.’

‘You wish to contribute?’

‘Well, yes, if you mean money. But I want to do more than that, I want to do something practical to help. I feel I live such a frivolous life now I have no responsibilities to the estate. The dilemma is, I cannot choose what type of good cause I wish to support, let alone which one. You would think it would be easy, but there are so many, all no doubt deserving in their way.’

They were still comparing the merits of various types of charity as the barouche swung into Bond Street and began to draw up outside the circulating library. The crowd on the pavement seemed strangely animated, then Bel saw that the porters who opened doors and ushered in customers were attempting to drive away a pair of men in stained uniforms. Both were on crutches, one with the lower part of his right-hand trouser leg pinned up, the other dragging a useless limb.

‘On your way,’ the head porter was ordering. ‘This is a respectable establishment. We don’t want the likes of you begging here.’

‘Outrageous!’ Bel jumped from the carriage without waiting for the steps to be put down and marched up to the group before the doors.

‘Just what I said myself, ma’am.’ The porter turned a harassed face to her, grateful for the apparent support. ‘You go inside, ma’am, quick as you can, we’ll soon move them on, never you fear.’

‘No—you are outrageous, you heartless, ignorant man,’ Bel snapped. ‘What do you mean, the likes of you? These men have been wounded in the service of their country; how dare you insult and abuse them!’

The burly man gaped at her, his glossy tall hat askew from the scuffle. ‘Ma’am, this is Bond Street.’

‘Exactly so. And the reason we are not speaking French in it or on our way to the guillotine is because of men like these, you ignorant bully.’

‘You should be ashamed of yourself,’ Elinor chimed in from beside Bel, brandishing her parasol belligerently.

Bel turned her elegant shoulder on the spluttering head porter and smiled at the two soldiers. ‘Here, please take this.’ She took a folded five-pound note from her purse and handed it to the one with the amputated leg. ‘Where do you sleep?’

The man with the dragging leg made a choking sound and she realised he had a badly healed wound on his neck; it must have affected his throat or mouth. ‘No, do not try to talk. Elinor, what money have you? They must go and find a doctor at once.’

Her cousin was already pressing a note into the first man’s hand. He found his voice. ‘God bless you ladies.’

‘Where do you sleep?’ she repeated her question and the man shrugged.

‘Where we can, ma’am. Down in Seven Dials mostly, there’s dossing kens to be had there for coppers.’

Goodness knows what a dossing ken was, but if this accommodation was in Seven Dials, one of the most notorious slums in London, then it was the worst possible place for two men in their condition.

‘Get into the carriage.’ Bel made up her mind suddenly.

‘Bel!’ Elinor gasped.

‘Oh, yes, I am sorry, I should have thought. You had better take the carriage and my footman as escort, Aunt Louisa would not approve. I will take them in a hackney.’

‘Never mind Mama! What are you going to do with them?’

‘Look after them, of course.’ Bel turned back to the men who were staring at her as they might a carnival freak. ‘I have room in the loft over my stables. It is dry and clean and you can bathe, eat and my doctor will tend to you. Will you come with me?’

‘Bel, you cannot! You have no idea of their character…’

‘I have James here.’ She gestured towards the alarmed-looking footman who was trying to interject with protests about what Mr Hedges would say.

‘He’ll have my guts for garters, my lady…’

Both women ignored him. ‘You won’t have a footman if you send him with me in the carriage,’ Elinor said practically. ‘Oh, very well, I will come with you. I agree, something must be done, we cannot leave them here at the mercy of such bigots as this.’ With a glare at the flustered doorman, Elinor climbed back into the barouche and gestured to the soldiers to join her.

‘Come on,’ Bel urged them. ‘If you can face the French, you can cope with two English ladies.’

‘Yes, ma’am.’ She received a smart salute and a grin from the one with a voice and a lopsided smile from his companion.

‘Well, give these men a hand up, James,’ Bel ordered.

Her vocal soldier informed Bel that they were Jem Brown and Charlie Lewin of the 14th Battalion. ‘The Bucking-hamshires ma’am,’ Brown explained. Lewin had been hit in the neck at Quatre Bras, the day before Waterloo, but the wound had not seemed serious at first, until he had been wounded at Waterloo. ‘Lying out for twenty-four hours in the mud with your leg shattered doesn’t do much for your wounds, though, ma’am,’ his friend explained. ‘I had it easier; a ball carried mine off nice and neat.’

Bel swallowed hard, wondering what Aunt Louisa was going to say if she returned Elinor in a fainting condition, but her cousin was made of sterner stuff than that. ‘A doctor is the priority, then,’ she said firmly. ‘And to send out for supplies of bandages, gauze and salves.’

They drove round to the mews and Bel sent James running for Hedges and the other footman while her coachman and groom helped the men down. She expected opposition from the butler. Hedges marched into the yard, his face grim, then stood assessing the two men through narrowed eyes. They met his scrutiny with more calm than Bel would have predicted. Hedges grunted. ‘I reckon they’ll do, my lady. Come on, lads, help them up to the hay loft.’

He watched them struggling up the stairs and turned to Bel. ‘I had a nephew, wounded badly at Salamanca. Died later on, after he’d come home, but at least it was in his mother’s arms, warm and comfortable and with those he loved all around. If he’d had no family to go to, he’d have ended up like those two, and it don’t bear thinking about.’ His mouth worked for a moment as though something else was going to burst out, then he was composed again, his face expressionless.

Bel stood back while Hedges organised the staff, sent for the doctor and had the footmen running for hot water and tubs. ‘First thing, get you clean,’ she heard him ordering from the loft. ‘Look at the state of you! I’m not having you on her ladyship’s premises in that state, even if it is only the hay loft. Then you’ll be fit to see the doctor. And then you can eat.’