Sheelagh Kelly - The Keepsake

For once his rough-diamond charm was lost. Ignoring the smell of buttermilk soap, those kind eyes, the winning smile, Joanna condemned him as a faithless friend. ‘It’s not my dad, it’s hers, and we shouldn’t get involved unless we want to lose our jobs!’ She stamped off with her bundle of sheets.

Thwarted, Marty grimaced and returned to apologise to the prisoner. ‘Sorry, miss, I tried to get a key off the maid but she wouldn’t be involved.’

There came a snort of frustration that condemned him as useless and the sound of a body slumping to the carpet. Squinting through the keyhole he caught a wisp of dark hair against the backdrop of pastel wallpaper. ‘Maybe your father won’t be long.’

Her reply was dull. ‘He’ll be out all morning.’

Upon learning this, Marty relaxed somewhat to enjoy the romantic notion that he was helping a damsel in distress. He was intrigued to know why she had been locked in, and difference in status had not prevented him from flirting with female guests before, given the encouragement. Some ladies found him attractive, though heaven knew why; personally he saw a gypsy when he looked in the mirror, a face that lacked the finely chiselled features he himself admired, with eyes that were somewhere between grey and green. When he was happy they appeared green, when sad they were grey – that was, if one could see them under those heavy lids. His hair was of a nondescript colour too; one might be kind and call it brown but it was the insipid brown of dried winter undergrowth and its texture similarly wiry, so that whenever he removed his hat it sprang back into place like trampled grass, no amount of oil able to control it. He disliked everything about his looks. Still, to his favour he had decent teeth and was taller than average, and he had learned that charm compensated for any other lack of attribute.

Leaning against the door, he voiced a bold and teasing statement. ‘Your father took the key on purpose, didn’t he?’

There was a pregnant pause, then the glint of an eye as she tried to assess her impudent Samaritan through the aperture.

Marty felt no need to apologise, but did offer an explanation as to how he had guessed. ‘I saw him leave. He seemed quite aggrieved.’

She fixed her glittering dark eye to his green one.

Concerned that he might have overstepped the mark, he added quickly. ‘I hung around ’cause I felt worried about you.’

‘Did you, really?’ She sounded grateful.

Encouraged, Marty prolonged the bizarre method of conversation. ‘It’s remiss of me to have to ask, miss, but could you tell me whom I have the pleasure of addressing?’

‘I’m Henrietta Ibbetson.’

When he did not automatically introduce himself in return, she prompted, ‘So, who are you?’

‘Oh, like I said, I’m only the boots, miss.’ The quality of her voice had him glued to the keyhole. If the hotel manager himself had come round the corner Marty could not have torn himself away.

‘You must have a name.’

‘I’m flattered you’re even interested, miss.’ Marty grinned to himself – that’s right, lay it on thick.

‘Why, naturally I am!’

‘Thank you, miss. It’s Martin Lanegan.’

‘Martin, I’d love to see you, but even with this unyielding timber between us I can tell by your voice that you’re a very kind person, very likeable.’

His belly tightened at the artlessly seductive tone.

‘And that’s why I feel confident in throwing myself upon your mercy.’

I’d like to throw myself on you, thought Marty, imagining the gorgeous creature on the other side of the door, but he said, throatily polite, ‘I’ll do what I can.’

‘Might you perhaps find a key at the reception desk?’

The lascivious thoughts vanished. He gasped at the very suggestion. ‘That’s more than my life’s worth, miss! If you’re not here when your father comes back –’

‘But I will be! I swear it. It’s not that I wish to run away, but that I don’t care to be caged like an animal.’

He endured mental argument, desperate to ingratiate himself but not so keen as to risk dismissal. ‘I know it’s none of my affair, Miss Ibbetson, but why did he lock you up?’

There was a slight pause whilst Henrietta wondered how much to divulge. He was, after all, just a lowly employee. But it was essential that she lure him to her side. How else was she to keep the arranged rendezvous with her beau at King’s Cross?

Keeping this latter part to herself, she injected her sigh with feeling and made a half-confession. ‘My father plans to marry me off to an individual of his choosing, a man I find utterly loathsome.’ Her tone endorsed this revulsion. ‘Two days ago I ran away to my aunt’s in London…’ It had been during her escapade that she had met a more promising match, one who, upon hearing her story, had vowed to help. She should have gone with him there and then but had thought it wiser to go to her aunt’s and to meet him in a few days’ time. ‘…but she betrayed me and Father came to take me home. We arrived too late in York to continue our journey so he booked us in here. He hasn’t let me out of his sight other than to sleep and to breakfast. He’s killing two birds with one stone by attending some business whilst in the city. We’re to catch the afternoon train home. At which point I shall be condemned.’ But if this dolt would only comply she could be well on her way to her assignation at King’s Cross before her father even returned. ‘I’d be eternally grateful, Martin, if you could find it in your heart to assist.’

Enthralled that his name had never sounded so wonderful than on these lips, Marty came alive to make a bold decision. ‘I’ll be quick as I can!’

A gleeful Henrietta gave herself a congratulatory squeeze.

It was no small task Marty had set himself, for the sentinel on the desk was as keen as Cerberus at guarding his post. Much subterfuge and the assistance of another colleague was required to lure him away and for the boot boy to make his daring foray, knowing that if he were caught with the key he would be sacked without reference. The reward, however, was immeasurable.

The brief preview he had had of Miss Ibbetson could not have prepared him for the full magnificence. Upon his excited entrance to the suite he was dealt a vision of pink candy-striped organdie, a tantalising glimpse of bare skin through a diaphanous sleeve, a figure as sumptuously uphol-stered as the room that was normally forbidden to him…Yet it was not any rich accoutrement that so enchanted. The eyes that had been but a glint through a keyhole now totally impaled him, transfixed him to the expensive carpet that his feet were not permitted to sully, as glittering and radiant as lighted coals in a face that brimmed with intel-ligence – even though at this minute she was gawping at him like some yokel.

Henrietta caught her breath. She had been poised, hat in hand, ready to flee, but upon seeing Martin there came a surge of every corpuscle in her veins, like a spring tide, which swept away all the repressive debris of her previous existence and brought her so overwhelmingly alive that she feared she might choke upon this ecstasy. All reason suspended, utterly immobile with shock, she let the hat fall, unable to perform any task other than to stare at him, totally oblivious that her jaw was hanging open.

A brief awkwardness ensued, arising not from difference in rank but from the palpable desire that exuded from both, each embarrassed at having been caught so unawares.

Normally self-assured, Henrietta fought the constriction in her throat and tried to thank him for liberating her, but found herself stricken dumb. The way he was looking at her, his eyelids droopy as if on the verge of slumber, but the look within them tugging at her abdomen, igniting all manner of extraordinary feelings…