Deborah Simmons - The Devil Earl

Mrs. Bates pursed her lips in annoyance. “And what of your Lord Ravenscar’s black past, Prudence? Surely, you cannot sit here and defend a man who gained his title under such circumstances? Or have you not heard that this murder was not the first he has committed?”

Since Mrs. Bates had breathlessly related this rumor during an earlier visit, Prudence did not deign to reply, but she did not need to do so. The matron had worked herself into a fine temper, and showed no signs of stopping long enough for Prudence to fit in a word of her own.

“The man killed his own uncle, ran him through to gain the earldom, and now he has done his brother in, too! Mark my words, Prudence, he is a wicked one who will come to a bad end, for all that he casts about London now, as if he has done nothing wrong. He will not be so high-and-mighty for long, with his nose in the air! I have heard that he is finally being shut out of his high circles, as well he should be, the devil.”

Mrs. Bates paused to catch her breath, but Prudence could not have uttered a sound, even if she had wanted to speak. She had stopped breathing when the matron mentioned that Ravenscar was in London.

Her guest forgotten, Prudence gazed up at Wolfinger. Its windows were like sightless black eyes staring back at her silently. While she watched, the sun gleamed off a pane of old glass, and it seemed as if the building itself winked at her in imagined accord. The very air in the neat little cottage seemed to gather and swirl around her like the abbey’s perpetual fog, and she tingled with anticipation while she dared to let herself think the unthinkable—that she might possibly see him again.

Her spectacles slid down her nose, and Prudence moved them back into place with a trembling hand. Really, she was being too silly, she told herself firmly. As Mrs. Bates said, the earl undoubtedly moved in the uppermost social environs, where she would have no chance of meeting him.

“But, there now, I have upset you,” Mrs. Bates said in a mollified tone. “Let us forget that horrid man and be about your business. We must find you a chaperone, young lady!”

Prudence picked up her cup and took a sip of her tea in an effort to steady herself. London was a very big place, with so many people that one individual would be as difficult to find as a needle in a haystack! And yet, there were many public places where two persons might run into one another, she thought, a bit giddily. The gardens at Vauxhall, the various parks, Ackermann’s Repository…the names of famous sites she had only heard about leapt to Prudence’s mind swiftly. Surely, there was a possibility, albeit a small one.

“Of course, I could come with you myself.” Mrs. Bates’s casual comment made Prudence nearly choke, and she put a hand to her throat as she struggled to swallow. “But I have no liking for town—such a nasty, dirty place—nor do I for those who have a tendency to think too well of themselves by half! However, as I have said before, there are respectable ladies who can be employed for just such occasions.”

She smiled slyly, and Prudence forced away thoughts of Ravenscar to give all her attention to her guest. She had often suspected that Mrs. Bates’s sole ambition was to control everyone else, and when the woman looked contented, it surely boded ill for someone, on this occasion most probably herself and Phoebe.

“Once I was apprised of your plans, I took the liberty of writing a very dear friend of mine, who can be counted upon for the very best judgment. And she has sent me a prompt reply,” the matron said. Digging in her massive reticule, she soon brandished a piece of paper and handed it, triumphantly, to Prudence.

“Mrs. Broadgirdle, in Gardener Street,” she said, huffing proudly from her exertions. “There, now, Prudence, you have your chaperone, and a very fine one, I am assured. And just think, you will be doing the woman a service by hiring her!”

Although Prudence had misgivings about letting Mrs. Bates direct anything in her life, she nodded reluctantly. After all, the girls were in need of an older woman to stay with them, and their cousin Hugh, being an established bachelor, did not know anyone who could fill the position.

“Very well,” she said firmly. “Thank you, Mrs. Bates.” Rising from her seat at long last, the older woman fairly beamed with her success—or her mastery, Prudence mused. Ushering her to the door, Prudence assured her that they would, indeed, make arrangements with the chaperone at once.

When the door finally closed behind the meddlesome woman, Prudence pushed her spectacles back up upon her nose and glanced again at the direction in her hand. With the instincts of a pinch-penny, she wondered just how much the cost of Mrs. Broadgirdle would add to their expenses—and whether the lady would be worth the price.

Prudence eyed her new employee with decided misgivings. Had she not known otherwise, Prudence would have suspected that Mrs. Bates had personally chosen their would-be chaperone with the sisters’ discomfiture in mind. In total defiance of her surname, Mrs. Broadgirdle was a tall, bony woman, thin as a rail, who looked upon them with a superior air that Prudence found most disconcerting in a paid companion.

Having traveled by public coach, the girls had been tired and rumpled by the time they arrived at the London inn where Mrs. Broadgirdle was to meet them. Though they longed for nothing more than to reach their cousin’s residence before nightfall, they were first forced to endure the woman’s critical scrutiny.

And, from the looks of her, they definitely came up wanting. Although Mrs. Broadgirdle’s gaunt face, with its sharp features, little resembled Mrs. Bates’s plump visage, Prudence nonetheless recognized that the two matrons were kindred spirits. Mrs. Broadgirdle would, no doubt, attempt to make their stay as miserable as possible.

Right now, she was emitting a strange hissing sound, presumably to convey her disapproval, as she eyed her new charges. “Your clothes, of course, proclaim your country origins,” she said bluntly. Prudence ignored the insult, having never evinced the slightest interest in matters of wardrobe, but she saw that the pointed words had their desired effect upon Phoebe, who looked down at her wrinkled muslin in dismay.

“New clothes must be the order of the day,” Mrs. Broadgirdle said. Then she sent a sharp glance toward Prudence. “Unless you cannot afford them.”

Prudence smiled. “We are not without funds, and if different gowns are called for, then we shall certainly have some made up for us.”

Although Mrs. Broadgirdle only nodded sullenly, Prudence could have sworn she heard Mrs. Bates’s “Humph” echoing in her tired brain. This would not do at all.

“Perhaps it would be best to make myself clear at the outset,” Prudence told the woman. “If your wish is to make us unhappy, then, by all means, you may try, but I should warn you that you may find yourself without employment.”

Mrs. Broadgirdle’s startled black eyes flew to hers, reassessing her boldly, and, finding that Prudence would not be intimidated, she frowned sulkily. Prudence hid her answering smile. Although she had often been taken to task for her plain speaking, she found it the easiest and speediest way to resolve such problems. And, as Grandmama had often told her, it was always better to begin as you meant to go on.

The girls took a hackney cab to their cousin’s apartments, to Mrs. Broadgirdle’s horror, though why someone who had to hire herself out for a living should have such haughty airs, Prudence could not imagine.

“I have no knowledge of the country, but in town, all is appearance,” Mrs. Broadgirdle explained in strained accents. “If anyone should see you riding in such a… conveyance, they will mark you as inferior, not only to the elite, but to the gentry! And all hopes of securing successful marriages will be lost,” she added, eyeing Prudence with especial scorn.