Chapter Four

I t was half past two in the morning by the time Lord Routledge reappeared. Despite the long hours, which he must have passed dancing and socialising in a warm ballroom, he still looked impeccably smart, with not a single hair out of place. By contrast Sarah felt a mess, even though she had spent the last few hours doing nothing more vigorous than sitting in a chair reading.

‘Are you ready to make your escape?’ Lord Routledge asked as he slipped back into the room. His eyes glinted with anticipation—he didn’t try to hide the fact he was enjoying this.

‘Will we escape unseen?’

‘Most of the guests have left, and the few gentlemen that remain are so engrossed in their card game they wouldn’t notice a stampede of elephants flattening the house. The only person we have to be wary of is Lady Shrewsbury, our hostess. I do not think she has retired for the evening, and even with a glass or two of champagne inside her she is an observant woman.’

‘What is the plan?’ This was the moment Sarah had been patiently waiting for these last few hours, but now it had come she felt suddenly nervous.

‘I will descend the stairs and, if there is no one in sight, I will motion for you to follow. Move quickly, and I will escort you out.’

‘Will you not need to bid your host and hostess goodnight?’

‘They will forgive me for slipping away.’

‘Very well,’ Sarah said, rising to her feet. She smoothed the fabric on her dress, resisting the urge to grip the material of her skirt in her hands and lift it above her ankles, as if getting ready to run.

Lord Routledge led the way out of the library, treading quietly and motioning for her to keep directly behind him. Sarah’s focus was on getting out of Shrewsbury House without anyone catching her, but as they crept down the hall she couldn’t help but be distracted by the opulence. Even in the darkness she could see it was by far the grandest residence she had ever set foot inside. The carpet on the floor was thick and plush, and beautiful cream wallpaper decorated the walls. There were paintings hung at regular intervals, colourful scenes of foreign shores as well as a few portraits of serious-looking men and women in the fashions of bygone decades.

They reached the stairs and the soft hum of conversation drifted up, although there was no one visible in the hall. Lord Routledge touched her shoulder and then leaned in close, his breath tickling her ear as he spoke, sending involuntary shivers across her skin.

‘Come downstairs as soon as I signal to you.’

Sarah nodded, feeling her heart lurch as he set off down the stairs.

He paused at the bottom, looked around and then beckoned her down. Now she did lift up her skirts, not wanting to trip on the material and end up in an inelegant pile for all to see. She hurtled down the stairs, and was halfway down before she looked up to see Lord Routledge’s panic-stricken expression and the hand he held up to stop her descent.

Sarah froze, flattening herself against the wall as best she could, but aware that if anyone looked up they would see her acting oddly.

Below an elderly man walked up to Lord Routledge and clapped him on the shoulder.

‘Good to see you out in society again, Routledge. A man cannot stay in mourning for his wife for ever.’

Lord Routledge muttered something Sarah could not hear, a scowl crossing his face, before he managed to fix a smile as he addressed the old man.

‘Enjoy your trip back to Yorkshire, Lord Humphrey, I hope the journey is not too arduous.’

Lord Humphrey murmured a few further platitudes, clapped Lord Routledge on the shoulder again and disappeared into one of the open doorways.

Immediately Lord Routledge beckoned for her to move. Sarah was paralysed, frozen to the spot, and she had to force her legs to start working again so she could descend the stairs. It felt as if it took for ever to cover the final eight steps, but once she was at the bottom Lord Routledge immediately put a guiding hand in the small of her back and propelled her along the hall. They were outside in a matter of seconds, the door closing behind them with a reassuring click, but Lord Routledge did not stop there.

‘Bend your head and look to the ground,’ he said quietly. ‘There are still a few carriages waiting outside, with inquisitive footmen who have nothing better to do than gossip. If they get a good look at you, the whole of London will be talking of the pretty young woman acting strangely as she left the Shrewsburys’ ball.’

‘Perhaps we should go our own ways now,’ Sarah suggested.

‘I may not have been at my most gentlemanly tonight, but please do not think I would be callous enough to send you out into the streets of London unaccompanied at this time in the morning.’

Sarah glanced around her, with a sinking feeling she realised he was right. It was past two o’clock in the morning. No one respectable was out on the streets at that time, and she had to walk a good distance to get back to her lodgings.

At home she wasn’t in the habit of taking a stroll in the middle of the night, but if she did she would know which parts of St Leonards to avoid and which would likely be safer. Here, in the city, everywhere seemed like it could be teeming with danger.

‘I can’t ask you to walk me home. It’s miles away.’

‘You don’t have to ask. I’m not even offering. I am insisting.’

‘Thank you,’ Sarah said softly. Throughout much of the night she had felt exasperated that her plan had failed, panicking that she might be found out. It hadn’t left much time for her to consider what a favour Lord Routledge was doing her. Not only had he helped her escape unseen from Shrewsbury House, he was now planning on walking miles out of his way across London to ensure she got home safely. She glanced up at him, not for the first time wondering what his motivations could be.

Bending her head, they walked briskly down the path, out through the gate and onto the street. They passed the five carriages that were sitting motionless at the edge of the road, waiting for the gentlemen to finish playing cards inside before transporting them home.

‘You do not have a carriage?’ Sarah asked. She would not normally consider setting foot inside a carriage unchaperoned with a man, no matter how helpful he had been the rest of the evening—if anyone found out her reputation would be in tatters—but given that she had already spent a long time alone with Lord Routledge, adding on a private one-on-one carriage ride could hardly make things worse. What was more, she was exhausted and craved the comfort of a swift journey back to her narrow single bed in the rooms she was renting whilst in London.

‘No,’ he said with a grimace. ‘A decision I am coming to regret right now. I normally relish the walk both before and after a ball. It gives me time to clear my head before I get home.’

‘That is a pity.’

‘Where are your rooms?’ he asked.

‘Close to Fleet Street.’

‘Then we had better get walking, Miss Shepherd.’

The trek across London was further than he had anticipated, but after ten minutes Henry was beginning to enjoy himself, and after twenty he had all but forgotten it was after half past two in the morning.

The streets were quiet, but not deserted. As they walked and talked he kept alert, knowing a well-dressed man and woman would be likely targets for any thieves roaming the streets at this time.

‘Why don’t you tell me about the other avenues you’ve explored to find your sister,’ Henry suggested once they had settled into a comfortable pace.

Miss Shepherd sighed and looked at him out of the corner of her eye. ‘I am thankful for your assistance tonight, Lord Routledge, but forgive me, I am struggling to understand your interest in my plight. Surely a man of your station in life has many more interesting and important things to occupy his time than helping a stranger look for her foolish sibling.’

‘What do you think occupies my time?’ he asked, aware he was dodging the implied question by asking his own. It was a mechanism of defence he had developed over the last few years. People were naturally curious when they heard of his tragic situation. He had insisted on a marriage that had shocked and scandalised society, and then had to endure the endless interest of acquaintances as the marriage had spiralled into a disaster, which had ended only with his late wife’s death. Even now, two years on, people were morbidly curious about how he was coping, and what he might do next that they could gossip about whilst at the breakfast table.

It was one of the reasons he normally ensured his life stood up to any scrutiny. If he didn’t dally with unsuitable young ladies, didn’t frequent the wrong sort of clubs, didn’t do anything out of the ordinary, one day surely people would stop talking about him.

By helping Miss Shepherd he was breaking his own set of rules, but there was something enchanting about her stubborn insistence on doing whatever was necessary to find her sister. It had made him forget his resolution for a few minutes. He’d felt that spark of excitement that had been missing from his life for so long. Also, he knew it was a way of putting off the inevitable task of searching for a new wife.

She looked at him, head cocked to the side and raised an eyebrow. ‘You are good at deflecting questions about yourself, my lord.’ She smiled gently before letting him off the hook. ‘I can only assume a lord spends some of his time in Parliament, but as you said earlier we are in the middle of the summer recess. I always assumed lords had land to manage, tenants to oversee, property to invest in.’

‘Ah,’ he said with a smile, feeling grateful that she had allowed the distraction, ‘you are thinking of titled gentlemen who have property and money.’

‘You are not one of these?’

‘No.’

‘A pauper lord, just my luck,’ she murmured. He was beginning to enjoy her quiet, dry sense of humour. ‘Although I am not sure how poor you can be, if you wear clothes like this and have your own carriage to spirit you around.’

‘You are of course correct, everything is relative. I do not pretend I am forced to beg on the streets for enough money to buy a morsel of food, but you would be surprised at what lifestyle one can maintain with quite meagre funds and the promise of a fortune to come one distant day in the future.’ He lowered his voice as if about to confide something important. ‘The secret is to make everyone think that distant day is fast approaching, even when it isn’t.’

‘This is when your father dies and you inherit?’

‘Yes. The old man is sixty and in such good health I expect he will be around to torment everyone for another twenty years at least. I have to make my creditors think differently.’

‘Is that possible?’

Henry shrugged. ‘Every so often I throw a comment into our conversation about how the doctor’s bill for my father get higher every week or some such nonsense, although after years of saying such things I think people become impatient.’

‘Wouldn’t it just be easier to get a job, Lord Routledge?’

He laughed, although it was a forced sound. ‘You would be surprised at how difficult that is for a Viscount who will one day be an Earl. It is assumed a man, even one with such a strained relationship with his father such as mine, is given a small yearly income.’

He made light of the situation, but it was something that hurt more than he could say. In the years before he had married Anne, his relationship with his father had already been difficult, and he had become tired of relying on the old man to fund his lifestyle. Much to his father’s disgust he had become a working man, using what little funds he could scrape together to buy a small property in a cheap part of London, turning it into a lodging house. The property had been in a terrible condition and in dire need of repair, and every day he would go and supervise the tradesmen as well as rolling up his sleeves to do some of the manual labour himself. It had been satisfying to see the property transform from a tumbledown dwelling into a smart lodging house, even more so because it was the first time he had felt as though he had properly earned something for himself.

His father had never been loving, always distant and cold, but when he was a child Henry had received what he had needed to thrive. Lord Burwell was cruel in how he withheld affection from his son, but he wanted to mould a man worth taking over the title and all the responsibilities associated with it. It had meant the finest tutors, attending the best school and being ushered along to Cambridge University when the time came. Only when Henry had started to think and speak for himself had the withdrawal of money and support started in earnest.

‘I am hardly qualified for anything.’

‘No,’ Miss Shepherd said, her face suddenly serious, ‘I suppose it is difficult for anyone to step outside of what is expected for them. The opportunities are not there, unless you conform to society’s expectations. I had the choice of becoming a governess or music teacher, or trying to find a position as paid companion or housekeeper. There are no other choices available for a woman with my background. We are expected to eschew more manual jobs, even something like becoming a seamstress or milliner. We are told to stick to our path, to not deviate.’

‘And the consequences if you do can be dire,’ Henry said, more to himself than to her. He was thinking of his late wife, of the chance they had taken to be together, of the blind hope he had based their relationship on. He had stepped off his prescribed path when he had married Anne and now, years later, he was still reeling.

They walked on a little further in silence, both a little melancholy as they considered their situations.

‘At least no one will bother to rob us whilst we walk home,’ Miss Shepherd said after a while.

He looked at her quizzically.

‘They would be able to sense the self-pity we emanate half a mile away, and no doubt would not want to become embroiled in our sorrows.’

Henry laughed, enjoying the little smile that bloomed on Miss Shepherd’s lips at his response. He wondered if her wit was normally so well received, or if she had to keep it hidden for fear of people’s reactions.

They were only a few minutes away from Fleet Street now. But, as they walked, Henry began to have the sense of being watched. The few times he had nonchalantly turned, to see if he could spot anyone behind them, he had detected a flicker of movement in the shadows, but no more.

‘You’re worried about something,’ Miss Shepherd said, making to look over her shoulder.

‘Don’t look, not yet. It may alert whoever is following us that we are aware of them and force them to make a move.’

‘You think they mean to rob us?’

‘I cannot see why else they would be following us at three o’clock in the morning.’

She chewed her lip and Henry realised Miss Shepherd didn’t like not being in control of a situation. Although he knew little about her, he could tell she had spent much of her life being sensible and making the difficult decisions needed to keep a family afloat. Even the story of how she had come to London—having to postpone starting her new job to chase after a sister whose actions were at best reckless, but also could be viewed as highly selfish.

‘It is only a couple of minutes to my lodging house,’ she said, motioning with her hand in the general direction of Fleet Street. ‘If we run for it, I am sure whoever it is will not be able to catch us before we make it.’

‘Do you have a key?’

‘Yes. There is a woman who rents out the rooms, Mrs Angel. She has a bedroom close to the front door, but I expect she will be sleeping. There is a rule that no men are allowed in the lodging house, but I am sure even Mrs Angel will not begrudge you stepping over the threshold to keep you safe, if the thief does decide to follow us.’

‘As long as you are delivered home safe,’ Henry murmured, risking another glance over his shoulder. For a moment he wondered if he were imagining the muted footsteps matching their speed, and then he saw another dart of movement in the distance.

‘Make haste, Miss Shepherd.’

She slipped her hand into his, and he was surprised by the familiarity of the movement, but he gripped hold of it. As one, they ran. Without looking back they darted along the streets, Henry matching his speed to hers, and before long they were outside the door to a respectable lodging house, and Miss Shepherd was fumbling with a key.

Henry stood with his back to the door, his eyes darting in all directions.

‘I think somewhere back there they gave up,’ Henry said.

‘What if they are waiting for you when you return, alone?’ There was genuine concern in her eyes and Henry felt touched. Miss Shepherd had her own troubles, but she was not so caught up in them that she ignored everything else going on.

‘I will be fine,’ he said with a shrug. ‘I have nothing they could wish to steal anyway. I did not come out with any money, and I do not carry an expensive pocket watch or similar. I doubt they will risk a fight to take nothing more than the shirt from my back.’ He motioned at the earrings that sat in her ears. ‘I was more worried about your jewels.’

Her hand flitted to her ears and she touched the little sapphire earrings. They were only small, but probably were the most expensive thing she owned.

‘Do you wish to come inside to wait a little longer?’

‘No, thank you, Miss Shepherd. I will not risk the wrath of your landlady. I do not want her throwing you out on the street.’

Suddenly he realised quite how close they were standing. Miss Shepherd looked up at him and, for a moment, he was transported back to the moment in the library, as the last notes of the waltz had played, the moment when he’d had an overwhelming urge to kiss her. It was a foolish idea, one he had banished as soon as it had occurred, yet here it was again. His hand even started to move up, ready to cup her face, to pull her towards him.

Quickly he stepped away, clearing his throat. The thought was unforgiveable. Miss Shepherd was nothing like the sort of young lady he needed to focus his attentions on. Once before he had married a woman of a different social class to his own, thinking love would conquer all. Despite his youthful optimism it had been a disaster, and never again would he think he could overcome society’s rules and prejudices. If he did decide to find another wife in the next few years, he would force his head to choose, not his heart.

‘Goodnight, Miss Shepherd,’ he said, somewhat stiffly.

‘Thank you again, Lord Routledge.’

‘I will send a note with the details once I’ve set up a meeting with Agnes Pepper.’