It began as if he and Hope were old friends. Couldn’t she just imagine his delight at Charlotte’s engagement, and that he’d been invited to attend the grand event at Lord Hartley’s family home the following Saturday. What a sad thing it was that Hope could not go, despite the bonds that bound the younger sister to Hope who adored her so.
Wouldn’t Charlotte be devastated to learn to what depths of vice and depravity Hope had sunk? But not to fear, Wilfred would never hint at Hope’s whereabouts much less her employment.
Indeed, Wilfred would be assiduous in ensuring no taint of scandal attached to Charlotte that would blight her extraordinary matrimonial conquest.
All Hope had to do in order to rest easy on that score was whatever Wilfred told her to.
And so, outlined in Wilfred’s letter, was another demand that she return to Mr Durham’s lodgings and, by whatever means available to her, secure what she’d failed to do the first time.
“Mr Durham’s pleasure was purchased at great expense, but you failed to deliver upon your obligations, other than be the whore to surprise and delight him,” Wilfred had written. “From what I hear, Mr Durham’s addled wits at the time rendered him insensible to your true identity. This time, your visit will be at your expense for I have not the ready to outlay such an exorbitant sum for your dubious charms. But service him, you will. Otherwise, all of London society will be speaking in hushed and horrified tones about sweet, innocent Miss Charlotte Merriweather, tainted forever by the sister who can be bought by anyone with a fat enough pocketbook.”
There was no alternative, of course. Hope had explored every avenue, including disappearing into the night, but without friends and family she had no one to aid her, and the inevitability of living in the gutter before too long prevented her from leaving her current employment.
As for any possessions for which she might redeem a few coins, Madame had covered this too. The girls’ wardrobes were kept under lock and key, while payment was dealt with by the proprietress. Even when girls returned from a job, Madame took measures to ensure they secreted no tips upon their person by having them searched by her assistant, a bony, elderly woman called Mrs Whippet who looked like a dirge-singer and carried out her duties as her name suggested.
Therefore, it was with weary resignation that Hope presented herself upon the doorstep of Mr Durham’s lodgings the following afternoon, her heart hammering as she contemplated in what state she’d find Mr Durham. Though more to the point, how he’d find her.
“Miss Moore, what a pleasant surprise.” Mr Millament, charming and dapper and not two sheets to the wind as on the previous occasion, raised his eyebrows in enquiry as he invited her in, using her assumed name. “Felix is a changed man. He’s seen the brightness of the future beckoning him when the past threatened to weigh him down forever.” He led Hope up the now-familiar corridor of a much quieter house. At Mr Durham’s door, he stopped and turned. “He’ll be delighted to see you again. Felix spoke as if you were too good to be real, but obviously, he must have been convinced you were not a figment of his imagination. Nevertheless, it is a surprise to see you at this time of day since he said nothing of it to me, but I am his friend, and I do not judge.”
If this were meant to be reassuring it had the opposite effect. Yet there was no other time Hope could have come. She had a client that evening and now was supposed to be her rest time. But Wilfred had given her no option to resist his strictures if she were to save Charlotte from her shame by association.
Unable to answer with more than a wan smile and brief nod, Hope put her out her hand to balance herself against the flock wallpaper. The silence was oppressive and her knees were shaking, but she hoped her fear was not branded on her face. She’d perfected the art of looking impassive. In fact, her ability to show no emotion had driven Wilfred to violent fury on more than one occasion.
“Thank you, Mr Millament.”
“Not at all! I’m just glad you’re here for I know you’ll do my friend the world of good.”
Nervously, Hope worried her lower lip as a sluggish dread enveloped her. What else could she do but follow through? She was imprisoned by what Wilfred had turned her into. And that was compounded by the need to prevent a great tragedy befalling the one person in the world Hope would sacrifice her life to protect.
Hope was about to stay the dreadful inevitable with a question, but before she had a chance to even open her mouth, Mr Millament had thrust open the door declaring, “Felix! Your angel has returned,” before closing it abruptly, plunging Hope into gloom.
Chapter 5
Only the light from outside penetrated the window, below which she could barely discern the figure of Mr Durham seated at a writing desk.
Hope felt for the support of a nearby table, afraid her legs would give way before she was able to hold herself tall and erect.
Meanwhile, straightening at the intrusion, the handsome profile had transformed into a fully rendered man, the brooding dark eyes and sensitive mouth of a poet providing a fascinating contrast to the strong jaw and broad shoulders of a pugilist. Still half in shadow in the recess of the window embrasure, he regarded her with a puzzled frown. She could see by the creases in his forehead and the tilt of his head that he hadn’t recognised her.
Yet.
Hope half turned. There was still time. She could leave now and he’d be none the wiser. She’d been too weak to do so the last time, but she’d survived, unrecognised and with her dignity intact.
She’d not succeed this time. Mr Durham was fully in charge of his wits today. He looked as if he’d been intent upon some business, his demeanour alert, his movements charged with purpose as he’d folded the page upon which he’d been writing as he turned.
Hope wasn’t sure what to do. Surely there was some other way to discharge Wilfred’s demands without exposing herself and destroying what little pride she had left?
Awkwardly, she stood near the end of the bed, a few feet into the room. It was late afternoon. Perhaps, in the poor light, he’d not recognise her. After all, it had been so many years. More than two, for the other night didn’t count when he’d thought her a figment of his dreams. A ghost blazing through his imagination.
“Miss Merriweather!”
His exhalation of astonishment made her freeze in shock. He couldn’t have recognised her from afar. From such a distance?
He rose, his expression one of the greatest shining pleasure, as if she truly were the incarnation of his dreams, his wildest hopes. “Good Lord, is it really you? After all this time?”
He took a step towards her, his smile tentative, hopeful, while he extended his hands. “Is it really you? Why…you are as lovely as the day I last saw you.”
Hope didn’t know what to say. The truth would extinguish the light in his eyes, and at the same time obliterate the least bit of pleasure she was about to derive from this exercise. Yes, most definitely it was better to retreat now. She could just pull down her veil and hurry out of the room and up the passage, letting him believe he’d imagined her all over again.