Keeping Faith (Fair Cyprians of London 3)

“I’m your good cause? Or Miss Montague? I’m sorry, Lord Delmore, but I fail to understand you at all. You know what Miss Montague was revealed to be. I can have nothing to do with her—especially now. Besides,” he muttered, “I thought she was with Lord Harkom in a capacity that made visiting him hardly a reason for you to come rushing down to London to tell me about it.”

“I’d have thought the same had it not been for a letter my maid took, or rather transcribed, on behalf of one of Miss Montague’s friends. Yes, one of those ladies of disrepute who are so desirable to the likes of Lord Harkom. It seems he’s been highly indiscreet with a little ladybird who is far more intelligent than he gave her credit for. Even if she’s illiterate.”

Crispin rose, more to alleviate the difficulty of sitting still when his agitation was so great he didn’t know what to do with himself. He poured them both a brandy and, without asking, handed one to Lord Delmore.

“So, what does this little ladybird suggest Lord Harkom has that could be of such interest to Miss Montague?”

Lord Delmore took a thoughtful sip. “She mentioned something about a letter. Or a couple of letters. I don’t know, exactly. Just that these letters were potentially damaging.”

“Damaging? To whom?” Crispin shrugged. “I have nothing to hide, yet you obviously give credence to whatever matter of grave import these letters contained. Anyway, why should it concern me? Why should anything Miss Montague does concern me? You know what I risk should it be revealed I have any association with her. And it’s not just my father finding out that I’m worried about.”

Lord Delmore worried his lip as he sent a dark look towards his younger friend. “When I look back on my life, I have far more regrets about the things I didn’t do than those I did. Now, it’s true that I don’t know what these letters contain. Nor would it appear, does the, er, fair Cyprian who made the journey to find Miss Montague. She was simply worried enough by the suggestion of damage Lord Harkom hinted they could do, that she felt the need to travel a great distance to alert Miss Montague.”

“I’m sure there’s nothing further about my private life that can be disseminated to the public that would further embarrass me or discredit me,” Crispin ground out.

His painting career lay in tatters. His personal standing had taken a very great hit. Thank God, he’d been able to remove himself from London almost immediately afterwards while his father had worked hard to pass it off as less than it was.

Certainly, less than it was to Crispin. Yes, his boy had been caught up in a vile scam that was to have won him a bride from the ranks of the impure through means of a bogus art competition.

After the shock and outrage, the sniggers had followed. Crispin had left the country at this point.

Now he’d returned to commiserations and bolstering affirmations that he’d had a lucky escape. He’d been clever enough to have seen through the young lady in time.

So, Crispin’s reputation was intact, and he’d recovered his social standing.

But the state of his heart and his sense of trust would never recover.

“But what if it’s not about your private life, Crispin? What if it’s more than that? Yes, I know that a year on you still are wounded by what you see as Miss Montague’s betrayal. Nevertheless, she was in love with you.”

“Everything about her was a lie.”

“Except, as I’ve just said, her love for you, Crispin.” Lord Delmore’s tone was patient. Crispin eyed him suspiciously, staring into the fireplace as he said darkly, “You sound like my father might have sounded if he’d ever chosen persuasion before threats. You are not my father, you know.”

“But I’m an older man with more experience of matters like these. I have two grown-up sons and a daughter, all of whom are, in fact, older than you. Forgive me if you think I’m patronising you. That certainly was not my intention. But I do sense something sinister at play. I’m not suggesting for a moment that you go in search of Miss Montague. But do, I urge you, find her friend and hear what she has to say. I believe that trouble is afoot. Lord Harkom has an axe to grind. And we both know he’s no friend of yours or your father’s.”

Chapter 24

The busyness of the small newspaper office and the professional air of the two young women bent over their desks, writing, took Faith by surprise after she’d been led up two flights of stairs to this unconventional scene in the attic above a barrister’s premises.

“Can I help you, miss?” The younger woman, who was sitting at a large wooden desk beneath the window, raised her head to look enquiringly at Faith. Clearly, she did not recognise Faith as she halted her work, her pen poised above the paper.

“You’re a proper lady journalist, now, Miss Eaves? Isn’t that what they call you?” Faith looked at the various newspapers and magazines that were strewn about the tabletops and which lined the walls, some framed. “You achieved your dreams, after all.” She hesitated as her eye was caught by the glaring front page of an issue published on August 15th, 1878. She didn’t need to go any further to confirm the date, for the headline alone clearly depicted Faith’s spectacular fall from grace. Even from a distance, the grainy photograph of Lord Harkom holding Faith in a waltz hold, surrounded by a group of women who were clearly not ladies, made Faith shiver with revulsion. “You’ve achieved your life’s ambition.”

Two furrows appeared between Miss Eaves’s eyes, but as her gaze followed Faith’s to the newspaper before returning to Faith, it seemed she finally reconciled the demure governess before her with the woman whose life she’d turned upside down.

Miss Eaves squared her shoulders.

“Miss Montague, why did you not say you were coming?” She glanced at the older woman who was still working but who was clearly also listening, and said, “Mamie, please would you leave us alone for a few minutes.”

When Mamie had left the room, Miss Eaves invited Faith to sit, and when Faith said she didn’t have long and would rather stand, Miss Eaves stood too and regarded her, still frowning, from the other side of the room.

Faith straightened. “I was hardly assured of a warm welcome in view of what you’d said about me in the past, so I thought the element of surprise might play in my favour.” She moved to the window embrasure and found that she was suddenly far more nervous than she’d expected to be. She fiddled with the curtain tassel but kept her eyes on Miss Eaves, who straightened and said calmly but with a note of defensiveness, “It’s the job of the journalist to tell the truth. The facts. I’m sorry if my article revealed you for what you are, or were, Miss Montague. I was seeking the truth and I laid it out for the public, as they deserved. It was nothing pe

rsonal.”

“But for me, it was deeply personal, Miss Eaves. For me, it was the ruin of my life.” She swallowed, finding this even harder with every word, which was strange when she’d spent so many of the last months existing in a state of semiconsciousness; unable to properly feel anything, really. “You fed my dreams and ambitions into the furnace to feed your own.”

“Why, Miss Montague, what a lovely way you have with words. Surely, you are in the wrong calling.” She glanced pointedly at Faith’s demure clothing and said, “Or have you seen the error of your ways and turned to another means of earning your living.”