Diamonds and Dreams (33 page)

She recognized the unshakable defiance in
his gesture, and lifted a gray eyebrow. “Very well.”

Saber saw the arched brow and knew exactly
what it meant. “Aunt Clara, whatever scheme it is you are planning
right now, I can assure you I won’t—”

“Marion, my boy,” Lucille interrupted,
“after Mr. Hutchins and Mr. Doyle are imprisoned, will you return
to Ravenhurst with Goldie? Addison told us she is in danger of
losing her home if she doesn’t bring you back, and I must say I’m
thrilled with the possibility of your return to your ducal
lands.”

Saber shook his head. “No, but Goldie will
not lose her home. Ravenhurst will soon be in the hands of a new
manager, who will see to her every need. And when she returns it
will be with ample evidence that she has found me. I will not allow
anything to happen to her. I’m going to take care of her, just as I
tried to take care of Delia.”

Clara studied her nephew. There was a soft
glow in his eyes when he spoke of Goldie. But there was a crease of
dismay on his brow, too. Clara’s curiosity about the girl who
caused such conflicting emotions grew. “Where is she, Marion?”

“Addison will be bringing her shortly.” He
suddenly remembered the butler. “You did instruct Tamworth to have
a care when addressing me?”

“We did,” Clara assured him. “But I want you
to know, Marion, that asking the servants to lie...that pulling
them into this masquerade of yours is highly improper.”

Saber feigned a guilty expression, then
promptly continued with his instructions. “When Goldie arrives, do
not call me Marion. I am Saber West. And pray, don’t forget that
Addison is our distant relative. He has given you this house and
has furnished it for you as well. He—”

“Having to remember all of that is going to
drive us quite mad,” Clara predicted curtly. “And I must say,
Marion, that quite a change has come over you since last we saw
you. Your morals have disappeared. You think nothing of telling
falsehoods, and are you aware that your neckcloth has come untied?
I have never seen it like that.”

Saber reached up and felt the cloth. With a
firm tug, he removed it. “No matter. These blasted things—”

“Marion!” Clara exclaimed. “Where in
heaven’s name is your sense of propriety?”

“I—” He broke off when the butler arrived at
the door. “Are they here, Tamworth?”

Tamworth inclined his head. “Lord Gage has
arrived, Your Grace.”

Saber scowled. “Tamworth, you mustn’t
address me or Lord Gage thus. I thought my aunts explained that to
you.”

“They did, milord. And you may rest assured
that I will call you sir in the presence of Miss Mae.”

“Very well. Show them in.”

“Miss Mae did not accompany Lord Gage, Your
Grace.”

“Saber!” Addison shouted, running into the
room. “She’s
gone!
Goldie’s
gone!
”

Saber bolted from his seat. “Gone?
Where—”

“We breakfasted together, and then she went
upstairs to do whatever it is women do after breakfast!” Addison
explained hysterically. “I went into my office to await her, but
when she didn’t come down I sent Mrs. Stubbs to check on her,
and—She—We couldn’t
find
her! We looked everywhere!”

Saber felt dread pump through him. “Addison,
didn’t you tell her you were going to bring her here to meet my
aunts? Didn’t you—”

“I told her Lord Tremayne was in Scotland,
but that’s all I had the chance to say! She began a stream of
chatter that had no end! Went on and on about some chap named
Duncan Gilmore who wore a skirt, had naked knees, and told everyone
he was Scottish! I tried to talk, but she—”

“Addison! Goldie is wandering around London!
Alone!
”

“Saber, we’ll—”

“I’ve got to look for her! She—”

“You take your coach, I’ll take mine.
We’ll—”

Saber never heard the rest of what Addison
suggested. He raced from the house, slamming the front door behind
him as he left in search of the girl whose welfare depended on his
finding her.

Before someone else did.

“Itchie Bon,” Goldie murmured down to the
dog, “I think we’ve found the street that leads to hell. I don’t
know how we got to this place, but we sure did take a wrong turn
somewhere.”

Revulsion snaked through her as she stared
at her surroundings. Here the streets were not as clean as they
were near Addison’s house.
Filthy
didn’t even describe them.
Rotting garbage was piled everywhere, and Goldie noticed no one
cared about having to step around it. Some people trudged right
through it, and one woman was even huddled in it for warmth against
the chilled morning mist. The air was filled with a cacophony of
human voices, animal screeches, and rolling wheels. All around her
were tall buildings, painted black by the greasy smoke she could
see, smell, and taste. It seemed to her that the sunshine couldn’t
find a way past it. She decided her conjecture was correct when she
saw no living plant growing anywhere.

Carefully making her way around a heap of
fish heads, she tapped a young girl on the shoulder. “Can you tell
me where I am?”

The girl frowned, then smiled. “Ya ain’t
from ’ere, are ya, miss?”

“I’m from America.”

“I knew it. Yer speech ain’t the same. Some
says I’m dumb, but I ain’t. Me name’s Rosie Tetter, miss. I has
sixteen years in me, an’ I gots all me teeth.”

Goldie returned the girl’s smile, looking
dutifully into Rosie’s open mouth. “And what have you got in your
basket, Rosie? Are you sellin’ flowers?”

Rosie laughed. “Farthest thing from it,
miss,” she answered, lifting the rag that covered the basket.

Goldie’s eyes widened; she took a step back.
“Great day Miss Agnes, that’s dog mess!”

The girl nodded and adjusted her black
leather glove. “Been collectin’ it since dawn. It takes a long time
ter find this much pure. Ya’d think with all the dogs ‘ere in
London-town it’d be easy, but it ain’t.”

Goldie frowned, tightening her hold on
Itchie Bon’s leash when he began barking at a stray cat.
“Pure?”

“I ‘ear tell it purifies. The tanners in
Bermondsey buy it an’ use it ter make leather soft.”

Goldie glanced at the full basket again.
“I’ll swannee, that’s the strangest thing I ever heard in my whole
life.”

Rosie nodded in agreement. “I didn’t used
ter be the pure finder in me family, I didn’t. Me grandfather was.
But ’e passed away a few months ago, an’ now I’m on me own in the
world. I got two jobs, I do. See?” She pulled open her apron pocket
so Goldie could see inside.

Goldie peered into the pocket, seeing what
looked to be about fifty or sixty cigar ends. “Do you smoke
those?”

Rosie laughed and swiped at a lock of limp
brown hair. “No, I sells ’em. I got lucky last night, I did. Spent
hours on Regent Street, an’ found all these. There’s a bloke in
Rosemary Lane wot buys ’em. ’E sells ’em ter the cigar fac’try, an’
they’re made inter more cigars. Wot a joke on the toffs wot buy an’
smoke ’em! Every time they lights one up, it might be the same one
they smoked last month!”

Rosie’s enthusiasm made Goldie smile. She
felt herself warming to the friendly girl. “Do you live around
here?” she asked, praying Rosie would say no.

“I live about a block away. Weren’t ya
watchin’ where ya was goin’ miss? Ya ain’t the sort wot lives
around ‘ere.”

Looking around, Goldie sighed. “I was
watchin’ where I was goin’, but I got lost. I just kept walkin’,
and I ended up here. This is the first time I’ve ever been in
London. And the worst thing about it is that no one knows where I
am. They don’t even know where to look for me.”

“Don’t be afeared, miss. Ya found me, Rosie
Tetter, an’ I’ll sees ter ya, I will. ’Ere,” she said, digging into
her blouse, “’ave a bite.”

Goldie looked at the moldy piece of bread.
Compassion for Rosie bloomed. “No, thank you, Rosie. I’ve already
eaten.”

Shrugging, Rosie popped the bread into her
mouth. “Why ya ’ere, miss?”

“I came to London to watch dukes, but I
don’t reckon I’ll find any around here. Do y’know where I can find
a group of ’em all together? I don’t have time to hunt ’em out one
by one, y’see. I figure if I can find a place where they make a
herd, I’ll get a lot more done.”

“A ’erd o’ dukes?” Rosie murmured, scowling.
“I ain’t never ’eard of ’em makin’ a ’erd, but I’ve seen groups o’
maybe five or six rich blokes before. Will that do ya, miss?”

“My name’s Goldie. And yes, a flock of five
or six would be—”

“Coo, Rosie!” a man exclaimed as he
approached. “Who’s yer friend? Fine skirt, she is. Dainty
chickabiddy.”

Rosie spat at the man’s feet. “She ain’t
yer
bleedin’ chickabiddy, Og, so don’t ya go gettin’ no
itches ter put yer flamin’ bunch o’ fives no place on ’er! Ya got
that, dicky dido?”

“Who ya callin’ clay-brained, Rosie?” Og
demanded, his fleshy face purpling. “I ain’t the one ’avin’ ter
pick up pure, am I? Ya won’t find me, Og Drit, workin’ at somethin’
like—”

“Get knotted! Ya dress like a ’ardworkin’
coster, ya do, but ain’t nobody’ll find ya workin’, Og. When ya
ain’t doin’ the Butcher’s biddin’, yer a bleedin’ scuffle-’unter,
ya are! Always ’angin’ ’round the docks, actin’ like yer lookin’
fer work, but wot ya do is
steal
wotever ya can get
yer—”

“Watch yer friggin’ mouth, Rosie, or
I’ll—”

“An’ sometimes ’e’s a flamin’ meat-monger,”
Rosie enlightened Goldie. “’E’s the sort wot no woman’s safe with.
’E filled me friend Milly’s belly last year, ’e did, an’ now
Milly—”

“Bloody ’ell,” Og muttered, stuffing his
hands into the deep pockets of his long, grimy corduroy coat. “Wot
a cake-’ole ya got on ya, Rosie. I’ll warn ya ter ’ave a care with
it, o’ I might jest close it fer ya ferever one o’ these days.”

“Try touchin’ me, Og, an’ I’ll cut yer
friggin’ bald-’eaded ’ermit in ’alf!”

“Rosie,” Goldie said, “let’s leave.” She
gave Itchie Bon more leash, allowing the snarling dog to get closer
to Og.

When Goldie spoke, Og’s eyes lit up. He took
a step away, his gaze taking in each inch of her. Smiling suddenly,
he spun and charged into an alley.

Goldie felt relief flood her. “What’s a
cake-hole, Rosie? And a meat-monger? And...a bald-headed
hermit?”

Rosie continued to watch Og until he
disappeared. “A cake-’ole’s yer mouth. A meat-monger’s a man wot
can’t resist wot’s ’twixt a girl’s legs. Og Drit’s ’otter’n a
flamin’ chimney, an’ ’is bald-’eaded ’ermit’s wot ’e uses when ’e’s
wenchin’. It’s ’is
cock
, Goldie. Do ya know wot a cock
is?”

Goldie’s eyes widened.

Rosie smiled and patted Goldie’s shoulder.
“Listen, Goldie, I ain’t usually worried ‘bout nobody but meself,
but yer the sort wot gets inter bad trouble ’round ’ere. Yer
clothes ain’t much ter look at, but yer clean, an’ ya got that look
about ya wot the meat-mongers like. Og ain’t the only one, ya know.
’Ell, there’s even a business fer it. Blokes like Og, they nab
young girls like you, Goldie. Some nobs pay ter ’ave virgins, see,
an’—”

“Nobs? Rosie—”

“Rich people. Goldie, I can tell ya ain’t
never laid with a man afore. Iffen ya’ve got a mind ter keep it
that way, ya got ter get out o’ ’ere. Come on, luv. I’ll shows ya
the way.”

* * *

Saber bolted out of the coach when it
stopped in front of Addison’s house. He’d been looking for Goldie
for hours without success. He prayed Addison had found her.
“Addison!” he shouted as he tore through the front door of his
friend’s house. “Is she here? Addison!”

Mrs. Stubbs scurried into the entryway and
curtsied. “Lord—
Mr
. Gage is in the drawing room, Your
Grace—
Sir
,” she informed him, wringing her fat hands in her
apron. “Miss Mae and her...friend are with him. The girl Miss Mae
brought—She—Well...”

At her stammering, Saber stormed to the
parlor, stopping short at the doorway. There sat Goldie, safe and
comfortable on the enormous satin sofa. How dare she be safe and
comfortable when he’d been searching for hours for her! he raged.
Why, she didn’t even have the decency to look tired! God, what he’d
been through trying to find her, all the while believing the worst,
knowing she was lost to him forever.

“There you sit, Goldie Mae, warm and happy
as can be!” he thundered. “Do you have any idea what you put me
through? I’ve been—”

“Saber!” She jumped off the sofa and ran to
him. Once before him, she did a little leap and threw her arms
around his neck, her feet dangling in thin air. “Saber, while I was
walkin’ home with Rosie, I came up with the most brilliant plan!
You and I are—”

“Goldie, why—”

“Y’see, Saber, the real Duke Marion’s in
Scotland, so I decided that what we can do is—”

“Goldie, who is this girl?” Saber asked,
looking at the bedraggled person perched on the edge of the love
seat. “Where have you been? Why—”

“Oh, this is Rosie Tetter,” Goldie
explained, sliding back down to the thick carpet. “She’s a pure and
cigar-finder. Saber, do y’know what the tanners do with pure? Do
y’know—”

“Yes, I know,” he growled. “Goldie, tell me
you haven’t been in the East End! Tell me—”

“Well, I wish I could tell you I haven’t
been there, Saber, but y’see—”

“You’ve been in the East
End—
alone
—and you can stand there rambling merrily on? Good
God, Goldie, you should be scared to—”

“Are you mad at—”

“
Mad
does not begin to describe how I
feel!
Wandering!
All morning! As if you knew London as well
as your little towns in America! And here you are, none the worse!
Not a scratch on you! Not as much as a slight tremble in your
hands! Why did you leave the house by yourself this morning?”