Historical Romance May 2017 Books 1 - 4. Bronwyn Scott
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giving her just enough to satisfy her interest while keeping her ignorant of all the goings on. It would mean more deception, but it was necessary. He couldn’t stand to have Jane spit on him like Mrs Robillard had when Jasper had approached her with his condolences. ‘Better to be a married man than risk becoming a recluse.’
‘You don’t need a wife to avoid that.’ Mr Bronson chuckled. ‘You have a cook and a housekeeper and more willing company in other corners to see after your needs.’
‘True, but how many of those paid people stayed around to help Uncle Patrick after he fell ill?’
‘We don’t have to worry about that here in London.’
Jasper touched the edge of the bills of mortality tucked beneath his blotter. ‘I hope not, but there are other tragedies capable of befalling a man and leaving him in need of someone with more interest in his affairs than payment to step in and handle them.’
‘I thought that’s what you had me for.’ Mr Bronson laughed. He removed a pouch of tobacco from his waistcoat pocket along with a clay pipe and began to pack the bowl with the fragrant weed.
‘I do, but relations are sometimes more reliable.’ Jasper wouldn’t fail Jane the way Mr Robillard had failed his wife. ‘I also know you Yanks. You’ll want your own establishment sooner rather than later, to make something of yourself, to be your own man.’
‘You are right, Mr Charton.’ Mr Bronson pointed the stem of the pipe at him before setting it between his teeth. ‘I’ll have to strike out before you expect me to take a missus.’
‘I wouldn’t dare temper your excursions into the West End by suggesting such a thing.’ Jasper waved his hand in the air to indicate the future. ‘At least not yet.’
Mr Bronson took a deep drag on his pipe, then let the smoke out of the side of his mouth. ‘Have you told her about Mrs Robillard?’
‘No.’ A breeze rustled the curtain, carrying into the room the faint scent of summer. Jasper rounded the desk and slammed the sash closed. ‘You’re not to tell her.’
‘You can trust me to keep silent. I’ve been where you are, what with my father, God rest him, being a preacher and railing on about the ills of drink and cards. He’d have starved before taking my money if he’d learned how I really earned it.’ Mr Bronson fingered the watch chain hanging in an arch from his pocket to where his father’s timepiece hung from a button. ‘No reason a lady has to hear about such ugliness.’
Mr Bronson touched the rolled debts to his forehead in a kind of salute, then turned on the heels of his fancy boots, the best his money could buy in London, and strode out of the room.
Jasper rested his hands on the back of one of the pair of shield-backed chairs near the window and took in the room. He should return to work. There was a great deal to be done now the Fleet Street building would be available, and Jane had given him new ideas, but he couldn’t. He stared at the fire burning in the grate. Summer was slowly descending on the city, bringing with it unknown threats. His hands were tight on the carved wood and the edge of the fancy decoration bit into his palms. Yellow Jack couldn’t touch him or anyone here, but it didn’t mean some other pestilence might not come in with the summer wind and snatch away what remained of his peace of mind. Except it wasn’t really disease he feared here as much as his own failings.
He left his office and entered the quiet of the gaming room. The smell of tobacco smoke, stale wine, sweat, hope and desperation hung thick in the air along with the dust motes. Everything had been set to rights, the chips stacked neatly at the tables, the packs of cards beside them fresh and ready to be opened by the dealers tonight. The Hazard wheel sat silent, too, the white balls lined up and waiting to click into place as men cheered and spent their money.
Jasper picked up a Hazard ball and rolled it between his fingers. He pitied many of the players, especially those like Captain Christiansen who rushed into forgetfulness through the cards. Jasper wondered what horrors Captain Christiansen had seen during his time at sea and if those memories drove him to recklessness the way they’d driven Jasper to return to this life.
He gripped the Hazard ball tight, his sins pressing down on him. There’d been many times before the epidemic when he’d begun to question this profession, but he’d ignored his doubts. Wealth, influence, standing, his uncle’s pride and his own had drowned out the voice of his conscience. Mr Robillard’s pistol shot had silenced the gaiety and left his conscience screaming. It still did and yet he’d come crawling back to this life the moment he’d set foot in England.
He set the ball down beside the others and, winding his way through the tables, left the gaming room, avoiding his reflection in the gilded mirror across the room. He didn’t have the stomach to face the real Jasper, the one he hid from Jane and everyone, the ugly crooked thing his uncle had made him and he’d willingly become.
He locked up the upstairs rooms and left through the main warehouse. In the cavernous space, employees he paid well to keep quiet among their dockworker brethren unloaded shipments of wines, cards, food and other goods for tonight. The activity made his establishment appear like all the others crawling with carts and horses, with drivers and men calling to one another to shift about the various merchandise coming and going. Outside, the rising sun just touched the peaked tops of the buildings. Soon it would be higher and cast light into the deep shadows between the warehouses, further tanning the already ruddy faces of the men streaming in and out of the district as they went about their morning work.
Usually the bustling activity invigorated Jasper, but not this morning. He was pulling Jane into the mire by asking her to keep this secret the way Uncle Patrick had asked him to keep his. How long until he corrupted her the way he’d been corrupted?
No, I won’t let that happen. They’d work hard on the club during the day, and he’d see to it they enjoyed themselves at night, both in town and in bed. She would remain ignorant of the true business of the hell until he could finally part with it.
‘You there, you scoundrel,’ a woman’s voice rang out, silencing a few of the workmen stomping past Jasper, their backs bent under the weight of the casks they carried. ‘I’ll have a word with you.’
Jasper faced the woman barrelling down on him the way Mrs Robillard had approached him once. Her clothes were too worn to make her a merchant’s wife, but the reticule weighed down by something heavy swinging by her thick hips set him on edge.
‘If you think I’m going to allow you to ruin my son the way my husband ruined himself, you are wrong.’ She jerked up the reticule and stuffed her hand inside. The memory of Mrs Sullivan pulling a gun on him the night she’d lost her prized diamond at a dice game rocked him. Mrs Sullivan had missed.
He didn’t wait to see if this woman’s aim was any better, but closed the distance between them. ‘How can I help you, madam?’
He offered her a hearty smile, the one he once employed with planters and their wives as he placed his hand on her wrist to stop her from removing whatever weighed down her reticule.
‘Let go of me, you wicked man.’ She jerked free of him and her hand came out of the bag empty. She was oblivious to the many workers taking an interest in the conversation. Jasper needed to quiet her and quickly. He didn’t possess enough money to silence them all.
‘Please, step inside my warehouse and we can speak.’
‘We can speak here. You think I don’t know what you’re getting up to in this place?’ she screeched. ‘I’ve seen the money Adam comes home with and I know there’s only one way he be can be earning it.’
At last he understood who the woman was and how to deal with her. He stepped closer and dropped his voice, painfully aware of the men around him leaning against crates while they pretended not to listen. ‘Adam is my employee, not a client, and a very well-paid one because I trust him to remain quiet about my business, as I’m sure I can trust you, too.’
He reached into his pocket and plucked out a banknote. He didn’t look to see the value before