Miss Cameron's Fall from Grace. Helen Dickson
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time being.
She was also affected by what she had witnessed prior to Will’s arrival. The air around her still shimmered with the heat of what she had seen. Her whole body had ignited and she was still afire. It was a wonder she didn’t burst into flames.
There was no sign of Fergus in the hall, so she picked up her bag and opened the door herself. A man stood on the doorstep, about to raise the heavy brass knocker.
‘Excuse me. My name is Nicholas Oakley. I’m looking for a lady by the name of Delphine,’ he said in a pleasant voice.
Delphine looked at the stocky, broad-shouldered, neatly dressed man. ‘I’m Delphine Cameron. May I help you?’
He didn’t look like a man who would visit a bordello, nor did he look ill. In fact, he appeared healthier than most, his face weathered by wind and sun, but hale and full-fleshed.
Mr Oakley was thinking along similarly approving lines as he considered her. She was wearing an open jacket of brown velvet with brown ribbon around the edges and a coffee-coloured dress and brown poke bonnet with tendrils of deep-red hair escaping its confines. Most prim, he thought—in fact, she didn’t look at all like the red-haired siren the landlord of the Blue Boar had described to him when he’d enquired about a clean and comely lady with whom his master might pass the night away while he was in London. But then, these ladies of the night were full of surprises.
The landlord had assured him that Mrs Cox’s establishment operated affluently and was one step above the other brothels—and such was the excellence of Delphine’s technique that she would make love an entire night without ceasing, at his master’s pleasure.
He smiled, a sudden charming smile that quite transformed his big face. ‘I believe you can—or perhaps I should say you can help my master. Yes, indeed! I am sure you can be of great help.’
‘Would that not depend on what is wrong with him?’
He raised one of his bushy eyebrows. ‘In a manner of speaking. All I can say is that he’s in great need.’
‘Is he sick?’
‘I suppose you could say that. My master—I am what is termed as his batman—the Colonel Lord Stephen Fitzwaring is home on leave from Spain, where he’s been with Wellington fighting the French. Fighting has taken its toll on him, I’m afraid.’
‘I see,’ Delphine replied, thinking rapidly. She was sure that she didn’t see the half of it—whatever it was—but on the face of things, if the man was wounded then, even though it was beyond her capabilities to cure him, she would make an assessment of his condition and ask Dr Grey, who often ministered to the children at the orphanage, to take a look at him.
‘Mr Taylor, who keeps the Blue Boar at the end of the street, assured me there is no one better equipped to relieve my master’s—er—’ he coughed as he sought the appropriate word ‘—discomfort.’
In her complete naïvety and gullibility, Delphine smiled broadly, finding it hard to believe her charitable deeds had attracted so much attention. She was acquainted with the landlord of the Blue Boar—a kindly man who donated regularly to the orphanage—and if Mr Oakley’s master was suffering from some kind of discomfort, then it did not strike her as odd that Mr Taylor would recommend her. She had waved to him from across the street earlier and, aware of Maisie’s habit of visiting her mother, he would have known she would be at Mrs Cox’s establishment.
‘If you will come with me, I will take you to him.’ Mr Oakley was watching her with interest. ‘I am sure you can accommodate each other. My master will be most generous.’
At the mention of money and considering how it could benefit the orphanage, Delphine looked at him levelly. ‘Indeed I hope he is. I do not give my services for nothing.’
His brows went up at that. ‘My master would not expect you to. Dear me, no! Though, I must say, most persons of your profession seem to care for everyone.’
‘Not everyone, Mr Oakley. Only those I believe can be helped. Your master is an amenable gentleman, I hope?’
‘Most of the time. There are times when he looks far more fierce than he really is.’ A smile touched the corners of his lips. ‘Don’t mention that to anyone else, or you’ll ruin his reputation.’
‘Reputation?’ Delphine tipped her head to one side, casting him a sideways glance. She was becoming more intrigued by Mr Oakley’s master by the second. ‘Does he have one?’
‘Of the worst sort,’ he averred flatly, shooting her a teasing look.
‘Then spare me the sordid details. I shall be seeing him for no other reason than to make him feel better. Is there no woman in his life to look after him?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Mr Oakley replied. ‘In Spain, a beautiful, voluptuous señorita is most enamoured of him and often keeps him company, but Spain is a long way away. My master is one of the finest men I know. He has a most tremendous strength of mind and a will that has carried him through many a battle. Because he is so strong-willed, he seldom encounters opposition from anyone—unless it be from the enemy Bonaparte!—which is why you may occasionally find him somewhat … dictatorial.’
‘I see,’ Delphine said stiffly. ‘Thank you for that insight into your master’s character, Mr Oakley. I shall remember it. Where is he?’
‘I left him abed at the Blue Boar. Are you prepared to come with me now?’
Delphine held up her bag and smiled. ‘I have everything I will need in my bag.’
Mr Oakley raised his brows in awe as his mind conjured up the delectable items that bag might contain; items she would no doubt use to titillate his master.
Delphine was not thinking logically. The mortal danger she might be incurring did not enter her mind. She had long ago acquired the habit of ignoring other people’s advice and plunging into situations with no thought for the consequence.
‘Lead on, Mr Oakley. Let us see if we can make your master feel better, shall we?’
But time was of the essence for Delphine. If she hurried, she would make it home in time for her mother’s musical evening; woe betide her if she was late. Her charity work often provoked trouble with her mother. Privileged by birth, Delphine had been drawn into such pursuits by her Aunt Celia, who had instilled into her the duties of a gently born woman to the less fortunate.
The Devil finds work for idle hands, she had said, then she had smiled, adding, or I should say, there is always work for a spare pair of willing hands. In an attempt to invest her empty life with meaning, Delphine had been more than willing. She was the youngest of five children—all girls—and, disappointed that the last of their last offspring had not been the much-wanted son, her parents had not even bothered to announce her birth.
Neglect bordering on rejection beat a bitter note in Delphine’s heart. All her life, doubts had drummed heavy blows upon the crumbling walls of her confidence. In her parents’ eyes she could never be the woman her sisters were: beautiful women who attracted men wherever they went.
She did not like to dwell on her inadequacies, but when she was in the presence of two exquisite creatures like her twin sisters, she was painfully aware of her unfashionable reddish hair, her too-large mouth and the light scattering of freckles across cheekbones that were much too high.
From childhood she had been trained to detachment, but she was none the less human and thought life in her parents’ house very cruel and so very lonely that she had long ago made up her mind to be her own woman. She would defy convention and be true only to herself.
And so she had thrown herself into her charity work, becoming closely involved with the homeless and destitute children and venturing into dark places not one of her four pampered older sisters could have imagined.
Most of her work was carried out with other charity workers at the orphanage in Water Lane. Not all the children were orphaned; some, like