Unbuttoning Miss Matilda. Lucy Ashford

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       Chapter Five

      Jack walked all the way back to Paddington. It was late by now and cold yet clear—scattered stars could be glimpsed high above London’s rooftops—yet he wasn’t alone on the streets. True, most respectable folk were abed, but there were plenty of others for whom the night was yet young: drunken bucks who staggered along arm in arm singing bawdy songs, ladies of the night who loitered in search of customers, thieves who lurked down dark alleys. But all of them took one look at Jack’s dangerous expression and gave him a wide berth indeed.

      Once he was home Jack headed straight up to his attic bedroom where, after stripping off his coat and shirt, he poured cold water into a basin and used a well-soaked cloth to douse his face and shoulders. Reaching to wash his back, he winced briefly as the rough cloth skimmed the scars from the floggings he’d had in that French prison. They’d healed, but he knew he would always bear those marks, on his body and in his soul.

      He’d survived because of the secret prisoner exchange. But Fitz, the wretch, had convinced Jack’s mother that there had been a ransom note from the prison’s governor: ‘I saw the note, Jack!’ his mother had told him time and time again. ‘Even though it was in French, I was able to understand most of it. It said that unless your captors received five hundred guineas within two weeks, you would die in that dreadful place.’

      That letter had been forged by Fitz—Jack was sure of it. He was equally sure Fitz would have destroyed it as soon as Jack’s mother had married him. And he would never forget the look of outright triumph on Fitz’s face when the odious man first presented himself as Jack’s stepfather.

      ‘Were you looking forward to going home to Charlwood?’ Fitz had asked softly. ‘What a shame. The place is mine now—and you can rest assured that you will never set foot inside there again. Never. You understand me?’

      Jack towelled himself dry and realised he’d run out of brandy. Hell, he’d need a good dose of the stuff to help him sleep tonight. Then he remembered that the landlord of the alehouse along the road was always ready to sell a bottle to late-night customers, so after pulling his shirt and coat back on he headed downstairs out into the lamplit street, bought brandy from the alehouse and set off home again.

      But suddenly his eyes were caught by something bright and shiny that peeped out from beneath some rubbish gathered in the gutter. Frowning, he bent to pick it up.

      It was a gold coin. Holding it in his palm, seeing how it seemed to wink up at him, he let out a low whistle of surprise. Because it was a very old gold coin.

      Roman, if he wasn’t mistaken.

      * * *

      The next day Matty stood outside Mr Percival’s antiques shop, rapping at the door. It was midday and the public house down the road was filled with lunchtime drinkers who spilled out into the street. She knocked again. She’d already called last night and twice this morning, but each time the shop was closed. People were everywhere—but it looked as if Jack Rutherford had vanished into thin air.

      She tried to peer through the window. ‘Mr Rutherford? Are you in there?’

      One of the lunchtime drinkers came wandering over. ‘You’ll be lucky, young ’un. That Mr Percy’s not opened up at all this morning—he’s most likely done a runner for not paying his rent.’

      And Matty’s fears gathered.

      Yesterday, after her visit here, she’d lost her gold coin. She’d searched the lanes between the wharf and here, but she was growing more and more convinced that she’d mislaid it in this shop and Jack’s absence only served to confirm her suspicion. The man knew not a thing about antiques, but he would have known her coin was valuable because she, like a fool, had told him so.

      She suddenly found herself remembering the warmth СКАЧАТЬ