Love, Lords, and Lady-Birds Read online

  He was astounded now at what Petrina was saying, but aloud he merely said:

  "I want to know to whom else you have given money."

  "I am afraid perhaps you will be angry with me," Petrina replied, "but one evening after I had met Ethel I . . . walked down Piccadilly to see for . . . myself what was happening."

  "You walked down Piccadilly?" the Earl ejaculated. "Alone?"

  "No, not alone," Petrina answered. "I am not as foolish as that! I left the carriage at the end of Bond Street and made Jim the footman walk with me."

  "Jim had no right to do anything of the sort!" the Earl thundered.

  "You must not be angry with him," Petrina said quickly. "I forced him to do so, I said that if he would not accompany me then 'I would go by myself."

  The Earl opened his lips to rage at her, then controlled himself and merely asked:

  "What happened?"

  "I talked to quite a number of women, one or two of whom were rude, but the others when they realised I wanted to help them answered my questions and told me how they had started on the life they now lead."

  "And you gave them money?"

  "Of course! And most of them were very grateful. They said it meant that they could have a night off and go home early to bed."

  The Earl doubted that this would happen and was sure that the money had been taken from them by their procurers, who invariably had them watched.

  Though he did not say this aloud, Petrina went on:

  "One of the girls told me, which I did not know before, that she would not be allowed to keep the money herself and so I arranged for her to meet me the next morning in the Park. Afterwards I did that with quite a lot of them."

  The Earl put his hand up to his forehead as if to iron away the lines of perplexity between his eyes.

  He was quite certain that Petrina would not have succeeded in helping the wretched prostitutes at all, as she hoped she was doing.

  The procurers, male and female, kept a very sharp eye on the women who brought them enough money to keep carriages and own villas in respectable suburbs.

  He remembered someone in the House of Commons saying there was no record of even one of these harpies being carted off to gaol.

  They were the owners of the brothels and also of the wretched creatures who walked the streets usually in a state of intoxication.

  They handed over their pitiable earnings in return for a roof over their heads until they were too unattractive or too disease-ridden to continue their nefarious trade.

  "I helped the women in Piccadilly," Petrina was saying, "but I wanted most of all to help those with children. They now recognise the carriage when it appears in Bond Street and there are usually two or three waiting for me."

  She glanced at the Earl nervously as she explained:

  "As your grandmother, if she is with me, gets into the carriage, I have little packets of money ready to put in their hands."

  She looked at him with beseeching eyes as she said:

  "I am afraid I have spent rather a lot, but every time I put on a pretty gown or wear some of the wonderful jewellery from your collection, I cannot help thinking how those poor women have to earn money and how many children go hungry."

  There was a little sob in Petrina's voice and suddenly her eyes were full of tears.

  She jumped up from the chair to walk to the window so that the Earl should not see her crying.

  He watched her silhouetted against the sunlight, which turned her hair into a halo of gold.

  Then he said quietly:

  "Come and sit down, Petrina. I want to talk to you about this."

  She wiped her eyes surreptitiously, then did as he told her, returning to the chair she had just vacated.

  "I understand your feelings," the Earl said, "but I wish you had trusted me and told me how deeply you felt about these women."

  "I thought you would stop me," Petrina answered. "Papa always said it was throwing away good money to give it to beggars, but I . . . had to help them."

  "I can understand your wishing to do so, but in the future it must be in a more practical manner."

  Petrina looked at him.

  "I was thinking," she said slowly, "that when I am twenty-one and have my own money I could build a home or a hostel where these women could take their babies for food and shelter."

  "That is a very good idea," the Earl answered.

  He did not wish to disillusion her by explaining that many of the babies she thought she was helping were merely hired out for the day, passing from one woman to another and used only as a method of evoking charity from those who had a soft heart.

  "Do you mean you would help me?" Petrina asked.

  "I will certainly advise you how to give your money to charity in a reasonable and sensible manner."

  "I want to help the girls like Ethel who have a baby by . . . mistake when they are not married."

  "That should not be difficult," the Earl answered. "There is, as a matter of fact, I believe, some assistance being given already to unmarried mothers."

  'There is?" Petrina asked. 'There does not seem to be much sign of it."

  "That is true," the Earl agreed.

  He knew that Petrina had no idea of the magnitude of the problem which she had stumbled upon by accident, or perhaps it was because she was more sensitive than other women in the Beau Monde.

  "I think you will find," he said, "that Churches like St. James's in Piccadilly are well aware that these women, especially those with children, need help. I think the best thing you can do at the moment, Petrina, is to discuss this matter with the Vicar."

  He saw that she was not very enthusiastic about the idea and added:

  "I am quite sure you will find that the reason his work is not more extensive is simply lack of funds."

  "Then I can give him some of my money."

  Petrina's voice was suddenly breathless.

  "Certainly," the Earl agreed, "as long as you discuss it with me first, and we are both convinced it will be put to the very best possible use."

  "Oh, thank you, thank you!"

  "It is your money, not mine."

  "I want to help! I want so much to do something really good with my fortune," Petrina said,

  "but what I cannot understand . . ."

  She stopped as if she thought what she was about to say might be embarrassing.

  "What can you not understand?" the Earl asked.

  "Why must there be so many women walking about the streets or so many men . . . interested in them?"

  She was thinking as she spoke of how coarse and common many of the women were, especially those who had been rude to her.

  Although she had walked down Piccadilly very early in the evening there had been a surprising number of young girls who were so drunk they could hardly stand.

  It had been an eye-opener and at the same time a shock, and Petrina knew she would never forget what she had seen or how pitiful were the stories she had been told.

  As if he knew what she was thinking, the Earl, watching her, said:

  "It takes time to reform the world, Petrina, and it is not possible for one person to do it alone."

  "I know that," she answered, "but you have so much power and authority. You can speak in the House of Lords, you can influence the Regent."

  The Earl smiled.

  "You are crediting me with powers I do not possess!" he protested. "But I have, as it happens, already spoken on this subject in the Lords and I am quite prepared to do so again."

  "Will you? Will you really?" Petrina asked. "What they want is help, not laws which will only result in their being taken to prison."

  "You have put your finger on one of the greatest difficulties we have come up against so far,"

  the Earl said. "At the same time, Petrina, may I suggest that your interest in these women is not compatible with your being a debutante."

  He spoke kindly and once again Petrina rose from the chair and walked across the room to the
window.

  She stood looking out onto the garden in silence, then said:

  "You must have been . . . laughing at me when I told you what I . . . intended to be when I . . .

  came to London!"

  The Earl smiled. He could still hear Petrina's voice telling him defiantly that she intended to be a Lady-Bird.

  "I told you you did not understand what you were saying," he replied.

  "I am . . . ashamed," she answered. "Ashamed not only of what I said, but because I thought it was an amusing way of living and not the . . . horror and . . . degradation it actually is."

  He knew by the way she spoke that she had been shocked and appalled by what she had seen, and he told himself angrily it was something that should never have happened.

  "Come here, Petrina," he said.

  She did not obey him and after a moment he rose and walked across the room to stand beside her.

  "I am going to give you a word of advice," he said. "I doubt if you will take it, but it is something every reformer has to learn sooner or later."

  "What is that?"

  "You must not become too involved personally and emotionally with the people you are trying to help."

  He saw the protest in her eyes before he added:

  "If you tear your heart in pieces, all that will happen is that you will become a fanatic. You will lack the balanced and sensible outlook which is essential for any work you may wish to do, in whatever field it may be."

  Petrina thought this over for a minute, then she said:

  "I can understand that, and you are right. But, oh, Guardie, I cannot bear to think of those very young girls and . . . why are the . . . men whom they wait for not . . . sorry for them?"

  "If you want me to help you on this project," the Earl said, "I think we have to approach it from a different angle. If it pleases you, we will go tomorrow to see the Vicar of St. James's in Piccadilly. You can find out what he is doing to help these unfortunate women, and I am quite certain he will welcome whole-heartedly any financial assistance you can give him."

  "You will really come with me?" Petrina asked.

  "On one condition."

  She looked up at him apprehensively.

  "It is that you make no further personal investigations," he said, "and incidentally, that is not a request—it is an order!"

  "I knew you would stop me."

  'For the best of reasons," he answered. "First, because you will be imposed upon, and secondly, this is not a subject that should concern a lady."

  "Then it should be!" Petrina said fiercely. "Every woman should know what other women have to suffer, especially when they are too young and too inexperienced to look after themselves."

  "That might apply to you," the Earl said quietly.

  She gave him a rueful smile.

  "I might have guessed you would take up that point, but after all, I have you to look after me."

  When you allow me to."

  "I am sorry now that I did not tell you at once," Petrina said, "but you were so positive in telling me I should not speak even to you on that subject."

  "I might have known you would find an extenuating excuse for your behaviour!" the Earl remarked.

  "I want you to help me," Petrina cried, "I want it very much! It would be so marvellous, more marvellous than I can possibly tell you, if we could do it . . . together."

  She put out her hand as she spoke and slipped it in his.

  "I never thought you would understand," she went on in a low voice, "but you do, and that makes me feel that everything will be all right."

  She felt the strength of the Earl's fingers holding hers, then she added:

  "You will not tell your grandmother that I . . . deceived her when I walked down Piccadilly with Jim? She thought I was with Claire."

  "I promise that everything you have told me will be in confidence."

  She smiled at the Earl but her eyes were misty again.

  "You are wonderful!" she exclaimed. "Really wonderful! And I promise to be very good in the future."

  "I very much doubt it," the Earl said, but he was smiling as he spoke.

  * * *

  Petrina looked round her with excitement.

  The famous Gardens at Vauxhall were exactly as she had expected them to be, but the lights seemed more vivid and the supper arrangements more amusing than she could have imagined.

  She had a pang of conscience when she was dressing for dinner because she was deceiving the Dowager Duchess and therefore incidentally the Earl, but she told herself that it would have been impossible to disappoint Claire after she had gone to so much trouble to arrange the evening.

  She had been so grateful to Petrina for getting back her letters that she had longed to show her gratitude by doing something that she knew would please her.

  When Petrina had put the pile of letters into her hands, Claire had burst into tears.

  "Petrina, my letters! How can I ever thank you?" she sobbed.

  Then through her tears she had cried:

  "I will pay you back. You know I will pay you back, although it may take a long time."

  'You do not owe me one penny," Petrina said.

  Claire's tears had ceased through sheer astonishment.

  "It is true," Petrina went on.

  "B-but . . . how ... I do not understand . . Claire stammered. "He could not have . . . g-given them to you."

  "I stole them!" Petrina told her. "But you must never tell anyone. You must swear to me, Claire, that you will never tell anyone about the letters or how I obtained them."

  "I swear ... of course I swear!" Claire agreed. "Tell me . . . tell me what happened."

  When she heard the whole story she was stunned.

  "How could you have been so brave? How could you have done anything that was so dangerous for me?"

  "Because you are my friend, Claire, and because I think Sir Mortimer is utterly despicable. I could not bear him to gain so much money in such a disgraceful manner."

  Claire looked at her in astonished admiration. Then they had burnt the letters together, burnt them carefully in the grate until every scrap of paper had become nothing but a black ash.

  As the flames flickered out, Claire gave a deep sigh of relief.

  "Now Frederick will never know."

  "Never . . . unless you tell him . . . and that you must never do," Petrina said.

  "I have promised you, Petrina," Claire replied solemnly, "and I will not break my promise."

  She had kissed Petrina, thanking her again and again, but ever since then she had been trying to find a way to reward her.

  Petrina knew when Claire said she had arranged supper at Vauxhall that it was a celebration which only they could appreciate.

  They had dined first at Claires house with both the Marquess and the Marchioness of Morecombe, which made the conversation rather stilted.

  However, when the older people thought they were going to a Ball, Claire and Petrina, accompanied by Frederick Broddington and Viscount Coombe, had set off for Vauxhall Gardens.

  It had, despite its somewhat doubtful reputation, the seal of respectability in that the Prince Regent, who often went there, had his own Pavilion with its private entrance to the road.

  But because it was a public place, it was also thronged with anyone who was prepared to pay the entrance fee.

  Petrina was warned that there were pick-pockets amongst the crowds, the majority of whom looked well dressed and prosperous as they perambulated beneath the trees.

  The two gendemen hurried the girls along the crowded paths to the Rotunda, where supper was served in the small alcoves which faced it in a semicircle and were furnished in Eastern style.

  Each alcove which was used as a supper-box was decorated with paintings, and the one in which Petrina found herself was called "the Dragon."

  It depicted a fire-breathing green monster which the Viscount Coombe declared had "an expression on its face exactly like the Prince Regent's when Parliament re
fused to vote him any more money."

  Petrina found Claire's brother rather disappointing. He was certainly, as his sister had described him, a "Tulip of Fashion," but he also affected the languid air, the drooping eye-lids, and the bored voice of the "Dandy Set," which she found irritating.

  He was very different from Frederick Broddington, whom she liked more every time she met him.

  But it was obvious he had eyes only for Claire, and Petrina realised she was expected to make herself pleasant to the Viscount and try to engage him in polite conversation.

  He was however somewhat difficult to converse with, and she had the uncomfortable feeling that he had been pressured by his sister to make a four this evening and would have much preferred to be elsewhere.

  However, he answered some of her questions and ordered them slices of the famous Vauxhall ham which cost an outrageous price and also champagne, which was not, Petrina realised, of the same quality as the champagne she had drunk at Staverton House.

  She looked wide-eyed at the Rotunda where she was told there were Hogarth's pictures of Henry VIII and Anne Boleyn.

  From the supper-box she could see the ornate double-fronted Band- Stand, which looked like a Chinese Pagoda although it was surmounted by the Prince of Wales's feathers.

  The Musicians were playing and some of the people were dancing, but the majority were just wandering round, staring at one another in the light of the five thousand oil-lamps which made Vauxhall undoubtedly one of the brightest places in London.

  'What time does the entertainment start?" Petrina asked the Viscount.

  "It should not be long now," he answered, "but I will go and find out."

  He rose and left the supper-box with an alacrity which made Petrina think that he had other reasons for wishing to be on his own. But she did not miss him, much preferring to watch the crowds moving in front of her.

  Frederick Broddington was obviously whispering words of love to Claire, who with flushed cheeks was looking very pretty and very happy.

  Petrina moved her chair as far away as she could to the other side of the supper-box so that she should not even inadvertently hear what they were saying to each other.