An Indecent Gambit

Chapter Four: Sympathetic Company

A week after the dinner at the Follets' house, James went to London with his father and Mr Follet to sign a betrothal contract. It was the first time James had been to London since the night he had been set upon and attacked. As their coach slowed through the crowded city streets, the discontent that had overshadowed James since his engagement darkened into resentment. This was where he belonged, amidst the crowds and excitement and happening, not in the staidness and respectability of Richmond. And Miss Follet certainly did not belong here — no, she was of the Richmond style, as over-pruned and orderly as the box hedges amongst which she had said to him, "James — may I call you James? I think we should marry."

He had no power to refuse. His father had seen to that. Even as he signed the contract in the dingy solicitor's office in Chancery Lane, James thought to himself that it might as well have been his father's hand and his father's signature. Angry, offended, and sorry for himself, as soon as they stepped outside into the dirty London air, James took off down the street without even knowing where he was going, except that it was not back to Richmond, not back to Miss Follet.

"What are you doing, James?" Mr Redwood called.

James turned back. "I'm... going to my club. Give me a bob for a drink?"

He did not expect his father to say yes, and so was not disappointed when Mr Redwood only scowled and hobbled to the carriage. Mr Follet, however, laughed and tossed a glittering object towards James who caught it one-handed. Not a shilling, a crown.

James stared at it in surprise. He had not suspected Mr Follet of generosity, nor, in fact, did he wish for generosity from such a quarter. Mr Follet was as much his enemy as his father and Miss Follet. James had asked for money because he knew it would antagonize his father, and the only reward he had wished for was the scowl on his father's face. Before he could protest, however, Mr Follet followed Mr Redwood into the carriage and the groom nudged the horses into a trot. There was nothing for James to do but keep the money.

Instead of going to his club, he walked to his Percy Street townhouse, which he had left in the care of his housekeeper-cook and her husband, having had to send away the maid-of-all-work when his father had cut his allowance. His housekeeper, Mrs Pollard, pressed him for details about his future and was relieved to find that James was to return to his townhouse by winter with his full allowance — and a bride.

"Your wife now, sir," she said, "she will be wanting to change things around, I suppose? Bring in new maids? Entertain?"

"I'm not really sure. I suppose so." He did not wish to think of it. "At the very least, Mrs Pollard, I promise you that your job is sacrosanct. Nobody can roast a beef neck the way you do. I would sooner not marry at all than lose you."

"Get on with you." Mrs Pollard grinned. "Your wife would not be pleased to hear you say that."

"I should hope she would have the good sense to see herself cautioned," James replied. "But we will make Miss Follet see her place."

"I'd think the woman who could make you marry her is quite the kind that can never be put in her place."

"Ah, but it is not the woman who makes me. It is my father."

Doubt crossed Mrs Pollard's face. "I hope you haven't been up to anything untoward."

"I am always up to many things untoward," James said. "However, as it happens, for once I am entirely innocent of all wrongdoing. I am the one wronged."

Mrs Pollard suppressed a faint noise in the back of her throat.

"No, really. I shan't bore you with the details, but I am the victim of persecution. And my father believes that Grace Follet shall be my protectress."