Penelope's Ploy
Chapter 7
She had known the marquess was not finished with baiting her, but she did not think he would go this far, she thought with a shudder as his carriage took the four gentlemen out on the town the next evening. They were escorted from the conveyance into a nondescript house in a clean, but inelegant, part of London, and met at the door by a woman whose dress announced her to be of little virtue. Harry goggled at the abbess of the house, and even Lord Michael had a difficult time keeping his eyes off the woman's décolletage. Penelope had no problem adopting Jarrod's cool demeanor as they swept into a parlor filled with scantily-clad females.
"Good evening, sir. May I help you?" the woman asked Jarrod.
"Indeed, I am the Marquess of Jarrod and I have several young men looking for companionship this evening. I believe you may be able to help them."
Penelope started when she heard this. Obviously, Jarrod had never been to this particular house before. She felt relief wash over her upon knowledge of that fact. She wasn't so ignorant as to believe Jarrod had never been in possession of a mistress. A man of his consequence would have had several, at the very least. But this was different.
"Mr. Wade first, I believe," he said with a wicked grin. Harry could not protest without revealing his sister's identity, but Penelope noted that he had gone rather white about the lips.
"Ah, yes, I have someone perfect for Mr. Wade, sir," the proprietress told them. "Claudette!" A petite blonde with warm brown eyes presented herself to her employer and was instructed to take Mr. Wade upstairs. A Tyburn-faced Penelope felt like she was being led to the gallows as she followed the female to her room.
"I am in here," Claudette said in a delightful French accent. Penelope wondered if it was real. "You come in and get comfortable, no?"
"I suppose..." Penelope prevaricated, not exactly sure what was expected of her in this instance. She watched as the girl shut and locked the door, and then led her to a plush sofa in a corner of the room.
"Now, sit down, madamoiselle, and tell me why Monsieur le Marquis wishes a young lady to be entertained by a trollop such as I?"
Penelope shrugged. It did not surprise her that a female of this sort would see right through her disguise, as used to being around men as she was. There were probably plenty of people, she surmised, that could distinguish her sex, but chose not to reveal her for whatever reason. Jarrod included, of course. She was under no illusions there. He was probably waiting for her to crack so that he could pack her off to Berkshire without a backward glance.
"I wish I had the answer, Claudette. I am not exactly privy to his thoughts. Now, tell me, what shall we do? Have me run back downstairs screaming that I'm a lady and should not be subjected to such base dealings as this?"
"If mademoiselle wishes...but I do not recommend."
"No, and I am no namby-pamby little miss that I would react that way. Should I stroll back downstairs and announce that I am not pleased with the selection? No, I shall sit here all evening and get to know you, Claudette, for I vow I am vastly interested in you as a..."
"...whore? Prostitute? Courtesan?" Claudette smiled as she spoke.
"Bit o' Muslin?" added Penelope, entering into the spirit of the game. "Cyprian? Demimonde? Barque of Frailty?"
"Mademoiselle wishes to hear about me?"
"Oui! I do wish. Not, perhaps, about your current position, but tell me, if you were not here, what would you rather do?"
"Me? I would be a modiste!" She said it with stars in her eyes, and Penelope was immediately intrigued.
"That is most commendable. Are you any good at it?" If she had hurt the girl's feelings, Claudette did not let her know. Instead, the courtesan rushed to a trunk by the bed and began to pull out sketches, swatches and actual garments, chattering in excited French.
"Come look!" she beckoned and Penelope got down on her knees next to Claudette and helped her spread the sketches around on the floor.
Penelope may have been raised mostly by male relatives, but she was female enough to appreciate high fashion when she saw it. Sucking in her breath, she sat there and stared at confection after confection on paper. There were morning gowns, walking dresses and riding habits, each with that extra little touch that proclaimed them in the first stare.
"And I can make them into gowns, too," Claudette said proudly. Standing up, she held a ball gown in front of her, and Penelope sighed.
"That is exquisite!"
"You must try it on!" Claudette cried. "It would fit!"
"Truly?"
"Oui! Let me help!"
Taking off Penelope's coat, Claudette quickly undid both the cravat and her waistcoat, and Penelope stood in awe of the courtesan's undressing skills.
"Now, Mademoiselle..."
"Penelope," she supplied. "Just Penelope."
"Penelope, you must take off the shirt and breeches, and allow me to put the gown on over your head."
Penelope did as she was told, giggling at the thought of being undressed after all, and then wondered what Jarrod was doing while he waited for the rest of them to finish. She sincerely doubted he was the type to choose his own girl for the evening, but she wouldn't put it past Lord Michael or Harry to enter wholeheartedly into whatever Jarrod suggested.
"Now look, Penelope, look at how well this gown becomes you!"
She turned to look in the cheval mirror and gasped. Despite the haircut, she looked like a young lady. A beautiful young lady!
"Oh, Claudette," she said breathlessly. "Look at me!"
"I see, Penelope. Tres chic!"
"You are truly a genius, Claudette. You must leave this place and become a modiste. Anyone with taste would surely patronize your establishment! What would it take? How much money do you already have?"
"I have some," and she named a large sum. "But it would take more."
"I agree. I have been fortunate enough to win at cards, and have almost that much, but then I would be left with nothing. But perhaps you could stay with my brother and I until I won enough to set you up?" The wording of that phrase made her laugh. "It sounds as if I am offering you a carte blanche, does it not?" Claudette laughed, too, and their friendship was set.
"I cannot believe what this dress does for me," Penelope murmured in front of the mirror, still admiring the way the peach silk folds gave her skin a warm glow. "I look almost beautiful."
"Penelope, you are beautiful, ma cherie," Claudette insisted. "Monsieur le Marquis does not have eyes in his head if he believes otherwise. But you are here on a lark?" Penelope shook her head.
"No, it is not so simple as that. I am his ward, although he does not know that, or if he does, he does not let on. Since my brother's death, when he assumed guardianship of my other brother and I, he has ignored us completely. I have reason to believe, however, that Stephen is alive, and so we have come to London to investigate. That is not going as planned," she glumly added, "and when we met Jarrod, he insisted on sponsoring us about town. I have been to White's, I have fenced with his lordship, he has tried to drink me under the table, and now he has brought me here. I do not know what he will plan next, now that I have once again refused to reveal my identity. But enough of me. How do I get you out of here?"
"It cannot be tonight," Claudette insisted, "but soon. Give me your address and I will send a note. There are evenings I am not watched so carefully..."
"I will be waiting. Now if you don't mind, it is midnight and Cinderella needs to turn back into a pumpkin. Would you help me with the dress?" Sadly, she returned to her men's clothing, Claudette once again lending an expert hand, even tying her cravat. They parted reluctantly, Claudette because her dream was now in view, and Penelope, because she could not bear to leave the little French girl to her fate until such time as she could arrange matters herself.
Her one consolation was that when she returned downstairs, Jarrod was still seated in the same place he had been earlier. She joined him for a drink and they waited for Lord Michael and Harry without saying a word.
Penelope firmly turned down an invitation to White's, although she knew she could have indulged in some deep play. Pleading fatigue, for once, she could not wait to get home to tell Harry about her evening. A retelling of his activities she refused to listen to, though, and rightly so, he told her piously. He then flew into the boughs when she related her story.
"No, Pen, no! I won't have it! I cannot believe you actually made friends with a... a..." Harry fumed.
"Whore?" Penelope helpfully supplied. Harry shot her a dirty look. "I believe her first name for herself was a trollop. Personally, I prefer Claudette. Oh, Harry, we must help her! She is terribly important to us, I can feel it!"
"I'm not listening to you and your feelings ever again! Do you know where we were tonight?"
"Whore house?"
"Yes! Dammit, Pen, quite using that word! If anyone found out you had been there..."
"Personally, I blame Jarrod," Penelope calmly replied, lounging on the sofa in front of the fire. One leg hung negligently over the other, and she studied her nails as she talked. "He is the one who suggested it, and I did not hear any complaints from you or Lord Michael..." The two had come downstairs later with extremely smug smiles on their faces, smiles she had wanted to wipe away almost instantly.
"It all comes back to Jarrod, doesn't it?"
"Why, yes, it does. Fortunately, I am not blessed with your particular brand of hero worship, else I would have already bared my soul, not to mention my waistcoat, at his feet, and proclaimed myself a penitent ward. And been shipped back to Berkshire and locked away forever for my troubles! Cut line, Harry, and tell me what is truly bothering you?"
"You are, peacocking it all over London as a man...I think it is time you went home. Let me stay and try to work things out with Jarrod. I should have come by myself in the first place."
"What, and made no impression on the man at all? Let's face it, Harry, it is my prowess and my masquerade that has caught his attention, else he would have washed his hands of you long ago." When Harry gasped indignantly, she waved him away with one hand. "You know I do not deal in Spanish coin! Would you rather I flattered you and said you could shoot, ride, fence and play cards better than I? We both know it's not true..."
"No," her brother mumbled. There was a noise in the doorway and Franklin stood there, looking sorrowfully back and forth between the twins.
"Excuse me for interrupting, Sir Harry, Mr. Wade, but I have taken the liberty of making tea on Mr. Wade's hearth. Won't you have some?" As a buffer between the two, Franklin was a godsend, Penelope thought as she and Harry put aside their differences and allowed Franklin to bring in a late-night repast.
"I'm sorry, Harry. I know you could make Jarrod pay attention without me, but I would have gone off my noggin waiting for word."
"I know, Pen, and I'm sorry, too. You are actually doing very well, even if the end results are not what we planned. Jarrod would never have spent as much time on me alone. I wonder why he is doing so with the both of us?"
Penelope had her suspicions, but she did not want Harry in a pucker all over again, so she kept her mouth firmly shut.
"I have my suspicions," Lady Wade said to the filthy creature that was Slippery Ned as he stood in the middle of her drawing room that same evening. He had long, straggly black hair that fell in strings from his wooly cap, and clothes that reeked of the sewer. "I believe the man who says his name is Pennington Wade is actually my stepdaughter, Miss Penelope Wade, and I want proof! Then I want her disposed of!" She chuckled at the thought. With Penelope out of the way, Harry would be easily manipulated. Jarrod would only have control of the finances for another five months, and then she would be able to influence the poor lad.
"And how much would yer ladyship be willin' ter pay?" he asked, with suspicions of his own. "'is Lordship ain't deep in the pockets, yer know, and I gets me money up front!"
"Yes, yes, you shall have your money, you awful creature! I shall give you four guineas now, to discover proof of my stepdaughter's masquerade, and then another 12 pounds when you dispose of her."
"An' what should I do wid the leddy?"
"I don't care! Sell her to a flash house, or ship her off to a white slaver - kill her for all I care! Just get rid of her!" Then she would bide her time until Harry came into his fortune ... fortunately, Harry had always been a biddable boy.
Upon returning from the brothel, Jarrod sent Michael and the servants to bed, and then sat in front of the library fire nursing a brandy and thinking about Pen. What kind of blasted female spent the evening with a whore and didn't run screaming from the house? In ill-bred one, for certain.
And yet...that blasted female was also pluck to the backbone. Jarrod was beginning to think she could do anything she set her mind to. She had certainly passed all of his tests. He still had to get her away from Harry, but instead of sending her packing, a different plan was beginning to form in his mind.
It was a noddy thing to do, he supposed, but there seemed to be little more than a sibling-like attachment between the woman and his ward. She might be persuaded, then, to switch allegiance to himself, and leave Sir Harry's keeping for a quaint little house in Chelsea, servants, all the clothes and jewels she cared to keep, a carriage and four, and Homer. That she had some past history with the horse was evident; perhaps a former lover had been his owner at one time? It might be a selling point. Besides, what did Harry have except a few shabby rooms and a valet? For now, at any rate.
The idea of keeping that blasted female began to appeal to him in the extreme, and he decided then and there not to subject her to any more "tests." She had passed with flying colors.
A well-pleased marquess took himself off to bed with pleasant dreams of his soon-to-be mistress floating through his head.
That same night, Penelope woke up in a sweat, the feeling of dread uppermost in her mind. Her visions included a nameless face and Jarrod's beloved one, but when she calmed down, it was Jarrod's face that lulled her back to sleep.
"Today is the day I visit Whitehall," Penelope announced at breakfast, and was encouraged by the hearty well-wishes of Harry and Franklin that her call be successful.
It wasn't, of course, Mr. Wade being told that the case was still closed. Being male did not seem to make a bit of difference, and she was positively glum as she took a hackney to Gunter's, hoping to cheer herself with a treat.
Unfortunately, the delicious ices were drowned out by the high-pitched voice of Lady Markworth.
"My dear Mr. Wade," she gushed, "I am to have a musical evening this Friday, and Coddington says your cousin can truly sing. I believe you and Lord Michael and Coddington should join him!"
"A famous idea!" Lady Juno added, coming up behind her mother. Penelope tried not to roll her eyes, but she began to see why that lady's children were so queer in the attic.
Still, there was no way out, because Lady Markworth would not take no for an answer.
"I suppose Lord Jarrod suggested this?" Penelope finally asked, for it smacked of his hand, even if he had been strangely silent since the brothel incident.
"Jarrod? Why on earth would he do such a thing?" the lady remarked. With that, Penelope had to be content the marquess was not involved.
He was, however, involved in other matters, such as having the Chelsea house cleaned and staffed, and keeping the Wades entertained in the meantime. He had also had several informative chats with Carver, who was improving in health but had, unfortunately, shed very little light on Stephen's last days.
That evening, the Wades were to go with Jarrod and Lord Michael to Boodles' for some more deep play. They had stopped in at White's first, for supper and a few drinks, and then decided to amble over to the other club. Lord Michael and Harry, now very firm friends, walked ahead of Jarrod and Penelope, who were content to silently stroll through the foggy April night air.
Suddenly someone leapt from the shadows and landed on Penelope, sending her flying. She cried out, but only Jarrod was close enough in the fog to come to her immediate aid. He saw two shadows on the ground, rolling about, one punching wildly, the other one running his hands over his opponent. Jarrod, unsure which one was Wade, reached in and grabbed the closest to him and pulled him from the fray.
By this time, the other two men had realized something was wrong, and called back to them. Jarrod had no time to answer, because he had picked the ruffian up by the scruff of the neck and was in time to see Pen plant the man a facer. She then grabbed the man by the shoulders and threw him off to one side, falling to her knees as she did. He scrambled to his feet and ran off into the shadows, chased by the now-comprehending Michael and Harry.
"Are you hurt?" Jarrod exclaimed. "I could never forgive myself..." He pulled her to her feet and into his arms, and there, in the shadows of the clubs of St. James, fiercely kissed her.
She found herself unable to say anything as Jarrod ran his hands over her, ostensibly ascertaining her injuries. She felt as if he were trying to memorize her frame, instead, and a shiver of delight ran up her spine.
"Shhhh!" he admonished when she finally found her voice and tried to speak. "It will be all right," and his lips descended once more.
Jarrod kissed her! It had frightened her, and elated her, and she forgot to even wonder at his motive, all thought of his continuous challenges flying out of her mind the moment his lips touched hers. But she had to put it into perspective. The way things stood between them, there was no call to develop a tendre for the man. Still, it had been her first kiss, and it was exciting.
Jarrod, for his part, was having second thoughts about a carte blanche - that was no kiss of an experienced female, or else she was an even better actress than he supposed. But if this woman was not the hardened adventuress he had taken her for all along, who the devil was she?
The attack, too, concerned him. Was it deliberate, or just chance? And if chance, why the search of her body - a body Jarrod was even now admitting should belong to him. Even if she was an innocent, her reputation, he was sure, could not now stand up to scrutiny, having lived these past few weeks with Harry. Perhaps the carte blanche was not so bad an idea after all. At least she could live in comfort, and she would be his.
Now determined to protect Pen, Jarrod began to spend every waking moment possible with her. He insisted the four men rehearse for Friday evening's musical soiree at Jarrod House, he took her to a mill and a horse race, and he indulged her every evening with high-stakes card games at the finest clubs. He was amazed, as usual, at her skills with cards, and encouraged her to win copious amounts of money from his friends.
Penelope herself was beginning to feel rather flushed with success at the table. The constant attention from Jarrod removed any fear of further attack. After that incident, and their shared kiss, he had gone back to acting as if nothing happened, much to her relief. His treating her much the same as he always had, albeit with heightened security, only increased her comfort level.
The she got word from Claudette. Friday night would be a busy evening at the brothel, and she hoped Penelope would be able to help her that evening.
Friday evening began pleasantly enough. After dining at Jarrod House in good company, she spent some time playing with Lucky while Harry made a point of visiting with a much improved Carver. A short time later they all left for Lady Markworth's, where she was immediately accosted by Lady Juno.
"Coddy says you have a fine tenor voice," she cooed. "Perhaps you will sing a solo tonight? For me?"
"I am afraid, Lady Juno, this is ensemble work this evening." To cover my voice for one thing, she thought, relieved that the lady's brother could not tell the difference between an alto and a tenor.
"Then I insist you sing a private solo for me sometime soon."
"I shall see what may be arranged," Penelope fibbed, eager to get that female off her back. The truth was, she was beginning to feel uneasy about the entire evening. She wondered if this was not a warning to go home, pull a blanket over her head and stay there till dawn.
The gentlemen were on the program early in the evening, and Penelope was pleased when no one thought strangely of the rather high-ranged Mr. Wade, who had been fortunate enough in her youth to have learned to adapt her voice to the males in her family. Warned by Coddy to expect an encore, the foursome followed their first piece, which had been a love song, with a funny little tune about a duck-stealing fox, which was also well-received by the company.
Afterwards, with Coddy and Lord Michael on hand to accept the majority of the congratulations, Penelope skirted the room to avoid Jarrod and Lady Juno, and Harry went off to make their excuses to their hostess.
The two finally slipped out of the house with no one the wiser, except for a footman or two, but they wouldn't be listening to a conversation about someone named Claudette, Penelope was certain. They got into their hired carriage, waiting down the street with the faithful Franklin, and headed for the brothel. Claudette's note said that because she was under a contract, her leaving the brothel would have to be done secretively.
"What is the plan? Harry wanted to know for the fifth time that evening.
"Harry," Penelope said with no little exasperation, "I have told you already. You stay in the parlor and chat up some of the girls. Give me a few minutes to go up to Claudette and get her down to the back door. You meet us there. If it gets sticky, run Claudette out to Franklin in the carriage and come back and help."
"I think I have it..."
Penelope rolled her eyes.
At first it seemed too easy. Harry swaggered in swinging a cane, and proceeded to charm the ladies. A few moments later, Penelope strolled into the brothel, paid for time with Claudette and went up to her room. It was simple enough to drop a few bundles of her belongings out the window to Franklin, who really did not approve of any of this, but was willing if Miss Penelope wished it.
The valet secured Claudette's items in the boot of the carriage and then climbed in to wait.
Penelope and Claudette, dressed in a long cloak and mask, made their way down to the kitchen, where Harry - in a state of lucidity that amazed even his sister - had convinced the kitchen maids that a high-ranking lady had made use of the house and was leaving out the back so that she would not be seen.
Penelope shook her head at this as she followed Claudette out the door and down the alley toward the waiting carriage.
Disaster struck when they were halfway to their means of escape. Penelope had Claudette on her arm, with Harry bringing up the rear, when Claudette was grabbed away and thrown forward. A knife came flying through the darkness straight at Penelope. It hit her in the shoulder and she cried out, at the same time urgently motioning Claudette to get up and run.
Harry, roaring out his anger, pulled a sword from his cane and charged one of the ruffians. His blade pierced the man's leg and, with a howl, the attacker loped off into the darkness.
The other man had pulled the knife from Penelope's shoulder and had it raised for another plunge. Harry was too far away to do anything more than shout "Pen!" but another figure calmly stepped out of the shadows behind Penelope's assailant and brought his own cane down on the man's head. He then reached down and Penelope crumpled into his arms.
"Take Wade to the carriage," Jarrod ordered her brother, "and see that she gets to your rooms as soon as possible. I'll take care of this rogue and bring a doctor. Now hurry."
Harry didn't even hear his guardian call Penelope a "she," but Penelope did and she moaned in frustration. Harry, however, thought she was in pain and he thrust her into the carriage with Claudette and Franklin, and then climbed up on the box himself to drive them home.
Jarrod had lost sight of Penelope and Harry after their performance, and as he stood in a corner of the room looking for them, he could not help but overhear the conversation of two dowagers.
"I received a letter from my son today and rumor has it Miss Wade has gone into another mental decline. Poor, sweet Penelope! It's not her fault her horrid stepmother dislikes her! Even kept her at home under her thumb all those years instead of letting her go away to school. Why, it was just a few weeks ago I saw her at Oak Hill - the dear had been out in the fields keeping an eye on things for Harry's sake, and running through the house in those clothes of Stephen's, so eager she was to change into a decent gown in which to receive me! She's such an eccentric, but everyone in the neighborhood adores her."
The ladies probably rambled on, but Jarrod could have cared less.
Fool! How could he have been so blind! Cursing himself every which way he could, he strode from the room only to be stopped by his brother.
"Gabe! You look like you've seen a ghost!"
"Michael! Have you seen the Wades?"
"No, I was just going to ask you the same thing."
The two strolled out to the foyer of Lady Markworth's house and accosted one of the footmen.
"You!" the marquess barked. "Did you see two young men leave recently? One of them tall, blonde and youthful-looking?"
"Yes, sir, about twenty minutes ago, my lord."
"But why?" Michael wanted to know. "Where would they go?"
"One of the gentlemen said something about a Claudette, my lord," the helpful footman added.
"Who the devil is Claudette?" Michael wanted to know.
"Not nearly the passing 'fancy' I thought she was," Jarrod admitted, knowing exactly where he had heard that name before. "Now I know where to go."
But a search of the front rooms of the brothel revealed nothing in the way of either Wade.
"Maybe around back?" Jarrod suggested. The two men came out of the house and were walking toward the mews just as the heard Penelope's cry.
"Bloody hell!" Jarrod exclaimed and took off, swinging his cane in front of him.
The scene he faced when he turned the corner froze his very marrow.
There was Penelope - he could call her nothing but that now - on her knees in the alley, clutching her shoulder, a man with a knife poised above her, ready to strike once more.
Harry was too far away to do anything more than shout, but Jarrod, spurred on by that shout, stepped out into the dim light and brought his cane down squarely on the attacker's head.
He fell and the knife went clattering over cobblestones and into the darkness.
Jarrod, scooping Penelope tenderly into his arms, held her out to her approaching brother and ordered him to take her home immediately.
"See that she gets to your rooms as soon as possible. I'll take care of this rogue and bring a doctor. Now hurry!"
Michael was right behind Jarrod as he unwound his cravat and used it to tie the hands of the villain.
"What can I do to help?"
"Go get the doctor and take him to Wade's rooms. Penelope needs to have that shoulder looked at now."
Michael hesitated only a moment. "Penelope?" he croaked.
"Penelope Wade, to be exact. What a fool I've been. I'm glad, however, to know I was not the only one who was blind!" Clapping his brother on the shoulder, he urged him on his way. "And send our carriage round here. You take a hackney."
The man was taken to Jarrod House for extensive interrogation, and after an hour or so, the marquess had ascertained much of the truth. He went to his study, penned two letters, and saw to their delivery before running upstairs to change his clothes. He went out again, this time to dine on crow at a certain lodging on Half Moon Street.
The tall clock in the front hall of Jarrod House struck midnight just as he headed out the door.
© 2003 Copyright held by the author.