A Regency Officer's Wedding. Carla Kelly

deposited Miss Thayn at the Mulberry and listened to more profuse thanks. When they started east towards the coast, they passed a shabby inn rejoicing in the name of the Noble George. Sally took her husband’s hand. ‘Please stop here a moment.’

      The admiral leaned out the window and spoke to the coachman. ‘Now what, my dear?’ he asked. ‘It must be something clandestine. You’re looking rosy again, Lady Bright.’

      ‘Charles, you are the limit,’ she said. ‘When I was looking so hard for work myself, I came here to ask if they needed kitchen help.’ She put her hands to her warm face. ‘The landlord was a horrible man. He leered at me and told me if I wanted to work in his kitchen, he would turn out his little pots-and-pans girl and make room for me, if I wanted to supply other…services.’

      ‘Bastard,’ the admiral said mildly. ‘I’m only being so polite because you really don’t want to hear what I’m actually thinking. Shall I call him out and hit him with my hook? A few whacks and he would be in ribbons.’

      ‘No! I want to hire that child to help Etienne. No telling what other demands that odious man has placed on her.’

      ‘How old do you think she is?’

      ‘Not above eight or nine.’

      ‘Good God. I’ll go in with you,’ he said, his face dark.

      He did, glowering at the landlord in probably much the same fashion he had cowed faulty officers, during his years as admiral. Sally felt considerable satisfaction to see how quickly the man leaped to Admiral Bright’s mild enough suggestion that he produce the pots-and-pans girl immediately, if he knew what was good for him. As she waited, and the landlord hemmed and hawed, and looked everywhere but at the admiral, Sally reminded herself never to get on the ugly side of her husband.

      When the girl came upstairs, grimy and terrified, she seemed to sense immediately who would help her, and slid behind Sally, who knelt beside her. The landlord tried to move forwards, but Charles Bright stepped in front of Sally and the scullery maid.

      ‘That’s far enough,’ he said. His voice was no louder than ever, but filled with something in the tone that made the landlord retreat to the other side of the room.

      Slowly, so as not to frighten the child, Sally put her hand on a skinny shoulder. ‘I am Lady Bright and this is my husband, Admiral Sir Charles Bright.’

      The scullery maid’s mouth opened in a perfect O. She gulped.

      ‘I have been hiring maids to work in my house. I need a scullery maid, and think you would suit perfectly.’

      ‘M-m-me?’ she stammered.

      ‘Oh, yes. You might have to share a room with another maid in the servants’ quarters. Would that be acceptable?’

      ‘A room?’ she asked, her voice soft.

      ‘Yes, of course. Where do you sleep now?’

      The little girl glanced at the landlord and moved closer to Sally. ‘On the dirty clothes in the laundry,’ she whispered.

      Sally couldn’t help the chill that ran through her spine. In another moment, Charles was beside her, his hand firmly on her shoulder.

      ‘We’ll do better than dirty clothes,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’

      She shrugged, and scratched at her neck. ‘General, they called me Twenty, because they thought I wouldn’t live too long in the workhouse.’

      Sally bowed her head and felt Charles’s fingers go gentle against her neck.

      ‘We’ll find you a good name, Twenty,’ he said. ‘Will you come with us? Don’t worry about him. Look at us.’

      ‘I’ll come,’ she whispered.

      ‘Excellent,’ he said. ‘Now, is there anything you want to fetch from your…from the laundry room? Lady Bright will go with you, if you’d like.’

      ‘Nuffink,’ was all Twenty said. She tugged at her over-large dress and patted it down with all the dignity she could muster. ‘I’m ready now.’

      ‘Very well, my dear,’ Charles said, his voice faltering for only a split second. ‘Go with this extra-fine lady to the chaise out front. I will have a few words with your former employer. Go on, my dear.’ He glanced behind him at the landlord. ‘I promise not to do anything I will regret.’

      That worries me, Sally thought, If you thrashed him, I doubt you would regret it. She shepherded the scullery maid into the street, quickly boosting her into the chaise, where she looked around, her eyes wide.

      ‘Cor, miss,’ she whispered. ‘I’ve never ridden in one of these!’

      ‘We’re going a few miles away to my husband’s estate, where you will work for a French cook. He will treat you very well. So will we.’ Sally could barely get the words out, as she watched tears slip down the child’s face, leaving tracks through the grime.

      She smelled abominably, but Sally hugged her and sat close to her. In a few minutes, her husband joined them. He sat opposite them.

      ‘Twenty, I asked your former employer for your back wages. He was a little forgetful at first, but eventually he remembered that he owed you this. Hold out your hands.’

      He poured a handful of pence in the astounded child’s hands. They spilled through on to her dress, which she stretched out to receive them. ‘When we get home, I will ask Etienne to find you a crock to keep them in.’

      She nodded, too shy to speak, and edged closer to Sally, who put her arm around the girl. Finally, it was too much, and she burst into noisy tears. Disregarding her odour and dirty clothes, Sally pulled her on to her lap, whispering to her until she fell asleep. When she slept soundly, Sally put her on the seat and rested the scullery maid’s head in her lap.

      ‘That landlord told me she hadn’t earned a penny because she kept breaking things and stealing food,’ Charles said, his voice low. ‘Perhaps Wilberforce should look closer to home, if he wants to see the slave trade.’ He leaned forwards and tapped Sally’s knee with his hook. ‘You’re quite a woman, Mrs B.’

      She looked at him, shabby in old civilian clothes years out of fashion because he had never been on land for most of two decades. His hair could have used a barber’s shears, and he probably hadn’t been standing close enough to his razor this morning. There was steel in him, and a capability that made her want to crawl into his lap and sob out every misery she had been subjected to, like Twenty. All those years at sea, spent protecting his homeland, seemed to be reflected in his eyes.

      ‘Thank you,’ was all she said.

      Starkey was aghast to see what they had brought home with them, but Etienne didn’t bat an eye. In no time, he had water heating for a bath. When the water was ready, and Twenty eyeing it with considerable fear, he appeared with a simple dress.

      ‘This was in a trunk in the room I am using,’ he said. ‘Here are some shears. Hold it up to her and cut it to size. That will do for now.’

      ‘Etienne, you’re a wonder,’ Sally said, as she took the bit of muslin and wondered which Fair Cyprian had worn it.

      Twenty’s protests died quickly enough, when she saw there was no rescue from a bath, followed by a pine tar block that barely foamed, but which smelled strong enough to drive away an army of lice. Her hair was already short. Trapping the towel-draped scullery maid between her knees, Sally trimmed and then combed her hair until it was free of animal companions.

      Dressed in the hand-me-down, Twenty stood still for a sash cut from a tea towel, and then whirled in front of the room’s tiny mirror. She stopped and staggered after too many revolutions, and flopped on the bed, giggling.

      ‘I’ll have something better made for you soon,’ Sally told her.

      ‘I couldna ask for more, miss,’ she said, and it went right to Sally’s heart.