Page 52 of My Fair Lord

“Good to see you in any case,” Van Hoon continued. “I could do with your help regarding Willem. He has developed an unsavoury new friendship. Are you able to help?”

Ned concealed a sigh. He’d rather hoped Willem would have learned a lesson. “Sadly not. I have a commission that takes me elsewhere.”

“That’s a shame.” Mr Van Hoon scowled then twirled his cane. “But how interesting. Any gossip to liven an old man’s life, may I ask?”

“You may ask,” Ned said pleasantly, “however, you won’t receive an answer. You know that. Discretion is my byword.”

The old man did not take offence, knowing he had benefitted from this too. It didn’t stop him trying again, though.

“I see you are dressed like a gentleman. Is there anything the world is unaware of?”

Ned bared his teeth in a false smile. “Oh I’m sure there are plenty of things the world is unaware of. Many that I am too and I’m happy to remain so. I must bid you farewell. I have places to be.”

He would have got away with that enigmatic and unrevealing response had Florence not swept up to him briskly. She was wearing a travelling suit with a closely tailored jacket, a rakishly angled hat and half-veil, cream kid gloves and carried a small bag. She looked attractive and excited. She looked, in fact, exactly like the wealthy woman she was.

“Mr Blake, there you are. We need to go. Time and tide wait for no man and certainly not for a woman! Why, it’s Mr Van Hoon, isn’t it? How nice to see you again. I cannot tell you how much I enjoyed dancing with you at the ball. Mr Blake, I shall see you on board.”

She curtseyed to them both and walked away again. Van Hoon’s eyes were gleaming as they followed her departing figure.

“Interesting commission. So America is the place, is it? When do you return to our fair shores?”

“I have no idea.”

“Is the heiress paying? I never took you for a kept man. Are you getting your ducks lined up in anticipation?”

“Miss Wakechild is paying me for the work I’m doing, and I warn you to keep a civil tongue in your mouth.” Ned dropped his voice, tensing his frame, and stepped close to Van Hoon. “In fact, I want you to keep your tongue entirely motionless in your mouth when it comes to Miss Wakechild. And to my affairs, for that matter.”

“Of course. I would not dream of interfering.” Van Hoon stepped back, a sickly smile on his face. “Naturally as a father I would have some concern for Miss Wakechild. I wonder how much she knows about your past and how much she might like to know about your future. Or perhaps she knows already.”

Ned stepped even closer. “I am warning you. There is plenty I could tell the world about your son and his habit for cheap whores and losing heirlooms. I suggest it will be mutually advantageous for us both to keep our counsel.”

Van Hoon nodded and stepped back. Ned raised his hat and walked away. He had only taken three paces when Van Hoon called after him.

“You can’t run from your past forever. You can’t sail away from it either. Enjoy your voyage on theCity of Bruges. I assume you’ll be sailing on her if you’re leaving tonight.”

Ned’s shoulders knotted and it took a great deal of control not to bellow aloud in frustration. What impetuosity had driven him to come somewhere he might be recognised? He should have gone straight to the ship and shut himself in his cabin. He was so close to leaving the country without anybody noticing but now Van Hoon knew not only his destination but his method of travel. His frustration at his incaution did not ease until he was on board and safely in the small second-class cabin. It was only when the ship had left the dock and was on the way down the Mersey that he felt the bonds of anxiety loosening.

So what if Van Hoon knew which ship he’d sailed on. So what if he told anyone who came looking. Anyone would be a day behind, and New York was large enough for Ned to keep hidden. He was booked into a hotel under a different name so even if he was tracked to the city, the trail would go cold. For the next month at least, he did not need to give any regard to what might be happening in England, nor the effect it could have on his future.

ChapterFifteen

Unfortunately, and contrary to expectation, Ned discovered that his experience of sea travel was closer to Lady Griggs’ than Florence’s. Much to his embarrassment and discomfort, as soon as theCity of Brugesreached the open water of the Atlantic, he was hit by unquenchable nausea. For the first twenty-four hours, he could do little more than lie on his bed, groaning and praying that he would not actually vomit into the large porcelain bowl that the steward – with a neutral expression that suggested he had seen many such afflicted passengers – had placed on the nightstand within easy reach.

By lunchtime on the second day at sea, he finally began to feel a little more like himself, and by five in the evening, he decided that, though he was unable to face the dining room, he could stomach some vegetable broth and water biscuits.

He was extremely surprised, when they were delivered, to find Florence walking into his room just as the steward left.

“Dottie, please wait outside,” Florence instructed. “I’ll leave the door open as the room needs airing so it will be perfectly proper for you to stand out there. Mr Blake, I thought I had better see whether you were still alive,” she said breezily.

She was dressed in a purple twill skirt and jacket with a cream blouse and a small straw hat tipped back on her head. She looked the very image of health and vibrancy and it was all Ned could do not to glower at her in envy.

“Miss Wakechild, I wasn’t expecting a visitor! Are you allowed in the second-class areas?” he asked. Fortunately he had washed and dressed so wasn’t supine in his nightshirt.

“Undoubtedly not, but at this time of day everyone else is resting or playing games on deck and I won’t be missed. Mr Blake, do you object to me opening the window? You need air.”

Ned didn’t object and Florence opened the catch on the small bullseye porthole. A brisk but refreshing blast of air wafted through the room, smelling of salt and freshness. Ned wished he had done it on first boarding. He lifted the silver cloche to discover a small, lidded tureen and a plate with crackers. A small dish of butter and a dressed orange completed the meal. Cautiously, he lifted the lid from the tureen, praying that he would not vomit at the sight and smell. Instead, he found his mouth watering in anticipation.

“Please don’t stand on ceremony for me. Eat,” Florence instructed.