The Baron's Malady: A Smithfield Market Regency Romance

  The Baron’s Malady

  A Smithfield Market Regency Romance

  (Book 4)

  By

  Rose Pearson

  © Copyright 2018 by Rose Pearson - All rights reserved.

  In no way is it legal to reproduce, duplicate, or transmit any part of this document by either electronic means or in printed format. Recording of this publication is strictly prohibited and any storage of this document is not allowed unless with written permission from the publisher. All rights reserved.

  Respective author owns all copyrights not held by the publisher.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

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  Chapter One

  Miss Josephine Noe, daughter to the latest deceased Mr. and Mrs. Noe, sat quietly on a grubby step in Smithfield Market, trying her best to stop the cold wind from getting in through her moth-eaten shawl. Her unshod feet were raw with cold and she attempted to tuck them under her grubby skirts. Her eyes were red but there were no more tears left. She had nothing left within her to give. All she had to do now was survive.

  The wind whipped about her and she shivered, trying her best to ignore the grumbling of her stomach. It had been hours since she’d last eaten and, even then, it had only been a half-rotten apple and a moldy bit of bread she’d found in an alleyway. There was nothing going spare and since she was only one of hundreds of beggars on the street, it wasn’t likely she’d be able to survive if things carried on this way.

  She’d thought to come to London from her home in Hampstead, hoping that she’d somehow find work and be able to scratch out a living, but that dream had died almost the moment she’d set foot in the town. There was nothing here but disease and death. The very same disease that had taken her parents and forced her from her village.

  When her parents had become ill, she’d done everything she could to help them, but to no avail. What had made things all the worse was that she too had become sick but, for whatever reason, had managed to recover from it. She could still remember the ache in her throat, her pounding head, and skin that itched and burned. Her days had been filled with delirium until, finally, she’d emerged weak and frail, but no longer ill.

  It had not been that way for her parents. Unable to do anything to help them, she had seen them taken from her one after the other. The agony of that still tore at her, bringing tears to her eyes whenever she so much as thought of it.

  The village had not wanted her to linger, however. They had heard of this disease sweeping through nearby towns and had demanded that she leave the village for good, even though she had already had the disease and then recovered. There had been no other choice for her and she’d realized that it was fear that had forced her friends and neighbors to act as they did. Doing as they’d asked without protest, she’d taken the few things she had left and walked away from the only place she’d called home. The village folk had burned her parent’s cottage to the ground, doing all they could to prevent the disease from spreading.

  Josephine prayed that the village folk were safe. She was not angry with them for treating her as though she were some kind of leper, remembering how mothers had clutched their children to them as she had passed. Being in London these last weeks, she had seen just how truly awful this ‘scarlet fever’ was. The disease was terrifying in its swiftness, taking man, woman, and children – although the children and the weak were often the ones doomed for death. Her heart twisted with pain and she rested her head on her knees for a moment. What was she to do now? Was she truly to have escaped death in Hampstead, only to face it again in London? If she did not eat, then she would soon be too weak to move and would end up being just another urchin dead on the streets of London.

  Her body shuddered with the cold as the wind pierced her thin cotton dress, trying to make its way into her very soul. Hope was gone from her. She had nothing left in this world, nothing she could call her own. There was no-one to turn to, no-one whom she could go to for aid. Winter was coming and Josephine did not know what she was to do.

  “Buy your bread ‘ere!”

  Her head shot up, hope running through her. The bread cart was passing by. People began to flock to it and, as Josephine watched, she saw a young beggar boy nip up to the cart. He was gone in a moment, a loaf of bread held tightly in his hand, his face lit up with a grin.

  Josephine caught her breath. She did not want to steal, knowing that everyone was just trying to make a living of their own, but if she did not have something to eat then she would not last. She had to take what she could from where she could.

  A shudder ran through her. The last time she had tried to take something from one of the market street sellers on Smithfield Market, she had almost been caught. Her hand had curled around an apple and thrust it into the pocket of her dress, just as a ruckus had started up only a few feet away from her. She could still remember the sight of it. A young boy, grubby, dirty and afraid, was screaming for his life. In his hand, he clasped something shiny, which she had known at once to be a coin. He’d obviously stolen it from someone and been caught and the terror in his face had burned into her soul. She could still remember how she’d backed away, her eyes fixed on the boy as a grown man had held him tightly. The constabulary had arrived, shouting loudly as they’d pushed their way through the crowd.

  And then, the man holding the child had let out a scream of pain, taking his hand from the child as he twisted away. The boy had bitten him – a desperate act in order to get away. The constables had run immediately after him, their shouts of rage seeming to echo straight through her.

  “Mark my words,” she’d heard someone say. “It’ll be the gaol for that young lad, if they catch him. He won’t ever see the light of day again, I reckon.”

  “Let’s hope they don’t catch him then,” said another man, with a wry smile on his face. “Poor beggar.”

  “Careful there!”

  The shout brought Josephine back to the present, back to her grumbling stomach and the ever-present fear of being caught. She could not be sent to gaol. The very thought sent terror straight through her, her heart quickening its pace at the fear of being thrown into some dark and dingy cell, with only rats for company. He won’t ever see the light of day again.

  Those words had her fixed to her step, despite the desperate urge to eat.

  The man pulling the bread roll cart began to wave his arms as the people jostled about. A bread roll fell from the cart, landing on the cobbled street as the cart moved away.

  Immediately, Josephine’s eyes fixed on it. For a moment, her fear and her hunger battled against one another until, finally, she moved without hesitation. Dodging in between men and women, some with baskets and some who glared at her as though she were an annoying fly buzzing about their presence, she kept her gaze fixed on the small, dirty bread roll.

  Her hands clasped about it with such gratitude that she almost felt like crying, but she knew she could not
eat it here. Running back to where she had come from, she quickly sat down to eat, her teeth tearing off large chunks of bread as she grew desperate to satisfy the growl of her stomach.

  Tears ran down her cheeks as she ate. This was not the life she was used to. Her father had been a laborer and her mother had taken in all manner of work in order to bring in a little extra money. She had helped her mother with the sewing and darning, with the herbs and remedies her mother had put together to help those who were sick, and what had been all the more wonderful was when she had been offered the chance to work as a maid at one of the great houses in Hampstead. It had brought a good wage with it, although she had been forced to improve herself in a good many ways even though she barely interacted with those in the house. The housekeeper had taken great pains to improve her speech, her posture, her manner of walking and her appearance. It had been difficult to be apart from her parents but it had been the chance to have a different life and, until the day she got word that her parents had become ill, she had enjoyed it. It was not a rich or abundant life, of course, but it was still a life where she had plenty to appreciate and enjoy. The money she had made working as a maid had been sent back to her parents for the most part, making sure that they never had to scrape about for food. They had never once had to consider stealing simply to satisfy their hunger. There had never been a lot, but there had always been enough. Now, even though she was alone on the London streets, she hated the thought of stealing but knew she would have to do so in order to survive.

  She wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, leaving a grimy smudge on her cheek. Her fingers were red with cold but at least the roll brought a little contentment – not that it would last long. Closing her eyes, Josephine tried not to let doubts fill her. She had come to London in the hope of becoming a maid in one of the grand houses, but no-one would so much as look at her, not when she had nothing but the clothes on her back and no references of any sort. She would have had references, of course, had she not had to leave her position in the great house with barely a day’s notice. But she had not been able to stay away, knowing that her parents needed her. So now, what was she to do? Was she to simply beg on the streets and pray to God that she would somehow make it through the winter? Was there nothing she could do?

  “You there!”

  Her breath caught and she forced herself to remain entirely still, frozen in place on her step.

  “You! Girl!”

  Slowly lifting her head, Josephine saw a tall, dark-haired gentleman moving towards her. He was wearing fine clothes, walking with the dignity and air of a gentleman. There was strength in his movement and, as he approached her, Josephine saw the slight lift of his chin and wrinkling of his nose, which betrayed his disinclination for the area surrounding Smithfield Market.

  “Y-yes, my lord?” she stammered, wondering if she ought to stand but being a little unsure as to whether or not her legs would hold her up. “Can I help you?”

  “Yes.” He tossed her a coin which clattered to the ground. Josephine stared at it for a moment, before picking it up with cold fingers. She held it tightly in her palm, hardly daring to believe she had been given something so precious.

  “Do you know your way about this place?”

  Carefully, she got to her feet. “I do, my lord,” she replied, hope bursting in her heart.

  “I need to find a particular address and appear to have become rather lost. I thought to walk, you see, since the day was fine,” the gentleman replied, looking at her steadily. “You appear to be in need of some assistance also. If you are able to deliver me to where I need to go, then I shall be glad to recompense you in some way.

  Josephine swallowed hard and nodded, the coin clutched tightly in her hand. He was to give her more, perhaps? More money meant that she would not have to struggle for food for some days, for the coin she had meant food for at least a week!

  “I should be glad to help you, my lord,” she replied, carefully, letting her gaze travel to his face and finding that there was now a small smile on his handsome face. In fact, he appeared to be quite at his ease and she found herself smiling back.

  “Very good,” he responded, grandly. “I am Baron Dunstable. I am charged with calling upon a family friend to take them to my estate for a prolonged visit.” His expression changed. “The disease is taking hold of London and I must get her safe.” Josephine noticed that his gaze had drifted away by this point and it was as if he were speaking to himself. She hesitated, waiting for him to say more, only for him to clear his throat and turn his attention back to her. Frowning, his brows burrowed down as he looked at her carefully. “You are not unwell, I hope?”

  “Oh, no, my lord,” Josephine replied, hastily. “That is, I have already had the fever and it has gone from me.”

  His expression cleared. “I see. You have recovered then?”

  “Yes, my lord. A few weeks ago it was now.”

  Nodding slowly, the gentleman studied her for another moment or two. “You speak very well for a....” He trailed off, clearly unwilling to call her what she was – a street urchin. She managed a small smile, hating her wretched appearance.

  “I was a maid in the great house in Hampstead for a time,” she said, by way of explanation. “The housekeeper there spent a lot of time working with me.”

  The explanation seemed to satisfy him. “I see,” he murmured, his gaze a little interested. Stretching out his arm towards the pavement, his lips curved upwards into a small smile. “Then might we go, miss?”

  A faint heat crept into her cheeks, embarrassed. “My lord, you have not said where you wish to go.” She dropped her head only to hear him chuckle with exasperation.

  “Indeed, I have not. It is not too far, I think.” Quickly, he gave her the address and Josephine, relieved that she knew precisely where to go, began to hurry through the streets of Smithfield Market.

  As they walked in silence, Josephine felt her despair begin to fall away. She would not have to worry about food or shelter for a time, if the gentleman was to be as generous as he promised. His funds would not give her any permanent solution, of course, not unless his fiancée’s household was looking for a chamber maid, but at least it would take the fear from her back for a time.

  “Have you no work?”

  She turned her head, a little astonished that the gentleman would consider speaking to someone as lowly as she. “I – I cannot find any, my lord,” she stammered, feeling heat rise in her face as she tried her best to speak properly. “I came from Hampstead to find work here but none would take me.”

  “From Hampstead, you say,” he replied, easily, as they walked past the Smithfield House for Girls. “Why did you come to London? Was there no work for you back home?”

  “The fever took my parents.” The words came from her lips with no emotion attached to them, although it tore her apart inwardly. So many had lost loved ones, so many felt the same pain and grief she endured. She was just another one left alone on the earth, lost, afraid and without hope. Silently, she wondered if the Baron, being of the nobility, had lost any of his dear ones to the fever. Surely not, given just how different his circumstances were from her own!

  “I am very sorry to hear of your loss, miss,” he murmured, as they turned the corner into another street. “That must have been very painful for you.”

  She nodded but said nothing. She could not. The ache in her chest was becoming too great.

  “My father recently passed away,” he continued, as though he were simply talking to a friend. “That is why I am to return to his estate, although I suppose it is to be my estate now.” Sighing heavily, he came to stand beside her as she came to a stop at the end of the designated street. “Grief affects all of us, does it not? No matter our circumstances.”

  Josephine felt herself wondering about this gentleman. He appeared both kind and gracious, which was not what she had come to expect from those in the nobility. Most often, they simply rode or walked past people like her,
ignoring them completely, whereas Baron Dunstable seemed to be rather interested in her.

  “You must be careful,” he was saying, as she gestured towards the house where his fiancée would be waiting for him. “A young lady like yourself could easily become the prey of those who have less than pleasant intentions.”

  She managed a small smile, aware of just how intense his blue eyes were when they lingered on her. A little ashamed of her ragged dress and grimy face, she dropped her gaze and nodded. “Thank you, my lord. You are most kind.”

  The gentleman smiled at her again, his eyes alight. “Very good, miss. Now here, take this and ensure that you spend it wisely.” He placed some coins in her palm but she did not look at them, barely able to keep her breathing steady. This was more than she had ever dared hope for.

  “I think you will be wise with them, however,” he continued, with a broad smile. “Thank you for your excellent navigation through the streets of London. I am in your debt.” He bowed towards her, as though she were some elegant lady, before turning on his heel and walking away.

  Josephine remained precisely where she was for a good few minutes, watching him as he left. Her breathing was quickening as she felt the coins in her hand, her legs shaking just a little as she slowly unwrapped her fingers to look down at them.

  She gasped. The gentleman had given her five sovereigns. Five full sovereigns. That was more than her parents had earned in a year! Her eyes filled with tears and she held her hand close to her chest, feeling the warm tears slip down her cheeks. There was more than just money here, there was a place to sleep, food to eat, warm tea to drink and revive her. It would give her the chance to find work without fearing where her next meal would come from. Baron Dunstable had not simply given her money, he had given her a life. She would not need to fear the winter, nor even the one after that if she was careful.

  Pulling her ragged handkerchief from her pocket, she wrapped up the coins tightly and tied a knot, making sure they would not jingle for fear they might be stolen. “Bless you,” she whispered, watching him through tear filled eyes. “Bless you, good sir. And thank you.”