A Fall from Grace - Maggie Ford (have you read this book TXT) 📗

‘Then I shall make my way home. Alone!’ she told Dolly, yanking herself free of Joe’s arm.

With Dolly staring after her, hearing her call, ‘You can’t, not alone!’ she raced in panic now for the pegs on which she’d hung her coat by the door between saloon and public bar.

Yanking the coat off its hook, aware of Joe already making after her, she was halfway through the doorway when someone appeared to step out straight in front of her almost sending her staggering sideways.

‘I do apologize, my dear!’ the person exclaimed, his hands holding on to her shoulders to keep her steady. ‘Are you hurt?’

As she shook her head, he smiled down at her. ‘You came at me in such a rush.’

‘I didn’t see you,’ she gasped, knowing that any second Joe would arrive at her side.

‘So it seems,’ the man went on in a noticeably educated voice, ‘a young lady in a desperate hurry failing to look where she was going.’

She saw him look from her to Joe who had stopped short just a few feet away. ‘Surely you were not intending to venture outside alone in the dark. You know, a young lady on her own at this time of night could easily fall prey to some unwanted company.’ Again he glanced at the young man in uniform now standing very still.

‘You really should have a reliable escort of some kind, at least to accompany you to your home or to whatever means of transport you intend to get you safely there. Do you live far outside London?’

Why he should assume that, she had no idea and without thinking gave the name of the road where she resided adding, ‘It’s between Cheapside and Bishopsgate,’ glimpsing his brief look of surprise, though why he should be surprised, she didn’t know.

‘And were you going home there by omnibus or taxicab?’ he asked evenly enough.

‘I… I don’t know,’ she stammered, trying to collect her wits. ‘I came here on the Underground with some friends but they’ve all left and I’m not sure of my way home. I’ve not lived in London for very long you see,’ she explained and saw his face clear as he smiled down at her.

‘Then if you would allow me to escort you for the sake of your safety? I am not a threat, my dear,’ he continued as she made to draw back. ‘I am a married man, or was… a widower now. I assure you I am quite harmless.’

He looked harmless and anything was better than randy-minded Joe. Madeleine nodded, almost grateful to find herself guided gently through the growing noise of the bar.

‘My limousine is outside, a short distance along the road,’ he said softly. ‘That also is safe as my chauffeur will be with us.’

The last thing Madeleine noticed as the crowds in the bar closed in behind her was Joe standing like a surprised dummy in the centre of the saloon and she couldn’t help feeling a moment of triumph that he would be left without any physical relief to his feelings this night.

Helped by her self-appointed escort into quite an imposing vehicle similar to her father’s but bigger, she sat very still as he moved in beside her, to her relief keeping his distance.

For a while he remained silent as the motor gained speed. Finally he said: ‘May I say that for someone who speaks as well as you, it seems a rather odd address to have. I hope you don’t mind my saying but I rather thought it would have been some finer part of London. You appear to be a well brought up young lady and if you would pardon my rudeness, may I ask you what an obviously well brought up young lady is doing living in such a poor area?’

For a moment she felt herself rebel at his questioning but something about him had filled her with such a desire for a sympathetic ear, even from a stranger, that tears begin to prick her eyes.

Without any prompting she found herself telling him all about herself; how she, an innocent at eighteen had been rejected by her father for falling in love with someone he did not approve of, a humble tradesmen’s son; how to her despair her mother had felt bound to support her husband in his harsh decision, how her young man had then let her down and forsaken her.

He sat listening so attentively, saying nothing that finally she touched on the true reason for her father’s deep anger, of having being packed off to a place for unmarried mothers, the child taken away. At this point her resolve to merely state the facts as they were gave way. The next thing she knew she was crumpled in his arms sobbing her heart out.

‘You poor child,’ she heard him say through her weeping. ‘What a dreadful tale. And you are all alone, my dear, with no one to turn to.’

Against his shoulder she nodded unable to speak for sobbing.

At the wheel, having been issued with directions as to her address, the chauffeur drove deaf to the emotion going on behind him, remote, his uniformed back stiff, his eyes on the road ahead. Like her father’s own staff, he held no opinion of his own, would hear nothing, a mind centred on his duties and nothing else.

Madeleine had managed to recover her composure as far as possible, realizing how foolish she must seem collapsing into the arms of a complete stranger. She sat up, fishing feverishly into her handbag for a handkerchief to hastily dab her eyes.

‘I’m so sorry,’ she managed to mumble.

‘There is no need to feel sorry, my dear,’ he said very quietly. ‘It is my guess that you have told no one of your true feelings for a long while and I feel myself privileged to have been the one you chose to tell. After all I am a stranger to you and perhaps