Behind the Rake's Wicked Wager - By Sarah Mallory Page 0,21

the furtive looks in his direction it was clear this was not a subject for his hearing. He turned away, pretending to interest himself in a pleasant landscape on the wall, but not before he had seen Mrs Bulstrode turn quickly in her seat, setting the tassels on her green turban swinging wildly.

‘Lord, Mrs Sanstead, have you not heard? The Anstruthers have retired to Shropshire. They left Bath this morning.’

‘Heavens, that was sudden. When do they mean to return?’

‘Who can tell? Their daughter...’

He could not make out the next words, but he heard Mrs Sanstead sigh.

‘Oh, you mean she is with child? Poor gel.’

‘Yes. I understand she refused to say who the father might be and Anstruther has banished her.’ Mrs Bulstrode’s whisper was easily audible to Jasper’s keen ears. ‘Thrown her out of the house in disgrace.’

‘Flighty piece, I always said so,’ muttered Mrs Farthing with a disdainful sniff. ‘My son William showed a preference for her at one time, but I am glad it came to nought. She has obviously been far too free with her favours.’

‘Whatever she has done she does not deserve to be cast off,’ murmured Mrs Wilby. ‘And what of the father? Do we have any idea who he might be?’

‘No one will say, although there are rumours.’ Mrs Farthing dropped her voice a little and ended in a conspiratorial whisper that somehow managed to carry around the whole room. ‘Mr Warwick.’

‘What? Not the young man we met here the other night?’ exclaimed Mrs Sanstead. ‘Why, he made a fourth at whist, and seemed so charming.’

‘The very same.’ Mrs Farthing nodded. ‘He denies it of course.’

‘Naturally,’ muttered Susannah.

She had not joined the matrons, but she was listening as intently as Jasper. Now he heard her utterance, and saw the angry frown that passed across her brow.

‘But what of Anstruther?’ barked the General, with a total disregard for the fact that the ladies considered their gossip confidential. ‘If it was my gel I’d have it out with the rascal, and if ’tis true I would make him marry her.’

‘That certainly would be preferable to her being cast out and having to fend for herself,’ sighed Mrs Wilby.

Susannah’s lip curled. ‘An unenviable choice,’ she said, sotto voce. ‘Marriage to a scoundrel, or destitution.’

‘You do not agree, Miss Prentess?’ Jasper kept his voice low, so that only she could hear him. ‘You would rather he did not marry her?’

‘If there is resentment on either side, the match is doomed to failure. But having said that, he should know the damage he has caused. Too many men think that women are put on earth purely for their pleasure.’ She looked up, a challenge in her eyes. ‘I would have the father face up to the consequences of his actions. But whoever he may be he will not do so, and the poor girl is cast off to make her own way as best she can.’

‘She will no doubt find her way to Walcot Street,’ said Mrs Farthing, overhearing. ‘It is a Magdalen Hospital, after all, and the right place for such women, though heaven knows there are more entrants than we can accommodate at the present.’

Mrs Bulstrode fluttered her hands in agitation.

‘My dear Mrs Farthing, I am not sure we should be discussing this here, now...’

Her eyes darted about the room, and Jasper quickly moved to the mirror to adjust his neckcloth. He saw her glance flit over Gerald, who was studiously brushing a fleck of dust from his sleeve and avoiding everyone’s eyes. Susannah was not so reticent. She stepped into the group.

‘If you fear for my sensibilities then pray do not be anxious,’ she replied, her head up. ‘I am no innocent miss fresh from the schoolroom and I think this is a subject that should be discussed in every lady’s drawing room.’ She turned her challenging eyes upon Mrs Farthing. ‘I believe you are on the committee for Walcot Street Penitentiary, are you not, ma’am?’

‘I am. We do our best to teach the inmates the folly of their ways...’

‘Inmates. Yes, I believe the young women there are more prisoners than patients.’

Mrs Farthing’s thin lips curved into a patronising smile.

‘My dear Miss Prentess, these young women come to us in desperation and we look after them. In return, of course we demand their compliance. They arrive sick, often with child. We look after them, train them in an occupation and put them out to service where we can.’

‘We?’ Susannah’s voice was deceptively sweet. ‘You take an