Resurrection Row - Anne Perry [84]
Dominic found it hard to emulate. He had sought out Lord Fleetwood with trepidation and some self-consciousness. The friendship had increased more easily than he had expected; his natural charm was something he always underrated. But he never managed to guide the conversation successfully into the reality of workhouse tragedy. Every time it was acknowledged in words, they rang hollow, like one reciting with perfect pronunciation a language he does not understand.
After two attempts Dominic became more conscious of the urgency and admitted frankly to Carlisle that he needed his help.
Accordingly, the day after, because of the influence Fleetwood might have, Carlisle joined Dominic and Fleetwood in the Park for a spanking drive at a speed that scattered the few pedestrians and sent other drivers and riders into paroxysms of rage or envy, depending upon the strength and direction of their own ambitions.
Dominic had driven, and although it was with a recklessness he would not normally have dared, today he was past caring for anything so trivial as social outrage or a few thrown paraders landed hard upon their dignity on the damp ground.
“Marvelous!” Fleetwood said with delight, catching his breath. “My God, Dominic, you drive like Jehu! I swear I never though you had it in you. If you come and drive my team in the spring, I’ll consider it a favor from you.”
“Of course,” Dominic agreed instantly, his mind on the workhouse, and a trade favor for favor. He would not even consider now how he could find the courage to drive in such a fashion in cold blood, and with weeks to contemplate it beforehand and to fully appreciate all the possible disasters. He thrust it away to some improbable future. “Delighted to!”
“Brilliant,” Carlisle agreed, his tongue in his cheek, but Fleetwood did not see it. “You have a natural art, Dominic.” He turned to Fleetwood, both their faces red with cold and the fierce wind of their passage. “But you have a very fine team, indeed, my lord. I’ve seen few better animals. Though I think perhaps the springing of your carriage could be improved a little.”
Fleetwood grinned. He was a pleasant young man, not handsome, but of a countenance that spoke of abundant good nature.
“Bounce you around a bit, did it? Never mind, good for the digestion.”
“Wasn’t thinking of the digestion,” Carlisle replied with a smile. “Or the bruises. Rather more of the balance of the thing. A well-balanced carriage is a lot easier on the horses, takes the corners better, and is less likely to overturn if you get some idiot run into you. And of course if you do get an excitable animal, less likely for the whole thing to get away with you.”
“Damn, but you’re right!” Fleetwood said cheerfully. “Sorry I misjudged you. Sold you short a bit. I’ll have to get it seen to. Must have it right.”
“I know a chap in the Devil’s Acre who can spring a carriage to balance like a bird in flight,” Carlisle offered with a casual air as if it were of no interest to him, merely a graceful gesture after an early morning’s companionship.
“The Devil’s Acre?” Fleetwood said incredulously. “Where the deuce is that?”
“Around Westminster.” Carlisle threw it away. Dominic watched him with admiration. If he could have been so light, perhaps he could have interested Fleetwood. He had been too earnest, too full of urgency and the horror of it. No one but a ghoul wanted horror, least of all with breakfast!
“Around Westminster?” Fleetwood repeated. “You mean that awful slum area? Is that what they call it?”
“Appropriate, I would have thought.” Carlisle’s peaked eyebrows went up. “Filthy place.”
“What took you there?” Fleetwood handed the horse over to the groom, and the three of them went