Rake's Progress by MC Beaton Page A

made him feel important. Also, in her clean white dress and with her well-brushed head of shining brown hair, she had looked almost pretty. He wanted to buy her something. He had not yet had time to buy her that present.
    â€˜I say, Luke,’ he said, ‘what’s a genteel thing a fellow can give a lady as a present?’
    â€˜Who’s it for?’ asked Luke curiously.
    Joseph coloured and looked away. Like most London servants, he was intensely snobbish. He envied and admired Luke and could not bring himself to say the present was for a mere scullery maid.
    â€˜It’s for Miss Hunt,’ he said desperately. Miss Hunt was a rather severe governess who worked at Number 52 Clarges Street.
    Luke whistled soundlessly. ‘Flying high, ain’tyou?’ he said; for a footman to pay court to a governess was as ambitious as a City merchant paying court to a wealthy lady of the ton .
    â€˜Never get anywhere if you don’t try,’ said Joseph with a laugh that sounded hollow in his own ears.
    â€˜I know just the thing if you’ve got the ready,’ said Luke. ‘A silk rose. Best place to go is Layton & Shear in Covent Garden.’
    â€˜I don’t know as I have time,’ said Joseph.
    â€˜You’ve bin braggin’ as how you got two pounds. Come along. We’ll take a hack.’
    On their return to Clarges Street, the two men carefully stopped the hack at the Piccadilly end so that neither of their butlers should notice their extravagance.
    They were strolling along Clarges Street when Luke suddenly stopped and seized Joseph’s arm. ‘There she is!’ he cried. ‘Miss Hunt. T’other side o’ the street.’
    â€˜I’ll wait till tomorrow,’ said Joseph frantically because he had just spotted Lizzie at the top of the area steps.
    â€˜Faint heart never won fair lady,’ said Luke with a grin. ‘I’ll help you. Miss Hunt!’ he called.
    A rather hard-featured young woman turned and stared haughtily.
    Joseph groaned inwardly. He had to go through with it. There was no way he could bring himself to tell Luke he had bought an expensive silk rose for a mere scullery maid.
    He crossed the road with Luke at his heels. ‘Miss Hunt,’ said Joseph with a deep bow, ‘pray do methe honour of eccepting this here rose.’ She raised thin brows and looked at him as if he had crept out of a sewer. ‘It’s silk,’ gabbled Joseph.
    She stared coldly at Joseph, raking him from head to foot, before turning away and mounting the steps.
    â€˜Garn, you old ratbag,’ called Luke in a fury. ‘I bets you wear dirty drawers.’
    â€˜I shall speak to your employers,’ said Miss Hunt. ‘Disgusting jackanapes!’
    â€˜That’s torn it,’ said Joseph savagely. ‘Wot you say that for, yer bleeding kennel mouff?’
    â€˜She asked for it,’ said Luke passionately. ‘See if I care. If you ask me, you’d be a curst sight better off with that Lizzie over there. Turning into a right looker, she is.’
    Luke saw his butler, Mr Blenkinsop, peering out of a downstairs window of Number 65, and leapt across the road and vanished inside.
    Joseph walked miserably over to where Lizzie was standing, watching him sorrowfully.
    â€˜What are you staring at me for?’ he demanded angrily. He shouldered his way rudely past her and went down the stairs.
    Rainbird listened with outward courtesy and inward growing amusement to Lord Guy’s question as to whether the butler knew anything about a Miss Jones of Berkeley Square.
    â€˜As a matter of fact, I do,’ said Rainbird. ‘I had the honour to be entertained to tea by Miss Jones.’
    â€˜And how did that come about?’ asked Lord Guy.
    Rainbird explained about Miss Jones’ meeting with Lizzie and about the lady’s desire to impart education to her servants. ‘It appears,’ added Rainbird, ‘that