Charlotte Louise Dolan (7 page)

“And how did you arrive at that conclusion?”

“Well,” he hesitated, then turned to his twin. “You explain, Drew.”

Aha, Anne thought. The left-handed one is Andrew, Lord Wylington, which means the right-handed one is his brother, Lord Anthony. Now I just have to learn which one is which when they are not doing anything with their hands.

“There’s nothing to explain,” said Andrew. “Everyone knows it is a fact.”

“Before Columbus discovered the New World, everyone ‘knew’ the world was flat. It was a fact.”

“I have the feeling we are about to have another lesson. You argue with her this time, Tony.”

“Coward,” his brother hissed at him before laying down his snare and looking directly at Anne. “Very well, I shall explain. Women cannot do things like rescuing themselves from Indians because they are weaker than men.”

“I am a woman. Does that make me weaker than men?”

“But you are an exception. Most women are not as strong as men.”

“So, you think, for example, that the Reverend Goodman Thirsk, since he is a man, is stronger than, oh, let us say Kate, the washerwoman?”

“You are talking your way into a corner, Tony,” Andrew whispered with great glee.

“But I can talk my way out again. Pay attention, and you will learn something.” He took a deep breath, then faced Anne squarely. “Most women are weaker than most men, and most men are smarter than most women. And,” he added triumphantly, “the lesson you are trying to teach us today is to avoid absolutes, because no matter what the rule, there is always an exception.”

Anne shook her head. “No, the lesson today is about judging other people. What is the correct word for judging someone before you know anything about that person?”

The twins stared at her blankly.

“I shall give you a clue. What is the prefix that means ‘before’?”

“Pre-,” Anthony said quickly   “Pre-judge ...”

“Prejudice,” Andrew blurted out triumphantly.

“Exactly. And now I shall tell you an absolute rule to follow. Any time someone tells you that all of a group of people who share one characteristic also share all other characteristics, please be careful not to fall into the trap of believing them.”

“Like when someone says all Americans are uncultured?” Anthony asked.

“Exactly.” Anne nodded her approval.

“Or all Jews are misers?” Andrew added.

“Or all Gypsies will steal you blind?”

The boys began to get into the spirit of the game.

“Or all French soldiers are cowards?”

“And all English soldiers are brave?”

“Or all women are useless except when they are flat on their backs?”

Anne’s hands stopped their automatic movements, and the snare she had been making dropped into her lap. She, who prided herself on being unshockable, was shocked to her core. Something of her emotions must have registered on her face, because Anthony added by way of explanation, “Uncle Bronson said that.”

She was instantly so enraged that an adult, a grown man—a man purporting, moreover, to be a gentleman—should have said such a disgusting thing to an impressionable child, that for a moment she could not speak. Finally she managed to ask in a relatively calm, albeit wooden, tone of voice, “Your uncle said that to you?”

The twins regarded each other solemnly, then with downcast eyes confessed, “Well, actually—”

“He didn’t exactly know—”

“That we were listening.”

“We were—”

“Eavesdropping.”

“I see. And do you share your uncle’s opinion of women? Or can you perhaps think of other ways in which women are useful?”

“Well, Mrs. Plimtree is useful. She tells the maids what to do.”

“And the maids keep the rooms clean. More or less.”

“And Mrs. Stevens cooks food for everyone in the house.”

“And you teach us our lessons, even though some of them I’m not sure we want to learn.”

“And Nanny Gooch has been taking care of you since you were babies. Do not forget her,” Anne pointed out.

“No, she hasn’t.” This time it was the twins who looked shocked.

“She hasn’t? Has she neglected you in some way?”

“No, but Nanny Barlow took care of us when we were babies. But she went away after our parents died, and so Nanny Gooch came to live with us because a long time ago she was our mother’s nurse.”

“And she is so old, she mostly takes naps in her rocking chair.”

“But we don’t mind, because we are quite old enough to take care of ourselves.”

“And we don’t really need a nanny anymore.”

“I see,” Anne said. That would explain why the twins showed no particular affection for the woman who should have been like a mother to them. But nothing could explain away the totally prejudiced remark made by Lord Leatham.

“Well, if you are about done with making your snares, I shall show you how to determine the proper place to set them.” It would be best to get the boys’ minds off such subjects as the usefulness of women, because if she did not, Anne was likely to expound on the proper punishment for a man who was so prejudiced, so stupid, so bigoted, so ...

She could not think of a word bad enough to describe a man like Lord Leatham. She wondered what answer he would give if
he
were called upon to justify his very existence. It was too bad she was not likely to have the opportunity to ask him that question herself.

“No, Harry, I dare not. She might find out.” Sally, the upstairs maid, who was usually agreeably inclined toward a roll in the hay, had the audacity to resist this time when Harry tried to pull her into his arms.

“She, she, I’m getting rather tired of that blasted woman.”

“Aye, I can believe you’re tired. Made you walk all the way from town, or so I heard.”

“I’ll get even with her for that, see if I don’t. Who does she think she is, telling everyone here what to do?”

“Miss Hemsworth is Quality, that’s what she is. You just have to listen to her talk to know she ain’t like us.”

“She’s a freak, that’s what she is, and no matter how well born she is, she’s nothing but the governess, which makes her a servant just like us, so by what authority is she bossing the rest of us around, making us all shave every day? Why she even took the keys to the wine cellar away from old Chorley, and as the butler, it’s his responsibility to take care of the liquor.”

“Well, his idea of taking care of the brandy was guzzling it down as fast as he could. Regular old tippler, he was, usually so soused he couldn’t walk straight.”

“That ain’t the point. The point is, who gave her the right to interfere in other folks’ business? Like you—why do you care if she does catch you having a tumble in the hay? It’s not as though everyone here don’t know already how quick you are to spread your legs.”

“Harry, you know, you’re right. She got no business saying who I can cuddle. It’s my own business to decide who I want to kiss and who I don’t want to kiss.”

“That’s more like it. Come here and—”

With all the force in her arm, Sally slapped him across the face, almost knocking him off his feet. “And I say I ain’t going to have no more to do with you, Harry. You’re a lazy good-for-nothing and a sorry excuse for a man. Miss Hemsworth says I can do anything I set my mind to, even learn to read, so I don’t need you. I can do better than you.”

“You? Learn to read? That’s a laugh.”

Before he realized what she was about, Sally had made his second cheek sting like the first. Then, sticking her nose into the air, she turned and walked back to the house.

Both hands pressed to his face, which still stung from the slaps, Harry watched the maid disappear from sight. That was one more account he had to settle with Miss High-and-Mighty Hemsworth, who was no better’n him, no matter what airs she gave herself. By the time he finished making a fool out of her, all the rest of the servants would realize it, too.

* * * *

It had been a long evening. Bronson had dined privately with Lord Grenville and Mr. Fox, who had quizzed him for hours about the slave trade in Africa. He had been able to give them much detailed information, which they proposed using in Parliament, where it appeared the anti-slave-trade bill might soon be passed.

They had tried to persuade him to remain in London and take his seat in the House of Lords, where they could count on his vote, but he had declined. Although he had been in London less than a month, he was already starting to feel the boredom he always felt when he remained long in one locale.

Arriving finally at the town house belonging to his wards, which he normally used as his residence for the few days a year he had business to conduct in London, Bronson was met at the door by his manservant, Daws, who traveled with him and took on whatever role was required, whether that of valet, groom, or even butler.

Taking his top hat and cane, Daws said in an undertone, “There is a man waiting to see you.”

“At this hour? The devil you say.” It was past two in the morning, and Bronson was not in the mood to play the convivial host.

“He didn’t give his name, but I believe he’s the same Bow Street runner what you dealt with earlier. He’s been waiting since ten o’clock.”

After his long hours of intense discussion on weighty political issues, Bronson was not in the mood to consider the relatively trivial problems connected with his guardianship. “Ask him if he can return tomorrow—no, wait, I shall see him tonight. It must be important for him to have waited this long.”

Bronson entered the anteroom and saw that his valet had been right in his assumption. “Mr. Black, what can I do for you?”

“It’s more like what I have to report to you. Came across something else smokey and thought it might tie in with your interests.”

Pouring out two glasses of brandy, Bronson offered one to the other man. “Proceed.”

“I found out this evening that Trussell hired a new governess for those two wards of yours.”

“And? There is nothing strange about that. In general, I leave the hiring of the servants up to him since I am so frequently out of the country.”

“Well, it happens that this time, contrary to what is normal, he only interviewed one candidate for the post.”

“One candidate? I see nothing suspicious in that. Perhaps he was satisfied with her credentials and saw no need to waste his time with further interviews?”

“Aye, p’rhaps. Or p’rhaps he was intending to install an accomplice in Wylington Manor. Right handy that would be.”

“What makes you think there is anything ... smokey, I believe you termed it, about this person?”

“Not so sure she’s respectable. Got a face what would get her on the boards at Drury Lane just for the asking. And a figure that would get her off again just as quick as the gen’lemen got a glimpse of her. So why’d a woman like that want to earn twenty pounds a year trying to cram a little education into some brat’s head?”

It appeared to Bronson that her career choice tended to prove her respectability, rather than cast doubt on it. “I assume you have more, or you would not be troubling me at this hour of the morning?”

“Course I’ve got more. I discovered Trussell sold his lease on that little house in Mayfair to some banker, who took possession of it lock, stock, and barrel. Included in the furnishings was the red-haired bird of paradise. And Trussell has packed up his things and skipped out without paying his landlord a shilling on account.”

“From what you say, it would be just as logical to assume that he is running off to Gretna Green with a rich heiress, in which case I can only wish him the best of luck.”

“On the contrary, he caught the evening stage and appears to be heading for Devon, where that so-called governess is already installed, ready to hand, if you get my meaning?”

“This is all rather far-fetched. You are implying that Trussell has established his new mistress in Wylington Manor and is passing her off as a governess? On the face of it, it is too preposterous to believe.” The Bow Street runner continued to stare at him stoically, so Bronson decided he would have to play out the game. “Very well, what is this woman’s name, and what do you know of her background?”

Satisfied that he was being taken seriously, the runner pulled out his occurrence book and made a great show of flipping through the pages. “I been checking into things, you understand, just on the chance that you’d still be interested in having a little investigating done. The woman’s name is—” he scanned another page, then seemed to find what he was looking for, “—Anne Hemsworth, and her references would appear to be impeccable.”

“Then I fail to see what grounds you have for further suspicions.”

“You’re a fine gentleman, m’lord, but I’ve been in this business since before you cut your eyeteeth. I said her references
would appear
to be impeccable because I learned long ago that anything what can be written and signed can be forged. Why I could tell you tales ...”

Ceasing to listen closely to whatever story the runner felt called upon to relate, Bronson rubbed his forehead wearily. Really, when one thought about it, the whole case against the governess was unbelievably flimsy, like a huge, carefully constructed house of cards, which one breath of reality would more than likely topple to the ground. He opened his mouth to tell the runner that he was not interested in paying any money out for an investigation into the background of any Miss Hemsworth, when he suddenly realized he had heard that name before.

In what connection, he could not immediately recall, but there was an overtone of unsavoriness that lingered in his mind. Abruptly, he reversed his decision and wrote out a bank draft and handed it to the runner.

“I shall be leaving in two days for Devon. Even if you are not finished with the investigation into the governess’s background, I wish you to come here and give me a partial report of what you have learned before I depart.”

The runner folded the bank draft into a small square and tucked it down into an inside pocket of his overcoat. “As you say, m’lord. I shall see you in forty-eight hours’ time.”

I have likely thrown away ten pounds, Bronson thought as he wearily climbed the stairs to his room. My solicitor would be sure to say I am chasing after shadows. If only I could remember in what connection I have heard the name Hemsworth.