Nan Ryan (23 page)

She stood there a long time after the carriage had disappeared, feeling cold and lonely. She allowed the drapery to fall back into place, crossed to the bronze marble fireplace where a fire still burned. She dropped wearily down onto the padded footstool and stared forlornly into the low-burning flames.

22

The rains came.

The official beginning of autumn brought with it unremitting rains to the British Isles. The weak autumn sun could no longer manage to shine its way through the heavy, cloaking clouds, and each day ended just as it had dawned—cold, dismal, and rainy.

The dreary weather added to Nevada’s growing gloom. She wished more than once that they had never come to this huge faraway city with its depressing climate. Fall had always been her favorite time of year back home. Crisp cool mornings. Warm sunny afternoons. And chilly brisk nights.

Not here.

Here, autumn was cold and dark and rainy. And the rain was not the strong torrential kind that lashed the lower Mississippi on hot afternoons. There, great thunderheads suddenly boiled up in the cloudless skies and great rumbles of thunder shook the earth and soon huge raindrops pummeled the region with the ferocity of an angered beast.

Then as quickly as it had come the storm was over, the sun came back out, and everything glistened, clean and new and beautiful.

In London the rains were never violent and sudden. They were slow, drizzly, and constant. They chilled a person right down to his bones and Nevada blamed Miss Annabelle’s steadily worsening cough on London’s continual pervasive dampness.

On a drizzly October afternoon Miss Annabelle, looking paler than usual and tired, came into the sitting room carrying her gloves and the ever-present umbrella. She smiled at Nevada and said, “Lady Holland is calling this afternoon’s gathering a garden party, but I would hope we shan’t really be out in the garden.”

“I would hope you wouldn’t be out at all,” said Nevada, finding it strange to be the one scolding, rather than being scolded. She looked at the tall slender woman who had become very dear to her. “Miss Annabelle, let me call a bellman; have him send Lady Holland regrets.”

“No, child. Cap’n Roulette, dear, dear man, was so pleased when his Lady Ashley arranged my invitation to Holland House. I’d not want to disappoint him. Besides,” she said truthfully, “I’m most anxious to meet Lady Holland, Mary Augusta.”

Nevada rolled her eyes heavenward. “Put all those snobby lords and ladies in a tow sack, shake them up, pour them out, and you couldn’t tell which one is which. They’re all alike, if you ask me.”

Miss Annabelle said, “The weather has you out of sorts. Perhaps after you and King Cassidy drop me off at Holland House, he’ll think of somewhere new to take you. Cheer you up a bit.”

“The only thing that would cheer me up is for us all to get a boat back to the blessed United States of America!”

“The third Marquess of Londonderry built Londonderry House,” said King Cassidy as he pointed, directing Nevada’s attention to the imposing dwelling on their left. “Said to be one of the most splendid homes in London.”

The silver king and Nevada were driving through Park Lane in the rain, after having deposited an excited but pallid Miss Annabelle at Holland House at precisely three o’clock. King Cassidy was doing his best to entertain the moody homesick Nevada—and failing, if her uninterested slouch was any indication. Still, he pressed on manfully, calling her attention to Dorchester House, hoping she’d be charmed with its understated elegance.

He drew only a groan from the bored Nevada.

“What is it, child?” he said patiently. “Tell me. Tell old King and I’ll try to fix it.”

That brought a quick smile to Nevada’s mobile face. “King, it’s just that I’m bored with London and this constant misting rain. And I’m tired of all these stiff British hoity-toity folks with their big mansions and their butlers and maids and footmen and nannies. Lord Almighty, I’ll bet the
dogs
are all pedigreed around these parts.”

King Cassidy chuckled and nodded. “You have a point. Perhaps Park Lane and its inhabitants are a trifle stuffy. What would you like to do this afternoon? Name it and we’ll do it.”

“You mean it, King?”

“Would I lie to a young lady who proudly bears the name of my beloved home state?”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. Miss Annabelle thinks I should drop Nevada, just go by Marie Hamilton.” She made a face. “What do you think?”

“Miss Annabelle is probably right.” He stroked his silver goatee and added, “With the bluebloods you can be Marie. With me you’ll always be Nevada.”

“It’s a bargain. Now, what I would really like to do is to see some of the exciting things in London.”

“Exciting things?”

Laughing, she jammed an elbow into his side. “You know, the wicked places. Like Kate Hamilton’s!”

“Saints preserve us! Where did you learn about Kate’s place?”

“I overheard a couple of sports at the roulette wheel the other night. They were discussing a red-haired woman there who is a contortionist. I’m not sure I know exactly what that means but they said—”

“Never mind that. I really don’t think we should—”

“Oh, please, King. All I want to do is drive by. That’s all—I promise.”

Thinking that the fair Miss Annabelle would surely have his head should she find out, the permissive King Cassidy allowed himself to be talked into showing his enchanting young friend some of the seamier sides of old London town.

When the carriage rolled to a stop across the street from Kate Hamilton’s house off Leicester Square, Nevada, anxiously peering out through the drizzle, said, “Do you suppose Kate Hamilton is kin to me?”

King Cassidy laughed. “I rather doubt it. Kate’s fat and swarthy and officious. I see no resemblance.”

Nevada whirled about to face him. “How do you know what she looks like?”

King cleared his throat and did not answer.

She pressed on. “A couple of our hotel maids say that the Shah of Persia visited there when he came to London. They say Kate’s place is one of the most recherché brothels in the world.” She fixed King with her wide blue eyes. “What does
recherché
mean?”

“Rare. Choice.” He paused. “Uncommon.”

Her eyes as big as saucers, Nevada said excitedly, “Really? Tell me about it. Is the house itself uncommon or do you mean the women who live there?”

Shaking his silver head, King tapped on the Coach’s ceiling, signaling his driver to move on. “Were I you, I’d keep to myself all you’ve heard about Kate’s.”

Nevada laughed easily. “You mean don’t tell Miss Annabelle. I wouldn’t, she’d be shocked right down to her corset stays if she knew such places existed! Why, I mentioned the other night that I’d like to see a bare-knuckle prize fight and I thought she was going to faint.” Nevada sighed and settled back against the tall seat. “Let’s face it, King, Miss Annabelle is not like us. She truly is a cut above.”

“Ah, that she is,” agreed King Cassidy, smiling wistfully.

The sad facts were brought home to him once more. Any senseless attraction he felt for the prim southern lady would be best kept as secret as their ride past Kate Hamilton’s brothel. Either would be equally offensive to the sweet refined Miss Annabelle.

Miss Annabelle’s afternoon at Holland House had been enjoyable. It had also been tiring. By bedtime she was feeling uncommonly weak and running a slight fever. By the next morning she agreed to let Nevada call the hotel’s doctor. By late the next afternoon the hotel’s balding physician suspected pneumonia.

Johnny and Lady Ashley walked into the Claridge’s suite as the doctor was leaving. When he first saw the short balding man with his worn black leather bag, Johnny was sure something had happened to Nevada.

“What is it? What’s she done?” said Johnny, reaching out to grab the shorter man’s lapels.

Half afraid of the big, fierce man towering over him, the meek doctor said, “Sh-she’s done nothing, sir, but I’m afraid she has contracted pneumonia, all the same. She should be taken round to the hospital if she’s not feeling better by nightfall.”

“A healthy young girl like her … she couldn’t possibly …” Johnny, his dark face set in lines of anguish, released the shaken man and hurried to the large bedroom Nevada shared with Miss Annabelle. Not bothering to knock, he pushed open the door and hurried inside.

He stopped short when he saw the ashen-faced Miss Annabelle lying in bed, Nevada on her knees beside her. Johnny came directly to the bed, knelt down beside Nevada, and after giving Nevada a quick, reassuring glance, said, “Miss Annabelle? Dear, can you hear me? It’s Johnny.” He reached for her pale hand.

Her eyes opening tiredly, Miss Annabelle gave him a weak smile. “Cap’n Roulette, I’m so glad you’re home.”

“Miss Annabelle, I want to take you to St. Ann’s Hospital,” Johnny said. “Will you allow me?”

Her eyelids slipped closed. She nodded feebly. “Yes. Now that you’re back, I’ll go.” She struggled to open her eyes once more. “We couldn’t leave Nevada alone, you see.”

“Yes, I see,” Johnny said softly. “Don’t you worry, Miss Annabelle. I’ll look after Nevada.”

The ambulance came within thirty minutes. Johnny rode in it with Miss Annabelle. Nevada and Lady Ashley followed in the black landau. Nevada, worried about her dear friend, was silent on the ride. Lady Ashley, quietly studying Nevada, felt her dislike of the dark-haired beauty grow with each passing mile.

Disgruntled that Miss Annabelle’s sudden sickness was going to make them miss the debut of Gilbert and Sullivan’s new opera at the Savoy Theater, Lady Ashley wondered miserably if it would also mean that Johnny would feel it his duty to play protective nanny to his spoiled ward. A resourceful woman, Lady Ashley silently began making plans.

King Cassidy showed up at the hospital, kissed Nevada’s cheek, and whispered against her ear, “Thanks, child, for sending me word. You know how fond I am of Miss Annabelle.”

“I knew you’d want to call,” she murmured.

“Indeed,” replied the silver-haired man. Then, attempting to mask his deep concern, he said, “Don’t worry, child. They’ll take good care of her here.”

The quartet remained at the hospital well past dark. Finally the bespectacled physician, Dr. Theodore Hatcher, exiting Miss Annabelle’s room, told them there was no need for them to remain. They should all go home and get a good night’s rest.

“He’s absolutely right.” Lady Ashley was quick to agree. “There’s nothing we can do. Let’s go.”

“I’d like to stay here with her,” said Nevada. “What if she needs us? What if she wakes up and no one’s here?”

“Shh,” said Johnny, putting a comforting arm around her. “Dr. Hatcher said she’s sleeping peacefully. You need rest too. I’ll bring you over bright and early in the morning. All right?”

Nevada finally nodded and agreed, reluctantly, to leave.

King Cassidy said, “I think I’ll just stay for a few more minutes.” He smiled and explained. “I’ve nothing planned and I’m not tired.”

Johnny, walking between the two woman, ushered them out of the antiseptic-smelling hospital and into the chill, rainy night. No sooner were they inside the roomy landau than Lady Ashley realized Nevada had once again managed to sit between her and Johnny.

Leaning out a little, Lady Ashley said to Johnny, “I suppose it’s too late for the theater. We’re not dressed and—”

“I’m sorry,” said Johnny. “It is too late.”

She gave him a sweet smile. “No matter, really. There’s still time for the wine supper afterward at the—”

“I don’t think so,” said Johnny. “Not tonight.”

“Very well,” Lady Ashley said evenly, “If you’d rather not.” She looked from Johnny to Nevada. Nevada, arms folded, was staring straight ahead. Lady Ashley said, “Nevada, Johnny and I are aware you don’t wish to be alone tonight.”

Nevada’s head snapped around. She wondered what the woman had in mind.

“I’ve a lovely idea,” Lady Ashley continued, smiling at Nevada. “You’ve not been to my home yet, have you? I’ve a lovely secluded manor house in Mayfair. Lots of space for guests. We’ll go directly there, have Cook fix us a meal, then you may choose any room you wish and get a good night’s sleep. How does that sound to you?”

Nevada looked at Lady Ashley as though she had suggested some unspeakable perversion. “I am not about to spend the night with you and Johnny!”

“Nevada!” Johnny reprimanded.

“You misunderstand,” said Lady Ashley quickly. “You’ll have your own room.” She smiled at Johnny. “Johnny and I will occupy ours.” She looked at Nevada and added smugly, “Just as always.”

Nevada glared at her. Then turned to Johnny and said, “I am not going anywhere but to Claridge’s. If you won’t take me there, I’ll jump out of this carriage right now and walk there.” She lunged for the door.

Johnny caught her, pulled her back with strong fingers encircling her arm. Then with an apologetic shrug for Lady Ashley, he said, “She’s upset over Miss Annabelle. You better drop us off at Claridge’s.” His black eyes met Lady Ashley’s and he added, “I promised Miss Annabelle.”

“Certainly, darling.” Lady Ashley was agreeable. And when the carriage stopped at the Brook Street entrance and Nevada jumped out into the rain, Lady Ashley caught Johnny’s arm, gave his sensual mouth a kiss, and murmured, “I’ll miss you, darling.”