Shady Lady (11 page)

C
hapter
11

S
he was back in Greek Street within the hour, out of patience, out of humor, and, she grudgingly admitted, a trifle hurt. Crushed was a more accurate description, but she didn’t want to start feeling sorry for herself, so she focused on her ire.

Not one of the ladies she had called on had been “at home,” only she suspected they were
all
at home. The trouble was, not only had she no cards to present to the supercilious maids who answered the door, but she wasn’t dressed for the part of a fashionable lady. She could guess what they’d told their mistresses, because, in very short order, she was shown the door.

She despised London society and all its affectations.

She wasn’t done yet, though. She was a newspaper woman, and she wasn’t going to give up so easily. Besides, this wasn’t about a story. This was about Chloë.

Rose helped her off with her pelisse. In a voice she might have used to pass on state secrets, she whispered, “He’s here, ma’am. Mr. Bowman, I mean. He’s with master Eric. Such a fine, polite gentleman.”

A burst of childish laughter had them both looking up at the ceiling. “And,” added Rose, “he has a way with children. Master Eric ate all his luncheon, every last bite of it, as though he hadn’t seen food in a year.”

Jo made a harrumphing sound, decided she was being churlish, and managed a smile. “Mr. Bowman has a way with everyone, Rose.”

“Doesn’t he, though? Oh, Mrs. Daventry said I was to tell you she’s gone out shopping for clothes for Master Eric. Mr. Bowman said he’d stay with the boy till one of you got back. He’s such a fine gentleman.”

“Very thoughtful,” Jo agreed.

She went to her own chamber first, then, after arranging her hair, she made for Eric’s room just along the corridor. Much to her surprise, he wasn’t in bed but up and dressed and playing cards with Waldo at a small table in front of the fire.

She crossed the room on a rustle of skirts and plumped herself down on the edge of the bed before Waldo had a chance to get to his feet. She was thinking of his lame leg and how he shouldn’t stand up out of politeness just because a female had entered the room. She needn’t have worried. No one seemed to be aware of her existence. They were both concentrating on their cards.

She let out a little hiss of breath. “Good afternoon, Mr. Bowman,” she said, “Eric.” She nodded in Eric’s direction. “Oh, don’t let me disturb you.”

Apart from a murmured greeting, they took her at her word.

Fulminating now, she said, “So, how did things go in Stratford? What did the vicar have to say?”

Waldo looked up with a lazy grin. “I’ve arranged everything to our satisfaction. Mr. Sutherland couldn’t be happier. I’ll tell you all about it as soon as this game is finished.”

Eric chimed in, “I don’t have to go back to Mr. Harding’s school, Aunt Jo. I don’t have to do anything Uncle Waldo doesn’t want me to do.”

“And Aunt Jo,” Waldo amended with a disarming smile. “Her opinion counts too.” A small interval of silence, then, “No, Eric, you can’t play that card. Here, let me show you.”

Jo watched in silence as the game progressed. Evidently it was her day to be ignored, first by the ladies of the
ton
and now by Eric and Waldo. She watched them as they played their cards.
Pique
was too strong a word for what she felt.
Disappointed
was closer to the mark. It wasn’t often that she was made to feel invisible.

Waldo’s preoccupation took care of one problem, though. He was pretending that the kiss had never happened. She was glad, because it saved them both a great deal of embarrassment.

Finally, she could no longer contain herself, and she said, aggrieved, “Is that all you have to tell me? You’ve arranged everything? The vicar is happy? And Eric doesn’t have to go back to Mr. Harding’s school? What have you arranged? Why is Mr. Sutherland happy? What’s going on?”

Another lazy smile from Waldo. “Patience, Jo, patience. I’m fighting for my life here. Eric is poised to annihilate me. I can’t let that happen. When the game is over, then we’ll talk.” He gave her a speaking look. “In private.”

His words rebuked her. She was in the wrong, of course. Obviously, he didn’t want Eric to know what he’d found out.

Another silence as the game went on. Jo grew restless. She wasn’t happy with the idea of Eric learning to play cards when most boys would be doing their lessons.

She voiced the thought. “Wouldn’t Eric’s time be better spent in reading or doing arithmetic?”

“He
is
reading and doing arithmetic. Just watch him.”

It was true. There was a pencil and paper in front of Eric with words and numbers on it. Not only that, but he was counting his cards.

Waldo said, “The point of getting an education is to put it to use. That’s what we’re doing. If Eric can’t read and count, he can’t play cards—not with me, at any rate.”

This newfound camaraderie between Eric and Waldo made her feel distinctly out-of-sorts. It seemed that she and Waldo had very different views on how to raise a boy.

She couldn’t keep the edge from her voice. “There must be better uses for an education than playing cards!”

Eric said, “All the boys at school know how to play cards.”

“That’s no reason for you to follow their example.”

Waldo looked at her with a frown in his eyes. “That’s where you’re wrong, Jo. A boy must fit in with his peers. He must be able to hold his own.”

“Trump!” Eric suddenly yelled, making Jo jump. “I won! I won!”

“Fair and square,” Waldo conceded.

“Well,” said Jo, relenting a little. “I suppose it’s harmless enough when there’s no gambling involved. But since you’ve made a miraculous recovery, young man, it’s lessons for you tomorrow.”

Eric’s brilliant smile died. “But . . .” He looked at Waldo.

Unconcerned, Waldo said, “I’ve promised to teach him how to fight. Now, don’t look as though you’ve swallowed a prune. It’s a sport. Every self-respecting gentleman knows how to defend himself.”

Eric piped up. “I want to know how to fight, Aunt Jo, so those boys will leave me alone.”

“And so they will,” said Waldo emphatically.

His look spoke volumes. Jo understood. No doubt Eric had met with his share of bullies at Harding’s school. All the same, it was a bit galling to have Waldo take charge without consulting her.

Both Waldo and Eric were watching her closely, waiting for her to respond. “I abhor violence in all its manifestations,” she said.

Waldo’s brows climbed, then he hooted with laughter. “Tell that to Magistrate Vine and Mr. Harding.”

“I—” she huffed. “What else could I do? I couldn’t let them take Eric away, could I?”

“No!” cried Eric.

“Certainly not,” Waldo responded. “You did the right thing. Sometimes a show of force is the only honorable recourse that is left to us. Win or lose, we’ve got to fight.” He added gently, “All I’m teaching Eric is how to defend himself.”

His eyes saw too much. He was well aware that she resented his influence. She let out a breath and shook her head. “I can hardly wait to see it. A fine pair you make: you Eric, with your bruised ribs, and you with your—” She stopped and colored faintly.

“Gammy leg,” supplied Waldo easily. “Don’t be embarrassed. I think it’s more awkward when people don’t mention it.”

Eric’s eyes shone with excitement. “Uncle Waldo didn’t let that stop him during the war. At the siege of Bada . . . Bada—whatever—he and Major Somerset drew their swords and fought off all the bad men who were trying to hurt the governor’s daughters.”

“The siege of Badajoz,” Jo murmured and smirked.

Chloë had written about the incident in her column, but it had slipped Jo’s mind. Now it all came back to her, how Captain Bowman and Major Somerset had fought off the scum of the victorious British army to save the governor’s daughters from being dragged off and ravished. Badajoz would be forever remembered as a black day in the annals of the British army even though Wellington had hanged the worst offenders.

Laughter lurked in the look she gave Waldo. “You mustn’t believe everything you read in the papers, you know.”

“The incident was mentioned in dispatches,” he protested. “Anyway, the point I was trying to impress on Eric was that a man of honor always protects the weak, whatever the consequences.”

“That’s what I’m going to be when I grow up,” said Eric, “a man of honor, just like you, Aunt Jo and Uncle Waldo.”

She started to laugh, saw that he was in earnest, and dipped him an elegant curtsy instead. “Why, Eric, that is the nicest compliment a gentleman has ever paid me.”

Eric beamed.

Waldo got up. “I shall ring for Rose,” he told Eric, “and you can tell her you may have a demitasse of chocolate. Not a whole cup, but a demitasse. Understood?”

Eric nodded.

“So,” said Jo, “that’s how you got Eric to eat his lunch. That’s blackmail.”

“I don’t know why you’re smirking. All I did was take a leaf out of your book. Yes, Eric told me. But sixpence is a little steep for me.”

She snorted, as only a well-bred lady knew how. “And the chocolate won’t cost you a penny.”

“Clever girl.”

Eric said, “Are you leaving, Uncle Waldo?”

“Yes, but I’ll see you tomorrow. In the meantime, you can practice those card tricks I showed you. And remember, don’t tell a soul how they work. It’s our secret.”

“Cross my heart,” replied Eric with feeling.

Jo led the way to a small sitting room a few doors down. “Eric likes to know that we’re close by,” she said. “In fact, he’ll hardly let us out of his sight. Would you like something to drink—tea, coffee, or something stronger?”

“Thank you, no. Mrs. Daventry has already plied me with tea and crumpets.”

“Ah.” She was beginning to feel nervous and she didn’t know why. In Eric’s bedchamber, he’d seemed relaxed, almost playful. Now he looked . . . watchful.

When she sat down on one of the chairs that flanked the empty grate and he took the other, the look was gone. He said in that easy way of his, “We missed you at lunch.”

Sensing a trap, she said carefully, “I lunched with Lady Langston. Do you know her?”

“Only by name. Is she your secret scribe, Jo?”

“My secret—No! And that’s all I’m going to tell you.”

He regarded her thoughtfully, then went on, “You went out alone, without a maid to chaperon you.”

She laughed. “I’m past the age of needing a chaperon!”

“In the country, perhaps. But not in London.” He put a finger to his lips when she made to speak. “A lady with your reputation can’t afford to put a foot wrong.”

This unsubtle reminder of her incarceration in Bow Street put her teeth on edge. “If you are referring to my . . . my contretemps with the law, may I remind you that, not a moment ago, you were applauding what I’d done.”

A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “What I’m referring to,” he said, “is the fact that I stand to lose a considerable sum of money if you run afoul of the law again.”

“That’s not going to happen.”

“I’m glad to hear it, but in this you will obey me. When you go out, you will take your maid with you.”

Her eyes narrowed unpleasantly. She’d debated with herself about taking him into her confidence, but this high-handed attitude stayed the impulse. He might forbid her to go on with her investigation, and she wasn’t going to allow that to happen.

He said, “If you don’t like my terms, Jo, you can always go home to Stratford. In fact, that’s what Magistrate Vine would prefer.”

And by implication, that’s what he would prefer too. So would she, but not before she’d discovered what had happened to Chloë.

“I came up to town,” she said, “to visit a few friends and do a little shopping, and that’s what I intend to do,” and without a pause, she went on, “So, what arrangements have you made for Eric?”

Her mistake was to give him a direct look. She was caught in his stare, and his searching eyes seemed to penetrate all her defenses. She wasn’t aware that she’d stopped breathing till he released her with a flick of his lashes.

“Let me set your mind at rest,” he said. “The vicar is Eric’s trustee. There’s a small sum of money that Eric’s father left for his son’s education, and Mr. Sutherland won’t be spending it on Mr. Harding’s establishment, not after what I told him. So, with Mr. Sutherland’s consent, I’ve applied to Chancery for temporary guardianship of the boy. There’s no rush, of course, but the first thing I’ll do is look for a suitable school for him.”

This did not set her mind at rest. “It’s a family that boy needs, not another school. He needs love, not discipline. If I were his guardian and he came to live with me, he could see his grandmother as often as he likes. When you think of it, it makes perfect sense. A man in your position doesn’t have the time to look after a small boy. I do. And when his grandmother—”

“Jo,” he cut in, “his grandmother is deathly ill. She may never recover.”

This brought her up short: After a moment, she sighed. “Poor Eric. Then he’ll have no one. It isn’t fair. He’s such a good boy. My aunt and I are amazed at how well he’s fitting in. He doesn’t seem cowed or afraid. His parents would be proud of him if they could only see how well he’s turned out.”

“I’m sure they would.”

“He never speaks of them, and we don’t like to pry. It’s as though he has drawn a veil over that part of his life. You must have learned something of his background from the vicar. What did he tell you?”

He took a moment to adjust his coat, and the thought flashed into her mind that if Waldo had accompanied her that morning, they would have gained admittance to every door that was shut against her. He wasn’t a fashion plate, but the cut of his blue coat and beige trousers was impeccable. That wasn’t all. He had an air about him that commanded respect—not arrogance exactly, but an assurance that was entirely unconscious.

She rarely thought about her appearance, but in Waldo’s presence she always felt inadequate. And now, after being turned away at every house she had called on, she was wishing that she had something more striking to wear than the plain grim kerseymere she had donned that morning.