Somebody Wonderful (20 page)

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Authors: Kate Rothwell

BOOK: Somebody Wonderful
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Eddy dove into his food as if he were starving. Blenheim clicked his tongue and muttered, “Disgusting.”
Mick leaned close to the abashed Eddy and whispered. “Listen, love, remember when I showed you how to use the fork in Miggie’s? Show this Blenheim man your best manners.”
Eddy turned red and looked near to crying. How on earth did a child this tender survive the streets, thought Mick, not for the first time.
But Eddy aimed a wavering smile at Mick and picked up the fork.
“Mr. Blenheim.”
Mick looked over at Timona, who sounded unusually perturbed. “I do hope you are not feeling ill.”
“Not at all, my dear Miss Calverson. Why do you ask?”
“Since we’ve arrived, you have seemed a bit under the weather. Is something bothering you? It is not like you to be uncivil.”
Blenheim’s perfect brow clouded. “Ahem. I thought I made it clear in the carriage, Miss Calverson, that I do not believe our current . . . ah.”
Timmy frowned. Even she must understand the man, Mick thought.
Blenheim wasn’t doing a good enough job hiding his dislike of Mick. Blenheim was a fool, but he must have understood if he started an open war with Mick, he would lose his hold on Timona.
Sure enough, within a few seconds Blenheim was making an effort to be polite. He gave a tiny cough, and turned to Mick.
“So, Mr. McCann. I understand that you were a New York City police officer. Did you enjoy the work?”
“ ’Twas all right.”
“Then why didn’t you stay with it?”
“The job was about to change.”
“I thought the change would be all for the better.”
Mick stopped eating and examined Blenheim. “And where did you hear that?”
Blenheim’s face turned pale rather than red. “One assumes. I mean people customarily make advancements, you see.”
Interesting.
Mick changed the subject. “So, Mr. Blenheim. Do you know Mr. Calverson well? I mean Mr. Griffin Calverson?”
“I have met him twice, and I must say he is a very impressive gentleman. He is one of our future leaders. Though I do not know him as well as I like, I am convinced that should he settle in this country permanently, he would make a superb senator or congressman,” said the suddenly effusive Blenheim.
Mick knew the man was delighted by the change of subject. Blenheim babbled to them about Mr. Griffin Calverson’s amazing business acumen.
Fool, thought Mick with relish, though he felt more than a little uneasy about what he’d heard. Time to turn into a digger after all. He’d dig down until he understood everything.
Chapter 18
 
Mick turned his attention from Blenheim to Eddy, hoping to get the boy to eat more lunch, but he had apparently lost his appetite.
After the meal ended, Blenheim excused himself to go pen some important business letters.
Timmy led Mick and Eddy into the kitchen where Araminta sat at the table, writing notes.
She was a tall, voluptuous woman of about twenty-five, with skin the color of rich coffee with a touch of cream. Her hair, black with a hint of cinnamon, was piled on top of her head, a pile of tiny delicate curls. Mick saw her hair had simply been done up in a knot and her dress was faded calico, yet she had an air of impressive elegance. She was the kind of woman who created her own style.
“And may I ask what the devil you are doing in my kitchen?” she said without looking up. Her voice was lovely and husky and she had the diction of a duchess—must impress even Blenheim, Mick thought.
“We have come to offer our thanks for your usual superb efforts,” said Timona.
Araminta glanced up then, and a wide smile lit her face and enormous chocolate brown eyes. “Timona, my beloved! You darling girl! How long have you been here?” She jumped up from the table and hugged Timona.
“Mr. Blenheim told me you were making meringues and the man helping you with lunch said you were writing. So I waited to bother you until after lunch,” said Timona, her voice muffled by Araminta’s embrace.
“Oh, pish,” said Araminta. She let go of Timona and looked her up and down. “Food is food, but you are a feast for the eyes.”
“You say that now that the meal is over,” Timona pointed out. “How is your book progressing?”
“Very well indeed, Timona. You shall have to sample some of my newest concoctions. But where are your manners, girl? I don’t recognize either of these gentlemen with you. Will you introduce me?”
Timona drew in her breath as if she was about to say something momentous. In a solemn tone, she announced, “Araminta, I would like you to meet Mick McCann.”
“
The
Mick McCann?” Araminta said. She raised her eyebrows as she looked him up and down. “Well, well. What do you know!” She shook Mick’s hand vigorously.
Mick wanted to ask her to explain, but by then Timona was pushing Eddy forward. “And this is Eddy.”
Araminta dropped to her knees as if she had been felled by an axe. Eye to eye with the boy, she studied his face. Eddy shrank away from her intense scrutiny. Mick didn’t blame him.
“You, my boy, need to be fed. I suspect you were too agitated to eat at lunch? Traveling has that effect upon me as well,” she announced. She stood up again and put her long fingers on Eddy’s shoulder.
“You two get going. Get some time to yourselves. Eddy—I shall call you Edward? Do you mind?” She did not wait for his answer before continuing. “Edward will stay here with me.”
“But ma’am, I wanna stay with Mr. Mick and—”
“Oh, you have the most charming accent!” Araminta clapped her hands in delight. “Are you from New York?”
“Yes, ma’am, but you see I want to be with Mr. Mick and sh”
“Mr. Mick will return, Edward. But I am lonely and in need of company here in the kitchen. Is that a cat I hear calling us from your basket? We shall give some food to the dear little thing. And some earth for it to do its business. We had best not let it go outside until it calms down. But first will you help me clean this out?”
She held up a pot with the small remnants of a chocolate mousse. Eddy just stared, so Araminta took his small skinny hand, gently pushed his finger across the chocolate, and then pushed his finger into his mouth.
“Oh,” he breathed, and leaned towards the pot.
Mick and Timona crept away.
 
 
“In your letters did you mention me to Araminta?”
“Of course. She is my best friend.”
“And she seems to know that we are to be married. How long ago did you write that news to her?”
“Ah. I told her that we might be married. Perhaps. I might have mentioned it. I think.”
“I wonder how long ago you told her we would be married. Probably weeks before you bothered to tell me?”
An amused Mick took pity on her after she blushed and bit her lip. He changed the subject. “However did you meet up with Araminta? I can hear that she is English.”
“Two years ago in England, I was at a grand dinner at a duchess’s house. Or maybe she was a countess? When I managed to escape for a few minutes, I wandered into the kitchen where I found Araminta in charge of a kitchen full of servants. She was giving an undercook a furious scolding.
“At first I felt she was a tyrant, but then I understood the undercook had boxed a scullery maid’s ears. Araminta has always been a champion of children.”
Mick chuckled.
Timona said, “She agreed to travel with us because we became good friends and she wanted to see the world and taste its cuisine. But she is starting to chafe at the travel. She wants to settle down.”
“Ah, Timmy, I am glad to meet her. She seems a fine woman. But why are we here? No. I know why you are here. Why am I here?”
“You are with me.”
“Yes, I suppose that will do for now.” He shook his head as if to clear it. “Timmy. Listen. You wanted to reassure the Blenheim. Now what do you want us to do?”
“Mick?”
“Hmmm?”
“Why are you upset?”
“I’m not. Yes, I am. I just don’t . . . I don’t like this place. And I don’t care for Mr. Blenheim.”
“He can be rather stern,” said Timmy. “I mean about the proper thing to do. I can’t understand why he is so unpleasant about you.”
“Timmy, you are a blind woman. He wants you for himself.”
“Nonsense.” Timmy laughed. “He finds me an intriguing student. Before I met you I rather wondered if he and I would suit. But I never loved him, and I know I am far too wild for a man like him.”
“You are far too warm for a cold fish like him,” corrected Mick, his heart sinking at her words. So she once had an interest in Blenheim, of all people. Blenheim probably knew it, since Timmy was not a one to hide her feelings. No wonder the man hated Mick.
“Timmy. Let us go riding, or let’s just walk away. I want to have a look round now Araminta has detached my little leech.”
Timmy looked at him, her lips pressed tight, obviously worried. She slowly asked, “Do you resent Eddy? I hope not, for you are so good with him.”
He was surprised at the question. “Nay, ’course not. I couldn’t truly resent him. He needs to hold on to something. ’Tis good he has trust enough to cling. Most of the others push away, they don’t believe grown people any more. I’ve hoped it means he is still young enough to be saved. I thank you for rescuing him from the streets.”
“You saved him, you know, and probably before I met you. I just paid his fare. We will keep him, won’t we?”
“I will. And his kitten too.”
They found the stable. A groom dozing in the sun woke up and saddled two horses for them.
Morrison must have talked to the other laborers about Mick, for every last one of them stopped work to watch as Mick and Timmy trotted off.
Botty raced ahead, clearly delighted by the feel of dirt under his paws. Mick wanted to gallop away as fast as he could, too. But not with delight. The place felt almost evil to him.
“Oh I want to spring this horse and fly.” Timmy echoed his thoughts.
“Best not. There might be holes in these fields that could bring the horses down. Once we reach a road, we’ll let the animals go, eh? Poor old Botty will have to do some tracking.”
Mick was not an expert horseman. He hadn’t had time in his life to practice. He could stay on the beast and probably did not look an entire fool. But Timmy was in another league altogether. She looked as if she’d been born sitting atop a horse.
When they slowed enough to talk, and for Botty to catch up, Timmy said, “The last time I was in America, I learned to ride bareback. Good way to learn balance, particularly going up and down hills.”
“Sounds about right,” he said absently.
He was still distracted by thoughts of Blenheim and the other men from Calverson Company.
“Timmy, I am afraid,” he said suddenly.
She looked back at him; a breeze blew a wisp of her dark hair across her face. “Of what?”
“I am not sure. Timmy Calverson, I think you should marry me. Soon as we can.”
She giggled. “You are afraid. And is that why you want to marry me, so I will protect you?”
“Absolutely. I have seen you with a knife, woman, don’t forget. I know you are a
saighdíuir mná
—a soldier woman, my Timmy. It is what we call courageous women such as yourself.”
She grinned at him. Then her brow furrowed. “Are we even yet?”
“Hey?”
“I think so. I suppose it would be a bad start if we weren’t even. I have asked twice, and now so have you.” She stopped to consider the matter. “That first time you asked does not count for you were martyring yourself. Yes. So the answer can be yes.”
She rode on for a few minutes, then called back to him, “Did you want to marry in a church, Mick?”
He laughed out loud. “I think the answer to that must be no, Timmy.”
“Good.”
She pulled out the small, scarred mahogany box that held her beloved compass, and flipped it open to examine it.
After a minute or two, she carefully shoved the instrument back in her pocket, and steered the horse off the dirt road to follow a path through a field.
“Come on then, Mick! Before you change your mind.”
“Where are you heading, my explorer?”
She pointed across a field of wheat bending and rippling in the delicious breeze. “Araminta says the town is to the east. In her letter she was terribly sniffy about the place. She claims it does not deserve the name ‘town.’ Araminta can be as starchy as Mr. Blenheim. But there is a courthouse.”
“Are you saying we should go be married now, crazy woman?”
“That would be lovely, but I doubt we can. I think that there are no special licenses available in this country so I suppose we must wait several days.”
“But what about your father? What if he does not approve?” Or what if Griffin Calverson had changed his mind.
Timona stopped her horse and twisted in the saddle to look back at him, puzzled. “Why on earth would he disapprove?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea why any father would object to his only daughter marrying an unemployed ignorant oaf of a fancy man that he’s never so much as once met.” But Timmy didn’t hear a word for she had trotted ahead.
Botty swerved after Timona, making his excited huffs.
Mick turned his horse, gave it an encouraging little cluck and tap with his heels, and followed them along the edge of the field planted with tender new wheat. He’d followed Timona this far across the world. Why stop now?

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