The Irish Upstart (25 page)

“
To see London,
”
Patrick called excitedly.
“
Come on, Evleen.
”

In a flash they were out the ornately carved double doors of the Trevlyn townhouse, into the sunshine, suddenly confronted with the early-morning bustle of the street.
Evleen
sniffed the crisp, early morning air as they bounded down the scoured-clean steps
.
“
You’re the chief explorer, Patrick, which way shall we go?
”

“
Any way. I want to see it all.
”
Patrick held out his palm and uncurled his fingers, revealing a gold half guinea.
“
See what Grandfather gave me? He said an heir apparent should never be without a bit of blunt.
”

They started walking, she wasn’t sure which direction, until they reached a street called Saint James’s. Although the shops and businesses that lined the street were closed at this early hour, they still enjoyed looking into shop windows that were bright with color, as well as savoring the delicious aromas of fresh buns and tarts that wafted from the pastry shops. The diversity of the shops was intriguing.
“
What’s a bagnio?
”
Patrick asked, glimpsing a sign that announced,
“
Pero’s Bagnio.
”

“
Those are baths, I believe.
”

“
Can’t people take a bath at home?
”
he asked, but before Evleen could answer he had spied another shop.
“
Oh, look, Lauriere, the jeweler. Is that where they sell diamonds?
”

“
I suspect it is, Patrick,
”
she laughingly replied,
“
and there’s the Bunch of Grapes which I should wager is a tavern, and there’s Sam’s Library which no doubt is full of books.
”
How wonderful, she mused, to have a huge bookstore close by. There was nothing nearly this big in Ireland, not even Dublin.

“
Why must gentlemen have clubs?
”
asked Patrick, after they passed by White’s, Brooks’s and Crockford’s.

“
So they can play cards, I suppose.
”
She remembered her mother’s low opinion of the British aristocracy.
“
And so they can be exclusive and fancy themselves above the rest.
”

“
Do you think Lord Thomas belongs to a club?
”

“
No.
”
She thought of that wastrel, Montague.
“
But I’m sure his brother does.
”

“
Oh, look, Evleen, a palace.
”

And so the day went. After duly admiring Saint James’s Palace, they wandered past a place called Almack’s on King Street, as well as the Golden Lion public house, where they stopped for refreshments, paid for by Patrick’s half guinea. They found the Haymarket, in which stood a grand opera house, but more exciting was the market itself with its produce of every description, performing dogs and monkeys, a fire-eater, and all manner of entertainment.

Toward the end of the day, they found themselves on a street called Piccadilly. Had
they
been here
earlier
? Evleen felt weary, her feet were tired and she began to worry.
“
How do we get home from here, Patrick? I cannot recollect which way we came.
”

“
What street does Lord Trevlyn live in?
”

Heaven help us
. Why had she not made note of the street the Trevlyn townhouse was on?
“
I don’t know the name, but we’ll find it,
”
she said with a confidence she didn’t feel.

Lost in London. Such a big city, and so confusing
. As the minutes wore on, and they kept wandering, Evleen fought back panic. She must remain calm for Patrick’s sake.
“
We’ll find it, so don’t worry. I do hope they haven’t missed us at home.
”

* * *
 
                                       

With eagerness and more than a modicum of annoyance at himself, Thomas mounted the steps of Lord Trevlyn’s London townhouse. If someone were to ask why he was
in London
, he would say he came to London to view the horses at Tattersoll’s. He, however, knew otherwise. His concern for Evleen was such that despite himself, he could not stay away. Patrick would be fine. Thomas smiled, knowing that bright, likeable lad would get along well wherever he went, especially now, with a doting grandfather to watch over him. Those female dragons of the Trevlyn household would not dare harm Lord Trevlyn’s heir apparent, but Evleen? He would not put any sort of chicanery past Mrs. Lydia Trevlyn and her two older daughters. Evleen was bright, as well as perceptive, but in many ways she was still a simple country girl from Ireland and could hardly be a match for three selfish women who had cut their teeth on the deviousness and cut-throat scheming that went on every day in the ton. He and Evleen had parted only a few days ago, yet he
thought
of her constantly, not only with that strange longing he could not seem to shake, but with a feeling of unease.

The moment Pierce opened the door, Thomas noted the expression of distress that covered the butler’s usually impassive face and knew something was amiss. Inside, there appeared to be some kind of controlled chaos going on, what with servants scurrying about and the raised voice of Lord Trevlyn clearly audible. When Thomas was ushered into the drawing room, he noted the whole family gathered there, all solemn faced, the ladies not their usual simpering selves, shy Amanda excepted, of course. Lord Trevlyn, standing by the fireplace in a great state of agitation, greeted him precipitously.

“
Ah, my boy, glad you’re here. My word, what a fix we’re in. You must help with the search.
”

“
What search, sir?
”

“
My grandson and Evleen have gone missing. Left early this morning. Haven’t heard a word.
”
Forehead furrowed with concern, Lord Trevlyn started pacing the drawing room. To Lydia he said,
“
Tell me again, what did they say to Pierce when they left this morning?
”

“
Something about wanting to see London,
”
Lydia replied with a shrug, looking more annoyed than concerned.

“
To see London indeed. Where is my grandson?
”
In desperation, Lord Trevlyn addressed Thomas.
“
I’ve sent two footmen out to search. If they don’t come home soon, I’ll turn out this entire household to join the search, servants and family both.
”

“
Surely not us, Uncle,
”
protested Charlotte, who sat primly next to her mother on a settee.
“
It’s nearly time for tea, and after that we must get ready for the routs we are attending this evening. Lord and Lady Beckford’s in particular—
”

“
Confound it,
”
burst Lord Trevlyn,
“
here I am beset with worry and you talk of routs? They’ve been gone all day. Thieves swarm the streets of London. Cutthroats! Murderers! God only knows what dire fate has befallen my grandson.
”

“
But why did they go out so early?
”
asked Bettina who sat quietly embroidering.
“
Everyone knows it’s not fashionable to go out before three o’clock.
”

“
God’s blood.
”
Lord Trevlyn turned beet red. He started to sputter, groped for a chair and sank into its depths. I... I
...”

“
I shall go look for them, sir,
”
Thomas said quickly.
“
Chances are they’re only out ‘exploring’ as Patrick would put it.
”
He placed a comforting hand on Lord Trevlyn’s tense shoulder.
“
Do relax. Have some tea, or better yet, a splash of brandy.
”

“
There’s the Irish for you.
”
Lydia picked up her petit-point and stabbed it vehemently with her needle.
“
Not here a day and already causing trouble.
”

Thomas would have liked to reply in kind to such vitriol, but he
knew when to keep his mouth shut, and besides, he
had no time. After a hasty good-bye, he was out the door and into his curricle, urging his two matching bays into a trot down Arlington Street.

Now where would they go first?
His
head cran
ed
this way and that. Ah. Chances were, they would have been attracted to all the hustle and bustle of Saint James Street.

Thomas turned into Saint James Street. Slowly, continually searching, he drove to Pall Mall, over to Regent Street, then Haymarket, and surely, if they’d been out to see the sights of London, they would have strolled along here.
“
Have you seen a boy of eleven with red hair?
”
he occasionally called to vendors and passers-by, using the most identifiable mark of the two.
“
He would be with his sister who’s tall, and both of them Irish.
”

At last a fish peddler called,
“
Seen ‘em this morning, sir, a pretty young lass and a bright little lad with red hair. Kept asking questions.
”

Patrick, indeed
.
“
Which way did they go?
”

“
Haven’t the foggiest.
”

Dammit, where were they? It would be dark soon. Lord Trevlyn was right to be concerned. What if they wandered into those pitch black, narrow streets where thieves roamed, carrying knives and bludgeons loaded with lead?

He must keep searching.

Back to Saint James Square...

Over to Piccadilly Circus...

Traffic was getting heavier. Now the streets were full of well-dressed gentlemen on the backs of fine blooded horses; dashing, beautifully dressed ladies driving their own vis-a-vis; elegant equipages pulled by horses matched with precision and groomed to a high gloss. All seemed to be heading toward Hyde Park, and suddenly it struck him. Of course. This was the fashionable hour of five p.m. Where else would those two be but at the grandest show in London?

Soon, Thomas was carefully driving along Rotten Row, amidst the press of countless horses and fine carriages, when he spied two bedraggled figures on the footpath, both dragging their feet as if they had been walking for a very long time. Thank God, Patrick and Evleen. The relief that nearly overwhelmed him was an awakening experience that left him reeling. He had not realized until this moment how much he cared. Patrick, of course, but...
Oh, Evleen, my sweet Irish beauty, if anything had happened to you I would never have been the same.

He had to laugh. My God, what if his father knew what he was thinking? What would his sister, Penelope, say?

At least he could keep such a sentiment to himself.
And you will
, he thought, as he drew the curricle to the side of the road, reined in his horse, and arranged his mouth in a causal smile.
“
Fancy meeting you here, Miss O’Fallon, Master Patrick. Out for a stroll?
”

Patrick was the first to spy him.
“
Look, Evleen, ‘tis Lord Thomas,
”
the boy called, tugging at his sister’s sleeve. She turned. He saw a quick light of recognition in her eyes, followed by vast relief, then, as he watched, her face took on an expression of indifference.

“
Why, Lord Thomas, what a surprise.
”
She tilted her chin in that snippy way she had.
“
Somehow I would never have guessed you would be enamored of the Fashionable Hour, but on second thought, why not? You’re one of the ton, after all.
”
She gestured at the passing throng.
“
Quite a sight, isn’t it, the ton parading themselves and their mounts about? Don’t any of them work? Have they nothing better to do with their time?
”

Her perceptiveness amazed him. It was the rare woman who could look beyond the seductive glitter of the Polite World, into the selfishness and hypocrisy that lay beyond. Galling though it was, he ignored her uncalled-for remark about his being enamored of the Fashionable Hour.
“
Work is anathema in the ton. You’ll soon learn.
”