The Mischievous Miss Murphy (7 page)

 
“H
old there a moment if you please, Mr. Murphy!”

Max’s posture stiffened a moment, expecting the law to swoop down momentarily and clap him on the shoulder, before turning neatly on his heels to take in the sight of Lord Coniston bearing down on him.

“I thought I might find you here on Bond Street this morning, sir, seeing as how your niece said you spend your idle hours inspecting public buildings.”

Not appreciating his lordship’s witticism even a little bit, Max pasted a false smile on his face and said, “And the top of the morning to you, my lord. And are you an insulting man by nature or have you sharpened your tongue especially for Maximilien P. Murphy?”

Falling into step beside the older man, Tony hastily apologized for his words, explaining that as the term was new to him, he had been itching to use it on someone. “I have studied many forms of speech, Mr. Murphy,” the Marquess said, “but so far the intricacies of Irish-English remain a mystery. I must say I am quite intrigued.”

“Hummph,” was all that Max replied. “And now, my lord, now that you consider your bread well buttered, what is it you’d be wanting from me this morning? And make no mistake, laddie, if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, for a friend that can be bought is not worth the buying.”

Tony stopped in his tracks, looking highly affronted. “I resent that remark, Mr. Murphy,” he fairly growled. “I know that I have detected a want of openness in our short acquaintance, but if you sincerely believe that I would be so crass as to sink to buying your favor—for some obscure reason—then I do believe we have no more to say to each other.” And Lord Coniston turned on his heels, about to depart the scene.

“I’ll tell my niece you’ve said goodbye,” Max said offhandedly, causing Tony to halt in his tracks. “Ah-ha!” he went on triumphantly. “Just as I thought. You love me, boyo, like the Devil loves holy water. But m’niece is a different kettle of fish, isn’t she? Well let me give you another bit of speech particular to the Irish—I swear by all that’s holy that if you harm a single hair on Candie’s fair head I’ll hang a piece of you on every lamppost in London, and no mistake.”

Tony immediately, and with some heat, denied that he had any but the kindest, most altruistic thoughts about Candice Murphy, a calumny that may have rolled off his tongue with easy fluency but not without some pain to his basic sense of decency, rarely used but still functioning.

“Mr. Murphy, you have told me yourself that you have been traveling about with Miss Murphy since she was little more than a baby. But now she is a woman grown, as you well know. This vagabond life you lead is no life for a gently nurtured female, for I am not so blind as to overlook the fact that somewhere along the line Miss Murphy has had the benefit of fine English schooling. I cannot in good conscience turn my back on the poor girl now that I have met her. I swear to you sir, I have only Miss Murphy’s best interests at heart.”

Max tucked his hand around his lordship’s elbow and urged the younger man to walk on with him a bit. “What you are saying then, my lord, is that we are both on the same side, both of us looking to Candie’s best interests,” he said, putting the Marquess once again at his ease. “But I ask you, sir? Have you never heard of Lord Thomond’s cocks?”

Tony smiled. “Why do I feel that once again I’m going to be taken to the fair? All right, Max, I’ll bite. Tell me about Lord Thomond’s cocks.”

Max let go his grip on his lordship in order to rub his palms together reflectively as they sauntered along Bond Street. “Well, laddie, it seems Lord Thomond had hired himself an Irish cock-feeder. Not only had he hired him, but he entrusted him with his prize fighting cocks, cocks which were matched for a considerable sum the next day. But when his lordship showed up in the morning to claim his animals, he found that they were all either lamed or dead. And you’ll be wanting to know the reason for this phenomenon? Well, so did Lord Thomond, and no mistake! He asked his Irish cock-feeder what the devil had happened, and the man replied, a perplexed look on his freckled face, ‘I don’t know what happened, your lordship. I shut them up all right and tight together in the one room, figuring as how they were all your cocks, all on the same side, so to speak, they would not disagree.’”

“You’re saying you and I might disagree about what is best for your niece?” Tony asked, as he knew he was supposed to do.

“I believe your idea of what’s best for my Candie owes much to what you think is best for yourself, my lord, if you catch my meaning.”

“And what about you, Max?” Tony countered, flushing a bit. “Aren’t you likewise guilty of using Candie to your own purposes?”

“Ah, you slipped there, laddie,” Max pointed out. “You called my niece ‘Candie.’ A bit of a warning, boyo. In Ireland, candy means to be drunk. Careful you don’t start getting light-headed on thoughts of my Candie, for she’s not for you.”

Now this last statement of Max’s put the man firmly where Tony wanted him, for hadn’t he sought the fellow out with the intention of appealing to the man’s better nature, convincing him that it would be the height of folly to show up at Lady Montague’s that evening? Yet, strangely, Tony found that he could not bring himself to take advantage of the opening he had been granted.

It was a terrible war that raged within the handsome breast of the Marquess of Coniston. Part of him, the protective-brother part, could find no rationale to explain foisting two con artists off as respectable citizens worthy of sitting down to supper with his one and only sibling. But another, baser part of him could only stand back and whisper in his ear, “And who would be the wiser if Max and Candie could pull off another of their impersonations?”

Besides, it rankled that Max suspected a peer of the realm of ulterior motives. Not that it wasn’t true, of course, but who was Max to say so aloud? Being a woman of indeterminate background, Candie was fair game, wasn’t she? If I turn Max against me now, Tony thought irritably, I will have lost any chance of seeing Candie again, for she will not disobey her uncle. Yet if I sanction launching the two bogus Murphys into polite society, it will put Candie on a par with any other society miss, subject to only the most tame courting.

“What do you want from me?” the Marquess finally asked, having totally defeated himself with his own logic.

Once again Max took his companion’s arm. “I knew you were an intelligent fellow, my lord, from the moment I first clapped eyes on you. You were right, too, about my Candie being a gently nurtured female, not that she isn’t always awake to what’s trumps, as I’ve made sure to give her a well-rounded education. But she’ll be reaching her majority soon, as you yourself pointed out, and it isn’t much longer that I can have the child frolicking about the countryside with me without the poor dear coming to harm. But if I could see her launched into society, only in a small way, you understand, perhaps a fine young man will take her to wife and keep her safe. Your sister, my lord, may be just the ticket, don’t you know.”

Tony’s mind was muddled, but it had not yet entirely ceased to function. “Why don’t you just hire yourselves one of those female dragons as chaperone and launch her yourself? Surely that can’t be so hard—not for the grand Maharajah of Budge-Budge?”

Max just shook his head. “I thought of doing it m’self, but Candie will have none of it. Seems the gel’s taken it in her head never to marry. Some farradiddle about not landing some poor innocent with a female of no background. I swear on m’mother’s eyes, I don’t know where the child goes to come up with such ideas. We Murphys were Kings once, you know.”

His little outburst over, Max waved a pudgy hand in dismissal of Candie’s sensibilities on the subject and went on. “But if your sister were to take her up, as I said before, only in a small way, Candie would be seen by the eligible bachelors still in town. And I’d not be bragging to say it’s many a heart will be hers for the asking, and with the little dear none the wiser that she’s fallen in with my scheme.”

“And what of Lady Montague’s reputation once it is found out she foisted off an imposter as a well-bred young lady? After all, even though m’sister is a sad racket herself, being a widow and having a bit more latitude in her actions, she would be pushed completely beyond the pale once the truth were known.”

Max smiled slightly. The fact that his lordship had not turned down his suggestion out of hand showed that there was hope for an amicable solution. “If that day ever comes, and I doubt it will, for I say to you now with all modesty that having won my Candie in matrimony, no man would even think to cry foul over such a trifling incidental. And if he does, then of course I, Maximilien P. Murphy, will stand up straight and tall and name myself as the sole instigator of the scheme.”

“If we can find you,” the Marquess muttered under his breath. “And what am I to get from all this, Max?” Tony asked, suddenly realizing Candie was slipping through his fingers and into a world that would find him no closer to bedding her than if she had been transported posthaste to the far side of the moon.

Max stopped dead in his tracks and favored his lordship with an incredulous look. “What would you have to gain, my lord? Why, you disappoint me, and no mistake. What I offer you in exchange for your help with Candie is, and I do not offer it lightly, the benefit of my years of experience in dealing with my fellow man. It’s an education all your fine name and money cannot buy for you, for it must be either learned on the streets or not learned at all. Here I stand, ready to divulge the secret of reading human character, and you dare to ask ‘What’s in it for me?’ By the saints, man, I took you to be smarter than that.”

The older man had succeeded in making Tony smile. “And what is it you could be teaching me, Max? How to dress like an Italian Count? How to shimmy down tied bedsheets to avoid the innkeeper?”

But Max was not upset by the Marquess’s teasing words. Looking about him, he espied a group of workmen standing idle on the curb, shovels and pickaxes hanging idly at their sides. “Do you, for instance, know that you English obey anyone who appears to be in charge, never asking a single question as to right or wrong, just so long as the person in charge acts like he knows what he is about?”

“That’s preposterous,” Tony denied hotly. “Englishmen are renowned for thinking for themselves.”

“Oh, are they now?” Max had a gleam in his eyes that had Tony leaning closer to him to catch his next words. “Supposing I was to tell you that I could get those workmen over there to follow my orders just by acting like I was a person of authority? Would it be worth a monkey to prove my theory wrong?”

“You’re already floating badly downstream in River Tick, Max,” Tony challenged. “Where would you get the blunt to pay me if you’re wrong?”

Once again Max smiled, a sweet, Irish, cherubic smile. “And don’t you know it’s the Irish who invented the IOU? Besides, I won’t lose, my lord. You will, and no mistake. Tell you what, though, just to sweeten the pot a bit for you—how about I make a further condition? If I win, you agree to have your sister sponsor my Candie. If I lose, I’ll give you two clear weeks to seduce m’niece without ever so much as blinking. Here,” he said, holding out his hand, “I give you my hand and my word on it.”

Tony looked across the way at the workmen, still standing about idly, and then back at Maximilien P. Murphy, grinning like a bear as he stood there, hand outstretched. “I accept,” the Marquess said, already mentally planning his assault on Candie’s virtue.

After admonishing the Marquess to stand back out of the way—so as not to influence the workmen’s decision by his presence—Max sauntered over to the laborers, his malacca cane swinging idly from his hand. Unerringly approaching the workman who looked to him to be the most intelligent of the crew, Max halted, spread his legs ever so slightly, and puffed out his chest. “And is this what you are paid good money to do, mister, stand about with your thumb up your—”

The precise positioning of the workman’s thumb was left to Tony’s imagination as Max’s loud bellow lowered to a fierce growl. The harassed laborer’s muffled protestations and wild hand wavings were mimicked beautifully by Max, who even went so far as to pull some official-looking documents from his pocket and brandish them in the workman’s face.

Tony could see the exact second when the workman’s attitude changed from one of belligerence to subservience. He and his fellows then listened attentively for a few minutes while Max instructed them before setting to with a will, wielding their shovels and pickaxes in what seemed like an unnecessarily violent violation of Bond Street’s smooth surface.

“What on earth did you say to them?” the Marquess asked as Max, his cane twirling in slow, graceful circles within his talented fingers, joined him again on the flagway.

“And you’ll be wanting to know all my secrets at one go, laddie?” Max said with a wink. “I’ll tell you this and nothing more: I, Mr. Edward Q. Davison, architectural engineer to his royal majesty, have just taken the first step in carrying out my latest commission—digging a trench, two feet wide by three feet in depth, from this side of Bond Street to the other. My workmen, as you can see, are putting to with a will, having been duly impressed with my written orders and, as I told you earlier, by the mere fact that Englishmen are sheep—easily led by anyone who appears to know what he is doing.”

Tony looked again toward the workmen, the length of their trench already beginning to cause a lamentable snarling of the heavy Bond Street traffic, smiled ruefully and asked, “What did you tell the workmen to do once the trench is finished?”