Unknown (9 page)

“You were looking for me, Mr. Cole? Are they building snowmen in hell, then, sir?”

“Very amusing, as usual, Mr. Dodge. About your case— the dressmaker—”

“You’ll take her case, Mr. Cole?”

“Yes—”

“Very good, sir.” Dodge beamed, and began to walk away.

“—upon one condition, Mr. Dodge.”

Dodge halted midstride. There had never before been a
condition
. “A condition?” he repeated, cautiously.

“Yes. This dressmaker—Madame Marceau—is she truly French?”

“About as French as you or I, Mr. Cole.”

Gideon’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Please tell Madame Marceau that I will take her case. But that I will need to be paid in dresses.”

Dodge’s bright little eyes went wide. “Pardon me, but did you say dresses, sir?”

“Yes, Mr. Dodge.”

“
Ladies‘
dresses?”

“Do you know of any other kind, Mr. Dodge?”

“I suppose not, sir.”

“Day dresses, evening dresses, pelisses, and all the various fripperies that go with them. And some dresses in a smaller size, too. I’ll need them very soon. I would like Madame Marceau to pay a call at this address the day after tomorrow, during the afternoon. Here is the direction.” Gideon handed Mr. Dodge a slip of paper. “If she can do this for me, I will take the case.”

“I am assured she is an excellent seamstress, Mr. Cole.”

“Good. But I primarily have need of a swift one. And if you would tell her…” Gideon hesitated. ‘Tell her… greens and blues and golds would suit. “ He cleared his throat self-consciously.

“Greens and blues and golds,” Dodge repeated slowly, like a spy attempting to decode enemy intelligence.

“And one more thing, Mr. Dodge.”

A decidedly bemused Mr. Dodge was staring down at the slip of paper in his hand. “Yes, Mr. Cole?”

“I will be on holiday for a few weeks, both in the country and in London. I shall keep you apprised as to when I intend to return to work.”

Dodge’s brows flew upward so swiftly his spectacles rose along with them. “
You
, sir? A… a…
holiday?
. But you don’t—you never—”

“It’s rather a working holiday, Mr. Dodge.”

“Oh.” A relieved sigh.

Gideon could almost hear the man’s thoughts: the natural order of things hadn’t come to a complete end after all: Mr. Cole would be
working
. He was taken aback. Though it was tremendously satisfying to get the better of Mr. Dodge, apparently Kilmartin had the right of it:
work and Constance
. It was a sobering thought.

“Thank you, Mr. Dodge. Try not to miss me while I’m away.”

The Gentleman & Lady’s Companion,
the book was called. It had arrived with a tray of eggs and fried bread this morning.

“You’re to come with me, Miss Alice.” Alice eyed Mrs. Plunkett’s outstretched hand somewhat warily, and then looked up into Lily’s face, seeking permission. Lily nodded.

A grin split Alice’s face and she slowly slipped her hand into Mrs. Plunkett’s. “I’m to see the peacocks!” she crowed. And off the little traitor went.

A note was tucked inside the book, the handwriting on it tall and angular and impatient, much like the person who had written it.

LM
—
Read as much of this book as you are able by midday today. Do not leave your room. Take particular notice of page 20. —GC

P. S. Thirty pounds, Miss Masters.

Lily turned to page twenty, certain whatever she found there would be nothing short of infuriating. The words across the top did nothing to dispel her suspicion:

Instances of III Manners to be carefully avoided by youth of both sexes.

A helpful list of examples followed:

•
Lolling on a chair when speaking or when spoken to, and looking persons earnestly in the face without any apparent cause.

•
Surliness of all kinds, especially on receiving a compliment
.

•
Distortion of countenance, and mimicry
.

•
Ridicule of every kind, vice or folly
.

•
A constant smile or settled frown on the countenance
.

•
All actions that have the most remote tendency to indelicacy
…

She couldn’t resist a smile.
All actions that have the most remote tendency to indelicacy?
She supposed that meant breaking wind was out of the question.

But the list droned on, if printed words could drone.
So
, Lily thought.
lam not to pull faces, or smile or frown, or jest or think or breathe or move or
—

She clapped the book shut. It wasn’t as though her mother hadn’t already instilled these things in her, more or less. And granted, perhaps her demeanor had suffered a little tarnish through exposure to St. Giles. But why on earth would anyone
want
to be a lady of the
ton
? Newgate was beginning to seem like an appealing option. She was tempted to fling the book on the bed, but she placed it gently there instead. It was a book, after all, and it was difficult not to think of it as precious.

She pulled her vast borrowed nightdress off over her head, pulled on her borrowed pinned-together sack of a gown, and pushed her feet into a pair of big borrowed slippers. Mrs. Plunkett had produced a brown ribbon for her as well. Lily had never had a ribbon of her own, not one to keep, anyhow—in St. Giles, ribbons were currency. Some pickpockets specialized in ribbons and silk handkerchiefs, as they were always popular with fences; her own goals were loftier, of necessity—she needed to meet Mrs. Smythe’s rent. She held the ribbon wonderingly; it slithered through her fingers, a satiny snake. Heaving a practical sigh, she used it to tie her large clean hair back from her face.

Her toilette thus completed, she took a tentative step outside of her room. Honestly, what could one step possibly hurt? She
would
read Gideon Cole’s stuffy little book. In a moment.

The quiet of the house was unnerving; the smallest sounds, creaks of doors opening, distant voices—servants?—made her start. The very absence of noise was almost like the loss of hearing itself. And so she took another step, for the comfort of hearing her own feet strike the marble.

Her one step led to another. And then another and another, until she was halfway down the marble-tiled hall. The walls went up and up; ornate molding marked the place where they ended and the ceilings began. Sconces were spaced evenly, the candles in them freshly trimmed and unlit. Wax candles, from the looks of things, not tallow. An unspeakable luxury.

I’ve gone and fallen into one of my own stories.

Delight and trepidation quickened her heartbeat.
Just a few more steps forward
… she thought.
Then I’ll return
…

Quite a few more than a few more steps later, she found herself in a gallery of sorts: a series of portraits lining a curving flight of stairs. Ancestors, perhaps? Men in wigs, women in outlandish enormous ruffs. Dark-eyed boys posing with frolicking dogs, men with muskets. She inspected each of them as she scaled the stairs. Here and there a suggestion of height recalled Gideon, and those dark eyes seemed to run through the family throughout the centuries. But not a single bloody ancestor was anywhere near as handsome as he was.

Then again, she didn’t know how anyone could paint light into hair, or fathoms into eyes.

McBride, Lily thought, as she rounded a curve in the stairs, would have
fits
in this house. A single silver candlestick—and there seemed to be candlesticks everywhere, even in places that surely one didn’t need to light—would set her and Alice up for months, years even. She could just tuck one of those candlesticks into her overlarge sleeve and—

Be hauled off by her ear to Newgate by Gideon Cole.

She felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of him; perhaps she
should
return to her room and read the odious little book… She did, in a sense, owe him thirty pounds…

When I’ve run out of stairs.

She paused to impishly trace the plump little buttocks of a carved cherub;
hundreds
of those little blokes cavorted up the banister, entangled in carved grapes and vines. Up and up she went, past nooks sheltering blank-eyed marble busts; they gave her the shivers, those sightless eyes and bodiless heads; she moved past them quickly.

If the bloody
stairwell
seemed enchanted, she could only imagine what the rest of the house was like: no doubt as vast and complex as all of London. And as soon as she began to think of the house as another sort of London, it began to seem less intimidating, for she’d managed London well enough. It wasn’t the
house’s
fault it was so grand.

And there wasn’t a bloody speck of dust
anywhere
. For a moment Lily thought she wouldn’t mind that job; polishing those whimsical cherubs, giving them names:
Oi, Denis, can I dust yer bum for ye
? She covered a giggle with her palm.

When Lily finally ran out of stairs she found herself in front of a door leading into an intriguingly darkened room. Naturally, she stopped to peer in.

“Who goes there?”

Lily jumped back.

“I know you’re not a servant, m’dear, and you’re most definitely not my nephew or any of his friends.”

Lily froze, panicked. “But how did you know?” she finally blurted.

There was a pause, during which Lily could practically
hear
a smile.

“By your gait. And I know you are a young lady by the lightness of your step. Gregson, you see, walks as though he’s part of a funeral procession, and Mrs. Plunkett walks as though she’s staggering under a great weight, and—well, let’s face it, she more or less is—”

Lily laughed, charmed.

“—but you, m’dear, walk as though you’re in a tearing hurry to get away from something or get
to
something. Gideon walks rather like you; he’s a restless soul. But his footfall is a good deal heavier and his stride longer. So the question remains: Who are you? You’re already part of the way in; you may as well come closer and let me get a look at you.”

It was an oddly cheerful and hale-sounding voice to be emanating from such a dim room, and Lily was too painfully curious now not to follow orders. She took a tentative step through the doorway.

A white-haired gentleman was sitting up in bed. By the light of the candles pulsing in globes arranged about him, she could see that his face was soft with age, the skin beneath his jaw drooping, his eyebrows sticking out in gray tufts. He was watching her with delighted interest.

“Ah, I see I was right! I would not have troubled to flirt with you if I hadn’t been certain you were very pretty. And oh! See how she blushes to be told she is pretty.”

“Oh, were you flirting, sir?” Lily teased, getting into the spirit of things.

He laughed, pleased. “Oh-
ho
, so she’s a bit of minx, too! I’m Lord Lindsey, m’dear, and you still haven’t told me your name. Who are you? Come closer. You’re not my nephew’s bit o‘ muslin, are you? Gideon could certainly use one.”

The words were so friendly Lily didn’t even consider taking offense. She remained where she stood, however; she’d heard plenty about elderly lords of the manor and their propensity for friskiness. And regardless of his supine position, this one didn’t look incapacitated.

“I’m Lily Masters, Lord Lindsey, and I am Lord Kilmartin’s cousin from Sussex.”

Lord Lindsey laughed. “And you’re not at all taken aback by my suggestion that you might be a bit o‘ muslin. You
are
an unusual young lady, Lily Masters. Why are you wearing a pinned-together sack of a dress? It looks as though it may belong to Mrs. Plunkett.”

“It
does
belong to Mrs. Plunkett. I was in an unfortunate coaching accident, sir. All of my clothing was ruined.”

“Your slippers as well, Lily?”

Lily looked down at the slippers loaned to her by Mrs. Plunkett. “How can you see my feet?” she marveled.

“The reflection from the bureau mirror, m’dear. Come closer and chat with me. I’m a bored and sick old man, and I promise I will not bite, regardless of how tempted I might be.”

“I would simply bite you back,” Lily retorted playfully, and then clapped a hand over her mouth. This wasn’t McBride. This was Lord Lindsey, a
baron
. One could not tease a baron about
biting
.

But Lord Lindsey merely laughed again, altogether pleased. “And listen to that voice of yours, Miss Masters. Like a great velvet settee, it is; one could sink right into it. You
are
an original. Tell me you are not married so that I may feel free to fall in love with you. Do I know your parents?”

Lily eyed him cautiously. So far, she knew only three things about who she was supposed to be: she was Kilmartin’s cousin; she’d been in an unfortunate coaching accident; she was from Sussex.

Oh, and one more thing: she wasn’t to ramble all over the house.

“I am unmarried, sir. And I doubt that you knew my parents. They died long ago.”

“Ah. I see.” Sadness swept down over Lord Lindsey’s face. “I lost my sons, both of them, in the war. And their mother after that.”

His grief was a sudden and almost palpable presence in the room; Lily was awed by the weight of it. “I am sorry for your loss, Lord Lindsey,” she told him softly.

“And I for yours, Lily.” They shared a commiserating silence for a moment. And then he patted the bed; she moved forward and pulled a chair up next to it.

“Why are you ill, Lord Lindsey?”

He turned to her, his eyes wide with surprise, and was silent for so long that Lily grew a little anxious. Perhaps young “ladies” were not supposed to ask direct questions of barons, no matter how friendly they might be.

“Nobody knows, Lily, nobody knows,” Lord Lindsey finally answered wistfully. “And nobody even asks me those sorts of questions anymore. The doctor arrives, he takes my pulse, he gives me a simple of some sort to drink, and yet I am always the same.”