Ana Newport would be in attendance. Ana Newport.
He’d met her months earlier when calling at Elizabeth’s school. Though he would never have admitted it out loud, he’d been almost immediately smitten with the sweet-natured music teacher. He’d been by the school a few times since but received little more than a very kind, very vague greeting.
Spending an evening in her company would be both wonderful and torturous.
The DPS meeting wound to a close. Rather than wander back to his flat, Hollis retreated upstairs to the library. Dropping into a leather chair near the window, he pulled the penny dreadful he’d purchased earlier from his jacket pocket.
Holding one of Lafayette Jones’s stories in its final form hadn’t yet stopped being a first-rate feeling. Randolph would be troubled if he knew his brother spent his days reading such uncivilized literature, especially considering Jones’s work was meant more for children, and working-class children at that. Yes, Randolph would not like knowing Hollis had read it.
He grinned a touch wickedly. If only Randolph knew Hollis had written it.
by Lafayette Jones
Chapter I
Ace Bowen had been a student at Higglebottom’s School for the Dead for a few months and was quickly becoming the school’s most legendary pupil. He was learning the art of being a ghost faster than anyone before him, and he did it with flair.
He walked the corridors of Higglebottom’s with an otherworldly strut. Ghosts could walk, no matter that the living seemed to think all they did was float. Floating, in fact, was more difficult.
The other students always waved to him as he passed. The staff shook their ghostly heads in amusement. He was the life of the school, so to speak. He, along with his friends, Bathwater and Snout, was also the source of most of its mischief.
“Pouring ink into the laundry cauldron so the haunting shrouds all turned light-blue. Tightening all the floorboards so none squeaked during the Third Form’s ‘Ghost Walking’ exams.” Professor Rattlebag had been listing the boys’ pranks. He wasn’t likely to finish before the end of the dinner hour. “Teaching the school parrot to mimic the sound of rattling chains so Professor Dankworth could not be heard during her ‘Disguise Ghost Conversations with Sundry Sounds’ lesson.”
Oh, the parrot could mimic more sounds than just chains. Bathwater sputtered, trying to hold back a laugh. Ace lounged in a chair that wasn’t there—a skill most students didn’t master until at least Third Form.
“I think it best you three go directly to your dormitory,” Rattlebag said. “There will be no dinner for you.”
Skipping dinner wasn’t much of a punishment as ghosts did not actually need to eat, but learning to pretend as if they did proved helpful when wanting to go unnoticed amongst hungry Perishables.
The boys rose and made their way toward the office door. Ace aimed his path toward the wall.
“Not through the wall, Mr. Bowen,” Rattlebag said, sounding far too tired for a ghost who’d not needed sleep in nearly a millennium. “You haven’t mastered the skill yet. Nurse Snodsbury was quite put out the last time she had to reassemble you.”
Willing to save Snodsbury a bit of bother, Ace passed through the open door with his ghostly feet a few inches off the floor, another skill a First Form was not meant to have mastered.
No, Higglebottom’s had never seen a student quite like him.
“Rattlebag has no sense of humor,” Snout said as they walked toward their dormitory. “Those gags were brilliant.”
Bathwater shrugged. “Maybe things stop being funny after you’ve been dead nine hundred years.”
“Rattlebag certainly stopped being funny,” Ace said.
They all laughed, not the least worried about punishments or expulsion. The teachers liked them, despite the havoc they wreaked.
“Two weeks until the Spirit Trials,” Snout said. “Do you mean to ask Cropper to join our team?”
Ace was considering it. They needed a crack team for that term’s trials.
For eight hundred years, school terms at Higglebottom’s School for the Dead had ended with the Spirit Trials, a series of tests in which the students demonstrated all they had learned about being a proper ghost. A high enough score allowed the winning team to advance to the next Form early.
Ace was bored to death, as it were, of First Form studies. “Cropper’s whip smart. But he’s not a lot of fun.”
Bathwater attempted to sit in an absent chair but mismanaged the thing, spilling onto and partway through the floor. “I guess I’m not so whip smart, myself,” he said, pulling himself up with some effort. He managed to not leave any bits of himself behind.
Snout eyed Ace with curiosity. “Would you rather have a diverting teammate or a helpful one?”
“The three of us could do well enough to at least pass the Spirit Trials,” Ace said. “Might as well have a lark doing it.”
“Even if it means not skipping to Form Two?” Bathwater asked.
If ghosts had actual hearts, Ace’s would’ve dropped a bit at that question. He wanted to be challenged at Higglebottom’s. But he’d not had much time for larks and absurdity in life. He meant to enjoy a hardy helping of both in the afterlife.
“If we don’t qualify to skip ahead early, we can make the most of our final term in Form One.”
“Rattlebag might advance us anyway,” Snout said. “Anything to get us out of his classes.”
“All the more reason to make certain the Spirit Trials are a highlight.”
“Are you aiming for more mischief?” Bathwater sounded worried. Though he enjoyed their mischief and joined in eagerly, he did worry a bit over it.
“You bet your afterlife, I am.”
Somewhere in the room something thudded, a common sound in a school full of ghosts learning to be proper haunters. But nothing had fallen or shifted or lay in a heap.
“What was that?” Bathwater asked.
“I don’t know, but I mean to find out.” Ace floated—a bit of showing off helped build a touch of confidence—to the noisy side of the room.
Nothing seemed amiss.
Then the bed skirt rustled. The wind wasn’t blowing outside the ancient school. No one in the room was practicing making a draft.
Ace knelt on the floor, careful not to slip through, and peered under the bed, directly into the eyes of a boy. But not just any boy.
A living one.
Ana Newport had attended very few Society gatherings in the past two years, and none away from Thurloe Collegiate School, where she was a teacher. She took a deep, reassuring breath as she waited to depart for a musicale.
“You needn’t be worried, Ana,” Elizabeth said. “You will play your violin beautifully and win the hearts of everyone there tonight.”
That was not at all the reason for her nervousness, but it was a reason she could admit to. “I haven’t played in public in years. And I’m hardly a regular on Society’s guest list.”
“Well, you’re on this one,” Elizabeth said.
At first, Ana had refused Elizabeth’s suggestion that she attend. Society had not been kind when her family’s fortunes had turned. That made her wary. But Elizabeth had let slip that Mrs. Sudworth would be in attendance, and there was no question of refusing after that. Ana needed to be there if that terrible, horrid, wretched woman was.
A knock sounded at the door. Elizabeth hadn’t moved far from the door in the past fifteen minutes, waiting for the gentlemen who were accompanying them that night.
A moment later, the men stepped inside. Fletcher Walker was a well-known author of penny dreadfuls, who had managed to gain something of a foothold in Society despite having spent his early life in the gutters. His close friend, Hollis Darby, came from an “old money” family. They’d been part of the upper crust for generations, and he was precisely the sort of refined and intimida
ting gentleman she’d been in awe of when she had still been part of that world, young and starry-eyed and naive.
Mr. Walker pulled Elizabeth into an embrace the moment the door was closed behind him. “I’ve missed you, dove.”
“If you came by more often, you wouldn’t have to miss me.” Elizabeth threaded her fingers through his but addressed both of the gentlemen. “Shall we be on our way?”
Before Ana could take more than one step toward the door, however, Mr. Darby held out his hand. “Please, allow me to carry your violin. I promise to be very careful with it.”
He was always the perfect gentleman. How well she remembered the strict propriety of those of his standing. She remembered nearly as well how hypocritical that often proved.
“I know it ain’t proper,” Mr. Walker said to the group as they approached the waiting hackney, “but I’d much prefer to sit with Elizabeth.” He eyed Ana and Mr. Darby with an undeniably charming bit of pleading. “Have a heart? Do a bloke a favor?”
“I will not impose upon Miss Newport,” Mr. Darby said. “And neither should you, no matter your wish for a bit of sparking.”
“If they are going to be sparking, I don’t know that I want them in the same carriage regardless of where they’re sitting,” Ana said.
Mr. Darby smiled at her humor. No matter that he occupied an elevated rung on the ladder of Society, he had a way of setting her at ease.
“I will not be made uncomfortable by the arrangement Mr. Walker suggested,” Ana said.
“Capital.” Mr. Walker grinned.
They were soon inside and settled, and the hackney began its journey to the evening’s destination. Across the carriage, Elizabeth and Mr. Walker spoke quietly, their heads pressed together. Mr. Darby sat beside Ana, her violin held carefully on his lap.
“I hope you will forgive me if this proves a bit of nosiness,” he said, “but you seem anxious.”
“I am.” She clasped her gloved hands. “I have not been out in Society in years. And I’ve not played any instrument outside of Thurloe in at least that long. I have every expectation of things going terribly wrong tonight.”
“I, for one, have every hope the evening will go wonderfully right.” His voice was so soothing and calm, so very reassuring. “I cannot think of anyone more perfectly suited for a musicale. You won’t want for topics to discuss, as music is your area of expertise. And you will impress all in attendance with your talent.”
“You have never heard me play,” she answered, amused. “I might be terrible at it.”
His smile, dimly lit by the late-evening sun, blossomed. “Miss Black speaks very highly of your skills. I am not nearly brave enough to question her reliability.”
Ana hazarded a glance across the way. Elizabeth and her beau weren’t paying them the least heed. “She has been very kind to me.”
“I cannot imagine anyone being anything but kind to you.”
She didn’t need to imagine it. Her family had once occupied a minor place amongst the influential. They were newly accepted in Society, not for their standing but for their growing wealth. Her mother had possessed flawless manners and grace. Father had been the epitome of a gentleman despite having earned his fortune. All of that had disappeared in an instant. The Society peacocks had turned to vultures.
“Merciful heavens, Miss Newport. You’re growing paler by the moment.”
She tried to smile, but the memories were not pleasant ones. “My family suffered a reversal of fortunes a few years ago. Based on how we were treated at the time, I am not entirely confident of my reception tonight.”
“Society is a fickle beast.” He leaned closer, though not so close as to be inappropriate. “I will be nearby all evening. Should anyone treat you with any degree of unkindness, I will gladly intervene on your behalf.”
She could not afford to have anyone dogging her heels the entire evening. A lighthearted response would likely gain her a bit of freedom. “Perhaps we should engage Mr. Walker’s help should fisticuffs be necessary.”
Mr. Darby smiled at her once more. She did like his smile; it was genuine and kind. “He would not need to be asked twice.”
“How is it you came to be friends?” The two men were so drastically different.
“We met quite by accident and found we got on well. The rest simply happened.”
“Are you the reason he goes about in Society?” she asked. “He wasn’t born to it.”
Anyone hearing Mr. Walker speak could easily sort his low origins.
“I suppose I am,” Mr. Darby answered. “He was a good friend to me when I needed one. I hope I’ve proven the same to him.”
From across the carriage, Mr. Walker answered. “You’re certainly my loudest friend.”
Good-natured as always, Mr. Darby grinned. “I wasn’t being as stealthy as I thought, apparently.”
“You could learn a thing or two from my literary works.” Mr. Walker said the last two words with an impressive impersonation of an upper-class accent. “Quite the sneaky chaps, my characters.”
“And they’re children,” Ana said. “Surely Mr. Darby wouldn’t be bested by two little boys.”
Everyone turned to her, including Elizabeth. “You’ve read Fletcher’s penny dreadfuls?”
From any other employer, the question would have been filled with reprimand, but Ana happened to know her very exceptional friend and employer didn’t disapprove of the low literature. “I have read them. I enjoy them, in fact.”
“Do you read others?” Mr. Darby asked.
“A few. The daring adventures written by the author known as Stone. I haven’t yet read the newest offering from Lafayette Jones, but I’ve heard it is delightful.”
Elizabeth smiled. To the gentlemen, she explained, “We have several students who are fond of his and Mr. King’s works.”
“Everyone is fond of Mr. King’s stories,” Ana said. “I see them being read everywhere.”
“If Mr. King weren’t so blasted talented, I’d be fully jealous,” Mr. Walker said. “But the fella can spin a tale.”
The hackney came to a stop at their destination. Talk of authors and stories had distracted Ana for a moment, but now her nerves returned fully.
She was handed down from the carriage. Mr. Darby joined her in the next moment, her violin case still in his hand. He offered his free arm, and she wove hers through it.
The music room of the fine house was full to bursting. Mr. Darby did not abandon her. He walked with her to their hostess and made a charming and proper introduction.
“Ah, yes, Miss Newport,” Mrs. Kennard said. “Miss Black said you would be favoring us with a performance.”
“I will do my utmost to not be a disappointment.”
Mrs. Kennard elegantly waved that off. “Your abilities are well spoken of by those whose word can be trusted.”
“Miss Black is too kind,” Ana said.
“Mr. Headley told me of your talent as well.”
Mr. Headley. That was unexpected. He had, at one time, been a suitor of Elizabeth’s, before she had revealed her preference for Mr. Walker. In all Mr. Headley’s visits, he’d never shown himself to have taken the least notice of her.
“Thank you for inviting me this evening, Mrs. Kennard,” Mr. Darby said.
“Of course. Perhaps in the future, you might convince your brother and sister-in-law to attend.”
Mr. Darby dipped his head. “I will do my best to convince them.”
A bit of tension touched the promise. Had Mrs. Kennard noticed? She didn’t appear to.
Ana took a seat beside Elizabeth, waiting her turn to perform. Several others were called upon before she was: two young ladies on the pianoforte, another on the harp, a young gentleman on the cello, and an older gentleman who sang a fine rendition of a Mozart aria.
Then it was her turn. El
izabeth gave her arm an encouraging squeeze. The gathered attendees applauded politely as was expected. Mrs. Kennard waited in front of the group for Ana to join her.
After a quick check of the strings to make certain her violin was in tune, Ana gave Mrs. Kennard a nod. In an instant, she stood alone before them all. Her gaze met Mr. Darby’s. He dipped his head almost imperceptibly and smiled reassuringly.
She set her violin on her shoulder and rested her chin in place. Her selection for the evening was a portion of Beethoven’s Violin Concerto in D Major. She knew it well enough that she hardly needed to think in order to play, and the tune wasn’t so emotive as to be scandalous nor so staid as to be boring.
As she played, she clandestinely searched the crowd for Mrs. Sudworth. One row at a time, she checked each face.
Near the end of the piece, Ana saw the woman she was looking for. Mrs. Sudworth sat nearer the back of the room where the chandelier light sparkled off the many jewels she wore. Ana remembered how that ghastly woman would trot out her entire collection of gemstones any time she was in Society. The result was far more gaudy than impressive, but no one doubted for a moment that the woman was wealthy. And Mrs. Sudworth never doubted that she was above her company.
She likely didn’t even remember Ana or the harm she’d done to Ana’s family. But Ana remembered. And that memory had brought her here tonight.
Ana finished her piece almost without realizing it. That’s what came of choosing a selection she didn’t have to pay attention to. The attendees applauded politely. She offered a curtsey and a smile before resuming her seat.
Elizabeth leaned closer. “Beautifully played.”
“Thank you.” Ana took a tight breath. Everyone would likely think it was a release of nerves, but her uneasiness was only just beginning.
The Gentleman and the Thief Page 2
