No Place for a Lady

by Joan Smith

  “I do not feel constrained! On the contrary, I look forward to it with great pleasure. But you still ain’t going to get your bonnet and come with me now, are you?”

  “No, Mr. Alger. I am not.”

  Our à suivie flirtation, for that was what our conversation amounted to, was interrupted by a scurry of footsteps in the hallway. Mrs. Thackery came in. “She’s gone!” she said, with more satisfaction than annoyance.

  Mr. Alger’s eyes flew open, and he leapt to his feet. His face was snow white.

  “All I said was that she must clean up that kitchen, for it is filthy, Cathy,” Miss Thackery continued. She had not noticed Alger’s overwrought reaction. “She flew into the boughs and told me she had enough to do cooking for three, without scrubbing floors. What is really bothering her is Mullard. She does not like having him sleeping in that little storeroom. As if he would be any menace to that old hag!”

  Of course Miss Thackery’s news was distressing, but I found myself studying Mr. Alger as the color seeped back into his cheeks and his body relaxed.

  “Mrs. Scudpole has done a flit, has she?” he asked in a conversational tone.

  “Who did you think Mrs. Thackery was referring to, Mr. Alger?” I asked. Who else could it be? Mrs. Clarke, or Miss Whately. There were no other women in the house. Oh, and Miss Lemon. Of the three, I felt it was only Mrs. Clarke who could possibly have caught his interest.

  “I assumed it was Mrs. Scudpole. If I looked surprised, it is only that I was expecting to hear she had taken the silver with her. Yet another reason to make you want to leave.”

  “No, she did not,” Miss Thackery said, “for I was right there, you know, and she could hardly rifle the silver chest under my very nose. What are we to do for a servant, Cathy?”

  “We must be in touch with an employment agency and find a temporary maid who cooks, or a cook who will do a little cleaning.”

  “No one decent will ever come to Wild Street,” Miss Thackery said, giving tongue to my own fear. “At least we shan’t starve. I know how to cook a little, and between us we can make our beds and do the dusting.”

  “Honest work is hard to come by in this part of town,” Mr. Alger said. “You will not have much trouble. I shall put the word out, if you like.”

  “A young girl would be best,” Miss Thackery said, smiling in relief. “I can oversee her cooking. What we really need is a strong back and a good worker.”

  “Mrs. Freeman, just down the street, has a couple of girls who do odd jobs while awaiting their chance in the theater,” Mr. Alger said. “Your aunt used to use them as occasional help for the spring cleaning and so on. Shall I speak to Mrs. Freeman now?”

  I said, “That would be a help, if you don’t mind.”

  Mr. Alger left at once. I noticed that his eyes turned to the window before leaving—and wondered if Bow Street was lurking about, on the qui vive for Sharkey. I strolled to the window, but no one was there.

  “That was a stroke of luck,” Miss Thackery said. “Very kind of Mr. Alger. He seems nice. What was he doing here, Cathy? Just a social visit?” she asked, her eyes shining with curiosity.

  I disliked keeping so many secrets from my old friend. “I suppose you might call it that,” I said vaguely.

  She mistook my disturbed condition for embarrassment at being caught unattended with a beau. While she chatted on about Mrs. Scudpole’s departure and the new girl, my mind wandered to more pressing problems. How was I to get the ring and watch to Mrs. Pryor? Miss Thackery would be with us on our afternoon outing. Like Mr. Alger, I rather wished she would not be. Perhaps I could have Mullard post the parcel while he was out for the paint and door knocker. At least Mr. Alger had been good to his word about returning the purloined ring.

  Miss Thackery said she was going to make us a sandwich and tea, and while she did this, I took a dust cloth to the saloon. It had been impossible to clean it when it was so overcrowded, but now that it was clear of debris, I saw it was not an unhandsome room. The ceiling was lofty and the dimensions were generous. The double window gave good light, which unfortunately made the beggar’s velvet decorating tables and lamps even more noticeable.

  The furniture required beeswax and turpentine and a deal of elbow grease, so I just got a dust cloth and dusted the smaller items. There were two handsome china vases on a desk between the windows: the tall one decorated with grapes was the finer of the pair. The other was a shorter, bulbous one ornamented with peaches and apples. I lifted the latter and heard something rattle inside it. I peered in and saw a puddle of white beads of some sort. I tipped them out and held up a string of beautiful pearls. They glowed in the sunlight with a dull, iridescent sheen. The clasp was made of small diamonds. My gasp of delight hung on the still air. For a moment I thought my aunt had put them there and forgotten them. What a beautiful surprise!

  Then I recalled the Bow Street Runner’s list of items stolen from Lady Pryor—and I knew that what I held had not belonged to Aunt Thalassa. Sharkey had been standing by this desk last night. He had dropped the necklace in the vase for some reason. Perhaps it would be harder to sell than the less valuable ring and watch, and he did not want to leave it in his flat in case Bow Street called. My next thought was whether Sharkey had lied to Alger about not buying them, or had Alger lied to me?

  I soon deduced the answer. Alger knew the pearls were there. He had been trying to recover them when I came upon him, hastening toward the vase. It was not the window he had been going to, but this vase. That was why he had been so insistent that we go out “alone.” He had asked me to fetch my bonnet two or three times. And while I went for the bonnet, he would have pocketed the necklace. He was definitely Sharkey’s accomplice.

  The pearls were large, and it was a long necklace. This would be worth ten times the value of the ring and watch. It had not been much sacrifice for Sharkey and Alger to return the smaller items to keep me silent. And to allow them to stay on at my house. That seemed very important to Mr. Alger at least. I took the necklace and hid it in my bedchamber, lest Sharkey or Alger come looking for it. But I would wrap it up with the other items for Mullard to mail to Lady Pryor—and I would give Alger a good Bear Garden jaw, too, for trying to con me.

  Miss Thackery and I had our sandwiches and tea and the remains of a stale plum cake, and as we were rising from the table, Mr. Alger returned with a young girl whom he introduced as Mary Freeman.

  She seemed a rough-and-ready sort of girl in her early teens. She had a wide smile and a tousle of red curls. Her dress of blue dimity was clean, and she carried a white apron in her hand.

  “I do mostly general cleaning, miss,” she said, “but I can do simple cooking. Gammon and eggs and roast a chicken. Ma says she’ll supply you with bread and sweets. She makes a dandy cake or pie.”

  “I shall show you what needs to be done,” Miss Thackery said. “You can begin by putting on that apron and clearing the table, Mary. The kitchen must be scrubbed down. I shall make dinner myself tonight.”

  “What about our trip to Somerset House, Miss Thackery?” I said.

  “I forgot all about it. You go ahead, Cathy. I can go another time. I cannot live in this house, knowing that kitchen is so dirty.”

  When Mr. Alger turned a laughing eye on me, I felt obliged to object. “I shall stay and help,” I said.

  She insisted I go ahead, and as I wanted a private word with Mr. Alger, I allowed myself to be persuaded. It was obvious that Miss Thackery imagined I had found a beau. She would be sorely disappointed.

  Before going upstairs to freshen his toilette, Mr. Alger said, “Have you seen Professor Vivaldi today, ladies?”

  “He went out early,” I replied. “I believe he goes to the British Museum to do research.”

  “I just wanted to check a few Latin quotations with him, for a speech Lord Dolman is giving in the House.”

  “Surely Lord Dolman knows Latin,” I said, surprised.

  “Just so. I explained myself poorly. I wanted to ask
Vivaldi if he could give me a couple of pertinent quotes. Dolman recognizes Latin, but like myself, he cannot always put his hand on the right quotation. There is nothing like a sprinkling of Latin to impress the House.”

  He left then, and I found a larger box to contain the pearls and the other jewelry. I smuggled my parcel to Mullard for posting. Lady Pryor would definitely get back her pearls and ring and watch. I had managed to outwit Alger and Sharkey, and it gave me courage to face the coming confrontation.

  Chapter Nine

  I wore the new chipped straw bonnet I had bought for spring and my best blue pelisse, not to impress Mr. Alger but to cut a dash at the exhibition.

  “Very fetching,” Alger said, smiling approval at the bonnet as we went out the door.

  He assisted me into the curricle, but before mounting the box himself, he said, “I have forgotten my handkerchief. I shan’t be a moment. Pray excuse me.”

  “Mr. Alger! Do not leave me alone with your team!”

  He was uncomfortable with the social lapse of leaving a lady waiting alone in the street, but I knew instinctively that mere discomfort did not cause his frustrated expression. While he stood undecided, I realized what he really had in mind.

  “If it is the pearls you are after,” I said, “they are no longer in the vase.”

  Alger gave me such a scowl I was half afraid to set out with him, but as it was broad daylight, I felt fairly safe.

  He hopped up on the box and led the horses off before speaking. When he had recovered his temper he said, “You knew all along?”

  “No, I found them after you went to get Mary Freeman.”

  “What did you do with them?”

  “They are on their way to Lady Pryor, Mr. Alger, along with her ring and watch. And don’t think you are going to weasel your way out of this one. You knew perfectly well the pearls were there! You planned to keep them, and try to convince me of your innocence by returning the less valuable pieces. How much does Sharkey pay you? Do you take your cut in chess sets and crystal decanters, or does Sharkey work for you?”

  His reply was a bark of annoyance: “Don’t be ridiculous!”

  “Don’t you take me for a fool.”

  “Sharkey did tell me the pearls were in the vase,” he admitted. “He dropped them there for safekeeping last night. Bow Street does occasionally visit his rooms. I had already gotten the ring from him, to return to Lady Pryor. I meant to return the pearls as well. I did not wish to further aggravate you by telling you they were in your flat.”

  “A likely story!”

  “No, a demmed unlikely one, but truth is oftentimes stranger than fiction. I could come up with a more convincing tale if I were trying to con you.”

  “Yes, you are good at inventing tales!”

  “I am trying to reform Sharkey.”

  “Where is the thief now?”

  “He is doing a little job for me.”

  “Then you are in charge! Stop the carriage this instant.”

  “A purely legal job,” he said, through gritted teeth.

  “Hah! He would not know the meaning of the word, and neither would you. What kind of job? Sharkey cannot know anything of politics.”

  “His errand has nothing to do with politics. It has to do with a horse I am thinking of buying. Sharkey knows horseflesh. He is trying the animal out for me. A hunter. I have been invited to hunt with Dolman’s pack.”

  I kept his reply in mind, not believing nor quite disbelieving, but just mulling it over. “You gave Sharkey the money to pay the rent?”

  “I lent it to him. He always repays me—not in stolen objects,” he added angrily. “Good God! You sound as though I were a common felon.”

  “People are judged by the company they keep, Mr. Alger.”

  “Then you had best be wary of seeing much of me, Miss Irving, n’est-ce pas?” he said satirically.

  “You may be very sure that has occurred to me, sir,” I replied.

  In truth, his little flare-up of temper did more to convince me he was innocent than any amount of smiling and flirting. He could have been looking for the necklace to return to Lady Pryor. He did not seem upset that I had returned it. We had been driving at a good clip toward the respectable part of town during our argument. Neither of us spoke for a few blocks. Then he turned to me and smiled a smile that told me I must be on my guard with him, for he had more charm than was good for a lady.

  “Let us not spoil our outing, Miss Irving. I have been looking forward to it all day. As you plan to leave soon, we shall not have many opportunities to know each other. Somerset House has an interesting history, and a good location, right on the Thames. It was begun by Somerset in the sixteen hundreds, but he was beheaded before it was finished. The queens of Charles the first and second lived there. It was only at the end of the last century that it was put to public use.” He continued on with other details of the house’s history and architecture.

  A gathering of carriages alerted me as we drew near the spot, and soon we had arrived. Alger found a linkboy to hold the rig for him while we took a look at the outside of the building. It was done in the Palladian style, with the long front facing the water. The Thames lapped gently at the shore. The cooling breeze was welcome on a warm day. Pleasure boats and some tugs were plying the waters.

  Inside, the paintings were hung densely on the walls, one above the other, cheek by jowl, right up to the ceiling. Truth to tell, there was not one among them that excited my deep admiration. It was a landscape exhibition that was on display. I find nature so beautiful, and so easily accessible to be admired, that pictures of it seem superfluous. I had been hoping for a portrait exhibition, to see pictures of famous Londoners.

  What I found more interesting than the art was the onlookers. I gazed in disbelief at the elegant toilettes London ladies wore on a simple afternoon outing. There were bonnets bearing whole gardens of silk flowers, complete with stuffed birds. My new chipped straw paled to insignificance, and my pelisse was the wrong color and material, too. All the ladies were wearing mantles of twisted sarcenet, green to compliment their flower bonnets. Mine was a blue worsted.

  I was introduced to a few people. A Lady MacIntyre and her daughter accosted Alger—and gave me, my bonnet, and blue pelisse a closer examination than they gave the artworks.

  “Not one of the Season’s better exhibitions,” Lady MacIntyre complained. “One can see why the crowd is so small.”

  It seemed like a goodish crowd to me. Looking over the throng, I said, “Do you not think it well attended, Lady MacIntyre? There must be over a hundred people here.”

  “Oh, my dear, when you can count the viewers, the thing is a colossal failure.” She laughed. “When Reynolds and even Romney were alive, the crowds were lined up for blocks. This is not even a crowd, let alone a squeeze. Come along, Samantha. We shall go to Hyde Park. There is no one here. Shall we see you at Lady Bonham’s rout this evening, Algie?”

  “If time permits, ma’am.”

  “You are not accustomed to working for a living, eh? Tell Dolman I was asking for him.”

  Lady MacIntyre nudged her butter-toothed daughter forward to make a curtsy, then hauled her away.”

  “Now the crowd is down to ninety-eight. A definite flop,” Alger said.

  “I suppose you think I am a flat, thinking a hundred is a crowd.”

  “Don’t put words in my mouth, then throw them back in my face. I do not think you a flat; provincial, perhaps,” he added, with a reckless smile, and raised his hands as if to ward off a blow.

  “A Bath Miss, and proud of it, sir.”

  “Now you are giving yourself airs. A Radstock Miss, I would say. Do they have as many as a hundred people in Radstock, or do the thundering herd of a hundred come from Bath for exhibitions?”

  “It is quality that counts, not quantity. At least they go to look at the pictures, not gawk at the other viewers.”

  “I have not noticed you paying much attention to the pictures.”


  “That is because the pictures are so inferior. We have better exhibitions at Radstock.” I made a point to examine the pictures for a moment after that jibe.

  A moment later a pair of bucks came pelting down the stairs from the upper gallery and spotted Mr. Alger. They came forward, running their eyes over me in a blatantly assessing manner. They reminded me of Mr. Cruikshank’s caricatures of young bucks. One was tall and slender; the other shorter and stouter. Both looked like fops.

  “This is a sad excuse for an exhibition,” the shorter one scoffed. “Trees and barns, and not a pretty woman in the lot.”

  “Indeed it is. We are about to leave,” Alger replied. “Nice meeting you, gentlemen.”

  “Hold on, Algie! Why don’t you introduce us to the lady?”

  Alger introduced the short one as Sir Giles somebody and the tall one as Mr. Soames. “I have not seen you before, Miss Irving,” Sir Giles said. “Algie has been keeping you to himself, sly dog.”

  “We were about to leave,” Alger said at once, and put his hand on my elbow to lead me out.

  “Can you not wait a moment?” the one called Soames said, with a sly look. “Lord Evans is joining us.”

  For some reason, the name Evans rattled Alger. “No, we really must be going,” he said.

  We left, while a trail of laughter followed us. “Selfish, I call it!” Sir Giles called. “All your hard work is going to your head, Algie. Don’t worry, Evans won’t tell Lord Dolman you are taking an unscheduled holiday.”

  We left at such a lively gait that I was short of breath by the time we reached the carriage.

  “Tell me, Mr. Alger, why are we running? Are you avoiding work, and afraid your patron will discover it? If that is the case—”

  “Of course not!”

  “Then I can only assume you are ashamed to introduce me to your friends. Had I known green mantles were de rigueur, I would either have obtained one or remained at home.”

  “Green mantles? What the devil are you talking about?”

  “You must have noticed, all the ladies wore them.”