Richard shook his head. “No, nothing. Just you.” He tightened his fingers over hers. “Just you,” he repeated, hearing the words and appreciating their simple truth.
Ève grew still. A tiny smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “There are a great many people anxious to speak to you,” she warned him.
“Let them wait.”
Ève reached for the chair, straining to catch the front of it with her fingers and not let go of his hand. She drew the chair closer and sat on it. It put their eyes at nearly the same level. That suited Richard, too.
And for a while they enjoyed that simple moment.
It couldn’t last. It didn’t last. The people Ève had warned him about came to see him—far too soon for his tastes.
The first was a doctor with a thick silver beard which he stroked as he stood over Richard with an erect bearing and squared shoulders. “You have a broken collarbone, Mr. Devlin,” he said. “With luck, it will heal cleanly. I suspect you will be aware of coming changes in the weather for the rest of your life, though. There was tissue damage, which I repaired, and it should not give you any further complications. Oh, and you will have a scar on both front and back, to remind you to duck in the future.”
The comment and the man’s amusement told Richard the doctor was an army surgeon, even though he wore no uniform.
The next person to arrive was Bertrand. Bertrand sent Ève in search of a cup of coffee for him, then pulled a flask from his jacket, unscrewed the lid and offered it to Richard. “This will help.”
Richard shook his head. “It really doesn’t. It just feels as though it is helping.”
Bertrand shrugged. “Your loss, my friend.” He drank and put the flask away. “I came over when I heard about the contretemps you created. Alas, I arrived when it was all over, and I merely got to see the results.”
“It did happen quickly,” Richard admitted. “Once they made up their minds, they didn’t hesitate.”
“A fact I will keep in mind in the future.”
“The future? Your job is over, isn’t it? Sandford was their leader…” Richard frowned.
“He was a leader,” Bertrand replied. “Or he was whatever they call their strategists and direction-givers. He directed only a small corner of the anarchist realm. A corner which has been vexing the British police for a great many years, yet only a corner, when all is said and done. By the way, I am pleased Einaudi was swept up with this lot. It will cripple the French contingent for a while and give me a chance to get a step or two ahead of them. All in all, you did well, Mr. Devlin.”
“Why do you sound so sour about it then?” Richard asked, ignoring the tiny touch of warmth Bertrand’s niggling compliment had given him.
Bertrand got to his feet, shaking his head. “I do not believe it is my place to say. You must stop by when you return to Paris, Mr. Devlin. We will share a glass of wine, you and I.”
The little warm glow evaporated. Richard stared at him. Then he managed to mutter, “Yes, when I return…”
As Bertrand walked down the long ward, Richard settled back upon the pillow, his thoughts racing.
The next visitor was a stranger. He had thinning, sand-colored hair, green eyes and a congenial expression. “Sir Maxwell Clark Garrett,” he told Richard, as he pulled up the chair which Ève had vacated. “I’m a director of something or other at Whitehall, which is of little importance to this discussion.”
Richard frowned. “Very mysterious,” he muttered. “And why are you here?”
“I’m here to mop up, shall we say? Chief Inspector Lamb is not very happy with you, Mr. Devlin.”
Richard grimaced. “He made that clear, the last time I spoke to him.”
“Oddly enough, the gist of your conversation with Chief Inspector Lamb made its way to my ears. In part, that is why I am here.”
Richard tried to sit up and winced as pain exploded in his shoulder. Moving more slowly, he levered himself up with his right hand and settled his back to the iron bed head. “You are the one who sent the police to the house in Kent.”
“Actually, that was your doing, Mr. Devlin,” Garrett replied. “We merely followed you.” He glanced at his fingernails and buffed them on his worsted-encased knee.
Richard blew out a heavy breath. “You used me as bait. You pushed me onto the street and waited to see who spoke to me…”
“Indeed,” Garrett said. “And it paid off handsomely.”
“My wife might have died, you bastard!” Richard muttered.
Garrett didn’t seem offended. “In my position, I am forced to make decisions to which others do not take kindly. That is the work we are all faced with these days, Mr. Devlin.” His gaze was steady, the green eyes calm. “There are many men in high positions, with expertise and forward-thinking, who believe the actions of unregulated and independent people, such as the anarchists, will be the undoing of civilization. Such men take extraordinary actions to defeat and negate such radicals, and sometimes, reasonable men are caught up in those affairs.”
“Is that an apology?” Richard growled.
“No,” Garrett replied calmly. “We do what we must. Just as you have done what you must, Mr. Devlin. Britain owes you a debt of gratitude.”
Richard’s middle jumped at the unexpected compliment. “Then you should say so. Publicly.”
Behind Garrett, Ève approached the bed. She was moving quietly, patently listening to them.
“Ah. I regret that is not possible,” Garrett told Richard. He did sound as though he regretted it. “The anarchists, those who got away from the net we cast over the house, their colleagues in Europe and elsewhere…they all believe you to be one of them. A public acknowledgement of what you have done would remove that belief.”
Richard stared at him, appalled. “You don’t think I will help you any more with this, do you? My part in this is done, Garrett. I am removing myself from the playing board.”
“And I would be more than happy to give you cab fare to wherever you wish to go,” Garrett replied. “The anarchists, though, have their own way of deciding who is, as you say, on the board.”
Richard’s anger stirred. “I will not help you any further, Garrett. I don’t like your methods.”
Ève stood directly behind him, now, still and silent and listening carefully.
Garrett considered Richard’s declaration. “Of course, I wish you well. If you should ever need to speak to me, you can contact Chief Inspector Lamb. He knows where to find me.” Garrett got to his feet. “Until we meet again, Mr. Devlin.”
Richard shook his head at Garrett’s relentlessness.
Garrett turned. “Madame Devlin,” he said smoothly, as if he had known she was there all along.
“Sir Garrett,” she murmured.
Garrett gave her a charming smile and moved away.
Ève’s gaze slid to Richard. “Maxwell Garrett, yes?” She had switched to French.
“Yes.”
“There is a connection between Bertrand and Garrett. I don’t know the relationship precisely, although they know each other. I saw Garrett in Paris, once.”
“And now we will never see him again,” Richard said firmly. He held out his hand and was pleased when she took it without hesitation. He drew her closer. “There is something I have been meaning to say—”
She raised her free hand quickly. “Before you speak, there is another visitor. He is waiting outside the ward until I speak to you.”
Richard sighed. “Who is it this time?”
Ève pressed her lips together. Her cheeks tinted a light pink. “Your father,” she said softly.
Richard drew in a breath, smothering his surprised. “You sent for him…”
Ève’s nod was tiny. “I thought he should know. I know how I would feel if I found out later that I had not been able to see you, or offer to help…”
Richard kissed her hand. “It is alright,” he told her, switching back to English, so he could say exactly what he meant. “I don’t mi
nd. Not anymore.”
Ève’s sigh shook. “I’ll bring him now.”
His father settled on the chair with a heavy motion, as Ève stood at the end of the bed. Raymond pushed his hand through his hair. “I won’t ask why I am only now learning about your troubles…and your marriage.”
“Father, I…” Richard grimaced. “I’m sorry. I should have told you,” he said simply.
Raymond’s brow lifted. “There’s a surprise. I don’t believe I’ve ever heard you use that word before.”
“I haven’t—not when it really meant anything,” Richard replied. “The problem is, I didn’t realize it was a word I needed to use. Not until now.”
Raymond’s shoulders relaxed. His gaze grew warmer. “I’m taking you back to Innesford to recover—you and Ève. I suspect neither of you have anywhere else to go right now. Cian has more than enough room for two itinerant members of the family.”
“Family…” Richard echoed. It was another dusty word, one which had not been used with any sort of meaning for far too long. He lifted his gaze to Ève.
Her eyes were sparkling once more. She gave a tiny nod.
Great Aunt Annalies’ Boarding House for Ladies, Grosvenor Square, Mayfair, London.
Anna and Elise settled on the chairs closest to the sofa where Great Aunt Annalies preferred to curl up with her books. Anna cleared her throat.
Great Aunt Annalies lowered her book and peered at them. Then she closed the book and took off her spectacles and rubbed her nose. “Oh dear. I know that expression. Am I in trouble again?”
“You have been in trouble most of your life, Aunt Annalies,” Anna replied. “Now, you are a few inches deeper in the mud.”
“Picturesque,” Annalies murmured. “You’d better tell me the rest, now.”
Elise lifted her hand and held up a finger. “There is not enough coal in the cellar to last two days and none has been ordered.”
“Really? Did not Mrs. Brown take care of that?” Annalies asked, looking puzzled.
Elise raised another finger. “The, um…convenience in the yard needs…”
Anna rolled her eyes. “It needs at least a bagful of lime and lord knows what else. In truth, Aunt Annalies, the entire edifice should be dismantled and a proper water closet installed in the house. You cannot ask young ladies to traipse out there in the middle of the night, and chamber pots are…well, the Queen’s physician says they are unhealthy.”
“Yes, I remember reading something about that,” Annalies murmured, frowning.
Anna held up a finger of her own. “The fireplaces all need a good scrubbing. It is already September, Aunt Annalies. We cannot live here in the winter and have a fireplace clog and smoke push back into the house. We will suffocate!”
Annalies rested her hands on the cover of the book. The back of them were spotted and the veins raised beneath the soft skin. Yet they were still elegant hands, even adorned with nothing but her wedding ring. “I suspect you have a proposal, the pair of you.”
“Yes, indeed,” Elise said quickly.
“Yes, we do,” Anna added. “We have discussed it, Elise and I. There is nothing to running a house, if one has the time. Mama taught us both the ins and outs of it and Northallerton was just as antiquated as this house…only it isn’t anymore. Not when she had finished making it a modern house.”
“The problem is, neither of us have the time because we must attend our work each day,” Elise said.
“You cannot manage the house anymore, either, Aunt Annalies. You should not have to. So we are proposing that Elise and I do that for you.”
Aunt Annalies considered them, her eyes narrowed. “And your work which you must both attend?”
“We will terminate our employment,” Elise replied. “And we will become butlers to your house.”
Annalies didn’t seem surprised. “As you have both investigated the matter before speaking to me, you must be aware that I do not have the resources to pay you to manage the house. Oh, I admit I am getting a little slower these days and cannot keep up with everything. If I had the wherewithal to hire a housekeeper with more vigor than Mrs. Brown, then I would have.”
“Yes, exactly,” Anna said. “Neither of us likes employment, Aunt Annalies. We don’t like having to be away from the house all the time. Though London is very diverting, and we really do not wish to return to Northallerton, either. We were thinking that we could run the house for you—properly, that is. The way a good butler would do it. Then Mrs. Brown can return to be just a cook. Our wages would be the cost of our rooms here.”
Aunt Annalies rested her elbow on the book and her chin on her fist, her expression thoughtful. “That would help run the house, I do admit,” she said slowly. “However, the…what did you call it? Modernization? That is an interesting word, isn’t it? The modernization of the house requires money, which your proposed barter would not generate.”
Anna grimaced. “We couldn’t think of a way around that, either, Aunt Annalies. Only, if we are here and working to take care of matters, then sooner or later, I am positive a solution will occur to us.”
“I believe they call that the knock of opportunity,” Aunt Annalies replied. She straightened. “What of your own lives, though? You are young ladies, with much to experience. Your parents sent you here in part to experience a larger life than Northallerton affords. If you inter yourself in this house, you will give up that chance.”
Elise rolled her eyes. “Those a just a lot of words which mean we are expected to find good husbands, Aunt Annalies.”
Annalies pursed her lips. “In part, yes, but that is not all there is to life.”
“It doesn’t matter anyway, Aunt Annalies,” Elise replied. “I have no intention of ever marrying. Men trip ladies up and snare them in the domestic sphere…”
Aunt Annalies raised a brow. “I believe I just finished saying you were doing that to yourself with this proposal of yours.”
“Only, it will be my decision, do you see?” Elise replied.
Anna didn’t speak. She and Elise had argued about this for years now. Everyone assumed that because they were twins, she and Elise thought the same way about everything. Yet on the matter of husbands and marriage, they disagreed completely.
Then Aunt Annalies raised a brow at her. “And do you disavow marriage, too, Anna?”
Anna shook her head. “I believe the man I will want to marry will find his way into my life sooner or later. I do not have to preen and mingle with society in order to find him.”
“Hmmm…” Annalies said. Her eyes danced.
“After all,” Anna added, “My mother met my father in her family home. She barely attended a full season.”
“That is true,” Annalies replied. “Although it is slightly more complicated than you appear to think.”
“Because Papa was the butler at the time?” Elise said and laughed. “Those standards are so old-fashioned now.”
Annalies straightened. She seemed amused by something, yet she said, “I confess that two fresh young ladies running the house would be an interesting experiment. Very well, I accept.”
She held out her veined hand.
Anna and Elise shook it solemnly.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Innesford House, Innesford, Cornwall. October 1888.
It took far longer for Richard to recover from a bullet wound which the surgeon called “minor” than anyone—and especially him—thought was reasonable.
To Ève’s mind, it was perfectly clear why he was not bouncing back to full energy and health as quickly as expected. She did not dispute the doctors, though. Instead, she hovered near to hand so, should Richard need anything, she could provide it.
His energy flagged. For weeks after being installed in the big bedroom at Innesford, Richard did little but sleep. Or he would sit in the armchair by the bedroom window, with the sea breeze playing over him, his thoughts far away.
“There are too many memories in this house,” he muttered once, wh
en Ève suggested he join everyone downstairs. He had strength enough to reach the big drawing room, if he wanted to. “The memories plague me. I don’t know how Father stands it.”
In early October, when the temperatures were cooler and the leaves had started to turn, Richard ventured outside for the first time.
Ève moved slowly by his side as he moved down the stairs into the drawing room. The big French doors stood open, for it was a warm, still day and very bright. “I believe everyone is outside,” Ève said. She could see Uncle Raymond sitting off to one side, in one of the old wooden lounge chairs, his head on his hand.
“Yes, they would be,” Richard said heavily. “Well, we might as well wallow…”
Ève glanced at him, startled.
“It is the first week in October,” Richard said, as he moved toward the doors and out onto the steps beyond.
Ève felt the jolt as she realized the significance of the date. “Yes, of course. The old family gatherings. I had forgotten.”
“And Vaughn’s arrest, and Mother’s…well, that is why Papa is off by himself.”
Ève could see the pain in Richard’s eyes, too. “Oh, I am so sorry I pressed you into this,” she said softly. “Perhaps we should try again tomorrow…”
“I’m out here now,” Richard said grimly. “And besides, there is something I must tell you.”
He had said that many times in the last few weeks and each time, Ève’s heart shifted and her belly coiled with tension. She had spent many restless nights trying to guess what he wanted to tell her. She was too afraid to remind him of the unfinished conversation.
Only now, just as he seemed to want, Ève also wished to grasp the nettle. Their lives had been in flux since the summer. It was time to settle things.
She pointed to the maze. “Let’s sit on the bench before the maze. It is out of the way.”
Richard scowled. “No. Not there.” He looked around the enormous formal garden, with its mowed and rolled lawn, and formal flower beds marching down the sides, heading for the cliffs, and the pounding sea below.
His Parisian Mistress (Scandalous Family--The Victorians Book 1) Page 19
