She was coming to rely on this often silent, steady man who, on occasion, lapsed into a soft Scottish burr, and who went about his business quietly and confidently. She felt she could depend on him and, lord knew, she needed someone to help her through this dramatic sequence in her life.
“Here he comes.” She was so engrossed in what she was doing that Mr. Mason’s quiet comment startled her.
“Cousin Minerva!” She put down her pad and turned to the window, looking for her relative. But Foster was alone. A sick feeling immediately curbed her nervous excitement.
“Where is Minerva?” she asked him. “Her ship has arrived. I see it, over there.” She pointed to a huge schooner. “The Factor.”
Foster was disgruntled. “Yes, the ship has arrived, but unfortunately yer cousin wasn’t on it.”
“But how can that be? She sent her letter as she was boarding the ship in Quebec, Canada.”
“It appears, once on board, she and several others fell ill and had to be left on an Island in the Caribbean,” Foster explained. “It’ll be months before she’s able to board another ship for England.”
When Mason wasn’t looking, Foster gave her his ‘isn’t-that-fortunate-for-us’ look!
“But... that sounds like a plot in one of those Gothic novels!” Her hands gestured expressively. “She’s been left behind on an Island?” As she said the words, she realized this was actually the best possible outcome. For her!
Then her better self came to the fore. “Who is going to take care of her?”
“The Captain assured me she was being well cared for by the missionaries there,” he said.
Salvation! This was the first positive thing to happen to her in three long weeks! She’d been worrying about bringing her father’s cousin into a house where she might be in danger now that it had become a target of some fiend called The Vanisher! And it hasn’t escaped her that she knew very little about Cousin Minerva, who might very well be a horrible gossip. Tally could ill afford having someone with a loose tongue living in her house right now.
On the other hand, she had been counting on Minerva to save her from herself. With her in the house, there could be no more spending time alone with her pseudo-husband.
But she couldn’t let their investigator see her relief at her chaperone not showing up. He would have no idea why they were so relieved. Of the three of them, he was probably the one who was most disappointed because he hadn’t hidden his disapproval of her not having a companion. They had to at least put on a show of being disappointed.
“Poor Cousin Minerva. Poor me. I was depending on her to be my companion.” When Foster opened his mouth to speak, she cut him off. “And don’t tell me bad luck comes in threes. For if my almost being run over in the street twice, followed by someone cli...”
His eyes opened wide in warning.
She smoothly changed to “...throwing a rock into our hackney, all do not equate to enough bad luck already visited upon me, I don’t know what you’d call it?”
Mr. Mason snorted. Clearly he found some amusement in this litany of ills that had befallen her. She glared at him and his face reddened. Good. She may have to depend on him for her safety but she didn’t have to take any nonsense from him or any man, even if she was putting on this display purely for his sake.
“I wasn’t laughing at your problems, Mrs. Leighton,” he assured her. “It just sounds unbelievable that someone should encounter so many difficulties in just three weeks, on her first trip to London.”
She was mollified by his obvious sincerity.
Foster handed her a folded missive. “Your cousin asked the captain to make sure you got this letter.”
Tally broke the seal and unfolded the one-page letter. It was brief and soon read. “Poor Minerva,” she said again, only this time she was being sincere. “She feels awful about letting me down. They think she has the measles and have refused to allow her and several others, similarly afflicted, to continue, for fear of it spreading among all the other passengers.” She read the end. “She assures me she will be well cared for by the missionaries. She doesn’t sound too unhappy about being left there.”
“Humph!” was Foster’s succinct reply. “Now what are ye going to do?”
“Now, I suppose, I shall have to hire a companion,” she said dejectedly. “Though how we’re going to manage that with all that is hanging over our head in that house, I have no idea.”
Foster merely looked at her glumly, not saying a word.
“I know you want me to go live with Grandma Lawton, but you know why I don’t want to do that.” She needed a studio if she wanted to continue working and she couldn’t conceal her art work from her sharp-eyed grandmother. Besides, with Reed involved now... She sighed. “Maybe we should just go home to Evesham. At least until Monsieur returns.”
“Sounds like the wisest course to me,” he approved, albeit with a sympathetic look.
Mr. Mason, however, had other ideas. He cleared his throat to get their attention. “Allow me to say that it might be best to find out who is threatening your life before you go haring back to the countryside. Here, I can protect you and try to find out who is responsible. There, you are out in the open where anybody can shoot you with impunity.”
She was about to reply, when he continued, “And another point, is Mr. Leighton familiar with your country home?” Not giving her the chance to reply, he continued, “Because if he isn’t, he will no doubt have even greater difficulty recovering his memory, if he is not in his normal environs.”
Not about to admit she had no idea where her sham spouse came from, she said, “What makes you think London is his usual locale?” She asked it purely for argument’s sake. She hadn’t really considered bringing him home with them.
He paused briefly, then said, “I’m not, but if you know with certainty that your home town is not. Perhaps it is better to keep him where he at least has some familiarity.”
Much to her chagrin, she had to agree with his impeccable logic. “So, we remain in London until we uncover who is trying to harm me and until we can jog my husband’s memories.” Just the idea that he might recover enough of his recollections to be able to go home into someone else’s care tore at her. Gracious, surely she wasn’t foolish enough to form an attachment to her temporary spouse!
“What a disaster my visit to London is turning out to be.”
“What can you expect with your hare-brained ideas about coming to London?” Typical of Foster, he offered her a scolding instead of commiseration.
Mr. Mason ended the discussion by saying, “Give me two weeks. By then, I hope to have made some progress in this investigation.” With a reassuring smile, he said, “And if we’re lucky, your husband will have recovered at least some of his memory.”
Tally wondered why that sounded more like a threat to her, than something to wish for?
* * *
“Look at this one. Don’t you think the pink will look good on you?
Ugh! Did Venetia know her so little, she thought Tally should wear a washed out pale pink dress? It was disheartening to think her sisters had no idea who she was or what she liked.
“Venetia! She’s debuting this Season. She has to wear white!” Milana led the way to a row of cardpaper forms with white dresses displayed on them, obviously set up to entice debutantes at the start of the Season.
Tally didn’t bother saying anything. She just walked right past both the pink dress and the white ones, and aimed straight for a darker aquamarine dress in another section of the showroom. Now here was a dress she’d be proud to wear!
“No no, you can’t wear that!” Venetia brushed past it, designating it to the discarded list with a careless sweep of her hand.
“Why not?” she heard the truculence in her tone. Shopping with her sisters had never been a pleasant affair. They tended to treat her like a doll to dress up the way they pleased.
“It’s too…too…” Her sister gestured with her hands.
�
�What Venetia is trying to say is that it’s not right for a young woman to wear to her first ball,” Milana explained.
“But it’s beautiful.” She gazed up at the gown, entranced. “Anyway, my first ball is at your home so I can probably bend the rules a little, non pensi? Oh my, her Italian side always emerged when talking with her family.
Milana peered at her, as if she were finally seeing her younger sister for the first time. “You think this dress is beautiful?”
Puzzled by her manner, Tally nodded.
“Then you shall try it on.”
“But–” began Venetia.
Her sister flashed the evil eye again.
Powerful weapon, Tally reflected yet again. Perhaps she should learn to wield the same maternal eyebrow.
Milana summoned the owner, Madame Simone, and soon Tally was standing in front of Madame’s mirror with three stunned pairs of eyes on her. The most stunned were her own, though her sisters’ were not far behind.
The dress fit perfectly. You’d swear it was made especially for her.
“Why cara, you are beautiful, even more beautiful than this dress you love.”
“I never knew.” Venetia’s voice was soft, for once, and held wonder. Suddenly, embarrassed to have admitted never noting her little sister’s beauty, she began refuting it. “Not that I–” She saw there was no point in pretending she hadn’t really noticed much about her youngest sister. “I never realized, bella. Mi spacie. I am so sorry.”
A lump rose in Tally’s throat. She’d missed this affection her sisters used to shower her with when she was much younger. Before Great Aunt Ida had come to rescue them, when — as a mere child — she’d had to work so hard growing a garden to ensure they all had something to eat. (Not that they’d ever noticed her doing that either.) Before she had begun to resent their careless attitude to life and the financial trials their father put them all through. And before she’d begun to feel bitter about their mother’s tolerant acceptance of the situation.
Unable to say anything for fear of bursting into tears, she patted Venetia’s arm.
Milana stroked Tally’s cheek with the back of her fingers and said, “Cara, you’re the most stunning of the Lawtons. How did we miss it?” They stood back and gawked at her like she was a Michelangelo painting in an art gallery, while Madame preened when other clients murmured how striking Tally looked in the dress.
Embarrassed yet pleased, she wondered what Reed was going to say when he saw her in this dress. Would he think her beautiful?
Milana lifted up another dress she was carrying over her arm and said, “Why don’t you try this one on too. Madame has made up some gowns ahead of time to be ready for the crowd once the Season begins. If you like it, which I think you will, you can wear this one for your first party, and,” pointing to the aquamarine one Tally had on, “have this beauty ready for another outing.”
She looked at the creamy white almost transparent confection. She did like the pale coquelicot-colored under slip. Subtle but, also, quite beautiful. Ready to compromise and with thoughts of Reed’s reaction running through her head, she put her hand out to take the dress and went back into the changing room. She’d never bought evening gowns like these before. Running her hand down the smooth silky material, she decided an extra one wouldn’t hurt.
She was measured for the creamy one, but when it came to the aquamarine gown, Madame demurred, “Oh, but that one is just for show. I will make another one just for you.”
“This one fits her superbly. We want to take it with us now. Can you not make another one for show?” Venetia insisted.
Tally knew her sister was thinking they’d better take it now or she might change her mind.
“Yes, of course.” Madame was no fool and saw it was in her interests to please three women who would continue to shop here for years to come.
Minutes later, Tally walked out of the shop with her delighted sisters. She was in an ebullient mood. So much so that she agreed to their suggestion to go to Gunter’s for an ice treat. To see more of London, and not have to worry about having no companion, would be lovely.
“Let’s walk.” Venetia suggested. “Give your packages to John. He will put them in the carriage and it will follow us. It’s far too nice a day not to take advantage of it.”
That gave Tally pause. Should she take the risk of walking without Foster or Mr. Mason around to guard her? Glancing behind, she noted her oldest sister’s two footmen following behind them on foot. Surely they should be safe enough. Also, she’d only ever been attacked in the vicinity of Monsieur Moreau’s studio and today they were nowhere near that area.
They were strolling along the street toward Berkley Square, when from behind them, they heard, “By all that is wonderful. Countess Hargrave and Mrs. Courtney. How fortuitous to meet you like this.”
An elegant young man with a charming smile hailed them. Fascinated by his wheaten locks that framed an angelic face of great beauty, Tally was hard put not to stare. He’d make a wonderful subject for one of those religious paintings of saintly beings ascending to heaven. She had never attempted to do one, but was suddenly filled with the possibility. Luckily, the young man’s attention was trained on her sisters and she managed to tear her gaze away before he noticed her fascination.
“Mr. Dubuc. So good to see you,” Venetia said, sharing a sly grin with Milana that baffled Tally.
Milana added, “We’re on our way to Gunter’s, would you care to join us?”
“But of course, avec plaisir.” He looked at Tally and bowed. “And I’m certain this must be your youngest sister. She looks very much like both of you.”
Her sisters looked pleased at the comment. No doubt due to their recent realization she was not a hopeless antidote.
“Yes, this is our sister, Miss Lawton.” Venetia agreed and to Tally she said, “And this is Victor Dubuc, Monsieur Moreau’s nephew.”
Tally was taken aback. She’d only just remembered his existence and here he was! Had she remembered him sooner, she could have tried to contact him weeks ago to ask about Monsieur. Her first reaction was to ask him where his uncle was, but she didn’t want her sisters to know she’d maintained contact with Monsieur. They would want to know why. “Pleased to meet you.”
Maybe later, when her sisters weren’t paying attention, she could casually bring up the matter of his uncle’s whereabouts.
“My dear, Miss Lawton.” Taking her hand, he bowed low, brushing his lips over the top of it. “Your servant.”
At his practiced touch, a frisson of awareness wriggled up her arm. It was good that she wasn’t given to giggling like her sisters sometimes did around personable gentlemen.
She smiled warmly at him then gently retrieved her hand. Turning to her sisters, she said, “Shall we go on?”
They continued along their way to the renowned cafe, with Mr. Dubuc entertaining them with the latest on-dits.
“I expected you both to be in Paris by now,” he said to her sisters. “Weren’t you supposed to spend the Season in Paris?”
“We’ve delayed it for awhile because of our sister’s arrival in London.”
A few minutes later, her sisters walked on a bit ahead of them casting knowing looks over their shoulders. Tally mentally rolled her eyes at their blatant matchmaking, but she wasn’t about to waste her opportunity. Turning to Mr. Dubuc, she lowered her voice and asked, “How is your uncle, sir.” She almost addressed him as “Monsieur” but he sounded so English, she opted for an English mode of address.
“He is fine, mademoiselle. Thank you for asking.” He paused then and, as if he knew she’d been seeking his uncle, added, “He is away from London at the moment. A dear friend of his is under the weather and he’s gone to visit him.”
So it was true. At first, she was relieved to hear it. Soon, though, she began to question why, if the explanation was so straightforward, Monsieur had not bothered to leave her a letter upon his departure. He knew the day she was due to arrive in London
. It was unlike him to fail to let her know.
They caught up with her sisters at the tea shop and elected to have their ices outdoors. While Mr. Dubuc continued entertaining them, she mulled it over and found she was not comforted by his explanation of where his uncle had gone. Nor was she feeling any happier about it when she bid him adieu later outside the tea shop.
She was thinking of asking Mr. Mason to arrange for her to accidentally run into Mr. Dubuc again. She wanted... needed to look into this further. Then, as they bid him good day, Venetia mentioned seeing him at her gathering.
At least she’d no longer waste her time going to Monsieur Moreau’s studio. Obviously he was gone. The question was — why and had he had gone willingly?
Chapter Sixteen
Catching a glimpse of himself in a large mirror hanging in the hall, Reed stared at his image for several stunned moments, then gave a shout of laughter. The straggly, grey wig and thin moustache were what gave the disguise authenticity. Plunking an old-fashioned country hat that had seen better days on his head, he gave it a satisfied pat. The low-setting hat, with a wide flat brim, hid his face sufficiently, guaranteeing no one could identify him. Now he was part of the impoverished gentry. Even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.
Mother! The blurred image of a woman, dark hair lightly streaked with grey, coiffed in an elegant French roll, swam about in his head for brief seconds before it vanished. In his vision, she wore jewels and looked prosperous. If that was his mother, then his family was far from destitute. That assumption didn’t surprise him in the least. It fit with his inner image of himself.
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