But where was his mother and why hadn’t she been to visit him?
It felt like he and Talia and Foster were on a deserted Island in the middle of this busy city. They had barely any contact with other members of humanity.
Of course, if he was involved in murky business, that might explain it. Or if they were hiding him! Was that why he wore so many disguises? Was he on the wrong side of this story as the butler suspected? Not against Talia, he hoped. How could a man be against a wife like his, so kind and caring?
Or perhaps the reason they were drugging him was to keep him prisoner. But for what purpose?
As he descended the back stairs, he took the foldable walking stick he’d found in his bag and had tucked under his arm and, without thinking, pressed the button that extended it into a longer stick, then he twisted off the top and checked that the concealed knife was still secure. How naturally he’d done that! At least part of his recall was intact. That made him feel a little better.
Was that a good sign?
God, he hoped so.
He may not have found any identifying items among his personal effects, but, it was nice to be up and about again, in spite of being in disguise. Maybe he was a master of disguise and no one, not even his wife, knew the real him. Hah! There went that crazy imagination of his again! One thing was certain, if that were the case, he’d be in a hell of a mess without his memory!
Continuing quietly down the stairs, he told himself he didn’t have to be so careful. He knew he was alone in the house because he’d watched them all leave. Mrs. P and Joseph were off on their daily trip to the local market. Foster had gone to run an errand and Talia, he’d been told, had been collected by some relations to go shopping.
Letting himself out the back way, he tucked the key that had been hanging off a hook in the hallway under a flower pot, then instinctively affected a limp and ambled at a moderate pace along the lane toward the street that fronted the park. Those men from across the street didn’t appear to be watching the back lane at all.
Careless of them.
Reaching the corner, he shuffled across the street to enter the park and kept the same pace as he strolled slowly along the path that cut through the middle, avoiding the outer edge. No sense in giving the spy on duty a better view of him.
He lifted his face to the sun, enjoying the warmth on his skin. Ah, it was good to be outside again and breathing in the crisp spring air. He sauntered for awhile and worked at avoiding the few others sharing the park. Eventually, tiring a little, he found a bench that was set far back, under a tall elm tree. Behind it was a copse of well-furnished mulberry bushes. He chose it because it protected his back while affording him a distant but clear view of the front of the house.
It all felt so familiar, he’d swear he must have sat here before. Even the house looked familiar. He had a hard time believing he’d only seen it for the first time recently.
“Ha Ha, we were hiding from you.”
What the blazes! He almost bolted, then saw two young children, a boy and a girl, with blond curly hair, emerge from amid the bushes behind him to run squealing past him.
What on earth had they been doing in there?
He watched them run over to a young lady, no doubt their nanny, and crow over successfully hiding from her.
“So you did,” she said. “Isn’t it a shame that because I was so careless as to lose you this morning, you won’t get to come back to the park this afternoon after your studies.”
Her young charges groaned.
She was young but they weren’t going to get the better of her. He grinned at her adept handling of the situation then, abruptly sobered. He’d been so immersed in studying the house, he hadn’t heard the children’s approach from within the bushes. He must be losing his touch.
What touch? His memory refused to supply an answer.
This wasn’t good. Anybody could have sneaked up on him and hit him over the head from behind.
He had to listen for anyone approaching him so he’d have time to get up and leave. He was not yet ready to engage in conversation with strangers. They might expect him to know them and wish to converse, and what could he say? ‘I remember almost nothing about myself, other than that I dislike rhubarb and I hope I’m an actor or a disguise artist rather than a sharper out to dupe innocent people.
Today’s excursion was not in vain, though. It taught him a bit more about himself. He’d learned that he relished the wind in his face and filling his lungs with brisk, cool air. Somehow he knew he never went for long without being outdoors. The fading bronzed color of his skin should have told him that, had he been less dazed by the opium.
The young nanny ushering the two recalcitrant children toward the exit, nodded pleasantly as the trio passed by, but didn’t stop. Good. Although, now that they were gone, he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have attempted talking to them? He was going to have to try talking to someone soon.
He spent another quarter of an hour or so sitting there, straining to remember things, before his attention shifted back to the street. The two men who were watching the house had come to the park to buy a pie from the vendor there. Now, they were standing, eating and talking, near a large plane tree that looked like it had been guarding the entrance to the park for centuries.
Had they spotted him? Was that why they’d come?
One was talking animatedly, while the other mainly listened. Soon, the talkative one left and the more reserved one strolled back to the house to begin his solitary vigil.
There appeared to be just the two of them. Must be bloody tedious... and tiring. He was starting to know their habits. The loquacious one was always there in the morning and then, this stern-looking man took the late afternoon and night watch. He must have the devil of a time staying awake.
They didn’t seem to be in the park because of him and he intended to keep it that way. What if one of them was the one who had shot him?
Maybe they were waiting for him to emerge, to finish the job!
And he had no idea why. Was he involved in something dishonest? Perhaps he was accustomed to the criminal lifestyle. That could be why, right from the start, he’d noticed them watching.
Or was it something else that had drawn his attention to the men?
Recognition?
“Good morning!” a cheerful voice exclaimed, making him jump with surprise yet again.
A dapper older gentleman dropped down onto the seat beside him. The man was tall and had a face that smiled a lot but, if one were observant, they couldn’t miss his determined chin.
Damn it to hell! Caught not paying attention again! The man had come from his left while his attention was fully engrossed on the meddlesome two from down the street. What should he do now? The man’s expression had changed to a startled look. Did he recognize Reed?
“Good morning.” Reed replied quietly, adopting a gruff tone to sound older. He judged the man was of the beau monde by the top quality of his clothes and the unmistakable air of “life being his oyster,” as Pistol said in The Merry Wives of Windsor.
What a moment to be recalling his Shakespeare!
He knew he should probably stand up and go before awkward conversation commenced, but he couldn’t help it, he wanted to test himself, see how he’d be able to carry on a conversation with a stranger, when he had hardly any idea who he himself was.
“Do you come here often.”
“No, this is my first time.” He didn’t really know, but imagined it must be true.
“Oh.” The man seemed a little deflated at that response. “It’s my third time. I’m hoping to catch a glimpse of my son.” He kept staring at Reed with a doubtful air.
“Your son?” Asking questions shouldn’t get him into too much trouble. He would let the stranger do most of the talking. “I see.” Although he didn’t really… see, that is. Odd that the man said he’d “heard” his son was in Town. They must not be in contact. “Has he been gone for a long time?” He carried on t
he conversation in a non-committal fashion. The man seemed eager to talk. As long as Reed didn’t have to contribute much, he’d stay. His initial panic was receding and he wanted to see where this exchange would go. Sitting back, he placed his arm around the back of the bench and breathed a little freer. He’d better add ‘willing to take chances’ to his list.
“Yes, a long time.”
“Really?” He was getting the hang of this trading-a-question-for-an-answer conversation.
“I’m anxious to see him.”
“I imagine so.”
The man gave him a sharp look. Did he think Reed was mocking him? Really, it was almost rude the way the man was peering at him. Reed felt like asking if he had something wrong with his face. Only the fact that he had a disguise on stopped him. He didn’t want anybody looking too closely at him.
“Have you any children?” the man asked.
Oh well, if there were going to be questions, it was time to leave. “None that I know of.” He surprised himself with his glib reply. It sounded like a pat answer, one he’d delivered often in the past. He stood up, preparing to leave. Mrs. P and Joseph would be back soon, and he’d prefer no one knew of his little outing yet.
“You look familiar.”
He sat back down with a thump. His heart began to race again. Dare he confide his problem to this man? It was tempting but might also cause trouble. Whatever he was involved in was serious enough to warrant being shot and, possibly, being followed.
He opted for discretion, merely lifting his eyebrow in a querying manner.
“When I first saw you, I thought you looked a lot like my uncle, my father’s younger brother,” the man offered. “But once you spoke, the resemblance waned.”
Ah… So no help there. Disappointed, he again stood up and pulled his watch from his vest, making a show of checking the time. “Time to be on my way.” He gave a cordial little half-bow and tipped his hat. “Good day.”
“Good day.” The gentleman nodded. “Perhaps we will see each other here again.”
It sounded like the man was planning on spending a lot of time in the park awaiting his son. Reed turned back. “How long has it been since your son went away?”
“Too long.” Was the terse reply. “Six years.”
Six years. A long time not to see one’s son. “I hope you see him again soon then,” he said before turning and walking away. He felt the man’s gaze following him. He was careful to limp and shamble along. The man appeared genuine, but he could have been sent by those who were out to kill him.
Shuffling out of the park, he kept a watchful eye on the spy, who was still standing outside his house, trying to look busy. Reed waited for him to look the other way, then crossed the street and rapidly turned into the lane.
No point in taking chances.
He was proud of himself. He’d managed to talk to someone without revealing his affliction. It made him feel less exposed, stronger. Slowly, almost stealthily, he made his way down the lane, back to the house, back to what was known… or starting to be.
Approaching the back entrance, he was suddenly flooded with a powerful sense of recognition. Rapid-fire, broken images of horses and men flashed through his mind like one of those novelty items that was so popular a few years back. A… ka…kaleidoscope! Odd choice of name. Why would the man who’d invented it — he couldn’t recall the name but thought he might be Scottish and a man of science — give it such a difficult name? Excitement stirred as he recalled more.
Brewster! That was the man’s name! He was almost sure. Someone had brought him one as a gift when he was living in… Egypt? Did he remember that or was it because of his dream that he thought he did? Who had given it to him? Argh! He was feeling so frustrated! The memories were gone. They’d slipped away, as fleeting as all the others. He tried to hold onto them, to come up with one, solid image. In vain. The vaporous memories had vanished like wisps of cloud on a windy day.
What puzzled him was that he had strong reactions to this place, yet his wife told him they’d rented this house a few weeks ago and he’d only just arrived here for the first time.
He had the sense that those nebulous images of men on horseback were of friends. The question was why had none of them come to see him since his mishap? What had he done that caused them to ignore him?
* * *
This time, Tally wasn’t surprised to see Reed at the dinner table. He’d been getting healthier and more restless by the day.
“Good evening,” she addressed him. She invited Mr. Mason, who followed her into the room, to sit across from her at the round dinner table.
To Reed she said, “I’ve invited Mr. Mason to stay with us while he is looking for lodgings. A family atmosphere is far nicer than an impersonal hotel.”
Mr. Mason smiled politely at Reed, who stared back at the man in a rather surly manner. “You never mentioned this when you came to my room earlier.” He turned to Tally. “Didn’t I hear Foster tell Allerton that we didn’t have enough room for visitors?”
Nonplussed by his rude question, Tally stammered, “My grandmother is delaying her arrival a little, which makes it possible.” Thank heavens a reasonable explanation popped into her head. She’d completely forgotten Reed had heard their excuse to Spence. She’d have to be careful now that her sham spouse was becoming more alert. Alarmingly alert. Perhaps she should raise his doses back to what they had been.
Dipping her spoon into her bowl of creamy leek and potato soup, she sighed gratefully. At least one part of her troubles was being dealt with now that Mr. Mason had moved in. For the first time in days, she felt as if she could breathe a little easier knowing they had protection.
But that equanimity was shaken when, barely into the soup course, Reed — after darting a quick, almost self-conscious glance at the investigator — announced, “I think it’s time I began venturing out. I need to do something to try to shake my memories loose.”
“Oh, I don’t–” Oh my! How dangerous would it be if he met someone who recognized him?
Foster was bent over the sideboard readying dishes for Mrs. P to bring across to the table for the main course. She saw his shoulders stiffen at Reed’s comment. She slid a sideways glance at Mr. Mason to gauge his reaction, but gleaned nothing from his expressionless face.
Mrs. P, in the process of placing a dishes of glazed carrots and stewed beet leaves on the table, beamed at Reed. “Good idea. It will do you a world of good to get out and about, sir.”
Mr. Mason’s eyelashes fluttered and Tally guessed he must find it strange that the servants behaved with such familiarity. But it had always been that way in her family’s home, where the servants were often the ones running the house in lieu of her heedless parents. And prior to Great Aunt Ida coming to live with them, they’d been her only allies in finding ways to feed the lot of them on little to no money.
“Thank you for your encouragement, dear woman.” Reed seemed genuinely grateful to the housekeeper for her support.
The dear woman had no idea what kind of difficult situation he was putting her... all of them... in!
She sensed it wouldn’t do to refuse his suggestion. Especially since her so-called husband was glowing with health this evening. “Perhaps, to begin, we should walk in the park tomorrow?”
But he was already shaking his head. “No. I’ve already done that without jogging any memories free.”
Tally was shocked! She forced herself not to glance at Foster. How… when had he managed that?
This morning! He’d taken advantage of her going out to the modiste’s with her sisters.
Had anybody seen him?
“I am loathe to do it,” he confessed, “but I must begin to go places where people are about, to try to recover my memory,” he explained.
She was loathe to do it too! But he was right. The situation had to be resolved one way or another.
“I was thinking, perhaps I might join you at the Royal Academy Exhibition. You said that tomorrow was the
last day of the show. Might there not be fewer people about?”
Tally was aghast. He wanted to come to the show! She’d been so looking forward to it. Now she’d have to be on her guard the entire time.
“My main qualm,” he added, “is the danger to you and any who accompany us.”
At her startled look, he said, “The man who shot me may make another attempt to kill me.”
That remark brought Mr. Mason’s head up sharply. “You’ve been shot?”
“Seems so.” He gestured to where his wound was.
“By whom?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea.”
Reed was taking pleasure in trying to scandalize Mr. Mason. Did he think to scare the Scot away? Perhaps he did, because he seemed a little deflated by the man’s lack of reaction.
“I’m sorry to hear that.” He gave Reed a flat, calculating stare. “So it’s possible someone might try to shoot you again?”
“I suppose so.” Reed agreed.
The investigator turned to Tally and said, “I believe I should accompany Mr. Leighton. My being there might discourage anyone from shooting him again.”
“Oh, but... I want to go too.” She had no intention of missing the chance to see the best artists’ work now that she had finally made it to London. “I’ve been planning it for weeks. Indeed, I hoped you might want to join me… er….” She tried to make it sound normal that she’d expect him to come too, but knew she sounded awkward. She’d never been any good at prevaricating.
Foster interrupted before she could finish. “That solves it then, doesn’t it, Missy? You can all go together, nice and friendly like.”
Reed glanced from her to Mr. Mason and glared.
Heavens! That was all she needed. A jealous fake husband!
The investigator let nothing of what he was thinking show on his face, but Tally was certain he’d have preferred to guard one person at a time.
That was just too bad! This was her outing. She was the one who had planned it and no one was going to rob her of the pleasure.
* * *
The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife Page 21
