****
Sarah wrote on the following day,
Dear William,
Grandmother and Marie were delighted with your account of the investigation of that horrible butcher. Marie said that in France he would be ground into sausage with the cat meat, so perhaps it is a good thing that he is in Manchester and out of the reach of Marie and her sisters.
Mr. Rayborn and Naomi brought me with them to tour Saint Paul’s on Saturday. It is so kind of them to insist on having me along. But our little threesome seems so incomplete without you!
Penny Russell is sewing Naomi’s wedding gown from twelve yards of moiré silk. And because I can see you scratching your head, I will explain only that it is very fine silk and will complement the Brussels lace to good advantage. Stanley and Penny’s son, Guy, is a sweet baby. He loves to lie on a quilt in the garden and watch Mr. Duffy work. Only he has been fretful for the past two days. Doctor Raine had a look at him today and said it was probably another tooth breaking through.
My lessons are still progressing. Mr. Rayborn is encouraging me to try my hand at writing some short fiction, as I am so fond of novels. Years ago Trudy expressed a wish to read a story of a scullery maid who becomes Queen of England, so that was my first endeavor. The workmanship was lacking in areas, but Trudy loved it and had me bring it down to the hall and read it to the others during supper on Friday past.
She wrote on, sharing such things as tennis matches with the Rothschild boys, Avis’s news that her fiancé, Edwin, would be home for good in February, and any other little tidbits that would bring a bit of home to him. But as close as she was to William, as free as she had always felt to pour out her heart to him, there was one matter that she had not even the boldness to assign to ink and paper, but could only ask in her mind:
I must bring up your declaration of affection that last time we were alone together. The reason I make mention of it is that the disquiet in my heart is almost more than I can bear. Mr. Knight has proposed marriage twice, and I must admit to some deep feelings for him. He is thoughtful and kind and treats Grandmother with so much compassion that it sometimes brings tears to my eyes. Truly, he has made these ebbing days of hers far more bearable.
There is only one obstacle to my accepting his proposal, dearest William, and it is in the form of a chemist who resides in Manchester. How can I pledge to “forsake all others” when you also occupy no small space in my heart? Please help me to understand if the love I have for you is what Naomi feels for Mr. Rayborn or if it’s the love of a sister toward a caring and wonderful brother.
****
Oh no, Ethan thought when Myra opened the door late that same Monday evening, for the candle she carried emphasized the pout in her expression. In silence they climbed the steps, she sulking and he wishing he had gone on to bed. Between courting Sarah Matthews, tending his church duties, and seeing Myra, he was beginning to feel like an old man and could not recall when he had last enjoyed a decent night’s sleep.
“What is it?” he asked in a flat tone after softly closing the door behind them. He only inquired out of a futile hope that she would not raise the same subject they had fought about on Thursday evening.
But his hopes were dashed when her bottom lip started trembling. “You’re ashamed to be seen in public with me, aren’t you?”
He sighed heavily. “We’ll go to the burlesque one night.”
He smiled as his face was covered with kisses and reassured himself with the thought that if the neighborhood surrounding the Rainbow Palace was half as seedy as she described it, there would not be a Saint George’s parishioner for miles. “Now, you can show your gratitude by pouring me a drink.”
****
Sarah raised her head from her pillow. A cat, she thought, for sometimes strays from the mews climbed the garden wall. But the sound was eerily not quite the same. When her ears caught adult voices, she got out of bed and went to the open window. She could hear Mrs. Bacon’s voice coming from one of the four figures beyond the terrace. Five, she realized, for the little one in Stanley’s arms was the source of the sound that woke her from sleep. She threw her wrapper over her nightgown and raked her slippers from beneath the bed.
“The croup,” Mrs. Bacon, ashen-faced, said when Sarah found the group in the kitchen. Baby Guy’s cry had a horrible fluid sound that made Sarah want to clear her own throat. Penny hovered at Stanley’s elbow, patting Guy’s fuzzy head, her own light brown hair in disarray as tears ran down her splotched face.
“Should we fetch Doctor Raine?” Sarah asked with knees trembling. She could still picture the grief on the faces of the Rothschild boys five years ago.
Claire, running hot water into the sink, said, “Roger’s saddling up now.”
“Make it as hot as he can stand it,” Mrs. Bacon was saying to Claire. “You’ll have to test it with your elbow.”
Naomi and Trudy came into the room, also in wrappers over their gowns. “What can we do to help, Mrs. Bacon?” Naomi asked, for it took no time to comprehend the situation.
“He’s going to need calomel and tartar emetic,” the housekeeper replied. “We shouldn’t wait to make sure Doctor Raine isn’t off delivering a baby.”
“I’ll go.” Stanley handed his weeping son over to Naomi, for Penny was leaning against a cupboard with hands covering her face.
****
“I have to get some sleep,” Ethan argued, laughingly so, as he tried to edge out of the door to Myra’s flat. But when he turned away from her on the landing, she wrapped both arms around his shoulders from behind and hitched up her knees on either side as if he were a pack animal.
“Carry me, if you’re so strong.”
“Myra . . . they’ll hear us next door,” he whispered over his shoulder.
“Sh-h-h,” she said and belched a waft of gin. “Carry me.”
He had no choice and made it down the stairs, though he was himself unsteady on his feet. “Now, go upstairs,” he whispered, depositing her on a step near the bottom. Still she clung to him, kissing the back of his neck and following him through the doorway leading to New Bond Street. With something between a laugh and a growl, he turned to kiss her, almost tempted to heed her pleadings and go back upstairs.
“You’re a Delilah, you know,” he said when the kiss was over and he was unwinding her arms from around him.
“What’s a Delilah?” she giggled.
It was then that he heard a snort and looked to his right. A horse, bridled but not saddled, stood outside the chemist’s shop next door. Ethan blinked, trying to understand why a faint light glowed in the shop’s bow window when everyone should be asleep. Someone got sick, pierced his foggy mind. He saw no persons but knew it would be a matter of minutes before whoever was in the shop came out again. He held Myra at arm’s length and growled, “Go inside now.”
She gaped at him but obeyed. He closed the door behind her, winced at the sound of muffled stumbling on the steps, and glanced at the window again. Still no one. Almost weak with relief, he ambled to the vicarage in the shadows and smiled to himself several minutes later at the faint sound of hoofbeats.
Chapter Forty-Three
No one complained about having only porridge and tea for breakfast the next morning. There was relief in each set of bleary eyes about the servants’ table, for when Stanley popped in to bring back his and Penny’s breakfast to the stable, he reported that little Guy was sleeping peacefully next to his mother, his coughs not so chest rattling. By Wednesday he had even better news, for the child was taking in milk again and rarely coughed at all.
After supper that evening Stanley came again to the kitchen and asked Naomi if they might speak in private.
“I’ll finish cleaning up,” Trudy offered. Naomi and Stanley went out to the terrace and then to the dovecote bench, for the groomsman worried that some of his words might carry through some of the open windows.
“What is it, Stanley?” Naomi asked.
“It’s that Mr. Knight,” he
replied, his tone as somber as if he were delivering the news of the death of a friend. He glanced over his shoulder and lowered his voice. “I’ve got some information, and I don’t know what to do with it.”
“Yes?”
“I was at the chemist’s, waitin’ for Mr. Garland to mix the medicines the night little Guy was the sickest and couldn’t recollect if I’d tethered Dudley or not. It wouldn’t do to have him wander off, so I went to the window to look. I saw Mr. Knight with Myra Rose, and not in a proper way.”
“Myra Rose?”
“She’s works in the parasol shop.” Quickly he added, “I ain’t even talked to her in a year, Naomi.”
She understood his meaning about that last part and allowed it to pass, as it was water under the bridge. “Stanley, are you certain? You were in such a frantic state.”
The coachman nodded. “Naomi, that’s what’s tormentin’ me. If I was still a wagering man, I’d put my last shilling on it bein’ him. I saw him only from the side before backing away from the window, but the gaslight was bright.” He shook his head. “Just don’t know what to do about it. If I’m wrong, I don’t want to go stirring trouble against a good man. But if I’m right . . . poor Miss Matthews.”
“Yes.” And poor Mrs. Blake and Vicar Sharp and everyone else who trusts him. That included Stanley, still so young in his faith. “Stanley,” she felt compelled to say. “Mr. Knight’s still just a man, you know.”
“Beg pardon?”
“If it turns out that it was him . . . well, people are going to fail you, even sometimes those in the church.”
Giving her a weary little smile, the groomsman said, “Are you thinking I’ll lose faith?”
“Well . . .”
He patted her shoulder. “You’re a good woman to worry about old Stanley, Naomi. I’m sad about Mr. Knight, but it weren’t him who took away that rotten spot in my soul. And it ain’t him who’s makin’ our little Guy get well.”
“You’re a good father, Stanley.”
“Got a lot to make up for,” he said with a shrug. “But it suits me better than I ever would have thought.” After a second, he said, “Don’t you think Miss Matthews ought to know?”
“She’ll need to know,” Naomi agreed. But she wasn’t quite certain what she was to do with this information. “Would you mind keeping this to yourself for now?”
His nod was decisive. “You can be sure of that.”
****
“So William was right again,” Sarah said at the library table early the next afternoon.
Daniel smiled at her. “You’ve discussed Mr. de Boisbaudran?”
“Elements. He once assured me that not all had been discovered. I suppose he’s delighted to have another to stare at through his microscope.”
“Well, it would have to be a spectroscope . . . at least until gallium is able to be isolated in the metallic state.” He closed the July issue of Popular Science Review. “I suppose that concludes our lessons today. Unless you’ve any questions?”
“None having to do with gallium, I’m afraid,” she said with a slight roll of her eyes.
He chuckled and they walked together downstairs as Sarah related how she and Marie had finally convinced Mrs. Blake to use a cane. They parted company on the terrace. For a minute Daniel watched her walk out toward the stable to see about the Russell infant, then he chatted with Mr. Duffy, busy thinning onions in the kitchen garden. Naomi came up the cellar staircase presently. At the top she gave him a grave look. “Let’s sit in the square, shall we?”
On the same bench where Daniel had proposed marriage, Naomi told him of a conversation with Stanley last night. “He’s certain of what he saw. But admits he was frantic over his baby that night and could have been mistaken. I don’t know what to think.”
Daniel could understand that. He had not quite known what to think about Mr. Knight for weeks. It was obvious that everyone in the household respected and even liked him. He had shown admirable generosity by encouraging Sarah to bid farewell to William before he left and was nothing but personable during the couple of brief encounters Daniel had had with him afterward. But he suspected Mr. Knight was the source of the anxiety that passed across his daughter’s face now and again, and he wasn’t certain if that was a good thing.
“What should we do?” Naomi asked.
“I’m going to have to speak with him,” he replied. “Today.”
****
“Dress-up dolls are popular with the girls,” said the shopgirl at HINDE’S POPULAR SHILLING TOYS on Old Bond Street. From a shelf she took a curly haired doll adorned in a frilly dress. “You can buy a trunk of clothes to go with this one. When is your niece’s birthday?”
“Oh, January,” Ethan replied, leaning against the counter. He liked her full lips and the way her eyes became slits when she smiled, which was often. Her dark hair wasn’t as thick as Myra’s nor her figure as womanly, but her heavy perfume told him she wanted to be noticed, and she had casually allowed her hand to brush against his on the counter twice already.
“January!” She pretended annoyance, but the full lips still curved upward. “Do you even have a niece?”
“Well . . . I may one day.”
Lightly she slapped his hand on the counter but giggled.
Ethan smiled back. “Do you like working here?”
She shrugged. “It’s a job. Better than a butcher’s shop.”
“Hmm.” He glanced around. “And I suppose you get to stay above?”
His hopes fell when she shook her head. “Mr. Hinde and his wife. I live in the Hays Mews with my brother. He’s a coachman.”
“Ah. Well, too bad.”
“Ain’t it?” Again her hand brushed against his. “He’s such a mean old thing. Plays cards every Tuesday night with his friends and leaves me all alone . . . for hours and hours.”
This time Ethan remembered to ask her name and on the way back to the vicarage walked with his hands in his pockets, singing softly the song it brought to mind:
O Sally, my dear, but I wish I could woo you,
O Sally, my dear, but I wish I could woo you.
She laughed and replied,
And would wooing undo you?
“Good evening, Mr. Knight.”
He started at the sight of the man sitting on the stairs. Mr. Rayborn, he recognized. Hand up to his chest, Ethan said, “You gave me a fright, sir.”
“Sorry. I should have given warning.” The tutor got to his feet and glanced at the door at the top of the stairs. “May we speak inside?”
“As you wish,” Ethan said, mind racing to figure out what the man could possibly want. “I’ll be expected in the vicarage for supper in an hour.”
“It won’t take that long.”
****
“You’ll have to forgive the crampness of my parlor,” Mr. Knight said, lighting a lamp. He motioned Daniel into one of two wooden-framed armchairs upholstered in dark green velvet. “But I seldom sit in here, so it suits me. After all, Saint Paul could be content in a prison cell.”
Daniel nodded. He knew he should be more sociable, because Mr. Knight had not yet been given opportunity to explain himself and could very well be innocent. But the gravity of the situation had settled into his face, and a smile would be a mere pretentious stretching of his lips. The young man was regarding him with worry in his eyes despite his pleasantries, so Daniel decided to spare them both the suspense and get right to the matter.
“Mr. Knight, I have to ask if you’re seeing a shop assistant by the name of Myra Rose.” He left out Stanley’s part in it, as Naomi requested. It seemed best to protect a new believer from a possible confrontation with a minister. Besides, he didn’t want to give away too much information at the onset.
The curate blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
Daniel repeated himself.
The incredulity in the young face surged into indignation. “You had best explain yourself, Mr. Rayborn.”
“There is nothing to e
xplain, Mr. Knight. Are you involved romantically with her?”
“Absolutely not,” the man seethed. “I take issue with you for even asking.”
He was convincing, and Daniel wanted so to believe him. But with Sarah’s future possibly at stake, he could ill afford to walk away with any doubt. “Mr. Knight, I would be overjoyed to learn that I’m wrong about this. So you’ll understand why tomorrow I’ll be asking shopkeepers in that vicinity if they’ve noticed your spending a lot of time . . .”
“Ask all you wish, Mr. Rayborn.” Mr. Knight rose from his chair. “Then I’ll thank you to come back here and beg forgiveness.”
“I hope that’s what I have to do,” Daniel told him, getting to his feet. “I do apologize for ruining your day, Mr. Knight.”
“It’s your day that will be ruined, Mr. Rayborn. You’ll see.”
Daniel turned for the door, leaving the young man glaring at him from the center of the room. But when he was halfway down the staircase, the door opened. Daniel stopped and turned.
“Wait,” the young man said.
* * *
Ethan had to think, almost impossible with Mr. Rayborn standing in his parlor staring at the indecision in his face. When did he see us? If he could figure out exactly how much the man knew, he would work up a proper explanation. The light in the chemist shop’s window flitted across his mind, but just as quickly he reasoned it away. Mr. Rayborn took omnibuses to and from Berkeley Square. And anyway, he would not be in Mayfair that late at night.
Still, how did he know Myra’s name? And when no ready solution presented itself, he sighed. “How much do you want?”
The tutor raised an eyebrow, his green eyes knowing. Ethan curled his hands at his sides until the nails bit into his palms. “I’m very well respected here, Mr. Rayborn. People trust me, even ask me to comfort their dying. And I know all about your past. If I were to suggest that I was simply giving Christian counsel to a shopgirl one day and you stumbled by reeking of spirits, whose story would you think more credible?”
The Maiden of Mayfair Page 45
