by Anne Gracie
"Ahh." He nodded vaguely, still staring across the room.
Kit glared at him. He wasn't listening to a word she said. "Yes, I am a penniless, nameless adventuress, come to deceive you all. I thought you ought to know."
Thomas glanced back at her and smiled down at her in a vague fashion. "Well, that's all right, then. I'll take my leave now, if you don't mind." And he bowed and hastened away, making a bee-line for Miss Lutens.
Kit watched, half-amused and half-annoyed. After all her anxiety about hurting his feelings, the cloth-head obviously had no feelings to hurt. Not for her, at any rate.
Oh, well, she'd achieved her aim. With Thomas out of the picture, his Uncle Watchdog no longer had any reason to investigate Miss Catherine Singleton. He would probably start interrogating Miss Lutens instead.
Excellent. She wouldn't ever have to speak with Mr Dev-enish again. Nor would she ever again be forced to waltz with him. Very good. She was really pleased about that. In fact, she was utterly delighted.
It was just that for some unaccountable reason, she had suddenly developed the vilest headache. The odious ratafia, she was sure. She shouldn't have drunk any. It didn't agree with her. It didn't agree with her at all.
Oily grey water slapped languidly against the piles of the wharves and hulls of the ships riding at anchor. A lone gull wheeled and screamed into the leaden sky.
A fresh, faintly damp wind blew across the river, carrying a whiff of the stench of the hulks moored rotting on the river, filled with convicts awaiting transportation. The stench of misery and hopelessness.
That smell was overlaid with others, closer by, more immediate: hot tar; the smoke of a fire burning rubbish in a brazier, and a pot of cabbage soup bubbling atop it; the acrid smell of the Thames, river weed, rotting fish and the pervasive stink of human ordure; the faint tang of exotic spices from a nearby trading ship.
Hugo narrowed his eyes and inhaled, letting the mix of odours sink into him. It was deeply familiar.
With one sniff, he was transported back twenty years or more, being tossed aboard as a shaking ten-year-old, a small bundle of clothing wedged under his arm. A boy from Shropshire, who'd never so much as set foot on a boat, let alone seen the sea.
The servant deputised to deliver him to the ship's master had been a kindly enough fellow, had patted him on the shoulder, awkwardly, saying, "T'will be reet enough, young master. You'll be back soon enough, I'll warrant, all growed and strong, looking like a proper sailor laddie."
And then the boy Hugo had been taken below, into a place that croaked and groaned like a living thing. A place that was dark, and which heaved and shifted under his feet. A place which stank, of the sea and turpentine and men who didn't bathe from one year to the next. Aye, he'd never forgotten that smell. Nor the creak of wood, the rhythmic slap of waves.
Hugo strode on, stepping over ropes and avoiding puddles of fish guts with automatic dexterity. This place had no fears for him now. He was no longer a ten-year-old boy. He was in control of his own life now.
The docks swarmed with life in some places, and were deserted in others. Beggars, skulking miscreants, cripples, watching the seamen aboard the ships with bitter, envious eyes. From the corner of his eye he caught a quick movement, the whisk of a rat slipping from crevice to crevice. Hugo repressed a shudder. He was unafraid of most things,
but a rat was one creature he detested, with an intensity he had never been able to overcome. He still bore scars of the rat bites he had received as a boy.
He reached a large warehouse and entered it, nodding familiarly to the man guarding the entrance. He ascended a flight of stairs and entered an office at the top.
A large burly man rose to greet him.
"Mr Devenish, sir, and grand it is to see you. Sit ye down, sit ye down! Why did you not send for me, sir, you know I would have—''
Hugo took the hand that was offered to him and shook it warmly. "Patchett. I'm still a seaman, you know. I like to feel the deck of a ship beneath my feet and get a breath of the sea in my lungs from time to time." He grinned, j "Not that this air can be called sea air, mind."
The older man laughed. "No indeed, sir. Filthy stuff, I'll warrant."
Hugo interrupted him. "Not so much of this 'sir' nonsense, if you please. That's all very well when were in some sort of business meeting with others, but this is just you j and me, Patchett. I may be the owner of the shipping line I now, but I'll not forget that I was once a shivering cabin boy and you were the mate who protected me from that sadistic devil who was captain then."
Captain Patchett waved his hand. "Ah, belay that, laddie. Ye don't need to thank me—ye more than made up for any good turn I did ye. Now, what is it that ye want with me? If it's about that last shipment—"
Hugo raised his hand. “No, no. No problems there. I am more than satisfied with the business side of things. No, this is...personal."
Captain Patchett's beetling grey eyebrows rose. "Is it indeed, laddie? Then take a seat and you can tell me what you want of me. Can I pour you a drop of something to keep out the cold?'' He reached for a bottle of rum and, without waiting for Hugo's response, poured out two beakers of rum and handed one to Hugo.
"To health and fair voyages."
Hugo drank.
Captain Patchett leaned forwards. "Now, laddie, what's the problem?"
"It's about a woman—"
Captain Patchett's meaty fist smote the desk in front of him in triumph. "A woman is it, indeed! And about time, laddie! I've been waiting for the day ye told me ye'd finally decided to wed, and—"
Hugo cut in, coolly. "This woman is my nephew's intended, not my own."
"Oh." Captain Patchett subsided with a disappointed sigh. "Yer nephew. Very well then, tell me what ye need."
"She is a woman of some mystery."
Captain Patchett sniffed and poured them each another tot of rum. "All women are, laddie. All women are."
"She has arrived in England, from some foreign shore—''
"Ah, a foreigner."
"No, an Englishwoman. With her maid, I assume. Young, quite pretty, dark haired, creamy ski—"
"The maid?"
"No, the woman. The maidservant is a woman in her middle thirties, comely enough, but nothing out of the ordinary. The young woman is unquestionably a lady, and a little out of the common way. There is..." Hugo paused, considering how best to describe Miss Singleton "...a, a, oh, I don't know how to put it, but there is something about her that puts her above the common run of young ladies."
Captain Patchett eyed him shrewdly. "Your nephew's intended, you say."
Hugo nodded. "Precisely. She is reputed to be an heiress—"
Captain Patchett raised his eyebrows.
"—but of what, I'm not so certain. The rumour says diamonds, but..."
The old seaman frowned. "If there's brass, it can be traced, laddie. You can't keep a fortune a secret for too long."
Hugo nodded. "I know, but I'm not so very certain that there is a fortune."
"A fortune hunter, begad! After the title, is she?"
Hugo shook his head slowly. "Possibly. I'm told all women covet titles. But to my mind, she shows little encouragement to Thomas. Of course, she could be playing hard-to-get." He shook his head. "To tell the truth, I'm not at all certain what she's after. If she is indeed an heiress, then it all makes sense, but if she isn't, I don't understand what game she's playing."
"Why shouldn't she be an heiress?"
"No reason that I know of, except it's all too much based on rumour for my liking. And the girl herself denies it quite openly..." his eyes narrowed "...only in such a way that you're never quite sure whether she means it or not. I don't know what to make of her—damned if I've ever met such a girl in my life! But my instincts tell me she's playing some deep game."
Captain Patchett nodded wisely. "Ah, well, those instincts of yours have made us both rich, laddie. I'd have to say, if your instincts tell ye to check up o
n the lass, you listen to 'em."
But Hugo wasn't listening. "She's infuriating! One minute she's pretending she lisps, the next it's as if she never has lisped in her life and why would you ever imagine such a thing! She can ride like a young Amazon, and has the coolest head in a crisis. And she dances like thistledown with me, and yet I've seen her half cripple an old man with her clumsiness on the dance floor."
Captain Patchett sat back in his chair, grinning broadly. "Well, well, well. Ahh, laddie, I never thought I'd see that day."
Hugo eyed that grin. It had a distinctly annoying quality. "What do you mean by that? I don't see what is so amusing!"
Captain Patchett chuckled. "No, I dare say you don't." He hastily framed his face in a more serious expression. "So, this clumsy young Amazon is your nephew's intended, you say."
Hugo nodded, frowning. "Boy and his mother are determined to marry him to a fortune, and solve all their difficulties. If she does own a diamond mine, then they'll both be out of my hair for good. Which will be a relief to me, I can say."
Captain Patchett nodded. "Yes, laddie. Then you'll be free, won't you?"
Hugo nodded. "Yes, I'll be free." He did not add that he was as sure as could be that the diamond mine was a fraud and that the girl herself was not who she claimed to be. Nor did he intend to mention that he was quite convinced his nephew's intended was an accomplished pickpocket. And that far from this whole wretched business leading to himself being free, he was getting more and more entangled in the whole sorry mess. No, there was certainly no need to explain that. He had a feeling that he'd said too much as it was.
"Very well," said the captain, "what information have you on this girl? Give us her name and an approximate date of arrival, for a start. I'll put out the word and we should be able to find out when she arrived in England and on which ship. Any idea where she hailed from?''
Hugo shook his head. "She is very evasive on the subject, which only adds to my suspicion, but there are some who say she came from New South Wales."
The grizzled old seaman pursed his lips. “No good ever came out of New South Wales, I'll warrant! But there's no shortage of men who've come from there. There's a vessel in just yesterday. They'll have fresh news. Any heiress— in fact, any pretty young girl—will be news in that benighted hole. If they've seen her, they'll talk of her, count on it."
"And she mentioned India once. Jaipur."
The old man made a note. "That's more like. India is the place for fortunes and diamonds."
"And I've seen her wear an embroidered jacket and silver jewellery of the sort that I'm sure is only found in the Spanish colonies of America," added Hugo gloomily. "Of course, she could have purchased them from a trader, or been sent them as a gift..."
Captain Patchett refilled his beaker. "I begin to see the extent of the problem, laddie. She could have come from anywhere, could she not?"
"She could."
"Ah, well, if she arrived on a ship—and she must have—we'll find her eventually, mark my words. The sea-front is a place where people hear much and talk little— unless it's to the right people. And laddie, I'm one of the right people. I'll find out about yer girl for you."
"My nephew's girl," Hugo corrected him.
Captain Patchett grinned. "To be sure, yer nephew's girl."
"What do you mean, you have agreed you will not suit?'' snapped Lady Norwood. “Have you taken leave of your senses, Thomas?"
Thomas shrugged. "Well, she says she does not care for m—"
"What on earth does it matter whether the girl cares for you or not? Of course she doesn't care for you, but that
doesn't matter a snap!" She snapped her long, elegant fingers and glared in frustration at her son. "Does not care for you, indeed! Pray, what has that to do with anything? We are not discussing some vulgar middle-class emotional muddle here, we are talking about something far more important—marriage! I did not care for your father above half, but did that stop me from wedding him? No! Of course not. And this girl is an heiressl"
Thomas pulled a face. "But she says she does not care for me."
Amelia sighed gustily and flung her reticule down on a side table. "Well, there you are, then! That is your cue, you foolish boy! Since the chit is obviously mired in nonsensical missish notions of love, you must make her care for you, chuckle-head! Woo her, Thomas! Charm her, flatter her, coax and listen and agree with her, and before long she will care for you—enough to agree to wed you, at least—and that is what is important here!"
Thomas hunched a shoulder, looking mulish. "To tell you the truth, I had as leifer not wed—''
His mother snorted. “And who will pay our—your debts, pray?"
Thomas reddened. "Er..."
"Oh, wonderful! 'Er' indeed." Amelia tittered furiously. "Well, 'er' will butter no parsnips, my son, and 'er' will no doubt be a marvellous comfort to you when we are all dragged off in chains to debtors prison, and 'er' will—" She broke off as her butler opened the door to announce a visitor. "Oh, Hugo—about time! I sent for you hours ago! What has kept you this age? Will you talk some sense into this foolish son of mine! I cannot believe the folly he has committed! I have been unable to reason with him and refuse to utter another word on the matter! I wash my hands of him!" She flounced over to the fireplace and stood there glaring at the two men.
"Good afternoon, Amelia, Thomas." Hugo strolled into the room, nodded to his glowering sister-in-law and her sulky-faced son, and seated himself easily on a chaise-longue, quite as if he was unaware of the atmosphere in the room. Crossing one long leg over the other, he leaned back and said, “Well, Thomas, you had better tell me what it is that has so upset your mother?''
Thomas scowled. “It is not as if it is my fault. I cannot help what others think."
"Hah! If you would only show some resolution—" began Amelia furiously.
Hugo held up his hand. "Did you not say you would not utter another word on the matter, Amelia?''
"Oh, but—"
Hugo glanced coolly across at her and she subsided with a squeak of annoyance.
"Thomas?"
Thomas gave a great gusty sigh and said in a rush, "Miss Singleton has informed me that she does not care for me and that she wished me to stop paying her attention. She says it was causing people to talk. But, Mama—"
Hugo's eyebrows had risen. "She said that, did she? How very, very interesting."
There was a short silence.
"Well, is that all you can say about the matter?" said Amelia waspishly. '“How very, very interesting?' Oh, what a great help that is, to be sure! Men! Such useless creatures!"
Hugo glanced at her, faint amusement evident. "Oh, some of us have our uses, I seem to recollect. But as to Thomas's break with Miss Singleton, I congratulate you, Thomas."
Thomas gaped.
His mother spluttered with indignation. "Congratulate? You congratulate him? And what of his loss of the diamond
mine, pray tell? Do you congratulate him for whistling a fortune in diamonds down the wind? Oh! How is Thomas ever to prosper if he does not marry the girl? Heiresses do not grow on trees, you know, Hugo!"
"No, they do not. Nor do diamond mines grow in New South Wales, I am very sure of that. Of if they did, you may be very sure there would have been a great public outcry long before this."
"What are you saying? The mine is a hoax?"
Hugo nodded. "I believe so."
"With what evidence?"
"None but my own common sense."
"Hah!" exclaimed Amelia scornfully. "And yet half of London apparently does not have the same common sense."
Hugo inclined his head. “Apparently not. Half of London chooses to believe in whispered reports of a diamond mine in a convict settlement—with no evidence whatsoever."
"Hmph!" Amelia flounced back to her seat.
'1 have been investigating the girl's background, and not only have my sources never heard of diamonds in New South Wales
, but I can discover no record of any Miss Singleton arriving in the country."
“Well, what is that to us? I am sure that any number of people enter and leave this country without others knowing about it."
Hugo made a steeple out of his fingers. "Generally they are the sort of people who have something to hide."
Amelia digested that.
"But if Miss Singleton had anything to hide," said Thomas, "why would she enter society in the way she has?"
"Why indeed?" said Hugo. "That is what I intend to find out."
"But if the girl has given Thomas his conge, then why bother investigating her any further—unless you mean Thomas to renew his suit?" Amelia sat forward eagerly. "That is it, isn't it? You mean Thomas to court the girl after all. There is a fortune! There must be! You have found out something, haven't you, Hugo?".
Hugo shrugged. “It is a matter of complete indifference to me who Thomas courts."
Thomas sat up. "Do you mean that?"
Hugo eyed his nephew thoughtfully. "A man must choose his wife for himself. It has naught to do with anyone else."
Thomas turned to his mother triumphantly. "You see, Mama!"
But his mother was watching Hugo with eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You want those diamonds for yourself! It's plain as the nose on your face!"
Hugo rolled his eyes. “Do not be ridiculous, Amelia. I told you, there are no—"
"It's my belief you plan to marry the girl yourself!" continued Amelia, with growing fury. "How very typical! It's your wretched cit blood! You cannot bear to see anyone in this family except yourself get a fortune! You would even cut your own nephew out for it!"
Hugo glared at her. "Oh, don't be so stupid! If that girl owns a diamond mine, I'll eat my hat! There is no question of cutting Thomas out."
"But—"
"You know I have no interest in marriage."
"Then why are you so interested in the girl? It is not like you to show such uncommon interest in young ladies of the ton!"
Hugo stiffened and replied coldly, "I am merely interested in the puzzle the girl presents. I do not like to be hoodwinked, that is all."
"Pah!" snorted Amelia inelegantly. "I do not believe a word of it!"
