by Rowan Nina
“I couldn’t sleep.” Lydia pushed her hair away from her forehead, hoping her expression bore no evidence of her thoughts. “Mrs. Driscoll said breakfast will be ready in a half hour.”
Mrs. Boyd settled into the opposite chair, her blue eyes sharp. “You’re not still upset about the locket, are you?”
Lydia suppressed a rustle of irritation. “Of course I am.”
“For heaven’s sake, Lydia, I told you to forget the locket. It is a foolish, sentimental thing, and neither you nor Jane should attach any meaning to it except for its value. Mr. Havers gave us quite a bit for it.”
“It belonged to my mother,” Lydia said, stung by her grandmother’s dismissive words. “Surely you understand why that’s important to me. Why it’s important to Jane. Papa would never have wanted it sold.”
“Your parents would have been far more supportive of Jane attending a proper school than they would about keeping a piece of jewelry.” Mrs. Boyd frowned. “I’d hope you would be as well.”
“You didn’t need to pawn the locket to send Jane to school,” Lydia muttered.
“You know how expensive Queen’s Bridge is, Lydia. We need to procure all possible funds for her initial enrollment. And we do not need an old locket.”
I do.
Lydia’s hands flexed, her chest tightening as she looked at her grandmother. Now was not the time to fight about Jane’s schooling. Lydia had other matters on her mind. “I learned the locket was purchased by Alexander Hall. Lord Northwood.”
Mrs. Boyd stared at her with pursed lips, a faintly perplexed expression in her eyes.
“Viscount Northwood? You must be joking.”
“I’m not. He bought the locket from Mr. Havers. He said he thought it was interesting.”
“You spoke to him?”
“I went to his house yesterday evening. I asked him to return the locket.”
Mrs. Boyd’s eyes widened. “You went to Lord North—”
Lydia held up a hand to stop the imminent scolding. “Before you chastise me, no one saw me, no one heard. I was careful.”
“Really, Lydia, there’s nothing careful about meeting a man like that in private! Have you learned nothing over the years? What on earth is the matter with you?”
“You should have known I’d never let that locket go,” Lydia said. “Especially after Papa died.”
“You’ve not even looked at it in ages!” In her agitation, Mrs. Boyd rose and began to pace, leaning heavily on her cane. “Honestly, Lydia, now Lord Northwood knows we visited a pawnshop and that we… Oh heavens, what if this becomes known?”
“He won’t tell anyone.”
“How on earth do you know?”
She didn’t. And yet, somehow, she did. “He’s not a gossip. He would not deliberately besmirch another person’s reputation.”
“You’re so certain of that?”
“Would you do such a thing?”
“Well, I—”
“Of course you wouldn’t. Because you know the possible consequences. So does Lord Northwood.”
She eyed her grandmother with wariness. Mrs. Boyd’s lips pressed together, but she didn’t appear inclined to argue. Perhaps because she knew Lydia spoke the truth.
Lydia shivered and rubbed her arms, pushing aside the threatening darkness of the past. Although she lived in dread of any form of gossip, she could not resist the desire to know more about Lord Northwood.
“Is it true?” she asked. “Did his mother run away with another man?”
“Oh, such unpleasant rumors.” Mrs. Boyd waved a hand. “It’s why most people still want nothing to do with them, even though they’re quite wealthy. But yes, as far as I know, the countess, who everyone believed exceedingly proper, was caught having an affair with a young Russian soldier. She ran off with him, and the earl petitioned for a divorce. Quite rightly, I must admit. Northwood returned to London in the midst of the whole thing. Terrible, really, that he had to contend with the aftermath of such a scandal. They’ve never recovered, that family.”
“What happened to the countess?”
“She’s been banned from the estates, though I don’t think she ever tried to return. I imagine she’s still living in sin, probably in the wilds of Russia.” Curiosity narrowed her grandmother’s eyes. “So what was he like?”
“Lord Northwood?” Lydia searched for words. “Polite, I suppose. Implacable.”
Angry.
Compelling. Handsome. Tempting…
Lydia cut short the thought. She must not think of any man in that way, least of all Lord Northwood.
“Hmm.” Mrs. Boyd tapped her cane. “From what I understand, Lord Rushton’s sons have something in their blood, Cossack ancestors and all. The earl has an ancient family that extends back to the Normans, I believe, pure English lineage there. Not from their mother, though. It accounts for their roughness, that Russian blood. Even before the scandal, Lady Chilton was concerned about the prospect of her daughter marrying Lord Northwood.”
Lydia blinked. An unpleasant emotion rose in her chest, something greenish brown, the color of slimy grass beneath a layer of slush.
“Lady Chilton’s daughter is going to marry Lord Northwood?” she asked.
“Not anymore, no. They were affianced at one time, but then after Lady Rushton behaved so abominably, Lord Chilton called off the engagement. He refused to have his daughter associated with the Halls, despite their wealth.”
Lydia let out her breath, realizing that her hand was trembling slightly.
“All those brothers, and the sister, too, have spent a great deal of time in Russia,” Mrs. Boyd remarked. “It’s no wonder they’re not much in demand. I’ve heard they’re a bit uncivilized.”
Lydia bit her tongue to prevent a retort. Although she was loath to admit it, she thought her grandmother’s commentary on Alexander Hall had some merit.
Despite his impeccable appearance, something feral and turbulent gleamed in the viscount’s eyes—something that called to mind Cossack soldiers, silver sabers, and the wide plains of the Russian steppes.
Certainly Lord Northwood’s behavior had been anything but proper, though Lydia wouldn’t go quite so far as to deem it uncivilized.
Yet.
“Sophie!” Jane Kellaway whispered.
The maid turned from the stove, her eyes widening. “Miss Jane, you oughtn’t be down ’ere! Your grandmother—”
“Is there another letter? Did the boy deliver one?”
Sophie sighed and pulled a creased paper from her apron pocket. She handed it to Jane and shooed her toward the door.
“If she finds out, I’ll be sacked, you know,” Sophie hissed.
“She won’t find out.”
Clutching the letter, Jane hurried upstairs to the schoolroom. Anticipation sparked in her as she broke the seal. She unfolded the paper, which contained a block of precise handwriting that reminded her of black ants marching in a row.
Dear Jane,
Thank you for your recent discourse on fairyflies, which I find a very lovely name for what—as per your description—is quite a disagreeable little insect.
It is, however, interesting that female fairyflies fly more adroitly than males. Perhaps therein lies a lesson for us all.
Enclosed is a riddle called an acrostic. I find myself a bit disgruntled that you solved the last one with such alacrity.
Sincerely,
C
Jane grinned. She’d been rather proud of herself for solving that last riddle so quickly. She slipped the letter behind the second page and studied the latest riddle.
My first is in tea but not in leaf.
My second is in teapot and also in teeth.
My third is in caddy but not in cozy.
My fourth is in cup but not in rosy.
My fifth is in herbal and also in health.
My sixth is in peppermint and always in wealth.
My last is in drink, so what can I be?
I’m there in a classroom
. Do you listen to me?
“Jane, have you seen my notebook?”
Jane fumbled at the sound of Lydia’s voice, tucking the letter under her arm. She glanced at her sister to see if she had noticed the clumsy movement, but Lydia was looking distractedly around the room.
“Your notebook? You’ve lost it?”
“I’ve misplaced it,” Lydia corrected.
Jane glanced out the window to see if pigs were flying, because surely the universe had gone mad if Lydia Kellaway had misplaced her notebook. “When did you have it last?”
“Oh… last night.” Lydia bit her lip, an odd distress appearing in her eyes. “Well, no need to worry now. I’m certain it will turn up.” She gave Jane a smile. “Mrs. Driscoll says there will be Savoy biscuits for tea.”
“That will be nice.” Jane injected a note of enthusiasm into her voice. She liked Savoy biscuits, but tea was dreadfully boring—even more so since Papa was no longer here to play Chinese tangrams.
“Perhaps we can even persuade her to let us have some of her precious strawberry jam.” Lydia smiled again, though the tension remained in her expression—likely because of the lost notebook, but also because it was just always there.
Jane remembered a lesson in geology during which they’d studied rock veins—lines of quartz or salt that split through the middle of a rock. She thought her sister contained a vein like that, except with Lydia it wasn’t shimmering and shiny. The vein running through Lydia was made of something hard and brittle, a material that appeared on the surface only in unguarded moments.
Jane still didn’t know its cause—never had—but she suspected it had something to do with their mother.
“Did you water the fern?” Lydia asked.
Still clutching the letter underneath her arm, Jane went to the small bell glass on a table beside the window. A scraggly fern, the edges of the fronds turning brown, grew from a bed of rocks and soil. She removed the glass and poured a few drops of water around the base.
“It’s a bit pitiful, isn’t it?” Jane remarked, plucking a few dead fronds.
Lydia joined her to peer at the plant. “Perhaps we ought to move it somewhere else? Or does it need more air or a different soil? I must say, Jane, I’ve never quite understood how ferns are expected to thrive while encased in glass.”
Jane pushed open the window a crack to let the breeze in. She and Lydia studied the fern for a few moments.
“I suspect we need to do more research,” Lydia said. “I’m going to the library tomorrow, so I’ll see if they have any books about fern cultivation. Now shall we continue our work on long division?”
Lydia began spreading a workbook and papers out on the table that dominated the tiny room first set aside for use as Jane’s nursery and then as the schoolroom.
While Lydia was distracted, Jane picked up a book and tucked the letter between the pages, then pushed the book onto a shelf between two encyclopedias.
She was struck with the sudden urge to tell Lydia about the other letters that lay folded and hidden on the bookshelf, but the purposeful way her sister was moving about the room made her lose courage.
Besides, she didn’t want to disobey the sender’s instructions about secrecy—these anonymous letters and the accompanying riddles had been a welcome distraction after Papa’s death, and she didn’t want them to end.
She went to join Lydia at the table. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“You seem a bit upset.”
“I’m not upset. Now come and sit. We’ll review dividends and divisors.”
Jane sat and picked up a pencil. “Is it Grandmama?”
“Jane, honestly, nothing is the matter.”
But Jane saw the irritation rise in Lydia’s eyes. She didn’t know what Lydia wished their grandmother would or wouldn’t do, but she wished everyone would stop being so stern and start to enjoy things a bit more.
Every day it was the same—breakfast, lessons, lunch, an outing, tea. And it wasn’t as if the outings were anywhere terribly interesting, only to the park or library or shops.
“Jane.”
Jane glanced up. “Sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.”
“Do you remember what a remainder is?”
“A number left over.”
“Good. This problem will have a remainder, but start with the whole number, then multiply it by the divisor. See, what’s so interesting about long division is that you’re able to do division, multiplication, and subtraction all in the same equation.”
“Lyddie?”
“Hmm?”
“Is it wrong to keep a secret?”
Lydia looked almost startled. “A secret? What kind of secret?”
“Oh, nothing that would hurt anybody. Just… you know. A secret. Something no one else knows. Like that you’ve got a bag of bull’s-eyes tucked beneath your bed.”
“Well, I… I suppose it depends on what the secret is. But if it doesn’t hurt anybody to keep it, then no. I don’t think it’s wrong.” Lydia reached out and pushed a lock of hair from Jane’s forehead. “Do you have sweets stored away somewhere?”
“No.” Jane gave her sister a winning smile. “If I did, I’d share them with you.”
“Lovely.” Lydia gave Jane’s cheek a gentle pinch. “But you’d still have to figure out how to share them equally. And for that, you need to learn how to divide.”
Jane made a face of mock irritation before turning her concentration to the problem. Although she liked mathematics, the way her sister sometimes talked, one would think the world revolved around numbers.
Jane supposed in some ways it probably did, though she had the sense the world was driven by something far more mysterious than sums.
Something like riddles, conundrums, puzzles.
Secrets.
Chapter Three
The locket swung back and forth, sunlight captured in the silver casing. Alexander lifted the chain to study the engraving. Edging his thumbnail into the seam, he opened the little compartment.
The miniature image of a woman with sparrow-brown hair stared back at him, the hint of laughter that curved her lips mitigating the imperiousness of her pose. The other side of the locket’s casing bore a picture of a man, his features narrow and strong, a neat beard covering his jaw and a serious expression in his eyes.
Alexander had a sudden image of Lydia Kellaway wearing this locket around her neck, enclosing it in her hand every so often as she thought of her beloved parents.
Not an emotion he would ever have extended to his own parents—his iron-fisted father, his cold-as-glass mother, who’d shocked them all with her shameful affair.
Sometimes Alexander still couldn’t believe it. The Countess of Rushton, imperious to a fault with her dulcet tones and porcelain skin, debasing herself with a common soldier.
At least she’d had the sense to run off, Alexander thought. Otherwise he’d have thrown her out himself after the affair came to light.
A grunt made him look up. His twenty-nine-year-old brother Sebastian slumped into a chair, his eyes heavy lidded and his jaw unshaven. He dragged a hand through his messy hair and yawned.
“Late night?” Alexander asked, his voice tight.
Sebastian shrugged, staring at the table as if he expected breakfast to appear. He yawned again and headed to the sideboard and the coffeepot.
“Where did you go?” Alexander asked.
“Concert at the Eagle Tavern. Their pianist canceled, so they asked me to fill in. Thought I’d sleep here so’s not to disturb Talia or the old bird.”
“You thought performing at the Eagle Tavern was a good idea?”
Sebastian groaned and took a swallow of coffee. “It’s a respectable enough place. Besides, no one cares, Alex.”
“I do.”
“You’re the only one, then.”
Frustration tightened Alexander’s chest. For all his efforts following their parents’ divorce, his siblings h
ad failed to do a single thing to help restore the family’s reputation. Sebastian cared nothing for what others thought, and if Talia had the choice, she would seclude herself at their country estate and never visit London.
Alexander, on the other hand, lived within the thick of it—attending social events, clubs, and business meetings as if nothing had gone wrong, as if their mother had not left them in disgrace. As if their deep association with Russia were not an increasing burden.
“I sent word to Father yesterday that I wish to speak with him about the management of the Floreston estate,” he told Sebastian. “There’s been some discrepancy between income and expenditure, and I’ve several tenant issues with which to contend.”
“If you wish to speak with Lord Rushton, I suggest you call upon him.” Sebastian scrubbed a hand over his face. “He can be found at Forty-five King Street, Piccadilly, in the event you’ve forgotten. Likely he’s spending the morning in his greenhouse.”
“And Talia? What are her plans for the day?”
“I think she’s got a meeting with the Ragged School Union.” Sebastian eyed him over the rim of his cup. “Told me yesterday you were haranguing her about marriage again.”
“I was not haranguing her. She needs to understand that a good marriage will help not only her, but also the family. Both financially and socially.”
“She’d be more civil if you let her alone,” Sebastian said. “Moreover, you’ll do better to worry about your own state of matrimony rather than Talia’s.”
Alexander scowled. “You think I’ve got time to find a suitable wife?”
“All you need do is find yourself a sweet, empty-headed young chit, Alex. God knows there are plenty. Better still if the girl’s father has found himself with pockets to let. You needn’t do much except wed her and bed her.” Sebastian arched a mocking eyebrow. “Neither of which ought to take you much time.”
“Blackguard,” Alexander muttered. “It wouldn’t take much time because a young chit would faint with shock before I’d even got started.”
