Romance at the Royal Menagerie

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Warmth filled John. Just the thought of Francesca filled his heart with love. “Miss Francesca Hartwell.”

  “I don’t believe I know her.”

  “She’s not of… there would not have been an occasion for you to meet her.”

  “I see. She’s of a lower class?”

  John hated the words, because he did not think of Francesca that way, but it was true. “Yes.”

  “Keep her as a mistress and marry Miss Cartwright. Problem solved.”

  “Uncle Cleo!”

  “It’s done all the time. Not talked about in public, but the practice isn’t anything new.”

  “But you never…?”

  He held up a hand. “No, no. But several of my acquaintances did. I won’t say I approve of the practice, but if you are miserable with your wife, then perhaps…”

  John couldn’t believe his ears. That his uncle would… No. John would not, could not consider it. Ever. “That would not be something I could ever do, I’m afraid. It would not be fair to my wife, or to my m-mistress.” The word was foreign on his tongue. Dirty. Wrong.

  “Then you must marry Miss Cartwright and drop this other woman. Miss Hartwell, was it?”

  Tears pooled in John’s eyes. He swallowed hard. If he were forced to marry Miss Cartwright and never again see Francesca he would die. Just die. “I cannot.”

  “You must. I’m sorry, John. I know it’s difficult for you. But that’s how it stands. There was not an actual contract for marriage for you two between her father and me, but always an understanding that it would be so.” He gave a brief smile and patted John’s knee. “I love you, son. You know that, don’t you?”

  He nodded. “I love you, too.”

  “Then you know I do this only for your own good.”

  John shrugged. Tears still burned behind his eyes.

  “An heir must be from two parents of good breeding. Good standing. Miss Cartwright would give you that as the mother.”

  “But—”

  Cleo held up his hand. “No. I’m sorry.” He sighed, his eyelids drooping. “I’m so tired. I think I’d like to rest some more.”

  John stood. His legs were rubbery, his mouth dry. Was that it, then? That was to be his life?

  His miserable, awful life?

  No! He would not accept that. Francesca meant too much to him. There had to be some way for them to be together. And not as a mistress. As his wife. Even though his uncle was adamant about John marrying Miss Cartwright, there had to be a way to convince him otherwise. There had to be. He would not give up.

  Walking away, he gave a final look toward Cleo.

  The man had fallen asleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Jezebel Cartwright shoved the envelope toward the smarmy man. Distaste for his disheveled appearance and abhorrent manners formed on her pursed lips. “Here. It’s the amount we agreed upon.”

  The man scratched his face with grimy nails. “Could ya tell me again what I should be doin’?”

  Jezebel sighed. Such a pity the man hadn’t a brain in his head. Must be a lot of air taking up space in there. Why was everyone around her an idiot? Even Mr. Fairgate lacked the superior intelligence she yearned for in a husband. Just the thought of him pushing her aside for that little twit had Jezebel running for the decanter.

  But even that she could overlook when compared to his title, money, and prestige. The prestige that would soon be hers.

  She shrugged. But that mattered not, as long as this one did as he was told. “The cat-keeper’s daughter, Miss Hartwell, must come to an… unfortunate accident.” Something had to be done about her, and soon! Fear coiled in Jezebel’s stomach when she considered she might not snag the future baron after all. Gone would be her dream of being baroness, garnering attention, ranking highly in her community. The thought of stepping aside to make room for… her was sickening. “Dealing as she does every day with wild animals, surely no one would bat an eye if tragedy were to befall her.”

  Slack-jawed, the man stared with watery blue eyes. “Huh?”

  She tapped her foot. “I will speak slow-ly so you can un-der-stand.”

  Drawing out each syllable seemed to capture his wandering attention. He closed his mouth.

  Jezebel was relieved. His breath smelled like the animals at the Tower. How appropriate that was where he’d be earning his money. “You will be at the Tower Zoo today. You know which one is Miss Hartwell, correct?”

  He nodded. “She’s pretty.”

  Jezebel ground her teeth. Why did men seem drawn to the little twit. “Yes, well, looks aren’t everything, are they?”

  He tilted his head and lowered his thick eyebrows, but said nothing.

  What a dolt! “When she is standing by one of the cages, which she seems fond of doing for some strange reason, at some point it will be opened. They have to feed and clean up after the vile beasts, after all. Sneak up behind her and push her in.”

  He frowned. “That’s all I have to do?”

  “Try to do it when she’s the only one by the cage. Make sure to close and lock the door after she’s in there. Then scamper away like a little rabbit. The animal in the cage will finish the job.”

  He lumbered away, looking quite like the stinky bear at the zoo. Doubts flitted through her thoughts. Would he be able to complete the task by himself? Did he have sufficient brains between his ears for even that? Hmm. Would it have been better to have found some sturdy dockworker who’d not bat an eye at her request, so long as he was paid?

  No. She was running out of time. John and that girl were drawing closer and this task was now necessary. And a smarter criminal might think of blackmailing her. She sighed. The dolt it would have to be.

  ****

  Visitors were dwindling near the end of the day. Weak sun danced through the Tower embrasures. Tired from helping her father fix cages, Francesca rolled her shoulders up and down. She wiped old rusty chips of metal from her hands.

  Petunia, the black panther, was cranky. Hissing and growling more than usual. Someone needed to check her paw because she’d been limping all day. Maybe she had a thorn stuck in it? Although since the cat could often be dramatic to gain attention, it might have been all an act. It would not be the first time.

  Papa came over to stand beside her. His dirty face was covered in sweat. “Franny, I have to go talk to the Keeper again. More about money, I’m sure.” He sighed and shoved a heavy pail into her hands. “The panther needs to be fed, and I don’t have time to do it. All the other workers are busy with other animals.” Glancing behind him, he turned back and lowered his voice, leaning close. “I know it’s against rules for you to be in the cages…”

  He wanted her to feed Petunia? He never asked her to go into the cages unless it was with him, and then only for a brief moment. “Oh, I’ll do it, Papa. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Be quick about it before someone sees.” He took a step away and pointed behind them. “There are still a few people about in the other sections.”

  He hurried off, the thudding of his boots getting quieter as he turned the corner. Francesca opened the door and stuck her head in. “Petunia, dear, guess who gets to feed you this—”

  Strong, cold hands grabbed her upper arms from behind and shoved. Gasping, Francesca fell forward onto her knees. With a clang, the cage door shut behind her. The pail fell from her grip and hit the floor. Food spilled everywhere. Petunia pounced on her dinner as if she hadn’t eaten in weeks, gobbling and chomping.

  Francesca whipped her head around, but no one seemed to be about. Had those been footsteps running away? What had happened? Who would have done such a thing? When she’d entered the cage, there hadn’t seemed to be anyone about. Had the person been hiding? Watching her from somewhere? There were dark corners and recesses close by. But no one had thus far used them for nefarious purposes.

  Glancing back at Petunia, Francesca shook her head. “Well, the way you jumped on the food, I’m thinking your paw is all right, isn’t it,
girl? Guess you were putting on an act for everyone, after all. Too bad you can’t tell me if you saw who it was that came up behind me.”

  The cat looked up from her foraging and blinked. Francesca scooted forward on her knees. Chancing quick contact with the cat before anyone noticed, she reached out her hand and rubbed the dark fur between her green eyes, the black nose, the small fuzzy ears. “Such a beauty you are, Petunia. I wish I could sit here until you’re finished eating. But I can’t stay. Not with people around. I’ll try to see you some night this week.”

  Francesca stood, dusted off her hands, and put her twisted skirt to rights. Her finger caught on a small tear. Must have happened when she fell. At least this was her oldest dress.

  A frown crossed her face. Who would have done that? Some boy playing a prank? A disgruntled Tower worker who wanted to get her or her father in trouble? There had never been much dissension among the workers. The Keeper liked everything just so. If some were found to continually cause disruptions, they lost their positions.

  Shrugging, she walked toward the cage door. At least she hadn’t been injured. Just small scrapes on her hands and knees. It could have turned out much worse. A broken arm. A bump on the head.

  More than anything, she was irritated. And puzzled.

  She tugged on the gate. But it stuck fast. Was it locked? Oh, no! How would Francesca explain being on the wrong side of the panther’s bars if anyone besides her father found her? Tugging harder, she lost her grip and nearly fell on her backside. She leaned over to check, squinting to see the tiny metal pieces. No, not locked, just jammed. Looking around to make sure no one saw her, she grunted and yanked with all her might.

  The door creaked open a couple of inches. Just a few more and she could slip out. Pulling again, she strained her arms with the effort. It wouldn’t do for someone to have to deal with that every time they fed Petunia. Looked like her father had yet another cage door to repair. Did the man ever tire of doing that same job over and over? But like he said, if not for things like that, he might not have a job. And with finances as they were at the zoo, it might be quite some time before they could acquire new cages.

  One more yank and it opened just enough for her to escape. The side seam of her dress caught on a sharp edge of the door.

  Rip!

  She slipped out, shoved the door closed, and locked it. Looking down, she clenched her teeth. Her chemise was visible through the large hole. Better hurry home before someone saw it. Tonight would be spent washing her dress and then mending it. How disappointing. She’d not get to read before bed. And she definitely wouldn’t have time to visit any of the cats.

  Voices carried from around the corner, but no one had seen her in the cage. Thank goodness for that! Her father would be furious it anyone found out.

  ****

  The next day, warmth from the sun kissed Francesca’s skin. Perfect. But then, every day since meeting John had been perfect. Sun. Rain. Wind. Cloud. It mattered not. Francesca had no doubt this was love. Her heart nearly burst with joy. Even repairing her dress the previous evening hadn’t been as bad as she’d feared.

  But love was also scary. Her heart raced at an unbelievable speed. Mouth gone dry. Breath caught in her throat, as if she didn’t know if there would be another breath to follow. Like teetering on the precipice of a high cliff. That at any moment she could slip, fall through the air, hurtle toward earth.

  No wonder people called it falling in love.

  Would John come to the zoo today? Perhaps he was already there, visiting with the cats. Waiting for her. Francesca smiled, anticipating seeing him. Talking with him about everything and nothing.

  What would the day bring?

  She’d been over to say good morning to Brunella. Such a sweet girl. Who now would be even more of a favorite in Francesca’s heart after the elephant had rained on Miss Cartwright’s hat.

  Covering her lips to hide a giggle, Francesca rounded the corner to visit the cats. She stopped and frowned. Why was her father sitting on the bench? Bent over with his head in his hands? Was he ill? He never sat there, always leaving it for visitors, who he viewed as his superiors. As if he had no right to even rest there after all the hard work he did.

  She ran toward him, nearly tripping, ignoring stares from the few early visitors. “Papa?”

  He groaned, his face pale.

  “Papa!” She bent over, placing her hands on his shoulders. Was it his heart? Should she help him to lie down? “What can I do to help you? Do you need a physician?”

  “Just sit down.” His voice came out in a harsh rasp.

  Frowning, she plopped down on the bench. Why did he sound angry? Was he not ill, then? “What’s the matter?”

  He turned toward her, his eyes tired, his mouth drawn down at the corners. “Francesca, I…”

  Uh-oh. The only time he addressed her as such was when she’d done something to upset him, something bad. And he would give her more than the usual scolding she received for being too outspoken or spending too much time talking to the cats. “What? What’s happened?”

  He rubbed a calloused hand over his weathered face, fingernails brown from cleaning up after the cats. Peering at her, he didn’t blink, hardly moved, except for his chest rising and falling, quickly, in agitated breathing. “Haven’t I always told you to stay away from men with titles, Francesca?”

  “Yes, of course.” Where was all this coming from? Why bring this up now?

  “And haven’t I told you I would never allow you to associate with such a person?”

  She nodded.

  “You’ve always known how I’ve felt. I’ve never made it a secret. Ever since your mother ran off with that—”

  “I don’t understand. Why… why are you talking about this now? You know I’d never go against your wishes.”

  “Then why? Why would you do it?”

  She grabbed his hand. “Do what? What have I done?” Was he upset about something else? Not able to bring himself to put whatever it was into words, so he dragged out this old argument? She couldn’t imagine what he was going on about.

  “Him.”

  “Who?”

  “Your friend. Mr. Fairgate.”

  “What about Mr. Fairgate?” Had someone seen them at the Bird Sanctuary holding hands? Oh, no! Was he now going to tell her she couldn’t have any further outings with him? Her heart raced. Please, not that!

  “You knew how I felt about men who hold titles.”

  “Papa, I don’t understand what you mean? Why are you talking about Mr. Fairgate as if—?”

  “Because he’s a baron!”

  Widening her eyes, Francesca caught her breath in her throat. “No! It can’t be! That’s not true.” It couldn’t be true…

  “He may as well be – will be when his uncle dies.”

  Somehow, some way, there had to be a mistake. A misunderstanding. “Who has been spreading this untruth?”

  “Watch your tongue. I heard it from the Keeper. Mr. Fairgate has become a recent patron of the Tower of Lions, giving large sums of money to the care of the cats.”

  Thoughts swirled in her head. A baron? John? But he would have told her, wouldn’t he? A small voice floated up in the back of her mind. But you didn’t want to know. You’re glad he didn’t tell you, because then you would have had to end it with him.

  “But he would have told me.” But was that true? Was he actually a baron and had kept it from her… because she wasn’t important enough to him to share something like that with her? Was she just a passing fancy for Mr. Fairgate? A dalliance? Heat rose to her face.

  “Obviously he did not. Because, believe me, daughter, it’s true.”

  “I didn’t know.” She stared at his lowered eyebrows, anger coming off of him in waves. “I didn’t know!”

  “You must not see him anymore.”He yanked his hand from hers.

  “But I—”

  “I forbid it.” Standing, he pointed a finger at her. “You will never speak to him again.
Do I make myself clear?”

  She nodded. Words wouldn’t come. Why? Why was this happening? Had she only just come to realize she was in love with John, only to have it torn from her? Swallowing hard, she tried to hold back the tears. But they came of their own volition. Filling her eyes. Trailing down her face. Dripping off her chin onto her dress.

  Two women who had been watching George, the lion, stopped to look at her. She cared not. Let them look. Because if she could not have a life with the man she loved, nothing else mattered.

  ****

  Francesca paced back and forth in front of the main gate. Surely he would come today. It was Mr. Fairgate’s habit to visit the zoo every other weekday or so. She’d looked for him yesterday and hadn’t seen him. So…

  Hands balled into fists, Francesca gritted her teeth. Why had he not told her? A baron? A person would think something like that would come up in conversation. At some point. It wasn’t as if they’d only spoken once, briefly. They’d spent much time together. Talking. Laughing. Holding hands. True, there’d been no vow of love, no promises made, but it seemed strange he would not have at least mentioned that soon he would inherit his uncle’s title and fortune.

  None of that meant anything to her. But for her father, the fact that John was soon to be a baron meant a great deal. And not in any good way. When Papa had forbidden her to see him again, she’d been distraught. She knew in her heart that she loved him. There was no doubt. She also knew there would never be another man besides him that she would want to marry.

  Ever.

  “Hello!”

  There he was, his carriage approaching. Waving. Smiling. Enjoying his day out in the lovely weather. As much as he loved the zoo, how would Francesca stand it if he kept coming after today? She was bound to see him. And so would Papa. There would be no opportunity for any further chats. Or outings. Or hand-holding.