After the Rain

by Elizabeth Johns

  When the curtain fell for the intermission, she was rudely and abruptly transported back to London and felt a little irritated when the gaslights were brightened. Everyone around her began chatting again.

  “Seamus, would you escort me for a walk to seek some lemonade?” Maili asked.

  “Of course. Would any of you like to join us?”

  Christelle would have loved to, if she could have been alone with him, but she did not enjoy making her way through crowds.

  “I think I will stay,” she answered, “but I would welcome some lemonade.”

  “And I will have champagne,” Lady Charlotte said with a merry laugh.

  Cavenray followed Seamus and Maili out of the box, and Sir Anthony and Charlotte began a lively discussion about why she avoided London and, therefore, him.

  “May I join you for a moment?” Christelle looked up with shock as Mr. Cole took the seat next to her before she could answer. She thought back to her father's words, but she could not ask Mr. Cole to leave without appearing rude. Lady Charlotte did not seem to notice.

  “May I say how lovely you look this evening?” he said. “It has been a struggle to keep my eyes on the stage.”

  She ignored his flattery. “Are you enjoying Hamlet, Mr. Cole?”

  “I always enjoy a good tale of revenge.”

  “I would not have thought you bloodthirsty, sir.”

  “I had not thought so, but perhaps I am. Revenge his foul and most unnatural murder. It does make an impression.”

  “Then why does Hamlet hesitate, if revenge is the answer?” she queried.

  “He is a coward.”

  “Or, in his heart he knows it is more cowardly to seek revenge. His conscience forbids it.”

  “But look at what happens because of Hamlet’s cowardice in delay. How many more people die because of it?”

  “I cannot say. I have never seen the play before. But I applaud his discretion in seeking to prove Claudius guilty first. It is unnatural to dwell on the past until it consumes you and makes you bitter.”

  “I must respectfully disagree, my lady, but I shall say no more and let you decide for yourself.”

  She smiled and inclined her head.

  “Can you truly say you harbour no ill feelings about your past?”

  “What good would it do?” And what did he know of her past? Was it common knowledge amongst the entire Town?

  “Yes, well, I expect it is a case of all is well that ends well. If all stories had a happy ending, there would be no tragedies.”

  She thought she detected a hint of cynicism behind his words.

  “Indeed. I have been most fortunate.”

  “I admire your fortitude. It gives me hope for myself.”

  He stood up as the others returned and left the box. Christelle looked up in time to witness Dr. Craig's reaction to the sight of Mr. Cole. An expression of anger and—dare she flatter herself—jealousy, passed uncharacteristically over his countenance. He masked the look quickly, however, so it was possible she had imagined it. Mr. Cole left promptly after a swift greeting to the others.

  “Have a care. Your father would be most displeased,” Dr. Craig leaned over and whispered. The touch of his hand on her elbow sent a disconcerting wave of heat through her.

  “What was I to do?” she snapped back, a response which drew an elevation of the Duke’s eyebrows.

  Cavenray troubled himself to lean forward. “Has Dr. Craig been charged with nursery duty?” he whispered in her ear. It had no effect on her at all.

  Very likely he had, she mused, but it irritated her that the Duke would point it out to her. She was also annoyed that she had allowed herself to snap at Dr. Craig. Mr. Cole had put her out of sorts.

  Turning, she gave His Grace a pasted smile. “He was being a gentleman, sir.” Unintentionally, the words came out stiltedly, and in six short words she had defended Dr. Craig and insulted Cavenray. She turned back to face the stage as the next act began, but she saw and heard very little of the remainder of Hamlet.

  What had he let himself in for? Seamus had been repeating the question since the moment he stepped into the carriage to escort the ladies to the theatre last night. Having to watch Cavenray behaving with quiet arrogance as though he already possessed Christelle had been torture enough. To then arrive back at the box to find Cole had sneaked in and occupied her attention for the entire interval was almost enough to break his control. And now, he had been summoned to give a report to Yardley.

  He had realized he was little better than a spy, when Christelle had flashed him a look of defiance in response to his reprimand. This would never work.

  He rapped lightly on the door to Yardley’s study.

  “Enter. Ah, there you are, Seamus,” the Duke said as he looked up.

  Gavin and Lord Harris were also there, along with Yardley's secretary, Hughes.

  “You are just in time to hear what Hughes has to say.”

  Seamus came in and took a seat as the secretary cleared his throat.

  “There is very little to report, I'm afraid,” the secretary said from behind his desk. “I did verify that Cole has been working for the Foreign Service for some six years. Before that, his history is vague. I could find no record of a gentleman by the name of James Cole, either as a member of Society or as coming from any family with connections. There does not appear to be an obvious relation to the Cole family of Irish Earls of Enniskillen, though the Earl’s sister did marry an Englishman. Any offspring would not be styled by his mother’s name, of course.”

  The other four men all frowned, as if contemplating what this information indicated.

  “Even if Cole were related, it does not prove any wrong-doing on his part,” Gavin concluded after a pause.

  “Other than his toad-eating, social-climbing, ungentlemanly behaviour, of course,” Harris added with undisguised sarcasm.

  “He did manage to catch me unawares last night. He came into the box while I was escorting Maili to fetch lemonade. Lady Charlotte and Sir Anthony remained with Christelle, but she did not send him away,” Seamus confessed.

  “The blackguard! Although I doubt they have been introduced, and Charlotte would ignore him. I did not think to warn her,” Yardley conceded.

  “I trust no harm was done in public view, but I shall endeavour not to leave her alone in the future,” Seamus said.

  “I will speak with Charlotte, should she be the female chaperone again. What say you to our removing to Angelo's? I, for one, could use the exercise. Your father says you are quite the swordsman, Seamus.”

  “I enjoy it, though I am quite out of practice.” He would not mind venting some frustration.

  “Then we shall oil the joints today, shall we?” Yardley was saying as they left the room and gathered their hats for the walk to Bond Street.

  It felt so strange, Seamus reflected, to be amongst the male scions of his family in this capacity. He was unused to being a true gentleman, by the fact that he had always had an occupation. He still was not certain how he felt about his changed status. Thus far, it had only felt like a stressful family holiday.

  They removed their coats, boots and hats, then selected their foils. Seamus was surprised to find how well matched he and the Duke were. His height often gave him an advantage and he would have to hold back with his opponents. It was not so with Yardley. For the first twenty minutes, the only sound was the clash of metal and the movement of feet as they lunged and parried. They entered into the physical battle, with each concentrating on learning the other’s strengths. Harris and Gavin were locked in a similar fight on the floor next to them.

  They came to a press, their foils crossed.

  “Excellent, Seamus! I have not been challenged thus very often.” Yardley wiped his brow and took his stance again. “Now you may tell me your opinion of my daughter’s suitors,” he said as he lunged forward.

  “Well, sir, there is quite a court of gentleman following the two ladies.”

  Yardley
was advancing and he had to riposte to regain his ground.

  “Yes, I had heard. I suppose it was to be expected.”

  “It appears as though Cole attaches himself to them in this manner.”

  “What else do we know of this social mushroom?”

  They paused to catch their breath. Gavin and Harris did the same.

  “He is being accepted everywhere, though no one knows quite who he is. People are afraid to gainsay him since Yardley accepted him, and he is charming and handsome. At least that is what I heard at the club,” Harris said. “I need to see him for myself. I must know him if he travels at all by sea.”

  “He has an air about him,” Seamus said. “And a deuced squirrelly mustachio.”

  “And a tendency to appear wherever Christelle and Maili are,” Yardley sneered.

  “Perhaps we shall join them in the park at the fashionable hour today,” Harris said, elevating his right eyebrow and narrowing his eyes. He looked dangerous when he did that.

  “I have no evidence to support any wrong-doing on his part, but I have a bad feeling about him,” Yardley said. He pointed to his chest.

  “I just do not like him,” Seamus admitted, to the amusement of the others.

  “En garde,” Yardley said with a wide grin.

  Chapter 21

  Christelle was already growing weary of the Season. Her ennui was made worse by the fact that now she had been granted her wish, and Seamus was close, there was a strange wall erected between them. It must come down. Yet what had built it? Had it been Mr. Baker’s death? She could not believe the one she had felt so close to a matter of weeks ago had suddenly changed. Could the death of a patient change a person so? She would have thought a physician might become accustomed to such loss.

  It seemed as though she was making everyone else happy except herself. She was playing the part of the perfect lady, but that was not who she really was. She had not been born to be the servant girl she had been for the past six years, either. So, who was she?

  Perhaps she was to blame. Perhaps the feelings which had occurred between her and Dr. Craig were no longer possible.

  “Would you care for the blue muslin, my lady?” Sybil asked as she held up a walking dress.

  “Where are we bound for this time?”

  What she would not give for an afternoon of solace, Christelle sighed to herself. She would even scrub the floors if it meant a few hours' respite whereby she might remove the mask of lady and let her hair down.

  “I believe you are to enjoy a walk in the park with the sisters and their husbands,” the abigail answered.

  “Everyone?” Christelle asked with surprise.

  “It seems so, my lady.”

  That gathering alone would be a sight to behold. The sisters had not been feeling well and had refrained from all but necessary engagements.

  Sybil helped her into the dress and secured her matching, wide-brimmed bonnet atop her loose curls. Christelle looked at herself in the glass, feeling as though someone else was staring back at her. What had happened to the determined girl who had refused to let the matrons at the school suppress her spirit? She could no longer be that person, but neither could she be precisely who everyone here wanted her to be. She had to reconcile the two... but how?

  There was indeed a crowd ready to walk to the park. Christelle wondered if there was a special occasion. Her father and Beaujolais, Lord and Lady Craig, Lord and Lady Harris, as well as Maili and Lady Charlotte, were all waiting.

  As they set out, Lady Charlotte took Maili’s arm, and Christelle looked about. Perhaps Dr. Craig still had some obligations at the hospital. She was determined to resolve their difficulties today, even if she had to seek him out in his rooms.

  Was the discontent she felt because of Dr. Craig? In truth, here she was with falsely elevated hopes she might have a chance to walk on his arm to the park.

  “Christelle? Why do you not join us? Seamus is going to meet us there, where you may take his arm.”

  Maili had read her mind. Her spirits lifted at the news, though it vexed her to know it.

  “I wanted to ask you what happened last night? Seamus looked almost angry, though I have never seen him actually angry. Was there something wrong with Mr. Cole?”

  “I do not know what was wrong. I noticed it as well. Father has taken a dislike to Mr. Cole, but for reasons I cannot fathom,” Christelle answered.

  Maili wrinkled her face in disbelief. “He seems all that is amiable!”

  “I believe it is as simple as the fact he is a stranger—a stranger disguised as a gentleman. It may seem ridiculous to you, but after all your father has been through, he is suspicious of everyone. So, when someone comes into his home uninvited and uses false means to have access to his name and his daughter, he is breaking all the codes of a gentleman,” Charlotte said sensibly.

  “Mr. Cole purchased a ticket for the stage in Dover on my behalf and helped me to find my way. I cannot think an evil man would do such a thing. I feel indebted to him and cannot cut him,” Christelle explained softly.

  “That is a difficult situation. I see your point, and I also see your father’s,” Maili said.

  “As do I,” Christelle agreed.

  “People can be quite brazen when there is personal gain at stake. I think the safest course is to be kind but do not encourage him. Do not put yourself in a compromising situation,” Charlotte advised.

  “It was what I was attempting to do yesterday evening, before Dr. Craig reprimanded me.”

  “Did he?” Maili asked, her jaw hanging open in an unladylike fashion. “I can scarce credit it in him!”

  “I would not have believed it myself, if I had not heard with my own ears.”

  “It will be difficult to do anything with the three musketeers watching over your shoulder. I do not believe it is a coincidence that they decided to join us in the park today,” Charlotte said.

  Maili giggled.

  “At least they had the sense to walk, since it is a lovely day. I cannot abide the pomp of bringing a carriage one street in order to go slower than a turtle,” Christelle remarked.

  They reached the entrance to the park and found most people very willing to exit their vehicles in order to greet them.

  Christelle, Maili, and Charlotte were quickly surrounded by a court of Cavenray, Sir Anthony and Lord Weston, but Mr. Cole was not yet to be seen. Neither was Dr. Craig. Christelle tried not to look for him.

  She noticed the three musketeers—as Charlotte had coined them—were talking quietly amongst themselves. What were they about?

  Out of curiosity, she slowly moved towards them, even though it was shameless to eavesdrop.

  “He is most familiar, but I cannot place him at the moment,” Lord Harris was saying.

  “I cannot agree with Seamus. I find the moustache rather fetching,” Lord Craig remarked.

  “If only I could see him freshly shaven, perhaps it might come to me.” Harris was still pondering, it seemed.

  “I might enjoy obliging you on that,” her father countered.

  Christelle looked up to see the object of their amusement was Mr. Cole, and he was walking directly towards their group. Did the man have a desire to die? She prayed her father would not cut him in front of everyone.

  Beyond where Mr. Cole stood, however, was Dr. Craig, and the feeling of warmth she had felt at the theatre rushed over her at the sight of him. It was quickly replaced with a burn of jealousy, caused by seeing him speaking to another woman and observing him smiling down at her. She should look away, but she could not.

  “Are you to join our party tomorrow evening?” the Duke of Cavenray asked, as his gaze followed hers to Dr. Craig.

  “To Vauxhall? Yes, I believe so,” she managed to respond.

  “Would that be Dr. Craig, the friendly cousin who squired you about unchaperoned before the revelation?” he asked pointedly, yet still in his lazy drawl.

  Her eyes darted to his, and she saw some depth of understandin
g. He held out his arm to her. “Shall I introduce you to Lady Gordon, whom Dr. Craig is speaking to? She is the widow of the late Colonel Gordon.”

  As they began to stroll towards Dr. Craig, the sounds of hooves thundering along the carriage way caused everyone’s heads to jerk up in alarm. A high-perch phaeton, drawn by matched greys, had shied dramatically away from the crowd and was heading towards the Serpentine at high speed, with a young boy on the box.

  Christelle stood watching as Dr. Craig took off after it, being the closest, followed shortly by Yardley, Lord Craig, and Harris. She wanted to scream, but her voice was paralyzed as she watched the horror unfold before her eyes. The lady who Dr. Craig had been speaking to was screaming. The horses were panic-stricken and running at a full gallop, and Dr. Craig’s long legs strode to cut them off at an angle as they headed towards him. He went for them with one great leap to grab the reins, and managed to catch hold of something. But his feet were being dragged along and a huge cloud of dust was being stirred up as they neared the Serpentine.

  Christelle followed with the mass of people who moved quickly to follow the chase and catch a glimpse of the runaway phaeton. When the crowd arrived, the conveyance had been stopped at the edge of the water, and the horses were helping themselves to a drink. Dr. Craig hurled himself up into the seat and climbed back down with a small boy in his arms.

  The boy lay limp in his hold and blood covered his face. His mother was screaming hysterically about her child while Dr. Craig and Lord Craig placed him gently on the ground and began to examine him. Lady Craig tried to comfort her by reassuring her that both men were trained physicians. Yardley and Harris attempted in vain to control the crowds as everyone stared in dread of the feared verdict. Christelle felt helpless.