Gabriel did no more than nod and try to wait out the silence, but could see he was embarrassing her. No woman in her condition needed that. “Your loyalty is admirable, ma’am.”
That said, there was nothing he could do but wait for Wilton’s return, or come back when he knew the captain was again in residence.
Before Madeline could accompany him to the door, there was a great crashing sound from overhead. She pressed a hand to her stomach as if to calm her baby but did not look more than slightly startled herself. For his part, the burst of anxiety he felt at the unexpected noise was as familiar as it was frightening.
He hurried into the hall, Mrs. Wilton following at a more decorous pace, only to hear bellowing calls for help from a floor or two above.
“Those boys will not taste a tart for a week,” she exclaimed as she began to make her way up the stairs.
“May I, Mrs. Wilton?” Gabriel asked, pointing up.
“Oh yes, would you, please? There is the chance that someone is truly hurt, and I do not move as quickly as I did a few months ago.”
It was not hard to find his way to the room where the accident had happened. One had only to follow the commotion. Well-chosen swear words. Yells of “Hurry!” and the final “I’m stuck. We’ll not have tarts for a week. You had better run.”
“I’ll sneak some to you,” the other called as he, by the sound of his fading voice, ran away as directed.
Gabriel slowed his run and pushed carefully through the door. It was the nursery, in the process of being painted. That project was now in ruins. Two ladders were knocked down. A tin of paint lay half-tipped. Not yet spilled. Gabriel righted it, then moved it to a corner. Away from the jumble of ladders and boards.
It appeared to him that one of the boys had been trying to walk a board that connected the ladders. It had given way, taking the circus clown with it. The boy was not so much stuck as trapped in the broken boards and ladder steps. When he saw that Gabriel was not his mother, he brightened.
“Oh, sir, if you will help me up, I can escape.”
Gabriel folded his arms. “Then who would be blamed for this? Me?”
“Oh no, sir. We can blame the rabbit. If you let him out of the cage he will make an amazing mess.”
Heaven help Madeline Wilton. She lived surrounded by a domestic battlefield with the two boys about. He helped the trapped one stand and let him run. Gabriel opened the door of the rabbit cage and scooped up the white bundle just as Mrs. Wilton came to the door.
“No one is here,” he said.
“If you are going to make a habit of lying, then I will refuse to give you any more tarts.”
“I am sorry,” he said, trying not to laugh and failing. “He told me to tell you that the rabbit must have gotten out.”
She raised her eyes to heaven and then nodded. “How old are you, Lord Gabriel?”
“Old enough to understand that no tarts for a week is a terrible punishment.”
“If they had spilled the paint, I truly would enforce it.” She went through a connecting door. Gabriel trusted that the boys were long gone. Putting the rabbit back in the cage, Gabriel followed her into what he saw was the schoolroom.
There was a large table and chairs. Maps on the wall. Books tidily arranged on the shelf. A table in the corner where someone was designing and cutting out the pattern for a wooden puzzle. The scent of slates, chalk and paint was part of the ambience. Even the way the light came through the window reminded him of his schoolroom days.
He turned to the window, where Madeline was checking inside a large chest. As he moved Gabriel saw something that slowed his world to a stop.
It was a dawn view of Le Havre. He recognized the first light coming up behind the city, casting the buildings into shadow. The church spires were black arrows against the gray sky. The water was a mirror broken into pieces, reflecting no more than the colorless dawn. It was the same sight he had seen the morning he, Charlotte and the children had finally left France.
He walked closer. It was not a drawing or charcoal, but rather done in paper, layers and layers of paper, some fine, some heavier, a few bright white, others more cream and even gray, cut in amazing and intricate detail, each sheet then pressed on top of another so that varying degrees of light shone through when it was put up against a window. It was the size of a pane of glass, and a work of art.
He remembered Charlotte’s intent gaze that morning. How he had turned around because he was afraid someone was following them. It was this scene she had been studying. Memorizing. Charlotte Parnell was an artist.
“I do not think they climbed out the window,” Madeline said. “Oh, that is an amazing piece, is it not?” she said when she looked back to see what he was studying so intently.
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s called a cut-paper transparency, a kind of silhouette. This is a sophisticated form of it, actually.”
“It is far more complex than the portrait silhouettes I’ve seen.” As he spoke he considered how to find out the name of the artist. “Does he do portrait silhouettes as well?”
“Yes, she does, for the artist is a woman, you see.”
“Yes, of course,” he said, doing his best to hide his elation. “There is a delicacy about this work that few men would have the patience for.” Nonsense, but his whole goal was to keep her talking about it.
“She is a truly talented woman.”
“Where does she live? I imagine that Meryon would love to have one done of his wife.”
Madeline had walked toward the door. She stopped her progress and straightened. That was the moment she realized that she was about to give away Charlotte’s secret.
She turned to face him, speaking slowly, as though she were talking her way through a word maze.
“She only works for friends, my lord. I can contact her and find out if she will consider a commission for the duke.”
Now who is lying? He did not say it, accepting this setback, settling for the conventional “Thank you, I would appreciate it.”
If she was surprised by his lack of persistence, she did not show it. “My lord, I must find the boys. Tying them to a chair may be the only way to quiet them. I had forgotten how much I depend on their tutor to keep them occupied.”
“Let me take a moment to right the ladder. It could be that they will come back. If they do, I will bring them down to you.”
Now she did look tired. Not in the eyes, but in the way she drew a deep breath and her shoulders sagged a little. “Thank you.”
“You are welcome,” he said as he headed toward the connecting door and she for the stairs. Gabriel righted the first ladder and considered the rabbit.
He picked up the rabbit cage and walked back into the schoolroom, scanning the walls as he passed through, thinking of himself at thirteen or fourteen and wondering where they could hide.
Really, there was only one place their mother had not looked. He went to a cupboard built into the wall and pulled the door open. The boys fell out amid sneezing and groans. How had they managed to fit in such a small space? No matter, he was the one who appeared a genius.
“How did you know where we were, sir?”
“Yes, we must find a way to make it more secure.”
“I was twelve once too, you know.”
“I’m fourteen,” the taller one said, insult edging his words.
“Are you?” Gabriel asked, pretending shock. “Your behavior is not what I would expect from a boy so old.”
The two looked at each other and shrugged.
“Surely there are things that interest you more than chasing hens and ruining the nursery.”
“We want to go to the lake, but mother says we may not. We have nothing to do.”
“What is at the lake this time of year?”
“Nothing,” one answered.
“Ducks, we like to look at the ducks,” the other said.
“Girl ducks?” he asked.
They could not tell if he was j
oking, which was exactly the way he wanted it. He’d bet the rabbit he was holding that girls came down to feed the ducks every day. “If you are not permitted to go to the lake, why not practice your fencing?”
“We do not know how to fence. Our tutor wears spectacles,” the shorter one said, as though that was an explanation.
Gabriel was only half attending, which was never wise when dealing with children. How could he work his way to the silhouette of Le Havre? And what did it say about him that he did not have a qualm about using the boys this way?
“Have you tried your hand at cutting silhouettes?” he asked as he put the rabbit back in its hutch.
They shook their heads as though held by the same puppet master, eyeing him as though he were crazed. He turned to look at the view of Le Havre again, unable to hold back a smile. “Do you know who did that one? It is quite impressive.” Gabriel heard movement. “Do not touch that latch,” he said and then turned around. He saw Burgess—he was fairly certain that was his name—step away from the rabbit cage, his hands behind his back. He and his brother exchanged a glance that would warm a tutor’s heart. Yes, Gabriel thought, let them think that I have eyes that see everywhere.
“What was your mother thinking to allow your tutor to leave? She was right, you do not deserve tarts. For a week at least,” he said in his best imitation of an adult. “Tell me,” he said without stopping for a breath, “who did that city silhouette?”
“Miss Gilray,” they answered promptly.
Charlotte, I have found you.
27
ONE HUGE STEP in the right direction. How many more steps would it take before he could see her again? “Does she live nearby?”
“Yes, sir. Her brothers come here to share lessons with our tutor.”
The other spoke at the same time. “She lives near the village, in the cottage Mama grew up in. We have this house now, so we do not need it. This one is much closer to the lake. Miss Gilray lives on the other side.”
He could see water out the window, a short walk even by city standards. “That close?”
“Yes, sir. You have to go around the lake to reach it.”
“Do you know if Miss Gilray is in residence?”
“Yes, sir, she is. Mama went to call on her yesterday. Or was it two days ago?”
He wanted to leave the boys behind, race down the stairs, find the lake and Charlotte. Guilt for his betrayal of Madeline weighed him down just enough that he found himself offering to teach the boys the basics of fencing. It would give him an excuse to be in the neighborhood for a while. The basics could take a day or two years.
When they reacted with crazed excitement he promised he would speak to their mother on the way out. In the meantime, they were to clean up the rest of the nursery or he would run them through with the sword.
He found Madeline at her husband’s desk, half-asleep, her neck at such an awkward angle that he picked up a pillow from a chair.
The movement must have awakened her, for she jerked upright and smiled a tired apology. Before she could beg his pardon, he handed her the pillow.
He made his good-byes as quickly as he could. Madeline seemed appreciative of his order for the cleanup, but sent one of the servants to surpervise. His offer to tutor the boys while their regular teacher was away brightened her tired eyes considerably.
“Do you have any idea what you will be taking on, my lord? Honesty compels me to ask.”
“Boyhood is not so far in my past that I cannot recall what works and what does not. I think I will start with fencing lessons.”
When her eyes widened in alarm, he raised his hand to stall her dismay.
“With blunted tips. I will have them fashion head gear and protective vests. They will not come to any more harm than they do chasing hens.”
Madeline not only welcomed him as a tutor, but offered him a room with them. If he would spend one night in the inn in the village, she would have a room ready for him on the morrow.
Her genuine relief at his promise to return the next day eased his conscience for using the boys to further his own ends. How would the captain react? Gabriel was sure that his wife had considered that.
He rode out the drive and headed south.
Less than a quarter mile away he passed the lake. He kept on and at the end of short path saw a tidy house with a tightly thatched roof, set back from the road. It was two stories, with a tower to one side.
There were flowering bushes along the lane and trees that had been planted long ago and randomly on the grass. The house itself was surrounded by more greenery, looking almost as though it had sprouted on the spot just as the plants had. There was a settled feeling about it. Not elegant, but welcoming in the way his nurse’s lap had been in childhood.
He stopped when the house was fully in sight, and drew a long, uneasy breath. What was he going to say? He had been so focused on finding her that he had not paused to consider what he would do when he did.
Was this, as Jess had suggested, about nothing more than his masculine pride? Or was he afraid of what he would find when he saw her again?
His horse danced, sensing his unease. Gabriel settled him, wondering if he should wait until tomorrow to call. It was close to evening now, the sun moving more deeply into the west. It would give him time to sort through his reasoning. To hell with that, he thought. He wasn’t some boy longing for a romantic liaison. He was, in fact, a man who wanted some answers.
“CLAIRE, DEAR, THE KITTY MUST go to its mama now.” Lynette stooped down so that she could see the child’s face. “Let her go, please.”
Claire was sitting on the front step, cuddling the kitten despite its inclination to leave. She released it with a pout. “I love her, and Peter said that we have to give some of the kittens away. Not this one. I named her Marie. I want to keep her. I will not let her go to an orphanage!”
“We will ask Mama, but I am sure it will be all right to keep one and, of course, we will find good homes for the others.” Then everyone in the village would think they were daft. Who needed more cats?
The orphanage was Claire’s constant refrain. Lynette understood perfectly, and not only because they had been through various versions of this with the others.
Last night Claire had cried because she could not eat all her peas and was afraid they would have to “go to the orphanage.” Mama’s solution had been to feed them to the dog. That had satisfied Claire for almost an entire day. Was the little thing tired? Or was it hunger that reminded her of the past?
Claire pulled on Lynette’s skirt.
“Is that Monsieur Papa coming to call?”
“Who?” Lynette looked down the drive, now in deep shadow. She could see nothing.
“Monsieur Papa. The man who was with us on the boat from France.”
Gabriel Pennistan? Now she could see a man on a horse at the far end of the drive. No one’s eyes were so good that they could make out who it was from this distance. He was not moving, going so far as to still his restive horse rather than come closer.
A man has been asking for Mrs. Strauss. Wilton’s warning words came back to her, as well as her mother’s mention of another incident that occurred a few days before she returned from France. This time it was a letter addressed to her mother asking if she could please advise the writer of her daughter’s—Mrs. Strauss’s—whereabouts for a “business suggestion of mutual benefit.”
Mama had burned the letter. Now all she could recall was that the name was unpronounceable. So typical of Mama to think and still do the wrong thing. Lynette was sure if she could have seen the letter, she would have been able to find some clue as to who had sent it and why.
Even as the memories flitted through her head, she patted Claire on the back. “Mama is in the sitting room. Would you ask her to come here? Then you go to Cook and tell her I said to give you an apple. It is still a long time until supper.”
Lynette watched the motionless rider while she waited, stepping to a shaded part of the
entry, where she could not be easily seen. It was the first time she had felt the need for protection at home.
Mama came quickly enough.
“Where are the boys?” Lynette asked, still watching the man on horseback.
“Marcus took them to the old Norman watchtower. They have a picnic with them and will be back before dark.”
“They walked?” she asked, still watching the man watch them.
“Yes. It is not more than three miles.”
Lynette could feel her mother move closer to her.
“My eyes are not as good as yours, Lynette.” Her mother stepped down into the drive as if that would improve her vision. “Do you see someone?”
“Yes, a man. I am not sure if he is lost. Or, Mama, could it be someone looking for Mrs. Strauss?”
Her mother burst into action. “Come with me now, Lynette,” she said, turning so quickly her cap would have fallen off if it had not been pinned securely. “I’ve thought about what to do if this happened when we are home alone. Let’s go inside and close the door and have the maid tell him no one is home.”
Lynette almost laughed, would have if there had been anything funny about her mother’s fear. “No, Mama, we will wait right here and see what he wants. And exactly why are we afraid of someone looking for me as Mrs. Strauss? I broke no laws as Charles’s wife. No laws of man, at least.”
“He broke enough to taint everyone near him, Lynette. I fear that some would blame you for his behavior.”
Even as she spoke, the rider began to move up the drive, toward the two women, standing alone. The mother moved in front of her daughter. Lynette honored the gesture by allowing it. “Go inside, Lynette. I will take care of this.”
“I will be right back, Mama. Do not do anything foolish. Talk to him.” She hurried into the house. She knew exactly where her gun was.
GABRIEL SAW ONLY one woman by the front door and saw that Charlotte was in yet another costume. Was Gilray even her real name? This time she was dressed and made up as an older woman. Padding made her look a welcoming mother, or would have if she were smiling.
How did she change her hair from the brown it had been in France to the blond streaked with gray? Not becoming so much as comfortable. She did not welcome him, but she did not look angry either. Suspicious. Wary. Uncertain. Not qualities he had seen before. He felt awkward, as though confronting a complete stranger. How odd. He had thought some sense of who she was and what they had shared would transcend any costume she wore.
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