The man stared at his hands, the scars from his burns giving the appearance of melted red wax. “The night my father met his fate on the guillotine, I burned down his house. I got too close. Sentiment perhaps. I wished to put certain items into the flames myself.”
“Were you not the cause of your father’s death?”
“I revealed the truth about him to the tribunal; his death was his reward.”
“Reward?”
The spy gave a brittle smile. “He was put to death the same day as that witch, Marie Antoinette. I am sure it gave him a sense of aristocratic pride.”
“Ah, Madame Guillotine,” said his companion wistfully. “Nothing can last forever, but we look forward to a future most bright. Here’s to Napoleon.” The companion raised a teacup.
“Here’s to the reward he provides for information,” countered the man.
“You are not a true believer in the cause.”
“I am a true believer in the power of gold.”
Five
“I cannot believe it. That old warhorse has no intention of leaving the field,” muttered Lady Bremerton, eyeing the passing city streets from the comfort of her carriage.
“Warhorse?” Genie asked, genuinely confused.
“Do not be vulgar, Eugenia,” said Lady Bremerton in clipped accents.
Genie was rendered mute in reply. The day before, they had left Marchford house without meeting with the dowager duchess. As soon as Aunt Cora heard that the dowager had used her time while abandoned at church to acquire a companion, she proposed a return to Marchford house. Louisa, who moments earlier appeared to be in fine health, suddenly developed a megrim and bowed out of the social call. Genie now understood the sudden illness. She was beginning to feel a little sick herself.
“The dowager must be made to leave,” continued her aunt. “I will not rest until I see Louisa mistress of the Marchford household.”
“So we are going to ask the dowager duchess to leave?” asked Genie, forgetting her aunt hardly needed her input to engage in conversation.
“No, of course not. How can you be so dense? We are going to ask her help in finding a solution to your unfortunate behavior before the queen.” Lady Bremerton smoothed her skirts. “And hopefully find a way to depose the dowager while we do it.”
The coach stopped in front of Marchford house, saving Genie from trying to find a reply to such a speech. Genie followed her aunt out of the coach and silently mouthed the words “thank you” to Sam the groomsman, who gave her a small bow and mouthed the words “you’re welcome” in reply.
A hack pulled up behind their coach and a young woman hopped out of the conveyance unaided, reaching back inside to pull out a bandbox. The driver demanded his fare, and the woman put the bandbox down by her feet so she could pull out her coin purse. While her attention was so occupied, Genie noticed a small urchin sneaking up under the wheels of a hack.
Having helped raise two younger brothers, Genie was wary and, without a thought, stepped into the street around to the other side of the hack. The diminutive thief grabbed the bandbox and ducked back under the hack, where Genie, with the experience of grabbing errant children only an elder sister can have, neatly snatched the culprit by the arm.
The urchin hollered with ferocity and twisted savagely, but Genie’s experienced fingers held him fast. She marched the young thief, still holding the prized bandbox, around the hack and presented him to the woman.
“My bandbox!” exclaimed the woman. “Thank you, oh, you have no idea, thank you so much.” The young woman clutched the bandbox to her like a priceless treasure.
“Genie, what are you doing?” asked Aunt Cora, whose shocked expression dampened Genie’s triumph at having caught a thief. “Someone take hold of this vile thing and present him to the constable. He’ll soon find his end at the Old Bailey.”
The small child in Genie’s grasp stopped wiggling and looked up at her with wide eyes. She bent down to look the child in the eye. He was in desperate need of a bath, barefoot, and wearing clothes better suited for the trash heap. Whatever you did for one of the least of these… She recalled the verse from Matthew 25:40 about serving God by showing mercy to others.
“What is your name?” asked Genie.
The brown eyes grew wider still. “Jem,” whispered the child.
“Do you know that stealing is very wrong?”
“I jus’ does as he tells me.”
“Who tells you?” asked Genie.
“Please, miss, let go a’ me. Old Bailey will hang me sure for nickn’ the box.” A single tear ran a streak down the grimy boy’s face.
Genie shivered at the cold reality of the child’s words. Surely they would not hang a child for theft, yet London was an unfamiliar and harsh place. Her aunt was busy giving instructions to the groom to find the constable.
Genie surveyed the sniffling urchin, her sympathy heightened by the young thief’s pitiful condition. He must surely qualify as being the “least” of the entirety of London. “You must never steal again, Jem. You promise?”
“Aye, milady, I swear!”
“You are a good boy, Jem,” whispered Genie. “See to it you act like one. Now run!” Genie let go of the young miscreant who bolted across the street and disappeared into an alley.
“Oh, catch him, he’s getting away,” called her aunt.
“I’m sorry. He slipped away,” said Genie.
The groom gave chase but returned empty-handed.
“What a shame he could not be brought to justice,” said Lady Bremerton. She turned to walk up the stairs to the Marchford mansion, and both Genie and the young lady followed her.
“Are you also visiting the Duchess of Marchford?” Genie asked the lady with the bandbox.
“Yes,” she replied. “I am Penelope Rose.” She stood tall and had a direct look about her. Her hair was brown and pulled back into a serviceable knot. Her features were unremarkable, candid but plain. She wore a brown spencer over a blue gown, both of which were clean, neatly pressed, but lacking in fashion or adornment. The bandbox she held had clearly seen years of use. Her overall appearance was one of an efficient governess.
“Miss Rose?” Lady Bremerton turned and gave Penelope a critical glance. “So you are the companion. I see.”
Genie winced internally at her aunt’s superior tone.
“Yes, I met Her Grace yesterday,” said Penelope. She answered directly, without any hint at being cowed by Lady Bremerton’s attempted set-down.
Genie gave Penelope a smile. “I am Genie Talbot. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
They all were ushered into the house and their coats were taken by an efficient footman. An attempt was made to relieve Miss Rose of her bandbox, but she preferred to keep the box herself. Perhaps the near loss of the object left Miss Rose wary, or perhaps she had hidden something within of great value; Genie could only wonder as they were led to the drawing room by the formidable butler.
“Ungrateful whelp!” cried the muffled voice of the Dowager Duchess of Marchford from the other side of the closed parlor door.
The butler stopped, and the whole party stood still listening for a moment.
“Devious child. He grows more like his mother every day,” said the duchess, her voice slicing through the cracks of the parlor door.
The butler turned and attempted to move the party of ladies elsewhere, and indeed, Genie was uncomfortable eavesdropping on what must be a private conversation. But Lady Bremerton’s interest had been piqued and she held her ground in the corridor.
“How could he do this to me?” continued the duchess. “Unheard of in all of Christendom is a boy more ungrateful, more devious, more, more… and spineless! Has he the courage to say this to my face? No!”
“Madame, please.” The butler again attempted to move the party down the hall, but short of being physically removed, Lady Bremerton refused to budge.
“Nonsense, Antonia is my dearest friend. I must see her in her time of
need,” said Lady Bremerton. But she made no effort to either leave the hall or enter the room, and instead waited eagerly to hear what the dowager might say next.
Genie glanced back at Penelope, who was still grasping her bandbox, her eyebrows knit tightly together. She gave a quick look behind her, as if considering making a run for it. Genie considered joining her if she did.
“Treachery is what this is,” said the dowager in seething accents. “Shall this be borne? It shall not! He has—”
“Your Grace!” cried the butler, opening the door to stop his mistress. “The Countess of Bremerton, Miss Talbot, and Miss Rose.”
The Dowager Duchess of Marchford froze, her eyes blazing. She was alone in the room. Clearly her tirade had been meant for her ears only. Genie wished her aunt had not chosen to intrude and wondered that Town manners could be so very different from country manners.
“Dearest Antonia,” gushed Lady Bremerton, flying into the room like an exquisite bird. “Whatever is the matter?”
“Nothing, my dear. Nothing at all.” The dowager attempted a smile, which came off more as a grimace. “Have you met my new companion?” said the dowager smoothly, as if nothing was amiss. While their attention was diverted she quickly stashed a paper under a book on a side table. “Let me introduce Miss Penelope Rose.”
“Ah, so it is true!” announced Lady Bremerton. “I heard you had done something to give Marchford’s nose a tweak. I do not blame you in the least. I hope for your sake he has given up this notion of forcing you to leave Town before the season is out.”
“I have no intention of leaving Town,” declared the dowager.
“Good for you, hold your ground. I could never be so bold, but I do admire a woman who can. Though one must take care not to appear odious and grasping, but you do it in such a manner, one could never say that of you! Besides, since Louisa and Marchford are not wed, there can be no reason for you to leave yet.”
Genie noted the dowager stiffened at the word “yet.”
“Please do sit down and introduce me to your lovely niece,” said the dowager.
“May I present Miss Eugenia Talbot,” said Lady Bremerton and Genie made a pretty curtsy. Lady Bremerton sat next to the duchess on the settee, while the younger ladies sat across from them, Miss Rose with her bandbox balanced on her knees.
“Are you enjoying the London season, Miss Talbot?” asked the dowager politely. “It must be a great change from the country.”
“Yes, Your Grace, although the countryside is very pretty this time of year. I enjoy calving season and hayrides with my friends. We have such a jolly time. I was sad to miss it, though I suppose London has its own amusements.”
“Hay rides?” The dowager’s eyes widened in horror. The thought that anyone could prefer country living to Town life was inconceivable. “Cora, is it possible your niece prefers sitting in hay and birthing cows to society?”
“No, no!” insisted Lady Bremerton. “She is such a silly girl, always saying the wrong thing. Remember, Genie, to sit and look pretty. Try not to open your mouth and never, under any circumstances, mention hay!”
“Yes, Aunt Cora,” said Genie, duly chastised.
“I heard Miss Talbot was recently presented in court,” said the dowager with a raised eyebrow, and it was Lady Bremerton’s turn to stiffen.
“I had hoped perhaps the news had not spread,” murmured Lady Bremerton.
“My dear Cora, it is all over Town,” replied the dowager. “The Comtesse de Marseille visited me earlier today.”
“Odious gossip! Did she mention the situation?”
“She talked of little else.”
Lady Bremerton wilted gracefully back in her chair and put her hand to her forehead. “This is dreadful. Simply dreadful. The comtesse will spread it like the plague. I have never been more humiliated in all my life. Genie is certainly ruined!”
“You know the Comtesse de Marseille,” said the dowager.
“Yes, I do, that heartless viper! I do not dare throw Genie a ball now. Who would attend? I fear my reputation will be forever tarnished by this affair.”
“What are you going to do?” asked the dowager.
“If she could marry and quickly, but who would marry her now?” asked Lady Bremerton.
Genie’s cheeks burned at being the center of such blunt conversation. “I understand, Aunt Cora, if you would prefer for me to simply return home.”
“Surely this one incident can be overcome,” said Miss Rose, joining the conversation. “I have witnessed far worse breaches of etiquette tolerated in society.”
“But one must first be established in society before one can break the rules,” observed the dowager.
“You also heard of the incident?” Genie asked Miss Rose.
“It was in the papers,” the girl explained with an apologetic shrug.
“It was?” asked Genie. Did not London have anything better to talk about than her terrible gaffe?
Lady Bremerton leaned back in her chair and groaned softly. “No wonder the butler said the papers had not been delivered. My dearest Antonia, I am relying on you to help us!”
“She is young,” said the dowager. “Surely some allowances can be made. If you handle it correctly, she could be known as an original. Of course, she must have an offer soon.”
Lady Bremerton shook her head. “But who? I doubt Genie will be receiving any invitations now.”
“Is she well dowered?” asked the dowager in her straightforward manner.
“She has twenty thousand pounds for a dowry, but I would be willing to add to it if only she could be respectably taken off my hands.”
“Would you now?”
“I could not ask that of you, Aunt Cora,” said Genie. “I think it would be best if I leave for home.”
“Yes, perhaps there is nothing else to do,” sighed Lady Bremerton. “Mayhap Antonia can give you a ride out of London when she moves to the country.”
“I have no plans to leave London,” repeated the dowager crisply.
“Is there nothing that can repair Miss Talbot’s reputation?” asked Penelope.
The dowager gazed at Penelope as if just noticing her. “My dear Miss Rose, you must think me a cruel host, making you carry around that bandbox.”
“Not at all, Your Grace,” said Penelope. “I fear I arrived at an inconvenient time, when you had visitors.”
“Not at all. Let me show you to your room, so you may put away your things. I believe your trunks have already arrived. Cora, dear, do you mind if I step out for a moment?”
Lady Bremerton demurred and the dowager led Miss Rose out of the room. As soon as they had quit the room, Lady Bremerton walked over to the paper the dowager had placed on the side table and snatched it out from underneath the book.
“Aunt Cora!” gasped Genie.
“Quiet! I must find out what had Antonia is such a state. Ah, it is a letter from Marchford.”
“Really, Aunt, I do not think—”
“Good. Do not think. Ah, see here, Marchford has threatened to cut off her funds unless she moves to the country.” Aunt Cora’s eyes gleamed. “Good lad, I did not think he had it in him.”
“Why would he do such a thing?” asked Genie, shocked that a grandson could be so heavy-handed with his own grandmother.
“You do not understand,” said Lady Bremerton, placing the letter back under the book and returning to her seat. “The dowager did not approve of the previous Duchess of Marchford, and while I cannot say I quite approved of the previous duke’s choice of a second wife, the dowager was perfectly beastly to her. Eventually… well, the less said about that the better, but suffice to say, I will not have my daughter treated in such a dreadful manner.”
Genie hoped her aunt would expound on what happened to the previous Duchess of Marchford, but her aunt apparently approved of snooping but not gossip and said nothing more. Genie clasped her hands in front of herself. What had she gotten herself into?
Six
&n
bsp; Penelope Rose followed the duchess to her new bedroom, wondering if her decision to act as the elderly woman’s companion was entirely sound. She had not anticipated being engaged with company quite so soon, and there definitely appeared to be something amiss in the Marchford household.
“Here is your room,” said the dowager, sweeping into a bright room of sky blue and cream. The mahogany poster bed was draped with light blue curtains, which matched the drapes on the window. There was a delicate blue and cream flowered paper on the walls and a dressing table of the same rich mahogany wood. The drapes were pulled back to reveal large windows with a fine view of the garden in the back of the house. It was an elegant room, better than any room Pen had ever had. And it was all hers, not to be shared with one or two of her sisters.
“It is beautiful.” In her excitement over the room, Pen moved her hands around the side of the bandbox, forgetting she had to hold it just so or it would… “Oh!” exclaimed Pen as the bottom ripped out of the box and the contents spilled onto the floor.
“Your box seems to have ripped,” commented the dowager.
Frantically, Pen sank to her knees to snatch her belongings off the floor and pile them next to her on the writing table. Her diary, a stack of letters tied in ribbon, a parcel of her sketches and watercolors even she had to admit were poor, her needlepoint workbag, but where was her book?
Debrett’s Peerage of England had slid across the floor near the dowager. Pen made a quick grab for it, picking it up by the spine. She placed it on the table with the rest of her belongings, but multiple sheets of thin paper fell from the volume to the floor.
“What is this?” The dowager picked up one of the sheets and began to read.
Pen scrambled to grab the other pages and regained her feet, her brain racing to find some rational explanation. “It is nothing. Nothing of importance.”
“Why, it has the name of Mr. Grant with an entry just like out of the peerage, his date of birth, holdings, family, connects, estimated annual income. That is not part of Debrett’s. What is this?” For an elderly lady, she certainly had no difficulty reading the tiny script on the page.
Amanda Forester Page 4
