by Sally Orr
“No, not at all.” Meta nodded but could not say anything more.
He winked at her. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit today? Does it concern your lovely sister and that misunderstanding involving George’s field guide?”
“Yes, it does. But I don’t think your son will be too happy about my news. You see, even though he was hesitant, he did his utmost to explain the situation to my sister’s suitor. Yesterday, we were both delighted when James admitted that he regretted his mistake of calling off and would resume his addresses to Lily the next day. Only now Lily has decided against him.” She sighed deeply. “She is not normally a stubborn person, so her position is inexplicable to me. Tell me, has George experienced other problems from the publication of his field guide? Or are my sister’s difficulties an isolated incident?”
“You must forgive George on that score. His acerbic charm has given him more success with the fairer sex than a man of his age ought to have.” He sighed. “His stated motivation for publishing the field guide was money for an expensive model bridge he was building at the time. But his real reason was more a young man’s pride, a lark, a cock crowing, showing off his familiarity with females to his friends. In a word, he is spoiled by attentions form the fairer sex. I am glad—and quite surprised actually—that he exerted himself to consider the feelings of others, like your sister, not to mention set the situation to rights before it escalated out of proportion to reality and harmed his reputation irreversibly. I hope this can be resolved to everyone’s satisfaction and, in the end, teach him a valuable lesson.”
The drawing room door opened with a bang. A whoosh of people entered the room, including George Drexel followed by Mrs. Morris and a housemaid. George Drexel was soaking wet and covered in mud. His dark hair appeared matted on his head, dried muck streaked across his cheeks, and wet mud stained all of his clothes. He had no coat, his waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his shirt was rolled up to the elbows. He seemed in a trance, because he failed to register her presence. Instead, he careened by everyone and collapsed on the sofa, his arm flopping to the floor.
“A leak?” the older man asked, running forward to attend to his son.
The younger Mr. Drexel nodded. “Water started coming from two of the poling boards in number twelve. I thought the straw had contained the leak, but suddenly four boards shot out of the frame and a massive amount of water entered the tunnel. It was foul water too, full of London sewage, a veritable liquid privy. Several men cast up their breakfast at the smell. We’ve fought it for at least ten hours.” He turned his head to address his father. “Duff even went down in the diving bell to pull sandbags over the leak.”
“What about the new chain? Was there enough time to test it properly? I hope Mr. Duff has survived and is not left behind in a watery grave.”
“The chain was tested by lowering the bell once before Duff entered. I would have preferred a more thorough test, but under the circumstances, Duff being the only man on the barge at the time with experience going down in the bell, he decided not to wait. The straw and clay bags have finally stopped the water for the moment, so I returned home.” His head fell back on the sofa, and he breathed heavily. “I must return soon.”
Another housemaid entered the room, carrying a large tray full of towels and a bowl of hot water. Mrs. Morris attempted to remove his soiled, wet shirt by pulling his torso upward, but his eyes had closed, and he turned into a dead weight.
Meta quickly stepped forward in front of his father, grabbed him by the collar, and with the combined efforts of Mrs. Morris, pulled him up into a sitting position. “We must help you, sir. Your wet waistcoat and shirt must be removed, for your own health.” For a brief second, the stench from the Thames overwhelmed her, but she held her breath in intervals to make the odor more tolerable.
He opened his eyes; a flicker of recognition brightened them for an instant. “What in the devil are you doing here? Be off, madam. I have no time today for your tomfoolery.” He groaned as Mrs. Morris lifted his arm to remove his shirt.
Together the two women removed his soaking wet boots, shirt, and trousers. In unison, they grabbed wet towels and started to wash him. While Mrs. Morris gently brushed his face free of dirt, Meta lifted his left arm and began to wipe it clean. His forearms were a mixture of brown dirt mingled with a light covering of dark hair. Once the dirt was gone, for some reason, with each stroke of the cloth, she smoothed the hair into an orderly direction.
Frankly, his arm fascinated her, from the strength of the muscle underneath his hair to the bulge in his wrist where those large, active hands began. She marveled at the thought of these very hands holding back the mighty Thames for ten hours. She inhaled and started to clean his fingers. Her attention fixed on their strength and dexterity, delicate enough to create intricate detailed models, yet possessing the power to keep pressure on a poling board for hours.
She recognized her unnecessary admiration of his arm and hands, so much to her disappointment, heat stole across her cheeks. The room seemed unnecessarily warm. Thankfully, everyone focused on getting the mud removed, so they failed to notice her wavering attention. That is, until she discovered him staring at her.
Her admiring glances—oh, he noticed—understood them too.
“Right. Why are you here, madam?”
Of course he noticed. Her mind still swirling in a heated fog of sensuality, she began to babble. “I called to tell you—bad news, I’m afraid—not bad, but—well, disappointing—you see…” She stopped and stared, eyes wide, as he pulled on a new shirt. Her brief glimpse of a broad expanse of chest lightly covered with brown hair caused her to gulp loudly.
He caught her staring. “Stop wasting my time and your time. Do you understand my meaning?”
She looked down at her skirt and nodded, thoroughly chastened.
A housemaid entered with a tray piled with cheese and ham and placed it near him.
“Thank you,” he said, addressing his servants. “I don’t know what my family would do without you ladies.”
His father moved to the opposite seat next to the fire. “How long do you plan to stay?”
“I’ll be off in a minute. The next soil samples should be available within the hour, and I must inspect them. Hopefully we are still digging through the layer of blue clay.”
His father nodded.
“Leave? Again?” Meta failed to understand the urgency. All she recognized was the danger. “Is all this tunneling worth the exhaustion and possible illness from foul water?”
Both men stared at her as though she spoke in a foreign language.
“Madam,” George Drexel said, “I have done what you asked in regard to your sister. Now, if you please, take leave. Go embroider something, read someone else’s diary, or discuss ribbons with Miss Susanna.”
She must tell him about the picnic before she left, even though it meant poking a stick at the bear. “I must tell you that the Learned Ladies Society is interested in buying shares in the tunnel at the next issue. They plan to gather at the site next week for a picnic, so they can see the amazing tunnel for themselves. If all goes well, the ladies have significant connections that could benefit the tunnel in ways you cannot imagine. I came today to tell you about this. Although no promises of support can be guaranteed.”
He turned to his father. “Learned ladies are having a picnic. How exciting. What gentleman could possibly resist.”
“Now son, we all know you are clearly exhausted, but Mrs. Russell is only trying to help you.” The father addressed her, “Please, Mrs. Russell. When a leak happens, the entire tunnel project is at stake. He must return as soon as possible, because every hand is needed. Return another day, and I’m certain he’d be delighted to hear your news.”
Meta watched the bear inside him grow: his eyes narrowed, and his chest expanded.
“Right, Mrs. Morris, would you kindly show Mrs. Russell the door. I’m incapable at the moment. Good-bye, madam.”
“But—”
>
“I have important work to do. Shove off!”
“Of course,” she said and hurried out of the room.
Nine
Meta confronted her sister. “Admit it, you love James. Stop pretending you don’t wish to go to the picnic just because he will be there.”
Lily’s countenance grew mulish. “No, perhaps not love, but I do not hate him either. I question whether I’m ready to spend several hours with him staring at me, recrimination written across his face, without me being able to throw something at him.”
“Ah, maybe he agreed to join us at the picnic because he too wishes to see the tunnel, not stare at you. Everyone in London seems to be talking about the tunnel, and James has met Mr. Drexel, so he has reasons to be curious. Don’t worry. I won’t let him pester you during the picnic. Promise.” An easy promise to make. After James learned of Lily’s refusal to reconsider his suit, he left the room without saying a word. During the weeks that preceded the picnic, he made no move to contact her in any manner. Today would be the first time they would be in each other’s company for an extended length of time. She had no doubt that James would behave like a gentleman. Lily’s behavior, on the other hand, was more uncertain.
Meta glanced out of the salon’s tall windows. “It promises to be a wonderful day to spend across the river. The sun is out, and we’ll picnic in the gardens of St. Mary’s. It is only a few steps from there to the tunnel workings.”
Fitzy yelled, “James’s carriage is here.” He bounded out the front door.
Meta grabbed her straw bonnet and tied the cornflower blue ribbons under her chin. “Come on.” She snatched Lily’s bonnet and fixed it on her sister’s head, pulling the pink ribbons tight with a tug.
“You owe me a favor in return, Meta.”
“Indeed I do.” She bent to peek under her sister’s poke bonnet. “But what do you owe me if you enjoy yourself?”
Lily’s face broke into a feisty smile, the first one to appear naturally since her engagement ended. “You’re right. I’ll enjoy watching James closely so that I may put down his actions as a character in a novel one day—the wishy-washy lover.”
Meta sighed. “You will do no such thing. Cheer up, for Fitzy’s sake, if not mine.”
Lily tossed her head; the mulish expression on her face returned.
The family soon settled into the carriage for the short journey to Lady Sarah’s house in Royston Square. Once all the guests, their carriages, and the carriages carrying Lady Sarah and several members of the Learned Ladies Society were assembled, they all headed for the tunnel. An hour later, quite a number of bonnets poked out of the carriage windows as the ladies, and James, passed the tunnel site in Rotherhithe. They passed the inn, The Spread Eagle and Crown, and disembarked next to the gardens of St. Mary’s church. The grooms and footmen stayed behind to set up the picnic things, while their party walked the hundred or so feet to the tunnel location.
Meta had previously confirmed that Mr. Drexel would be at the works today to receive the Learned Ladies, but she had no idea how he would receive her personally. Perhaps the presence of so many ladies would make him behave with all politeness and keep the bear in hibernation. Moreover, the presence of potential new donors might bring out his natural charm around ladies. She knew him well enough to understand the charmer was not his normal habit but one employed only when needed. Her pulse quickened. She eagerly looked forward to the skillful charmer plying his wiles upon her friends—an amusing spectacle, nothing more.
As their party joined the crowd of spectators, Meta explained to her friends what she knew about the tunnel from Mr. Drexel. She pointed out that the fifty-foot-wide iron cylinder was built on the ground and then lowered by removing the dirt from under it until it reached its current position. They walked to the far side next, directly opposite the spot where the lateral tunneling began under the river. At this location their party could look down and marvel at the twelve men, standing three men above each other, on the giant shield.
Fitzy recognized Mr. Drexel in the crowd first and called out to him.
Mr. Drexel looked up to their party and waved.
Fitzy scampered down to address him directly. They chatted for several minutes before Fitzy ran back up the steps. Her brother ignored her and approached James instead. “Drexel asked that I invite you down to see the workings. He expects that since you are an engineer by inclination, if not by practice, you would enjoy seeing some of the tunnel’s features up close.”
Meta wondered if the invitation included them all. “Did he invite—”
“He expressly said no females,” Fitzy informed them, lifting his chin. He waved his arm for James to follow him down into the pit.
The two climbed down the staircase and conversed with Mr. Drexel.
Ignoring her irritating envy, Meta could not help but speculate. Did the men discuss James’s broken engagement, the possibility of additional funding, the workings of the tunnel, or all three? Whatever the answer, it vexed her that she could not be there too. By the time the gentlemen and Fitzy climbed up to greet their party, she had reached the end of describing everything she knew about the tunnel to her friends.
The group then strolled to the church’s grounds to enjoy their picnic.
Mr. Drexel greeted her with lifted eyebrows and a satisfied smirk. “Madam.”
He must have known how eager she was to see the great shield up close, so he probably withheld the invitation on purpose to punish her.
She answered his greeting with a toss of her head. “I am disappointed we were not allowed down into the pit. Especially, since I know other ladies have been given a tour of the shield.”
He laughed and reached for her hand. Then he stared into her eyes until she met his gaze, and the wicked smile broke out. “In regard to our last meeting, my mind was focused entirely on the leak, but that is no excuse for my rude behavior at the time. I apologize.”
She tugged her hand free. “Yes…of course…I interrupted… Bad timing…sorry.” She turned away.
He laughed again. “Please do not hop away on my account.”
She spun to formally address him. “Sir, let me make the introductions, and then we can all take our seats.”
After everyone had been introduced, they sat on oilcloths with several picnic baskets spread out over a large lawn.
Meta chose a seat surrounded by her friends.
Mr. Drexel made a motion to sit next to her, so Clara graciously—albeit wearing something of a smirk—moved to another position. He lowered himself to the ground next to her, almost touching. “This grass is a perfect spot for rabbits to frolic. Don’t you think so, Mrs. Russell?”
She gulped, then glanced up. “I hope this brilliant sunlight does not prove unbearable.”
He chuckled.
Keeping herself busy making sure everyone had the food they needed, she tried to ignore him just inches away. She failed, of course. Instead, she caught every movement, chuckle, and word, a heightened awareness of him that left her unsettled and breathing faster than normal.
As they ate their lunch, she noticed James had become reticent after his conversation in the pit with Mr. Drexel. James glanced one or two times at Lily, but nothing more. James sat next to Clara, one of the unmarried ladies of the Learned Ladies Society. Did James and Mr. Drexel discuss Lily’s refusal down in the pit? Perhaps the two were now scheming to devise a clever, masculine plan to change her mind. Without drawing notice, she watched Lily’s reaction to this event. Her sister had noticed James’s attentions, since she appeared more interested in his conversation than the one she was engaged in with Grizel sitting next to her.
Mr. Drexel quickly ate his cold meat and bread, likely eager to return to the tunnel work. When finished, he stood and addressed the group, while the rest of their party continued to eat. “I would like to thank Lady Sarah”—he nodded—“and all of you for visiting our site.”
The party briefly clapped.
“Today I have h
ad the privilege of being introduced to ladies of great intelligence, and from what I understand from Mrs. Russell, benevolent ladies, as well. I”—he focused on Meta—“commend you all.”
She instantly turned away, not wanting to blush or reveal that personal confidences existed between them.
Lady Sarah explained their purpose. “Yes, our little group does our best to house London’s governesses when they are no longer employed. It is a small effort, but a much needed one, I can assure you.”
“I do not doubt it,” Mr. Drexel said, oozing deference and charm. His perfectly tailored pepper-colored coat and shiny black boots presented his irresistible masculine figure to advantage, as confirmed by many appreciative stares from almost all of the Learned Ladies.
Grizel provided further explanations in a clipped Scottish accent. “We have also come at the request of our dear member Meta to see for ourselves if your tunnel is a worthy project. If so, we plan to speak to our husbands and fathers about supporting your endeavors.”
He paused. Then he retook his seat and leaned back, resting on one arm. With his great height lessened, his casual attitude added to his appearance of amiability. “Thank you, madam. What kind of support did you have in mind?”
While Grizel and several others discussed shares and projected profits, his two fingers on his right hand “hopped” through the grass close to her arm.
She ignored him.
The two-finger rabbit then hopped on top of her hand resting on the grass. His two fingers easily slid into the space between hers. She jerked her hand away.
