The Troublesome Apprentice (The Adventures of Xavier & Vic Book 1)

by Liza O'Connor

  “Vic’s bad attitude is rubbing off on you. I’ll have to talk to him about that.”

  “Him?” Davy snorted, causing a small tidal wave to sweep over the rim of the cup and douse his chest with hot mint tea. “Damnation!” He set the drink down and removed his shirt. “Could you just shoot me so I can end my misery?”

  “You aren’t going to let a little cold get you down, now, are you?”

  “I’m sick, sir…sick of the whole thing. I didn’t like it last week when I thought him a boy, and I like it less now that it turns out he’s not. Maybe you should fire me, because I’m thinking I won’t like it tomorrow either.”

  Davy would not let the matter rest until he understood why Vic wished to be a young man rather than a lady. And while Vic had yet to confide in him, Xavier understood her motivations. He could only imagine his horror had he been born female.

  “You were in prison before,” Xavier said.

  Davy frowned.

  Xavier pointed to the tattoo on his arm.

  “I was innocent,” he grumbled.

  “If you say so, I believe it. I suspected you were numbered the day you arrived wanting a job. You never removed your jacket, not even when cleaning up after the horse.”

  “Shoulda known nothing would get by you.”

  “By the end of the first day, I didn’t care if you had served time or not. I could tell you were as honest as they come, and loyal.” Xavier smiled. “And obedient, even when my orders seem to be most unreasonable. I have never regretted judging you by the man you’ve proven yourself to be, instead of the man those markings implied. And if I have any say about the matter, you will work for me until you’re old and useless, at which time I suppose I’ll have to take care of you.” Xavier leaned forward and grabbed his arm. “What I am trying to say, Davy, is you’re the closest thing I have to family and I don’t want you to leave just because I wish to increase my family by one.”

  “But sir, what you’re planning is not right,” Davy protested.

  “What do you think my intentions are?”

  “You intend to allow the young man who is not a man to work here during the day and be your lover at night.”

  Xavier stared at him in shock. He was damn close to the mark. “Well, I’m pretty certain Vic will have to go home most nights, at least until his sister leaves the nest. He’s technically her guardian, and it would appear irresponsible to leave her alone.”

  “Sir, you’ve missed the main problem with your plan. That boy is a lady and deserves to be treated as such.”

  “Just like you deserved to be treated as a criminal?”

  “It’s not even close to the same thing!”

  “Must be to Vic. It must have seemed like a lifetime prison sentence. Do you have any idea exactly how confining and boring the life of a young lady is? Imagine one day you woke up and found yourself inexplicably in a young woman’s body. You are led to the bathing room where you are undressed by others and placed into water, where you are scrubbed by others. Then you are removed from the tub, dried by others, and dressed by others. The process of dressing takes two long hours which includes having a corset tightened to such a degree it cracks a rib and, when you complain, you are hushed and told it is necessary if you wish to appear at your best. Then barely able to breathe, with the corset crushing your chest, you are escorted downstairs and spend countless hours mastering the art of pouring tea. At dinner, you are condemned if you eat more than two bites of the delicious food placed before you. After all, a woman’s waist should be so small a man can place his hands around it and have his fingers touch.”

  Davy’s eyes rounded.

  “After your two bites of dinner, if it is a normal day, you will poke needles into your fingertips sewing completely useless pictures and sayings that will find their way to the attic or to the poor.”

  Davy scratched his head. “I’ve wondered where those things come from.”

  “If there is a ball, the highlight of a month, the time to bathe and dress can be up to eight hours and absolutely no food will be eaten lest you gain another pound. Water will be withheld, to prevent your stomach from bloating. The corset will be pulled so tight, you literally faint from the pain and have to be revived with smelling salts. Servants will pull, tease, and scorch your hair with hot pokers to create elaborate curls and buns. A hat weighing nearly two pounds will be balanced on top of this extravaganza and very long, sharp hat pins will be driven into your head to hold it into place.”

  “I get the picture,” Davy said.

  “But these are your good years, Davy, for at least you have a purpose to all the torture and you can hope, as horrible as life is, once you are married, you will be allowed to read a newspaper, or go outside without an escort, or, God forbid, see a play. Presently you are allowed to do none of these activities because you have to be shielded from the world. You must go to your husband without thoughts, without opinions, without knowledge of any kind, so he can decide what he wishes you to know and think.”

  “Sir, really you can stop now,” Davy insisted. “What you plan for Victor is a thousand times better than the nightmare of being a lady. I had no idea the misses were so abused. They always act so happy when I see them out shopping.”

  “Did you ever laugh when you were in prison?”

  “Not that I recall,” he grumbled.

  “I expect you did. Bet you even enjoyed a race of cockroaches or rats. You learned to accept your environment, but it helped to know it wasn’t forever. For a lady, the prison never ends. They dream of the day they marry, believing it must be better than their current life, and when it isn’t, they learn to accept that as well.

  “Maddy Hamilton had too much intelligence to continue her stay in prison, so she refused to marry. She raised her brother’s daughters the way she had wanted to live her childhood. Thus, when Victor, somewhere along the way, discovered that young gentlemen had a far more enjoyable life than young ladies, Maddy allowed him to choose his own life. I cannot fault her in the least, for Victor is the finest young man I have ever known and I love him, Davy. With all my heart, I love him.”

  “I love him too, sir…er...not exactly as you do, but I’d give my life for him.”

  Xavier smiled and squeezed his arm. “The greatest thing you can do for Victor is to keep his secret. Never let him know you’ve caught on. Treat him no differently than you’ve treated him in the past. Do not see him as a man with numbers, but simply as the man he is. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir, you need me to forget what I discovered today and treat him normal.”

  “Can you do it?”

  “Shouldn’t be a problem for me, but how are you going to manage?”

  “Well, for the next few weeks, I’m going to ignore it as well. However, I don’t think Vic will allow me to remain ignorant forever, or he’d not have shown up in his nightgown. Clearly, a part of him wants me to know the truth so I can tell him it doesn’t matter.”

  “Why don’t you just tell him?” Davy asked.

  “And miss an opportunity to torment the scamp? Not a chance!”

  Chapter 17

  Vic awoke to Xavier’s smiling face.

  “What are you doing in my room?” she asked.

  “The better question is how I got my oversized, decadent bed in here.”

  Vic studied her surroundings and felt sick to her stomach. Peeking beneath the blanket, she sighed with relief at the sight of her robe covering her nightgown. “How did I get here?”

  Xavier frowned. “You truly do not remember yelling at Davy to drink mint tea and find a place to rest while you stormed upstairs and confiscated my sleeping quarters?”

  With a groan, Vic grimaced. “I had a hangover and you sent a note demanding me to come to work, and made poor Davy wait in the rain until I did. I’m sorry I do remember. It reminds me to be cross with you.”

  “Cross with me? What did I do other than ask my employee to come to work?”

  “It is Su
nday. Who works on Sunday?”

  “Criminals and people who stop criminals. Which reminds me, we should resolve this mess with the Wimples. Are you still on this case, or shall I let you sleep the day away while I solve it myself?”

  “Damn it! You gave the case to me.” Vic sat up and held the sheet tight against her chest. “Can you not wait until I go home and get some clothes?”

  “No, I cannot, nor is Davy fit to drive you. He’s tucked under the covers with a cold, thanks to you!”

  “Thanks to me? You insufferable bully! It is you who sent him out in the rain,” she yelled.

  “Don’t yell at me, I am your—”

  “If you say ‘master’, so help me, I’ll box your ears.”

  Xavier laughed. “I would like to see you try, you little hellcat.” He pulled a thick package wrapped in brown paper and string from behind his back and threw it at her. “From your home. I imagine it is your clothes. Be thankful you have a presumptuous butler who acts on his own accord. I’m leaving in fifteen minutes, with or without you.”

  The moment the door closed, Vic tore open the heavy paper and found everything she required, including her heavy muslin undershirt. With one minute to spare, she flew down the stairs and cursed when she could not find her insufferable boss. Having a sudden fear he had already left, she opened the front door, prepared to give chase if necessary. A hired carriage stood out front, waiting. She could almost feel great impatience emanating from within.

  Repressing a flash of amusement, she locked the door and ran to the carriage just as Xavier bellowed at the driver to move on. The fellow spotted her and waited until she climbed in which resulted in another tongue-lashing from Xavier.

  “Drive on, damn you. You are letting riffraff into my carriage.”

  She sat down opposite of Xavier, with no breath left to complain about being called riffraff.

  “You are one second late, which will put me out of sorts for the rest of the day. Since I find Mrs. Wimple most annoying on the best of days, you had better handle the situation today.”

  Vic struggled with dueling emotions. She was pleased he had given her back her case, but worried that without the information he had obtained on his own, she’d have no clue what he wanted her to accomplish in this meeting and would appear foolish and unprepared. “Thank you. Would you be so kind as to update me on what you have discovered while you snuck about behind my back, investigating my case?”

  Xavier’s mouth twitched. “Well, since you asked so nicely, how can I refuse? Edward’s Charles and Mrs. Wimple’s Charles are indeed the same man. Oh, and Mrs. Wimple’s first name is Mary. You should have asked that in your interview, by the way. Standard procedure is to obtain both first and surname of the client.”

  “I did not conduct the first interview, you did. If that is all you have determined, I don’t know what you hope to achieve by visiting Mrs. Wimple on a Sunday. She will be expecting some great revelation for us to arrive on the Lord’s Day of rest.”

  “Perhaps she is Jewish. You failed to ask her religion as well.”

  “Mrs. Wimple is not Jewish. She wears a cross, and grew very interested when I mention the possibility of getting the marriage annulled by a priest.”

  “Yes, and had she been Jewish, your suggestion might have given her vapors. Perhaps you should create a list of interview questions so you do not miss these details in the future. You are all too apt to follow the trail you are on and neglect those not taken.”

  Vic kicked the sideboard of Xavier’s seat, but her anger was more at herself, for he was right. She had not asked Mrs. Wimple’s religion or her first name and, given his scolding, she suspected both played a part in this mystery.

  “Oh, one other thing, which is what prompted my note this morning. I finally had time to read yesterday’s news, having wasted my entire Saturday on your personal matters.” He tossed her the paper. “You will find reading newspapers is a must in our line of work. Although it rarely provides anything of interest or assistance in solving crimes, it is imperative you know as much as the common fool or you will look like a complete dunce on the rare occasion when something of importance is disclosed.”

  “Mrs. Catherine Wimple died Friday,” Vic read aloud. “Survived only by her son, Edward J. Wimple, and daughter-in-law, Mary C. Wimple.” She stared at him. “You believe whatever was planned is now set in motion.”

  “I do, but damned if I can tell who requires saving. That is why this interview is critical. You initially believed Mrs. Wimple to be quite sincere.”

  “I did at first, but you—”

  “Yes, I know, I bullied you into believing otherwise.”

  “I was going to say you convinced me with strong evidence she is simply adept at lying.”

  “Yes, well here’s my issue with your conclusion. During the first meeting, she was not adept. I could tell she planned to lie before she even opened her mouth. Her eyes are prone to fluttering when she dissembles. Therefore, you need to confront her and ferret out why she lied.”

  “If she lied. There is the possibility she believed what she said, even if it wasn’t true.”

  Xavier stared at her as if she had just said something brilliant rather than an obvious observation. Still, his admiration strengthened her courage that she could perform the interview. She would uncover the truth and find out who was doing what to whom in this strange triangle of love.

  “What did you find out about Charles Kingsley?” she asked. “I find it very odd that both Edward and Mary could be attracted to the man, for he made my skin crawl.”

  “Really? You did not think him rather handsome?”

  “God, no! I would just as soon call a snake handsome. He stared at me with lurid hungry eyes, while he told poor Edward she would always be beautiful to him.”

  “So you do not believe him to be sincere in his love of Edward?”

  “No, I don’t, but I would have thought that his infidelity had proven itself by the fact he is attempting to seduce Mrs. Wimple as well.”

  “But they are so similar. Could his attraction to Mrs. Wimple simply be a compliment to Edward?”

  “No, it could not. Moreover, I assure you Mrs. Wimple would not think it so. If you recall, she destroyed all of Edward’s pictures because they resembled her.”

  “Yes, I thought her reactions very odd. Why did the point suddenly upset her? She said she had never noticed before, but I find it hard to believe. You should probe the issue a bit. Something’s missing in her story.”

  ***

  When they arrived, the butler explained Mrs. Wimple was in mourning and attempted to close the door, only Xavier forced it wider.

  “We are aware of the death, but it does not change our need to speak to Mrs. Wimple at once.”

  The man led them to a sitting room with no fire and there they waited a full hour. Xavier spent the time opening drawers and perusing the woman’s personal correspondence. This left Vic with no alternative, but to place herself by the door, so she would be ready to distract anyone entering. To have a reason to be leaning on the door, she grabbed a volume of poems by Lord Byron resting on a small table she passed.

  Flipping through it, she remembered why she never liked Byron. The man made no sense. From this emblem what variance your motto evinces—what did that even mean? Surely, even Xavier could offer better entertainment. “If you find something pertinent read it aloud.”

  “Just bloody nonsense from Charles, begging her to reconsider and allow him to worship her as God meant a woman to be loved, etcetera, etcetera, ad nauseam. I agree with you, Victor, the man is a swine, writing such drivel.”

  “Someone’s coming,” she whispered. A moment later, the door struck Vic’s shoulder and the indecipherable words of Lord Byron fell to the floor.

  Both the butler and Vic bent down to retrieve it, causing an unnecessary scramble. By the time they rose, with the book firmly in the butler’s hand, Xavier stood at her side, yelling at the man for keeping them an hour i
n a cold, damp room.

  The butler stared at the fireplace in shock and apologized profusely. He led them upstairs to Mrs. Wimple’s bedroom. She sat in her bed, her eyes red and glassy, clasping a handkerchief sodden with tears.

  “Mr. Holmes, Mr. Hamilton, I fear your services are no longer necessary. My husband, Edward, is dead.”

  “Indeed?” Xavier asked. “Can you elaborate on the details?”

  The woman shook her head and burst into tears.

  Xavier grabbed Vic by the arm and literally threw her at the crying woman.

  Vic glared at him as she regained her step and continued forward on her own momentum. She located a dry handkerchief on the side table and handed it to Mrs. Wimple. Vic sat down on the edge of the bed and studied the lady. Her distress appeared most genuine. “I know this is hard, for I recently lost someone I loved.”

  “He didn’t deserve to have my love,” Mrs. Wimple cried. “I thought I hated him, but when the inspector arrived this morning and told me my husband was dead, it broke my heart. The pain hurt so, I thought I would die, too.”

  “The first day is the worst, and once you are through it, the pain will lessen each day,” Vic promised her.

  Mrs. Wimple clasped Vic’s hand with the one holding the wet soggy handkerchief and held tight.

  “Did they say what happened to him?” Vic asked.

  “His skull had been crushed as if he had fallen from a building.”

  “Do they think it an accident or murder?”

  “The man didn’t say, but he kept eyeing me as if I might have done this horrible thing.”

  Xavier stepped forward and whispered in Vic’s ear to ‘get the fellow’s name’.

  Vic grimaced at her mistake and asked Mrs. Wimple for the officer’s name.

  “I don’t know…Thunderboose or something like that. Burns will know.”

  Xavier stormed from the room muttering ‘bloody useless’ beneath his breath. She hoped he hadn’t meant her.

  Mrs. Wimple squeezed her hand. “Will you talk to the police? Find out what happened to my husband?”