by Carola Dunn
She pushed the book closer to him and their heads bent together over the besmirched pages. “The bits I can read are rather horrid. This says fresh killed Gravy Beef. I daresay the butcher will know what that is. And I’m afraid this must be one Calf’s Foot. But there is a spot right on top of this word and none of us can guess what it says. ‘2 or 3 lb. K blank eal,’ you see?”
“We ought to manage between us; we have proven our talent for word puzzles. Let me think. K—that suggests kn to me. Nnn—eal.”
“Knuckle o’ veal,” piped up a timid voice. The scullery maid turned scarlet and hid her face in her apron.
“Bitsy, how clever of you!” Alison exclaimed. “That must be it.”
“Why’d Miss Cleo write K if she meant N?” enquired the boy who had spoken before. “It don’t make no sense.”
“That’s acos you’re iggerent, Joe,” Squeak said, his high voice managing to convey condescension. “K comes afore N in lots o’ words. Knuckle an’ knife an’ knee an’ such.”
“Dub yer mummer or you’ll get a taste o’ my knuckles,” Tarry Joe growled.
Philip glanced at Alison. Serenely ignoring the boys’ squabble she was perusing the rest of the receipt, her little nose wrinkled in distaste.
“Oh dear, you have to skim off the scum as it cooks. With a spoon, I wonder?”
“Cease to wonder.” Philip pulled the book away from her and closed it with a thump. “My chef has an excellent assistant who is quite capable of preparing a Restorative Meat Jelly and anything else you need. Lead me to pen and paper, and he shall be here within the hour. Tarry Joe, it was you, was it not, who delivered a message to my house the other day?”
“Us all knows where you lives, guy,” Bubble informed him. “Us knows all the places—”
“Hush!” his brother and Tarry Joe admonished.
Philip was inclined to investigate this odd exchange, but Alison invited him to go with her to the drawing-room in search of writing materials and he let the matter drop.
Having written and dispatched the instructions to his chef, to send his assistant to take over the Larkins’ kitchen, Philip was glad of a chance to speak privately with Alison. Polly had vanished in her silent way and except for Midnight, who had followed them from the kitchen, they were alone together in the green silk jungle.
The first thing he did was to point out this deplorable fact. “I trust your aunts do not make a practice of leaving you unchaperoned.”
“You are the only gentleman who has ever visited me here. Shall I call Aunt Polly?”
“No, no! Midnight’s presence will suffice this once.” Hearing his name, the dog came to lay his heavy head on Philip’s knee. He ran the coarse-furred black ears through his fingers as he spoke. “I wanted to tell you about the theatre last night.”
“I am sorry to have missed the play, but I could not go while Aunt Cleo is ill.”
“I know, and so I explained to Fane. He was, to say the least, put out by your absence, but I believe I succeeded in reinstating you in his favour. Unfortunately, I found it impossible not to tell him where you are. You may not long be able to say that I am your only gentleman-caller to this house.”
Relief chased dismay across her expressive face. “You think he will come here? I own I shall be glad to have him know about my family, but I did not expect that he would actually visit Great Ormond Street.”
“I’m sorry. It would have presented a very odd appearance had I refused to give your direction.”
“You must not think that I hold you responsible. It was excessively kind in you to persuade him to forgive me for missing his party. But it is sadly beneath his dignity to come to this part of Town. How chivalrous he is!”
“Chivalrous indeed.” Philip did not mention his suggestion that Fane would not care to visit a house of sickness. Fanny Witherington had promptly declared her intention of going to see her friend, whatever her mama might say. After that, his lordship’s dignity was in more danger if he backed out than from calling in Great Ormond Street.
Alison did not appear to think that Philip’s visit was a noteworthy demonstration of chivalry. However, on his departure she accompanied him into the hall, saying earnestly, “I do not know how to thank you for the loan of your cook, sir. It is the sort of generosity I have come to expect of you. The rest of us were satisfied with bread and cheese, but poor Aunt Cleo cannot swallow properly.”
“Has a doctor seen her?”
“Yes, he came yesterday and again today. She is very ill.” Alison pressed her lips together in an effort to hold back the tears that swam in her blue eyes.
Philip enfolded her in his arms. Clutching his lapel, she sobbed quietly for a minute against his chest, then he felt the effort she made to regain her composure.
“Bitsy,” he said in a conversational tone, to help her. “I have it. Her real name is Betsy, but she is such a little bit of a thing.”
“You are good at riddles.” With a watery smile, she raised her tear-stained face to smile at him.
He managed not to kiss her.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Aunt Cleo was soon pronounced out of danger, but she still required Aunt Di’s constant attendance, and so Alison was needed to run the household. Aunt Polly had reached a modus vivendi with the gardener hired by Aunt Zenobia but simply could not manage the other servants.
Lord Fane visited twice, before announcing that he had urgent business on his estate and must leave Town for a week. Alison wondered whether she would ever see him again after this obvious excuse. His appalled fascination with the tiger hangings in the drawing-room, his uneasy condescension to Aunt Polly, who acted as chaperon, and to Aunt Di when she came down to make his acquaintance, made it plain that he was uncomfortable.
Alison had little leisure to ponder the possible loss of her only remaining eligible lord. She received a letter from Fanny bemoaning the fact that her mama would not let her risk her health, but she did not lack for visitors.
Cousin Neil called one afternoon, his gaiety cheering her. He considered the drawing-room hangings a huge joke. Unfortunately, he also found the aunts a source of amusement, though he politely refrained from laughing aloud in their presence. The fact that his own aunt had married into this family was exquisitely funny. Alison was quite cross with him, and glad that as he was a relative she did not need Aunt Polly as chaperon.
“If my father had not married my mother, he might have found a rich wife instead,” she pointed out. “Then my aunts would have had a comfortable life instead of scraping for every penny.”
“And you’d not have been born.” He sobered. “Faith, ‘tis a terrible thought. I beg your pardon, cousin, but I’ve had a spot of luck and the world is a bright place this day.”
“Luck?” Not wanting to embarrass him, she had never told him she knew he was in the basket.
“A grand day at the races and I’ve come away with a pocketful of the ready. I even paid back Trevelyan.”
“Neil, you never borrowed from Mr. Trevelyan!” She was dismayed.
“I never asked him for a penny, but I’d be a fool to turn down an offer, now wouldn’t I?” He grinned. “By his face, I’d guess he’d not reckoned to see his blunt again. There’s enough left to stake me to a big win.”
“Could you not stop gambling, Neil, while you are ahead? You might lose it all again.”
He shrugged. “‘Tis a risk, of course, but until I have what I need I must go on trying. I’d not have you think me a hardened gambler, my dear. There’s Bridey waiting for me in Ballycarrick to carry her off to a new life, and a new life takes money.”
“Bridey? You have an Irish sweetheart?”
“Bridget McConigle, the sweetest lass that ever breathed the blessed air of Ireland.”
‘‘And she is waiting for you?’’
“Her pa, old man McConigle, is a farmer, as cross-grained an old codger as you will ever see. He’s no time for titles and he don’t mean to let his only daughter wed an impove
rished viscount.” Neil explained that he wanted to emigrate with his beloved to Canada or America, but he needed the wherewithal to start out.
“I shall ask Aunt Zenobia to advance a part of my inheritance,” Alison said at once. “Everyone keeps telling me she is rich as Croesus, so I can certainly spare enough to let you marry your Bridey.”
“The devil you will!” He jumped up and moved restlessly about the room. Midnight watched him with suspicion. “I’m not asking for charity, Alison.”
“But we are cousins!”
“Leave a man a little pride!” He smiled ruefully. “Winning a wager is one step above begging from relatives, I hope. Now tell me, are you sad to be missing the balls and parties?”
Recognizing his efforts to change the subject, Alison did not speak to him again of Bridey, though he continued to visit frequently.
Another visitor arrived when she was in the kitchen discussing with Mr. Trevelyan’s cook a menu to tempt the appetite of a convalescent. The parlourmaid put her head round the door.
“Ge’mun to see you, miss. Lord Kilmore, he says.”
Bess was growing quite blasé about the stream of titled callers. “I put ‘im in the drawing-room.”
“Lord Kilmore!” Alison was even more astonished than when Lord Fane had been announced. A dashing buck to risk being seen in the wrong part of Town for her sake! It was very flattering, even if he was as ineligible as Cousin Neil. “Tell him I shall join him at once, Bess. Bitsy,” she added to the scullery maid, “call Miss Polly, if you please.”
She surprised the gentleman with an expression of disdain on his handsome face as he contemplated the silken jungle. He turned at her entrance and bowed gracefully, a quizzical look in his eyes.
“You live in interesting surroundings, Miss Larkin.”
That made her laugh. “My aunt is recently returned from India.”
“Ah, that explains a great deal.”
Aunt Polly came in, dressed in her grubby gardening clothes. Lord Kilmore’s eyebrows rose.
“Aunt Polly, this is Lord Kilmore. I am not Miss Larkin here, sir, but Miss Alison. My aunt is Miss Larkin.”
He bowed to Aunt Polly’s nervous curtsy. “India?” he enquired, his voice incredulous.
“No, Aunt Zenobia was in India. She is not here. I have four aunts.”
“I see.” Ignoring Aunt Polly, his lordship begged for the pleasure of Miss Alison’s company for a drive in his curricle.
Alison eyed him consideringly. She did not care for his attitude. What was more, driving with him from Lady Emma’s house along the fashionable streets to the busy Park was a very different matter from setting out through the slums to an unnamed destination. She remembered his not quite spotless reputation. “Thank you, my lord, but I had best not. I am needed here at present.”‘
Once more he bowed. “Then allow me to express my fervent desire for your swift return to civilization. Your servant, Miss Alison.” Without a word to her aunt, he departed.
“What a very fine gentleman,” Aunt Polly ventured.
“Fine? He was abominably rude. But he is excessively amusing if you do not take him seriously. I daresay he will not come here again.” The thought did not disturb her.
Lady Emma was a much more welcome visitor. She brought news from the world Alison had almost begun to think of as her own. Lady Castlereagh regretted Miss Larkin’s absence from Almack’s, she reported, but thoroughly approved of her solicitude for her elderly relative. Numerous people had enquired after her and hoped that she would not be away too long. Fanny sent countless messages and even Robert had asked his sister to convey his compliments.
Mr. Osborne also appeared in Great Ormond Street, “to check up on me,” groaned Alison. The second time he came, he and Lady Emma arrived at the same moment. Alison thought they both looked rather self-conscious. They seemed to have little to say to each other, but when they departed Lady Emma offered to take Mr. Osborne up in her landau.
Alison remembered Aunt Zenobia’s last letter. Mrs. Winkle, who was enjoying meeting old friends in Cheltenham, was ready to return at a moment’s notice as soon as she heard that her niece was betrothed to Ralph Osborne. Whose champion was Lady Emma? Alison wondered. Was she really trying to help her protégée to marry a lord, or did she favour the odious Mr. Osborne? Was it possible she had slandered Lord Kilmore to promote the nabob’s chances?
There was one regular visitor who aroused no uncomfortable reflections. Mr. Trevelyan called daily, often bearing hothouse fruit for the invalid. Alison had no qualms about accepting his invitations to drive out.
It was Mr. Trevelyan who came to fetch her when at last Aunt Cleo was recovered sufficiently for Aunt Di to return to running the household.
“You are very silent,” he observed, turning onto Upper Guilford Street, past the walls of the Foundling Hospital. “You have mixed feelings, I expect, on leaving home again.”
She smiled at him gratefully. “I should have known you would understand. It seems different this time, somehow. Of course I am glad that Aunt Cleo is better, and I know I shall enjoy the parties and balls, so I should be perfectly happy. But home has changed, or perhaps I have changed, and much as I love my aunts I do not quite fit there anymore.”
“You have begun to see your home through the eyes of others. It is a difficult part of growing up.”
“You must not think that I despise it!”
“Of course you do not.”
“Lord Kilmore does. I could see quite plainly that he held my home and family in contempt. And Neil thought everything vastly funny, and Lord Fane was uneasy and condescending. You are the only gentleman who was not in some way insulting.”
“You must not hold it against them. I am the only one who has had a chance to come to know your aunts. I admire them greatly, for their many good qualities but especially for what they have done for the boys. My committee has been sitting for some months now and. . . I shall not distress you with details of the wretched lives led by so many poor children in London. To have saved even a few from that fate is a worthwhile accomplishment.”
“Can nothing be done for all the others?”
“It is a problem of proportions that only the government can tackle, and I am ashamed to say that the government sees it only in terms of crime, not of misery.”
“But you are a Tory, are you not? A member of the government?”
“My family has been Tory for generations. To begin with I followed in my father’s footprints without questioning, and then the Whigs’ willingness to give in to Bonaparte made me sure that I was right in supporting the party that was ready to fight. Since the end of the war I have been asking the questions I should perhaps have asked earlier. In my small way I have been striving for reform from within the government. It begins to seem hopeless. I’ve not told anyone else, Alison, but I am seriously considering changing my allegiance.”
“The Whigs are not in power. Would you not lose your post?”
‘‘Is that so important?’’
“No, it is important that you should do what you feel is right. And if you might be able to help boys like Bubble and Squeak, then I am glad.” She watched his serious profile as he guided the chestnuts through the busy traffic of Oxford Street. What an admirable man he was! It was an honour to be his friend. “And I am glad you told me,” she added simply.
Her contentment lasted until she had reached the house in Park Street, taken leave of Philip and stepped into the drawing-room to greet Lady Emma. She found her chaperon tête-à-tête with Mr. Ralph Osborne.
There was definitely a conspiracy afoot!
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Mr. Osborne stayed only long enough after Alison’s arrival to ask after her aunts. As soon as he left, she turned to Lady Emma.
“I shall not marry him, even if Lord Fane does not come up to scratch.”
“Pray do not use that vulgar phrase, Alison. I cannot understand why you are determined against Mr. Osborne. I assure you that
though he is Mrs. Winkle’s agent, he has your interests at heart. He is a kind, commonsensical gentleman, and as rich and good-looking as any girl could want.”
“Yes, he would be an excellent uncle. It is a pity that my aunts are as much too old for him as he is too old for me.”
That made Lady Emma laugh, but she said soberly, “You do not think that Mrs. Winkle will insist on your marrying him? She does like to have her way.”
“Aunt Zenobia cannot force me to the altar, and I believe she is too generous to threaten me with poverty if I dislike the marriage. Nor can she force Mr. Osborne to offer for me. He certainly does not act as if he is in love with me, so perhaps he will not even go so far as to ask for my hand.”
“I understood there was an agreement between them.”
Alison thought back to the moment when Aunt Zenobia had disclosed her plans. “My aunt said that she did not mean to ‘push’ me, only that he would be glad to make a match with me. I doubt there is any formal agreement. She told me that I need not hunt for a husband, not that I must not. She cannot have promised Mr. Osborne my hand, and surely he cannot have promised to take me before he even met me.”
“I see.” Lady Emma sounded relieved.
“You must not worry that Aunt Zenobia will be angry with you if I refuse to wed him,” Alison assured her. “I shall tell her that my decision is not at all your fault, so you can stop plotting with him to advance his suit.”
“No more plotting,” she agreed, but the twinkle in her eyes belied her gravity. “However, you must not expect me to cut the acquaintance of a sudden. It would be unpardonably rude, and besides, he has a right and a duty to see to your welfare in Mrs. Winkle’s absence. And I enjoy his company.”
“I do not dislike him, I just do not want to marry him.”
