by Louise Allen
‘Luc. Shut up.’ I grabbed as much as I could of him and shook. ‘Listen. Leaving me to work on the ledgers alone was the best use of resources and time. None of us realised that Bromley was anything but a shocked, ineffectual bystander. When he attacked me I fought back, as I’d been trained to, and you all came to help me. I don’t need you to look after me, but I value that you do. I don’t blame you for what happened back there – but, please, help me with the bath and afterwards, just hold me. Hold me and don’t let me go.’
He cupped my face in his hands and kissed me, long and slow and tender. I knew I was hurting him, with his need to protect me and his confusion over my independence, as much as he hurt me by trying to treat me like a helpless little female. In fact he was probably more distressed. I kissed him back with as much tenderness as he was showing, because that was how I felt.
‘Bath.’ Luc lifted his head at last. The strain that made him look so severe had gone from his face, but the laughter wasn’t back lurking in his eyes yet. It might take a while, I thought.
He took the tub with its high back from the hook on the scullery wall and carried it through to my bedchamber and I ran the first can-full of hot water off the copper, started to pick it up, then left it for him and went to fetch towels instead. With the last can he brought a small bottle and handed it to me. ‘I saw this, thought you might like it.’
‘Mediterranean Nights,’ I read. ‘Oils for the bath.’ When I removed the stopper and poured a few drops into the hot water the room filled with the scents of citrus and roses and something warm, dark and mysterious. ‘This is gorgeous, thank you.’
‘I’m glad you like it.’ He put the soap dish down within reach. ‘I’ll leave you, then.’
‘No. Don’t. Stay please.’ I began to undress and Luc went still in the way I had learned meant he was aroused. ‘You can wash my back.’
This time I had no trouble interpreting the growl. I tossed the gown onto the bed and began to unfasten my stays. Slowly.
It is quite extraordinary what a hot bath and some therapeutic… massage can do for bruises.
I got dressed in my own twenty-first century clothes eventually and went to forage in the kitchen for something to make for dinner. It felt like treading on dangerous ground, cooking in Garrick’s domain, but he’d let me cook with him several times and I knew where everything was. Besides, I reasoned, there was no knowing how tired he and James would be when they got back. He wouldn’t want to cook and we could hardly phone out for a take-way.
‘Come in here,’ I called after Luc when he went towards the drawing room. ‘Bring the paper if you like, but come and be sociable, there’s a perfectly comfortable chair. In my time kitchens are places where people gather, have a drink and chat while the host makes dinner. Often that’s where the dining table is, even in quite smart houses.’
‘But the servants – ’
‘Most of us don’t have servants. Cleaners who come in by the hour, people to do the ironing perhaps. Window cleaners, gardeners, again by the hour or day. We have lots of devices, inventions that I am not going to tell you about that make domestic chores easier and faster. People entertain quite casually a lot of the time. I certainly do.’
I rummaged in store cupboards, peered in the meat safe, decided on beef stew. ‘I’ll invite half a dozen friends over, they’ll sit about in the kitchen having a drink, perhaps helping with the veg, talking, while I cook – kitchen supper.’
‘Where do you live?’ Luc asked. He folded the newspaper and dropped it by the side of the big Windsor chair. ‘In a lodging house for ladies?’
I snorted. ‘No. On one floor of a big house in Welhamstead, not far from the solicitors where you took my bag. It was built about 1800, so you probably saw it.’ I found a chopping board, laid out the slab of braising steak and started to trim it. ‘There are four apartments, one on each floor – bigger than Coates’s rooms. We’ve each got a kitchen that opens out into a living area, a bedroom and a bathroom and storage areas on the ground floor outside. Is there any beer or ale?’ I could make a carbonara if there was.
‘How much?’ Luc took a large pewter jug from a hook.
‘Oh, a pint?’
I cubed and chopped and sliced and Luc pulled the chair closer to the table and watched. I found what looked like lard and used that for frying off the meat and the onions, poured the whole lot into a pot and topped up with the beer, then studied the range.
‘This is where I’m stuck,’ I confessed. ‘I don’t know how to regulate the temperature. Do you?’ Luc looked at me as though I’d asked him if he could crochet. There were two iron doors so I opened both and stuck in a hand. One was definitely hotter than the other, so I assumed it must be like modern ranges, only I’d need to keep the fire stoked to maintain the temperature.
‘How long do you think they’ll be?’
‘At least another hour, probably two.’
‘The cooler oven then, which ought to be right for this.’ I stuck it in and found the potatoes. I had no illusions about the appetite of three grown men, or about Luc’s competence as a potato peeler. With a sigh I picked up a paring knife and set to work.
‘What employment do the lower classes have if they can’t work as servants?’ Luc asked.
‘There is universal education,’ I said. ‘It makes many more opportunities. Mine’s a much more equal society than this.’ Not perfect, not by a very long way, but the more I qualified what I was telling him, the more I would give away. I just wanted him to understand where I had come from, why I was as I was.
I peeled and chopped and salted and got him to heave the pot of spuds onto the back of the stove. ‘Those should boil in the time it takes for them to wash and relax and have a drink,’ I said. ‘Can you fetch me some hot water?’
‘What for?’
‘Washing up. I’m not leaving Garrick the kitchen in a mess, he’ll never let me near it again.’
I expected Luc to say that was a very good thing, but when he’d brought in the water he helped me clear the table and scrub the pans and knives I’d used. ‘That was strangely pleasant,’ he remarked, eyeing the drying towel I’d put in his hand as if it was liable to bite him.
‘Wipe the water off that with it,’ I said, thrusting a dripping chopping board at him. ‘Of course it is pleasant. It would have been even better with a glass of wine, now I think of it.’ And some music. I bit my lip to stifle the grin – I could just imagine Luc organising a kitchen party complete with string quartet in the corner and Garrick bopping along as he stirred.
‘What is it?’ Luc looked so ridiculously domestic, standing there with a drying-up cloth in one hand and a ladle in the other.
I let the grin escape. ‘I’m happy.’
‘Let me see if I can make you happier.’ He tossed aside cloth and ladle and advanced with a gleam in his eye that I recognised all too well.
Chapter Eleven
Luc heard the front door close before I did and he was helping me heave the big pan of potatoes onto the hottest part of the range when Garrick appeared in the kitchen door.
I straightened my sweater. ‘Is James with you? I’ve got dinner cooking.’
I hadn’t ever seen Garrick sag before, but there was a definite droop to his shoulders when he realised he wasn’t expected to feed four people after the day he’d had. ‘How are you, Miss Lawrence?’
‘I’m absolutely fine, thank you. Did you manage to dispose of Bromley?’ As I said it I wondered if it was a poor choice of words. I had a sneaking suspicion that Garrick would have quite happily disposed of the manservant in the Thames for attacking me.
‘Yes, Miss Lawrence. I will be back directly I have taken off my hat and coat.’
When he moved James appeared and leaned against the doorframe. ‘Doctor Greene took him in, said he had a spare, secure room. He’ll write to you with his rates, Luc.’
‘Was it all right?’ I asked. ‘They’ll treat him well?’
‘Yes. We told the
doctor a bit about the background – no names, of course, although if he reads the papers he’ll work it out. He listened, asked sensible questions, spoke to Bromley kindly. I saw the room – comfortable, cheerful, nothing for him to hurt himself with. Doctor Greene said to call in at any time to visit and that he is optimistic that Bromley will recover given time.’
I sat down on the edge of the table with a huff of relief.
‘Something smells good,’ James wandered into the kitchen, closely followed by Garrick who retrieved the ladle and dishcloth from the floor where Luc had tossed them and was looking around, narrow-eyed.
‘Everything is fine, Garrick. Sit down,’ Luc said. ‘James, fetch four dining chairs. We are having a kitchen supper.’
They soon got the hang of it, elbows on the table, the wine bottle circulating, Garrick or me jumping up occasionally to check on the potatoes. I mashed them in the end, with copious quantities of artery-clogging cream and butter, stuck the food in the middle of the table, handed round plates and told everyone to dig in.
By the time we had finished the stew and the fruit tart and cheese that Garrick had in the larder I don’t think I could have moved faster than a waddle if ten razor-wielding manservants had appeared.
‘That was excellent, Miss Lawrence.’ Garrick pushed his plate to one side. ‘Were you thinking of cooking anything else at any time?’
‘That oven would probably defeat me for anything more than stews,’ I said. ‘Although, take me to a food market and I’ll see if there is anything I could adapt.’ Pizza came to mind…
‘What do we do next about the deaths?’ Garrick asked as he scraped plates and dumped them in pails for Peggy, the maid of all work, to deal with in the morning, poor girl.
‘I’ve the ledgers to finish. I’ve done two and it gets faster as I go,’ I said. ‘Then there’s the coded ones, but we’re getting nowhere with those.’
‘I’m interested in the Home Office’s Frenchman,’ James said. ‘Don’t pull that face, Luc – I think we need to have a longer conversation with him.’
‘And Sir Thomas’s young gentlemen,’ Luc said, opening another bottle. Both James and I perked up and he glared at us. ‘Stop it. I told you, Elliott Reece is an objectionable creature. I cannot help feeling that we’ve only got half the picture, although how we are going to manage to infiltrate the Home Office twice, I have no idea.’
‘No need.’ Garrick got up, went into the drawing room and came back with a rectangle of white card with black printing. ‘This came today. Lady Liverpool’s garden party.’ He pushed it into the middle of the table and I picked it up.
‘Monday next week. But why should this – Oh, yes, of course. Lord Liverpool is the new Secretary of State for Home Affairs so he’ll invite all their young gentlemen. May I come?’
‘Of course. James too – the invitation says and party.’
‘How long will it last?’ I was mentally reviewing gowns, shoes and what the weather seemed likely to do.
‘From about eleven in the morning through until after fireworks. There will be a ball, of course.’
‘Of course. A ball. I wish I could dance,’ I said, trying not to sound wistful and, even to my ears, failing miserably.
‘We’ve got tomorrow, I’ll teach you,’ James offered. ‘A friend of mine runs a dancing school off Pall Mall, I’m certain he will let us join in with lessons. I’ll come for you at ten.’
‘And if you explain your method and tell me where you got to in the volumes I can take your notes from the ledgers and carry on with that,’ Garrick offered. ‘We need to have finished before Doctor Talbot’s relatives arrive to close down the house.’
‘Thank you, Garrick,’ Luc said. ‘I was not happy about Cassandra being in that place alone again.’
Neither was I, to be frank. I’d be as jumpy as a cat, I was sure. ‘What will you do, Luc?’
‘I’ve put an enquiry agent on to Dettmer. I don’t believe that he’s some kind of spy, but we ought to eliminate him. I’ll call and see how they are getting on and then I’ll go to my solicitors. I have them investigating your sinister French count, Cassie. Whatever James says, he just seems too much the obvious ‘foreigner’, but I’ll see what they have turned up. Then I’ll take a turn through the clubs, keep my ears open. I might drop in on your dancing lessons.’
‘No,’ I said firmly. ‘Absolutely not.’ I didn’t mind making a fool of myself in front of James and a bunch of strangers, but if Luc was going to see me dance, then I intended to be perfect. (Well, perfect-ish.)
James turned up on the stroke of ten and we walked the short distance down through St James’s Square to Mr Archibald Watson’s Academy of Dance.
‘What do you want to learn?’ he asked. ‘I wouldn’t recommend the cotillion, too complex in a short time. Country dances would be safest.’
‘I want to waltz.’ In virtually every Regency romance that I’d read the heroine (that’s me) experienced ecstasy when waltzing in the arms of the hero (that would be Luc). I had a sneaking suspicion that was unlikely under the best of circumstances and that the waltz was not going to look like anything I’d seen on Strictly Come Dancing.
‘Certainly not,’ James said, with a snort of laughter. ‘You’ll not find that in any respectable ballroom. Shocking behaviour, Miss Lawrence!’
‘Oh, that’s disappointing.’
Mr Watson, James’s friend Archie, listened to the explanation that I knew no dances at all, that I needed to be able to perform a few without making a complete fool of myself – and I had a day to learn. He rolled his eyes, but he let us watch his first class, the absolute beginners. ‘Every dance is different, Miss Lawrence, but the steps are much the same – chassé with an occasional jeté.’
I tried to look intelligent and watched everyone’s feet as he set the pupils – all about sixteen or seventeen in my estimation – off on the first dance.
‘Upright, ladies and gentlemen! No bowing at the waist! Elbows, Mr Beaumont, elbows!’ A pimply youth went scarlet and tripped over his own feet.
After a bit I got the idea and James and I joined hands at the end of the line. Once I was following the beat and had my feet sorted it was just a question of watching everyone else and taking my cue from them.
‘Miss Lawrence, kindly do not look at your feet! Chin up, Miss Berry!’
We danced The Shipwreck (which turned into one), The Lovers’ Garland (quite successful, although James made us both laugh by making sheep’s eyes at me in mock adoration) and Captain Joliffe’s Fancy (very good until the end when young Mr Beaumont fell over again).
‘How many of these things are there?’ I demanded when James and I had collapsed on two of the chairs lining the walls.
‘Dozens, but it is all the same principle and if it is one of the uncommon ones then the moves will be called. But if you watch what’s going on, it is pretty straightforward.’ He looked over to where Watson was dismissing the class. ‘It is a more advanced group now, in fact all the ladies will be in their first or second Seasons, polishing up their technique and learning new dances. We’ll sit and watch and then join in when you feel ready – it will be much closer to the real thing.’
As the class began to assemble I realised that I recognised several faces, but only one name. I nudged James. ‘That’s Annabelle Reece, there at the edge of the group of young women. The tall one with the dark curls, she looks rather out of things.’
We watched the first two dances and then, when Mr Watson called a halt and gathered some of the young men around him to demonstrate a tricky turn, I strolled over to Miss Reece, James at my side.
‘Miss Reece? Cassandra Lawrence. We met the other evening at a reception. May I introduce Mr Franklin? Mr Franklin, Miss Reece.’
She didn’t look exactly overjoyed to see us, but her manners were good and she produced a smile for James and commented that she hadn’t seen us at the classes before.
‘I am completely adrift and fear that nothing I know will be any us
e in London,’ I explained. ‘I’m from America, you see. Mr Franklin and his brother the Earl of Radcliffe are distant cousins and have been so kind, introducing me to Society. But I am sure you dance beautifully, Miss Reece. I find it hard to believe that you need tuition.’
‘Oh, I missed the early part of the Season,’ she said with a ladylike wrinkle of the nose. ‘I am as adrift as you with the latest dances, Miss Lawrence.’
I did my best to look interested but not nosy. ‘You have not been unwell, I hope?’
‘In disgrace and exile,’ she said with a laugh that did not ring quite true. The more I looked at her, the more I was convinced that the smiles were a strain for her. ‘I make no secret of it. Mama and I had a falling-out over a suitor and I was sent off to my great aunt in Harrogate to think over the advantages of marrying a distant cousin with ten thousand a year, no chin and bad breath.’
‘Ghastly! You held out, clearly.’
‘Harrogate was almost enough to undermine my resistance,’ she said. ‘The dreariest place.’
‘Did you find it so?’ James said. ‘I was stranded there the year before last when I went to stay at a friend’s hunting lodge and broke an ankle. Once I was hobbling about on crutches I found it surprisingly entertaining.’
‘For gentlemen, perhaps,’ Miss Reece said, dismissively. ‘And the dreadful Yorkshire weather – why, I hardly went out of the house, it seemed. Excuse me, Mr Watson is organising the next set.’
‘Strange,’ James said as she walked off to the other end of the room.
‘What?’
‘I’ll tell you later. Let’s try this one.’
‘What was it?’ I asked as I stood beside James on the pavement waiting to cross Pall Mall. ‘Oh look – is that Carlton House with the crowd outside?’
‘Do you want to have a look? I expect Luc can get you inside to one of Prinny’s little entertainments if you want.’
‘Only with an armed escort and wearing chain mail,’ I said with a shudder. ‘I was groped by dear Prince George last time and I have no desire to meet him again in some shady conservatory.’
