Lady Sparrow

by Barbara Metzger

  Lowell studied the list. “Yes, he might have been so arrogant, and so foolish. If he had, in truth, wed one of those girls, you realize, your own marriage, coming later, could be proved invalid.”

  She nodded. Of course she had thought of that.

  “It is lucky you had no children, in that case.”

  At Mina’s sharp intake of breath, he apologized. “I am sorry. That was cruel of me. I know you lost a babe. A son?”

  At Mina’s second nod, he went on. “He would have been declared illegitimate, in favor of one of these children, then, if someone had evidence.”

  “Yes, I know. That no longer matters.” She stared out the window.

  “No, but your widow’s jointure does.”

  “I have ample funds without. Roderick would never be able to deny me the monies, however, unless he produced the heir. That would defeat his own purpose, which has to be keeping the earldom for himself.”

  “I cannot help wondering just how far old Roderick is willing to go.”

  To hell, it appeared, from the smoke and soot and ash that wreathed the Strickland Charity Home like a malevolent cloud. Mud marked the path of the fire brigade, and water sat in dirty puddles along the walk.

  The moppet who opened the door, rags and bucket in hand, told them that the matron was too agitated for visitors. Mrs. Strickland did agree to meet with the couple, however, after receiving a further message that they wished to make a contribution, after the fire. Understandably shaken, she was slumped in a chair in the parlor with the windows open to clear the smell of smoke. Not quite so understandable to Mina’s thinking, the proprietress was attempting to settle her nerves with a bottle of Blue Ruin. She did manage to rise to greet them, and to take the check Mina handed her.

  “You cannot know how welcome this is, with us all at sixes and sevens. Not that I could make head nor tails out of the accounts anyway. My Duncan kept the books, you see, all the while he kept coughing. He has been gone half a year, and now so are the ledgers.”

  Lowell watched Mrs. Strickland’s eyes widen at the amount of the bank draft. She did not seem to take any particular notice of the Sparrowdale name, only the total. He expressed sympathy for her losses, thinking that black became Lady Sparrow far better than it did the full-fleshed, florid-faced matron. The touches of lace at the countess’s throat gave her an elegance sadly lacking in Ella Strickland. Sparrowdale’s widow looked anything but governessy in her dark clothes. Duncan Strickland’s widow looked precisely like what she was: an overworked, overwrought, and inebriated old schoolmistress.

  “In addition to lending assistance, we have actually come looking for a child,” Minerva was saying now. Lowell found himself pleased to be included in her “we.”

  Mrs. Strickland took her smoke-and-spirit-blearied eyes off the check long enough to note Mina’s mourning garb, his lordship’s look of concern. She saw a prosperous couple who had lost a child. Likely the quacks had told them she’d never conceive another, likely enough with her all skin and bones. Ella saw a chance to make another windfall. “Ah, then I should be paying you my condolences.”

  “But you do have children up for adoption?” Lowell asked.

  “Some, though others are more in the nature of boarders. Were you looking for an infant? Most young couples are, more’s the pity.”

  Mina did not bother correcting Mrs. Strickland’s mistaken assumption that she and Lord Lowell were married. It would have been too complicated, when all she wanted was to find out about the boy. “We are looking for a specific child, one who might have been left in your care. His father would have given his name as Harold Sparr, or Lord Sparrowdale. He is now deceased.”

  “I’m sorry, to be sure, but I never heard of the nob.”

  “Well, then, perhaps these initials mean something to you. I have marked the ages I believe the children would now be next to them.” Mina handed over her list, then held her breath while the matron held the page at arm’s length, squinting down from the names on top, from M.P., who would be older than Mina, so not a primary concern, down through Perry’s P.R. midway, and then to her Robert’s R.S. second from the bottom.

  Mrs. Strickland handed the paper back. “Sorry again. I don’t have any young’uns like that. I do have a pretty little gal what has blue eyes like your husband, though.”

  “He’s not my—” Mina began, now that it did not matter how much time was wasted.

  Lowell interrupted. “Do you know the name Perry Radway? He might have brought the fees for one of those on the list.”

  “Dark-haired lad, about three and ten?”

  Mina clutched Lowell’s arm without thinking. He placed a hand over hers and said, “That’s him. Did he come for one of your children?”

  Ella took the list back and studied it. “Here it is, this one, G.H. George Hawkins, though we call him Hawk, on account of his nose, which is why I did not recognize his initials.” She squinted at the list again. “Yes, the age matches. Hawk is eight, all right. Your Perry brought his quarterlies, and used to take the boy on outings now and again. Called him his brother, now that I recall.”

  Not four. Not Robin. Mina sank back against the sooty cushions of the couch. What did it matter? She was already wearing black.

  Lowell asked about young Hawkins’s mother.

  “Never seen hide nor hair of her, and the father neither, only Perry. Hawk says she was a vicar’s daughter. Ain’t they all?”

  “Was she married to the boy’s father?”

  Ella snorted and took another swallow from her glass. “Not by half. The half what makes it all right and tight. He promised to marry her, but never got around to it before she died. That’s how the boy landed here.”

  “I do not suppose there is any proof to be had for this story?” Lowell asked.

  “If there was, it’s ashes now. Mixed right in there with my Duncan’s ashes. But now that I think on it, I haven’t seen Perry in an age and no one else is paying me to keep Hawk. If he’s the brat you want, you can have him for the price of the last quarter. If not, it’s off to the mines or the factories with him. They’ll pay me what’s owed.”

  Mina sat up again. “You’d sell him into near slavery?”

  “Slavery is illegal. I’d be recouping my losses, is all. This ain’t no charity operation, you know.”

  Wasn’t it called Strickland’s Charity Home? Mina did not bother arguing. “I will pay his debt, if he wishes to come with me.”

  The boy’s face was so blackened with soot that Mina could not recognize anything of humankind, much less of Sparrowdale. He claimed Perry as his half brother, though, and some rotten nob as their pa. Hawk also claimed he’d clean Lady Sparrowdale’s outhouse rather than be sent north to the factories.

  He went to pack while the transaction was concluded. Lowell placed the carriage blanket against the velvet squabs of his coach. Mina asked Mrs. Strickland twice more if Perry had not visited any of the other children. Then they were off, with Ella’s last words echoing behind them: “Watch out for that one. He steals.”

  “Bugger off, you old bat,” Hawk shouted back.

  He was Sparrowdale’s son, all right.

  Chapter Sixteen

  So Mina had a son. A filthy, foulmouthed, falcon-nosed felon whose pockets were full of Mrs. Strickland’s folderols. What was she supposed to do with George Hawkins? He was too old for her to bathe, too big to sit on her lap, too much a Sparrowdale for her to take to her bosom—which the little heathen was staring at.

  Luckily, Lord Lowell took charge. After dropping her at the front door of Merrison House, he had the carriage drive him and the boy around to the mews, where there was a water pump, and young grooms with cast-off clothing. First he shook the boy upside down to dislodge any stolen valuables he might have missed the first time, and then he gave young Hawk a warning.

  “If one shilling goes missing in this house, one fork or spoon, one candlestick or chicken leg, you will wish you were sold into servitude after all. Lady Spar
rowdale has saved your life, not letting you be sent to the factories, so make sure you repay her with respect and honor. If not, they always need boys to haul those trams in the mines. Understand?”

  George understood. There were food and toys and horses here. A chap would have to be a regular noddy to queer this deal. So later, when he was clean and combed and in fresh clothes, after old jaw-me-dead Ochs announced him, Hawk was presented to his new stepmother and the duchess. He made a creditable bow, a promise not to cause any difficulties and to study hard at his lessons. Harkness, who had rehearsed the boy, winked from the doorway before Ochs shut the door in his adversary’s face.

  To show his gratitude, and his new rectitude, Hawk handed Mina a gift, a miniature painting that had been tucked among his few belongings. “It weren’t stolen, ma’am,” the boy swore. “But I am right fond of it all the same. So I am giving it to you.”

  “Why, thank you, George. That is very sweet of you. I will treasure it always, because I know it means a lot to you. Is it of your mother?” Mina asked, reaching for the small portrait. Then she looked at it. Good grief, she hoped that was not his mother, posing in so suggestive a manner, in so few draperies.

  Her Grace glanced over, then reached for her lorgnette and the picture. “Great Heavens, that is Lady Afton-Glower, and she is not wearing a stitch!”

  Cousin Dorcas started fanning herself with her handkerchief.

  Lord Lowell put down his newspaper and strolled over, behind Mina. “No, Mother, she is wearing a hat. And if I am not mistaken, this is the work of that artist we met this morning, Marcel.”

  “He gave it to me, I swear, the time Perry took me to visit. He said the lady didn’t like it enough to pay its worth, so I could have it.”

  Judging from the smile on the viscountess’s face, Mad Marcel must have other talents than his painting. Lowell was certain the lady would have paid a great deal indeed to keep the painting out of the hands of grubby schoolboys, or the public eye. At least the young artist could be excused of greed. Marcel’s muse did not inspire blackmail, it seemed, nor payment for services rendered. “Perhaps she will have reconsidered by now. I know Marcel can use the money.”

  The duchess was still peering at the painting. “He is quite good, actually. I wonder if he would consent to do my portrait.”

  No one wished to see his mother in such a light . . . in so much light. Lowell snatched the picture out of her hands and started to return it to Minerva, but he thought better of that too, and placed it facedown on the table. “Did Perry take you visiting anywhere else?” he asked the boy, to redirect the conversation. “To other orphans’ homes, perhaps? Or did he mention other half brothers you might share?”

  Mina was angry that she had not thought to ask the boy those questions. How silly. And how fortunate she had such a knowing associate. She smiled at the picture he made, bending to the boy’s level, one hand scratching the dog’s ears. Her smile faded, though, when George could not remember anything special about the places where Perry had made his deliveries the few times he’d taken the younger boy along.

  “Well, you keep thinking, lad. Perhaps we’ll go riding out to Perry’s house, talk to Marcel again, and see if anything looks familiar.”

  “Riding? On a horse?” George grinned, looking more like the cherub Mina had envisioned. He would need a pony. Riding lessons. New clothes. A tutor. Lowell would know how to find them all, thank goodness, for Mina did not know where to start, raising a boy up to be a gentleman. George Hawkins might not be the child of her body nor the child of her heart, but he would be Mina’s ward as soon as Mr. Sizemore brought the papers to be signed. George was hers to love.

  Then he put three biscuits in his pocket while he thought no one was watching. And the sugar tongs. Old habits died hard.

  To get a jump on the other fortune hunters the callers started coming that afternoon. By four o’clock, the street in front of Merrison House was filled with gentlemen’s equipages of every sort, from pony carts to racing phaetons. The carriage drive was shoulder-to-shoulder horses, with flower delivery boys darting between gleaming Thoroughbreds and arch-necked Arabians. Hawk escaped Harkness’s watch to admire the mounts, and Harkness happily went back to the pubs to ask about Lord Sparrowdale’s erstwhile sweethearts. Let Ochs bear-lead the boy until a tutor was hired.

  Lowell wished he could escape too, but his mother insisted on his presence, lest the basket-scramblers go beyond the line of what was pleasing in their efforts to fix Minerva’s interest.

  “Then you need Drew here,” he told her, referring to his younger brother Andrew, who was stationed in London with the Horse Guards. “He’ll keep order for you.”

  “And he will bring all of his rackety junior officer friends to throw themselves at Minerva.”

  Lowell stayed, glaring the gentlemen into no more than their proper twenty-minute calls.

  Mina would rather have been anywhere, including outside, making sure that George did not steal any of the gentlemen’s horses. She would have fled but for the duchess’s insistence that she had to get this over with before she became a challenge to the bored bucks and beaus. So she stayed by Her Grace’s side and smiled, and turned down every offer of a drive or a picnic or another visit. Ice could have formed in the room for all the warmth she exhibited toward the callers. She paid more attention to the dog at her side than to the gentlemen throwing their hearts—and their empty pockets—at her feet. They all left disappointed and deeper in debt by a posy or a book or a box of bonbons. That is, until Lord Sparrowdale was announced. After the usual insincere pleasantries, Roderick drew Mina aside, then out through the French doors to the rear gardens.

  “Estate matters,” he told the fops and fribbles and out-of-funds hopefuls to excuse his stealing away the object of their affectations. “Family affairs, don’t you know.”

  In a moment they appeared again, in full view of the house windows, but out of hearing.

  Lowell edged nearer the doors. “That little fool,” he muttered. Sparrowdale might be an accessory to murder, and Lowell’s lady—his employer, that was—was going off alone with the bounder. He decided to take the dog for an outing, in the rear gardens. The gardeners could complain to his mother about the dug-up rosebushes and the brown spots on the lawns. Lowell was not leaving Minerva alone with Roderick the raptor.

  Mina had not gone outdoors with Roderick by choice. He had smiled to the company as he took her hand, but no one could see that he was squeezing her fingers so hard that her gold wedding ring was cutting into her knuckle. She did not wish to cause a scene, not in the duchess’s parlor, so she went with him. As soon as they were outside, however, she pretended to stumble, stepping on his foot as hard as she could, until he released her.

  “I will not be manhandled, Roderick,” she said in a low, angry voice, “so say what you have to and begone. Her Grace’s gardeners do not permit slugs in the gardens.”

  “Save your wit for the nodcocks inside, Minerva. Maybe one of them will overlook your shrewish ways in favor of your fortune. I will not. You have made me look the fool by coming to London and staying here instead of at Sparr House.”

  “Is that what has you in such a taking? Be at ease, then, Roderick. I had no hand in the public’s opinion.” With his yellow Cossack trousers and spotted neckcloth her husband’s nephew resembled nothing so much as a clown to her. Unfortunately, he was not of a comic nature. Wishing to end the conversation as soon as possible, she told him, “With no other females at Sparr House, my visit would have created more talk. The duchess is an old friend of Cousin Dorcas, and so I was pleased to accept her invitation.”

  “And what of the son?”

  “The duke? I have never met him.”

  Roderick reached for her arm, but Mina had learned to keep her distance. He said, “As you well know, I mean that bug-eyed bobbing block who has been trying to look out the window at us.”

  “Lord Lowell? He appears quite the gentleman.” She did not need to add the
“unlike others I could name,” but it hung there between them. “He has been everything kind.”

  Roderick sneered. “Of course he has. The flat is a second son. How else is he to feather his nest but with a wealthy wife?”

  “I believe Her Grace’s son is gainfully employed and has no need to make an advantageous marriage.” Again, that “unlike others I could name” stayed silent.

  “Hah. He is engaged in nothing but sticking his long nose into other people’s business.”

  Mina considered Lowell’s nose nearly perfect, straight, with just the right degree of length to make it dignified. Unlike . . . “I understand he was responsible for the recovery of Lady Carstair’s diamonds. But that is beside the point. The duchess assures me her son is not in the Marriage Mart.”

  “But you are?”

  Let him think what he wanted, so long as he did not suspect she had hired Lord Lowell. Mina gave an airy wave toward the still-crowded drawing room.

  “Is that what you came to Town for, Minerva? To buy yourself another title?”

  “You forget yourself, nephew. But I should think you’d be happy if that were the case. My widow’s annuity ceases on my remarriage, of course. Think of the extra pounds in your coffers.”

  Roderick paced in front of her, his hands clenched into fists. “And that other nonsense? That rot about Sparrowdale’s by-blows? You better have put it from your mind, the way I warned you. For if you’ve come to Town about those brats, I will not have it, I tell you. I am not going to let you wash the family’s dirty linen in public, not while I am close to winning Westcott’s daughter.”

  “I merely wish to make certain the children are cared for. I see nothing wrong in that, and nothing in it to do with you or your courtship. In fact, I should think the lady and her father would appreciate knowing her suitor took his responsibilities seriously.”

  Roderick’s fury did not permit him to listen to anyone else’s reasoning, certainly not a plaguesome female’s. “You are making a byword of yourself. Just look at that crowd of puppies in there.”