Gilded Lily

by Delphine Dryden

  Fucking. She’d heard that one plenty of times on the street, sometimes from the prostitutes who liked to proposition her and Dan when they passed by. He always tried to instruct Freddie to look away—“Avert your eyes,” he’d say—but she was fascinated by the women. Saddened, also. Their faces grew old long before their time, and she couldn’t help but notice how quickly they seemed to come and go on the landscape. A few months, perhaps a year, then some other girl would be there on that corner, a cheap, bright shawl wrapped around her shoulders. Quick to catch the eye, quick to fade as the season wore on.

  Had they done that, really? Fucking? It didn’t feel like what those young women sold. That commodity seemed shameful, feral, soulless. The human equivalent of the back of the butcher’s shop, something necessary but fundamentally unpleasant and far better left unseen. What she and Barnabas had done was beautiful, every minute of it. She couldn’t bring herself to feel any shame about it.

  He was looking her way. She told herself it was the landscape that held his attention, but when she looked to his goggles, he smiled at her. He held one hand toward her, bravely releasing half his death grip on his brother, and Freddie stretched to brush her fingertips against his. One second . . . two . . . and then the velocimobile hit a larger-than-usual bump and Barnabas was clinging for dear life with both hands again. But still grinning.

  She had almost hoped that the act of lovemaking would effect some change in her, make her want things that would be more convenient in her life. As if penetration could somehow carry with it a new pattern for thinking, for wanting, in realms that had nothing to do with the bedroom. But Freddie still didn’t want to settle down on some piece of land and have babies for the sake of having babies. Or, heaven forbid, as some sort of family duty. She wanted to carry on exploring the ways of the flesh with Barnabas, and she wanted to keep working as a tinker. Those two things, in equal measure. She could think of no life that would afford her the opportunity to do both.

  But still, it had been beautiful. She didn’t regret it, even if her heart grew heavy as they drove into Tilbury to find the steam pony trap waiting where they’d left it the day before. The town was Sunday-quiet, and only a few strangers passed as Freddie unchained the pony from the old hitching post she’d secured it to. Barnabas topped off the boiler while Phineas stoked the furnace, and they were off within minutes on the second, much shorter leg of their journey to Sophie’s house.

  Freddie drove because, as she explained, driving helped her to think and she could do with a little bit more of that.

  • • •

  “WHERE EXACTLY ARE we going?” Phineas demanded when they turned onto the street that would take them to Lady Sophronia’s carriage house.

  “I told you. To a friend of Freddie’s.” Barnabas was afraid of what might happen when Phineas learned the truth, which he was bound to do any moment now. “Somebody who helps her lead her double life of fancy dress balls and tinkering about in fishmongers’ shops.”

  “You mentioned a footman, and his mother the former nursemaid. This is no retired servant’s neighborhood. My God, are you attempting to take me to the girl’s own house? To Murcheson himself?”

  “It isn’t my neighborhood either,” Freddie assured him. “Calm yourself. As Barnabas said, this is the home of a friend.”

  “I see. A friend. One you trust, I sincerely hope. I think I know this house. Surely it’s under different ownership now, though.”

  Wallingford had purchased the house for Sophie when they were married, according to Freddie. If Phineas recognized it as hers, that meant he’d been here after the wedding. Pining after his lost love, no doubt. He’d already been working in deep cover by then, but he’d taken the risk to come to Wilton Crescent.

  There was every chance this might not go well.

  “I believe it’s under the same ownership, actually. In a manner of speaking.”

  “Oh, dear,” Freddie mumbled.

  “You’re taking me to Sophie Wallingford. You actually expect me to go into that woman’s house asking for succor? And then what, she’ll lend me some of her husband’s clothing for a new disguise? Somehow I don’t think it will fit. You might want to consider a better class of friend, Miss Murcheson.”

  Perhaps they should have gone to the Pinkerton home. But Freddie had insisted, and he had agreed, that Dan’s mother was already in enough danger of discovery. Sophie, at least, had resources to defend herself if she was accused. And her consent in the whole affair was certainly better informed than Mrs. Pinkerton’s.

  “When I’m dressed like this, it’s Fred,” Freddie reminded Phineas. “Whatever sordid history you have with Sophie, that’s irrelevant to the current situation. Either I report to her, or she reports to my father. I’ll leave it to you to figure out which is the wiser alternative at this point. But figure it out quickly, because we’re here.”

  The pony juddered to a halt by the carriage block, and a young groom dashed out, only to pull up short when he saw the rough conveyance and its rougher denizens. “’Elp you?”

  “You’re new here,” Freddie remarked, hopping off the trap’s seat. “Run fetch Digby and Taylor, they’ll know what to do.”

  The boy ran off, and the seasoned grooms arrived in his place a moment later to spirit the trap away and usher the disheveled trio into the house, where Jacob, the senior footman, awaited them. Disapproval was plain on his face, but he kept any censure to himself as he led them to the green parlor. Sophie Wallingford was there, pacing and wringing her hands, and she swept across the room with a glad cry when Freddie crossed the threshold.

  “Another quarter hour and I’d have sent Daniel straight back to your father to send him looking for you. I never dreamed you’d be this long.” She moved as if to embrace Freddie but stopped when she got within a step of her, one hand rising to her nose as if to protect it. “Good heavens, that’s . . . pungent.”

  Freddie snorted. “This is nothing compared to how it smelled yesterday. Poor Jacob would have turned us away entirely.”

  “Won’t you come in and, um.” Sophie was clearly torn between manners and practicality, but the latter won out. “Come and stand while we talk. Lord Smith-Grenville as well, I’m so glad you’re back unharmed. Oh, and who’s this?”

  Barnabas followed Freddie into the room, only to see Daniel Pinkerton stationed in one corner, arms crossed over his massive chest, scowling like a gargoyle. He wore his rough clothes, which made him look even larger than he did in his employer’s livery. The big man looked so fierce Barnabas actually flinched when he saw his expression. But Dan barely registered him. His eyes were on Sophie, who was transfixed by the last person to enter the room.

  “My lady.” Phineas inclined at the waist, a half bow almost more insulting than none at all.

  Not for nothing was Lady Sophronia known for her composure. Her eyes widened a moment. Her slender throat bobbed in an obvious swallow, her mouth pinched too tightly for that same instant. Then as he watched, the signs of strain seemed to melt away, leaving only the cool, beautiful statue in their wake.

  “Mr. Smith-Grenville.”

  After the most horrible moment of silence Barnabas had ever experienced, Sophie turned away and Phineas coughed into his hand and everybody else took a collective breath.

  “Dan, what are you doing here? It’s not your holiday, or your half day.” Freddie didn’t seem concerned, more curious, but something about Pinkerton’s expression sent Barnabas’s hackles up.

  “Supposed to be driving you to the country and back, miss, remember?”

  “Oh, of course.”

  “Daniel has been very worried for you, Freddie.”

  Barnabas thought the man looked more angry and sullen than worried, despite Sophie’s charitable characterization. They might have done better to bring Pinkerton along on the escapade, to keep him involved if he wanted to be. On the other hand, if he
’d been there, last night would have never been possible. On balance, Barnabas found he had no regrets about leaving Dan behind.

  “It’s thoughtful of you, Dan. We’re back on time, however, so there’s no need to worry anymore. About anything except arranging a nice bath.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Sophie assured her, but Dan spoke up.

  “I’ll see you home, miss. We can bring you in the back and straight up to your room. If I send a boy now you could have hot water waiting for you.”

  “I never go home like this, you know that,” Freddie reminded him with a frown before turning back to Sophie. “I’m sorry for bringing all this down on your head, Sophie. It all became more complicated than I ever dreamed.”

  “Doesn’t everything?” She didn’t look at Phineas as she said it, but the subtext was palpable.

  Fearsome though Dan looked, Barnabas was inclined to side with him. He wanted to see Freddie home safely, bathed and in bed. He was exhausted, so he knew she must be. And the sooner she returned home, it seemed to him, the sooner the risk of her father discovering her hijinks disappeared.

  When he approached him, however, the footman’s scowl deepened to a murderous glare. Dan spoke before he had a chance to, in a low tone that didn’t carry to the others. “She didn’t mention she’d be out all night. I thought she’d be here, not halfway to France or wherever you took her off to. Overnight. Young impressionable girl.”

  Well, that was really too much. “I would hardly call—”

  “And the two of you, you brought danger to this house. No, not him.” Dan waved a dismissive hand toward Phineas. “Whatever his story is, I can tell his bark’s worse than his bite. I mean Mr. Murcheson. You know as well as I do if he decided to, he could crush Lady Sophronia Wallingford like an insect, and all the money in the world wouldn’t protect her. Not if he thought his daughter had been put in peril, and Lady Sophronia had helped. You know what he is. And after last night, I know what you are. My lord.”

  Barnabas didn’t know what he was himself, these days, but he knew enough not to ask Dan for his opinion on the subject. “Miss Murcheson has had a very long, tiring two days. If you believe you can get her home discreetly, dressed as she is, I’ll urge her to take your offer. That way we’ll all know she’s secure, and we can all stop worrying.”

  “I’ll still worry,” Dan assured him. “But aye, if you can convince her.”

  The deciding factor was the number of bathtubs with water laid on in Sophie’s house. Two. One for Barnabas, who could think of only one thing he’d ever anticipated more keenly than that particular bath. And one for Phineas, who had spoken scarcely another word since his arrival, other than to offer to leave on foot and find an inn or hostelry where he could bathe in peace.

  “You’d have to walk for hours from here to find an inn that would let you in the door,” Barnabas pointed out. “You can hardly stroll into Claridge’s looking and smelling like that, even if you had the money for it.”

  “I do, as it happens, have the money for it.” But Phineas couldn’t argue that his presentation was less than desirable at the moment.

  “Phineas and I will stay,” Barnabas decided for them. “Once he’s had a wash, Phineas can find a hotel, and I can come along to Murcheson’s house. Meanwhile, Pinkerton will see Freddie safely there. After breakfast tomorrow we’ll go driving, and Phineas can meet us in the park. We can regroup then.”

  “We need to get back to—” Freddie clamped her mouth shut, eyes cutting to the side to find Sophie. She must have recalled that Lady Sophronia knew nothing of the details of their outing. Nor would it be prudent to reveal them at this time, with the mood already so fraught. “We need to retrieve that thing from where we left it, and attempt to stop that event we discussed yesterday from taking place.”

  Phineas nodded. “You can both have a rest. I’ll stoke up the trap later and go in search of more fuel for . . . for the thing. Then I’ll go back to fetch it. Go for your drive after luncheon, unfashionable though it may be, to give me plenty of time. I think I know of a closer place that can accommodate the thing. We can meet and embark from . . . wherever that is.”

  “I’m not sure I trust you with the thing,” Freddie said with a scowl.

  “I was entrusted with it by its rightful owner, long before you ever laid eyes on it. I’ll take good care of it, rest assured. Make sure it’s safer from prying eyes than it is right now too.”

  “It certainly sounds as though you all have a full day before you tomorrow,” Sophie said wryly.

  Barnabas concurred. It sounded like a busier day than he was up to, but he supposed he would have to manage. The only way out at this point was through, although through to what he had no idea. Wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

  “You need to rest too,” he reminded Phineas. The dark circles under his brother’s eyes were not part of his disguise, nor was the slump in his shoulders. He’d had two hard days and a rough night in between. Far rougher than Barnabas’s own night, which had not quite been restful but indecently comfortable. “You look ready to drop. And we ought to talk.”

  “I suppose we must, but not tonight.”

  Dissatisfied but sensing it was wiser not to press, Barnabas left off for the moment and nodded to Dan. “What about Miss Murcheson’s things? Will you tell the house they were sent after her? Won’t it arouse suspicion if she doesn’t return when her luggage does?” She had packed as if for a weekend of frolic in the country, which evidently required an enormous steamer trunk.

  Dan shrugged. “We’ll bring it with us. Miss Murcheson can play the part of the lad I took pity on in the street and paid tuppence to help me carry the thing upstairs. If she keeps her head down, it should work well enough. As long as nobody gets within sniffing distance.”

  Barnabas wasn’t sure it sounded like a good plan at all, but his own head was swimming from fatigue and Freddie’s eyes were drifting shut as she swayed gently on her feet. He wanted to do something, kiss or hold her, even touch her. But what they’d already done was dangerous enough. Bringing it to everybody’s attention was out of the question. For now, at least.

  “Rest well, Freddie.” He allowed himself that much, and earned a smile in return.

  “The same to you. Both of you. And thank you, Sophie. You’re a true friend.”

  “I’m not so sure. We can hash it out another time, though. See she gets home safely, Daniel.”

  Pinkerton tipped an invisible hat and opened the parlor door for Freddie, who gave Barnabas one last, long look before following the big man out of the room.

  NINETEEN

  SHE WAS TIRED, deservedly so. That was the excuse she gave herself later on, anyway. But Freddie still thought she should have suspected something was amiss from Dan’s broody silence, in place of his usual broody lecturing. Or by the absence, which really ought to have been conspicuous, of any servants in the carriage house, or the garden, or the kitchens, or anywhere else on their journey from the mews to the door of Freddie’s room.

  Or the mere fact of the bath laid on for her there, steaming hot and enticing, so she needn’t wait a moment to get clean. And supper, still warm under its cover even when her bath was done, a comfortingly large serving of roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, with a slice of berry tart for afterward. A cup of tea or some lemonade wouldn’t have been unwelcome, but she was too tired to call for it. The wine somebody had thoughtfully poured was more than sufficient, for all it was a bit stronger and sweeter than she had expected.

  So tired. Hardly had she finished the meal than she fell gratefully into her bed, and into what she expected to be a restful, well-earned sleep. Instead she dreamed of swimming through black water, filthy and thick, knowing she must surface to breathe but terrified of some unnamable something she knew was waiting for her there. And later, of chasing Barnabas and Phineas down an endless dock, but her feet wouldn’t move, and when she opened he
r mouth to call out to them, no sound would come out.

  It was not a peaceful night. She awoke to a noon-bright room, a foul taste in her mouth, and the feeling that she had forgotten something important.

  The tub was gone, as was the supper tray. She hadn’t heard them being removed, but now a tray with breakfast sat on the small round table by the window. Sadly the teapot was cold and the tea appeared too stewed to be drinkable. The toast and kippers were also stone cold, as though they’d been sitting there for some time. Her stomach was uneasy anyway, and she pushed the stuff away.

  Ringing for a servant seemed to accomplish nothing, and after waiting several minutes—brushing her hair out and pondering what on earth to wear to go on a drive through the park culminating in a submersible ride to find invisible squid—she decided to peek out the door to investigate. No need to get herself into clothes yet and go looking for help if one of the girls happened to be dusting right outside her bedroom.

  The door wouldn’t open. It wasn’t just stuck either, as sometimes happened on damp days. When she yanked hard on the knob as she turned it, and at the same time kicked a certain spot near the hinge, nothing useful happened. Nothing even budged. She hadn’t really expected it to. It was not a damp day, for one thing.

  She peered through the keyhole, but saw only the blue striped paper on the hallway wall opposite. A glance under the door confirmed that the key had not simply fallen from the lock. Not that it should have been there in the first place, as she rarely bothered to lock her door and certainly hadn’t done so the previous night, but she would rather test all avenues before accepting the awful truth. At last she tried folding a slip of heavy paper from her writing desk and slipping it between the door and frame. Sliding up from the floor, the paper was stopped by the door catch, as she’d expected. But continuing up, she encountered another obstruction a few inches higher. Something on the outside of the door frame, that was very solid and that she was certain she would have noticed had it been there before.