by Tinnean
“Thank you.” I felt cold. Just looking at those pearls gave me an odd feeling in my gut. “If…if you’ll leave them with my clothes?”
“You’ll want to be taking better care of them, I’m sure.”
“I will,” I murmured. Charlie had held them the day he died. Unseen by anyone, he must have dropped them into a pocket as he collapsed. That was the only way I could see them making the journey to Great Britain. “Er…is Captain Smythe up?”
“Bless you, Mr Sayer, he’s been out and about for hours.”
“I’m sorry—” I could feel the heat rising up the back of my neck.
“Not at all, sir. Captain Thomas asked me to let you know he’d be home in the early afternoon, if you was still wanting to take the horses out.”
“Oh, yes.”
“I’ll leave you to get dressed and have breakfast.”
“It’s more like lunch, I’m afraid.”
“Captain Thomas informed us how hard the ocean voyage was on you. I hope you’re feeling better this morning?”
“I am, thank you.”
“Enjoy your meal, and let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”
“You’re very kind. Thank you,” I said again.
“It’s good to see the master’s brother with a friend.” She smiled and left.
And I turned my head and stared across the room at the pearls.
I did not want to touch them. But I could hardly leave them lying about. I sighed heavily and got out of bed. I’d have to send a wire to Africa. The pearls would need to be returned to Howard Carter as soon as possible. I just hoped he didn’t want them returned in person. I didn’t think I could face another ocean voyage in the near future.
I crossed to the chair and stared down at the pearls. They had a lustrous sheen that seemed to reflect the pale image of my face.
No, I wasn’t touching that thing. Because we wouldn’t be staying at the town house for long, my carpetbag was still in the room. I retrieved it now, swung it up onto the bed, and opened it. Then I went back to fetch the pearls. I grabbed up the hem of my nightshirt and used that to gather up the pearls.
Gingerly, I carried them to my carpetbag and slipped them into a side pocket. I didn’t even want them touching my clothes.
And while I regretted making extra work for the washerwoman, I was not putting on this nightshirt again. I stripped it off and dressed in a set of clean clothes the maid had brought in, then sat down and tucked into my breakfast.
* * * *
Tommy found me in the mews when he returned an hour or so later. He was dressed in riding clothes.
“Have you eaten?” I asked.
“Yes. Ready for our ride?”
I nodded.
“Excellent. Ollie, fetch Chaucer.”
“Yes, sir.” The stable boy raced down the centre aisle of the stables.
“Chaucer?”
“Yes. Dinah named him.”
Dinah was his brother’s wife, and from the way Tommy spoke of her, I could tell he liked her very much. As a matter of fact, if I hadn’t known for certain he preferred gentlemen to ladies, I’d have been…no, surely not jealous? I sighed. Yes, jealous.
“Roddy?”
“Sorry, I was wool-gathering. You were saying Dinah named the horse?”
He frowned, puzzled, but then continued. “Yes. She’s always been the fanciful sort. She’d seen paintings of scenes from the Middle Ages and thought the gelding looked like something right from it.”
I could hardly agree that was fanciful, when I’d named the donkey Rocinante, after Don Quixote’s horse, so I gave a noncommittal smile.
Ollie led out a black gelding with a white streak on its face and four white socks, while a younger boy held Hubini’s reins.
I watched as Tommy stepped into the saddle and gathered the reins in his hand. Such poetry in motion.
“Shall we go? Roddy? Shall we—”
“Eh? Oh, yes.” I swung up onto the mare’s back. George nickered, and I called to him, “Your turn tomorrow.” The chestnut stallion seemed to settle down, and I turned to my friend. “Where shall we go?”
“I thought Rotten Row?”
I had no idea where that was, but I said, “Lead the way.”
He nudged the gelding with his heels, and we trotted out onto the road that would lead us to Hyde Park.
“I received a letter today. It was from Nelson, the manager of my farm.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Mrs Johnson asked the same thing.” I was relieved Tommy didn’t express surprise that I knew anyone who would write to me. I actually didn’t, but it would have been painful for him to say something to that effect. I went on to repeat what the manager had written.
“Hmm. It’s odd that your neighbour should want you off the land.”
“I thought so, too. Halliwell always struck me as a fairly decent man, so this is puzzling.”
“I believe you mentioned something about Charlie giving you a diamond?”
“He did.”
“Shall I look into it for you?”
“You’d travel to South Africa?” Of course I appreciated his being willing to do that for me, but the Veldt was so far away.
“Actually, I have some friends in that part of the continent. I thought I could ask them to see what was going on.”
“Thank you, that’s very kind, but I’m sure my manager can deal with it.”
“All right, but if you change your mind, I’m more than at your service.”
“Thank you,” I said again. Warmth spread through me at his willingness to assist me.
“Speaking of precious stones, Mrs Johnson told me of the pearls.”
“Oh.” I’d been hoping word of the stones hadn’t got around the house. “Yes. I’ll have to wire Mr Carter about returning them. I’m at a loss as to how they wound up in Charlie’s trousers. He’d never take something that didn’t belong to him.” I didn’t want Tommy to think poorly of my husband.
“I’m sure he wouldn’t. We can send the wire after our ride, if you like.”
“That would be splendid. Thank you.”
“Think nothing of it, dear boy.”
“How did your morning go?”
The rest of our ride to the Park was spent with him telling me about a client who had driven Tommy to the point of him wanting to chuck the man into the Thames, and I had to bite back a laugh at the thought of anyone trying my friend’s patience in that manner.
We entered Hyde Park and set the horses to a sedate walk, but we paused when a gentleman rode up to wish my friend a good afternoon, and Tommy took the time to introduce me. After they chatted for a bit, they bid each other adieu, and we continued on.
Shortly thereafter, another man called to Tommy, and a similar scenario took place. It amazed me how many people he knew. I knew Nanny and Brother, and of course Mama and Papa, but once Brother took me to Africa, he didn’t want me mingling with the people he was trying to convert. After the Germans razed the town, there was Charlie, and finally Tommy. But all these men and women Tommy seemed to know…
Tommy was hailed once again, and we paused again while he introduced me and chatted with this group of men and women who greeted him. After the fourth time we had to stop in our circuit of Rotten Row, he frowned as we parted company from them.
I could see something was bothering him, so I asked, “What’s wrong?”
“I don’t like the way that bounder was ogling you.”
“He was admiring Hubini.”
Tommy’s expression became exasperated. “Really, sir?”
“I thought he was your friend.”
“The merest acquaintance.” Tommy waved it away.
“I see. Well, I don’t think he was ogling me, and I can’t imagine why you would think he’d be inclined to.”
“You truly have no idea?”
“I don’t.”
“Never mind. Shall we continue?”
I nodded, and we
rode on. However, not too long after, Tommy was hailed yet again.
“I say, Fortescue-Smythe, is that you?”
“Dammit,” he muttered.
“Shall we make a break for it?” I asked, not really teasing.
“Don’t tempt me.” He pasted on a smile and turned. “Jeffries, old chap. I must say I didn’t expect to see you here.” His voice had taken on that plummy tone he’d used when I’d met him in Cairo. It made him sound as if he didn’t have two brain cells to his name, as it had at that time, and I liked it even less now.
“It’s been quite some time. I trust you’re well?” Jeffries’s eyes widened when he saw the patch that covered Tommy’s right eye. “Oh, I say. Rum go, dear boy.”
“Hadn’t you heard? It was hardly a secret.”
The woman beside Jeffries fluttered her lashes until she saw the patch, and then her gaze skittered away. It fell on me and for some reason grew avid.
“Aren’t you going to introduce us, Reginald?” she asked pointedly.
“Can’t, m’dear. Don’t know the chap. Smythe, perhaps you’d do the honours?”
“Rodney Sayer. A friend of mine from Africa.”
“The Dark Continent!” the woman tittered. She nudged her mount closer until her knee brushed against mine. “How exciting.”
I tugged lightly on the reins so Hubini would know I wanted her to back away.
Tommy turned to me, saw my action, and frowned. I was sorry if that upset him, but I didn’t like the idea of a woman I didn’t know touching me.
“Roddy, this is Mr Jeffries and his friend Miss York.”
“Sir, Miss.” I tugged my slouch hat and gave a brief nod.
She extended her hand, and I had no choice but to take it, but as soon as I could, I released it.
“Roddy! So much less formal than Rodney. Reginald?” She glanced archly at her companion.
“Oh, er…We’re having a small dinner party this evening, Smythe. Just a few intimate friends. Why don’t you and Mr Sayer pop around?”
Tommy opened his mouth, but before he could accept or decline the invitation, whichever was his choice, Hubini laid back her ears and nipped at the woman’s horse, who once again had been getting too close. Startled, the gelding shied away, and the woman had to clutch at his mane.
“Reginald!” she screeched. He caught her mount’s reins just below the bit, while she tried to keep the elegant little lace and wool confection she wore on her head from falling into her eyes.
Tommy cleared his throat. “I’m afraid we can’t make it, Jeffries, old chap. Previous engagement, don’t you know?” He tipped his hat. “Miss York. Roddy, if you’re ready?”
“It was nice meeting you both.” I tipped my hat as well, smiled at them, and shifted my weight in the saddle. Hubini took her cue and trotted after my friend.
When we were out of earshot, he snarled, “The simpering trollop.”
“Thomas! How can you say that?”
“I’ll tell you how. She was making eyes at you.”
I stared at him. “She was?” How was it that on this day, apparently everyone seemed to be either ogling me or making eyes at me?
Tommy gritted his teeth. “We’re going home. You’re attracting too much bloody attention.”
“All right,” I said happily. It sounded to me as if he were jealous, and I liked that idea. “Do we have a previous engagement this evening?”
“We’re going to the cinema, if you recall. And I think I’ll take you to my club for dinner.” He muttered under his breath, “At least I can trust that lot to keep their eyes in their heads.”
Yes, he definitely sounded jealous.
Chapter 17
After we returned from our ride, having sent off the telegram, Tommy suggested, “Why don’t we get out of these clothes? Then we can meet in the parlour for tea.”
“What an excellent idea.”
I didn’t dally, but when I entered the parlour, it was to find Tommy already there. He stood before the fireplace, one hand propped on his hip while the other held a piece of paper. He had his head tilted to one side, and he swore quietly, one word after another filled with irritation.
“What’s wrong?”
“Sir John Synclaire sent me a letter.” He saw my confusion. “Sir John is a neighbour from Kent. His estate is adjacent to Greenbriers. His youngest son is a good friend of mine.”
“Oh?” I was startled at how hollow my voice sounded. Fortunately, Tommy didn’t seem to notice.
“But I can’t bloody well read this letter. Damned eye. Usually it’s not this bad.”
“Might you need a monocle?”
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” He turned in my direction and thrust the paper at me. “Do me a favour and read it?”
“Certainly.” I took the page and looked over the tight lines of script. “My dear Thomas. I would appreciate it if you would consider taking dinner with me and John at White’s—” I looked up. “John isn’t your friend, is he?”
“No. He’s the oldest of Sir John’s sons. He’s Warrick’s half brother.” His voice was icy, and I felt the need to apologise.
I didn’t, however—I hadn’t done anything to apologise for. I cleared my throat and continued reading. “It’s been some time since you were home. I have a matter of some importance to discuss with you.” Once again I looked up and met his gaze.
“That’s all?”
“No. He signed his name.”
He tapped his toe impatiently, his breathing rapid and his expression dark, and he demanded, “What the devil does he want to talk to me about?”
“I’m sure I have no idea.”
He stared at me for a moment, then smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Do you mind if we go?”
“You want me to go with you?”
“Certainly.”
“How is he going to feel about that?”
Tommy’s expression became one I had never seen before—cold and hard, making him look like someone around whom it paid to tread warily. “I don’t bloody well care. We have plans, and I don’t intend to alter them to suit that stiff-necked old—”
“Then why not just send your regrets?”
“Because the Mater would be most displeased.” He used that plummy tone again, which I was coming to detest, and I regretted offering that suggestion.
Although I had to admit, if only to myself, I was relieved I’d never had to deal with old family friends.
Tommy sighed. “I apologise, Roddy. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“If you can’t snap at a friend, whomever else can you snap at?”
He reached out and squeezed my shoulder. “We can go on to the cinema from there. It’s only a few streets away.”
“All right. Shall I write the response, or would you rather do it yourself?”
He dropped his hand and turned away, but not before I saw him pinch the bridge of his nose. Was he getting a headache? “Would you mind?” He waved toward the desk in the corner. “Considering the mood I’m in right now, he’d never be able to decipher my handwriting. Just tell him we’ll join him at six, if you would?”
“That’s early for town, isn’t it?”
He gave me a look.
“Right. Six it is.” I went to the desk and found some paper and writing implements just as Mrs Johnson brought in the tea tray.
While Tommy poured the tea, I wrote to Sir John Synclaire, informing him Thomas accepted his kind invitation on behalf of himself and a friend, with whom he had later plans, and so dinner would have to be at six, and if that was an inconvenience, another day and time could be chosen. I signed it as if I were Tommy’s secretary.
That gave me a thought. Once he and I parted ways—for surely the brother of a baronet wouldn’t have need of the brother of a missionary for a friend—I might seek employment as secretary to some wealthy man who would prefer having an employee deal with his correspondence rather than doing so himself.
“Finished,” I
told Tommy without mentioning any possible plans for my future. A future without him. The dismal thought crossed my mind.
He had been sitting at the table, pensively stirring his tea, his thoughts Heaven alone knew where. He rose and came to me, took the missive, squinted as he read it over, then nodded, folded it and slid it into an envelope, and summoned his brother’s butler. “See this gets to Sir John Synclaire at this address.” He scrawled it across the front of the envelope.
“Very good, sir.” The butler took the letter and left.
Tommy studied the clock on the mantel. “We have time to finish our tea, but then we’d better begin getting ready. Sir John has no patience with tardiness.”
“You’re so certain he’ll agree?”
“Yes.”
I could see he had no intention of saying anything more, so I nodded. “I don’t have dinner clothes,” I reminded him. The only time there had been any need for me to have a suit was when Charlie and I had stayed in Nairobi a while, fancying ourselves men about town while we were there. The suit was still in the tiny wardrobe on our farm.
“You can wear something of mine,” Tommy said as he took his seat. He waited until I’d seated myself across from him, then handed me my tea. “I usually stay with Bertie when I’m in town, and I keep some spare suits here.” He ran his gaze over me. “You look to be similar in size to me”
“That will be a good thing, then, won’t it?” I helped myself to a scone and some clotted cream and shivered in pleasure at the thought of having clothes he’d worn close to my skin.
No, this was nonsense. He was a friend, and I wouldn’t think of him as anything else.
I nibbled on the scone and sipped my tea, and listened while Tommy spoke of his boyhood friend. They had played in the attics and cellars of Thorny Walk House, and rode through the woods and swam in the lake on Greenbriers land. I had the feeling there was much he left out, but that was his prerogative.
He stopped abruptly in mid-sentence. “Would you object to telling me something of your boyhood?” he asked.
“Of course not. My life is an open book.” And I gave him a carefully expurgated version of growing up with Brother in the village of Udjidji.
