by Jen Turano
“That’s Lurch,” Norman said, tightening his hold on her arm. “He’s the butler.”
“His name is Lurch?”
“According to my sister Alice, yes.”
“The same sister who fed you the story about disappearing orphans?”
“Are you suggesting my sister made up a name for your aunt’s butler?”
“I am, unless that man now gesturing for us to enter the house tells us his name is Lurch, which I highly doubt he’s going to do.”
“Ah, Miss Beatrix, you’re exactly as your aunt described,” the man said in a booming voice that caused Beatrix to jump.
“We’ve been expecting you, but allow me to say that I find myself relieved to discover that your aunt was quite right about your possessing an independent nature. You’ve found your way to us after all. We were expecting you to be in the company of a female traveling companion, though, but I’m sure there must be a story about where she is and what you’re doing with a gentleman, who, if I’m not mistaken, is Mr. Norman Nesbit.”
“He knows who I am?” Norman asked in a hushed tone even as his hand further tightened on her arm.
Sending him what she hoped was an encouraging smile, Beatrix stepped forward, even though Norman was trying to hold her back. Tugging Norman beside her, she walked through the door of her aunt’s large and somewhat unnerving house, turning her smile on the man holding the door for her.
“I lost my traveling companion, Miss Munn, before I even got out of New York, and then acquired the company of Mr. Nesbit when we ran afoul of some train robbers.”
“An interesting development to your day, I’m sure.” The man inclined his head and smiled. “I’m Edgar, Miss Beatrix. Edgar Bosworth, butler to Miss Huttleston.”
Beatrix turned to Norman and lowered her voice to the merest whisper. “You really might want to consider having a bit of a chat with that sister of yours. Lurch indeed.”
“Edgar’s not much better, nor is Bosworth,” Norman whispered back.
Ignoring that, she smiled at Mr. Bosworth. “I’m delighted to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bosworth.”
Mr. Bosworth’s smile widened. “I can also see your aunt was right about you being a charming sort, but there’s no need to call me Mr. Bosworth. Edgar is fine, and it’s what everyone calls me, except for some of the mischievous children who live in these parts.” He sent her a wink. “They enjoy calling me Lurch, and I must say I find that amusing and have been known to take a turn around the street, hunching my shoulders as I go, which does keep those children in a state of high anticipation.”
Beatrix grinned as some of the anxiety she hadn’t realized she’d been holding about coming to stay with an aunt she barely knew disappeared. “I imagine it does indeed.”
Edgar inclined his head, his rheumy blue eyes twinkling. “And with that settled, allow me to welcome you to Hyde Hall.” He gestured around the hallway. “It’s a lovely house, filled with the treasures your aunt has collected on her many journeys, and I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us. Your aunt has been looking forward to your visit and hasn’t stopped talking about the plans she has for you since it was decided you were coming to Chicago.”
“She has plans for me?”
“She does, but I’ll leave it to her to explain.”
Realizing that Norman was being far too silent, Beatrix glanced his way, finding his eyes narrowed on something behind Edgar. Craning her neck, she peered around the butler and found at least twenty cats sitting in a perfectly straight line against the wall, their heads turned her way, staring at her with unblinking eyes.
“Your mother must be incredibly put out with you,” Norman said, nodding toward the cats. A second later, he sneezed, sneezed again, and again, then began digging into his pocket, pulling out a handkerchief, which he promptly sneezed into.
“God bless you,” Beatrix told him when he finally stopped sneezing and turned watery eyes her way.
“It would be a greater blessing if God would take away my sensitivity to cats, as well as pollen, smog, and numerous other things, but thank you for that.”
“You’re sensitive to cats?”
“Why do you think I’m sneezing?”
“I thought you were recovering from a cold. I noticed on the train that your nose was red.”
“You noticed that?”
“You’re not the only one capable of being observant.”
Norman dabbed at his nose again. “Apparently not, but my symptoms on the train were a direct result of the cloying perfume the woman wearing the purple hat had on, which is why I abandoned that seat and moved closer to you, even though I was hesitant to do so because you’d proven yourself to be a chatty sort. You, however, weren’t wearing a cloying perfume but a more pleasant scent, one I got a better whiff of later when you . . .”
“When I what?” Beatrix prodded when Norman stopped talking right as a cat came streaking past them with what looked to be a dead mouse in its mouth. The cat stopped, turned, then trotted back toward them, depositing the mouse at Norman’s feet and releasing a purr before slinking off down a dim hallway and disappearing from sight.
“How unusual,” Edgar said. “Phantom never shares his mice, but it seems he’s taken to you, Mr. Nesbit, something I’ve never seen that cat do before.”
Norman dabbed at his nose and nodded. “Cats seem to sense that I’m sensitive to them, and being rather interesting creatures, they also seem to enjoy tormenting me by leaving dead birds and mice at my feet. Once I even had one climb a tree to slip through my open window.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t breathe for a good few days after that surprise.”
“Is that a dead mouse lying on the floor?”
Recognizing the voice as belonging to her aunt Gladys, Beatrix turned, but her greeting got stuck in her throat the moment her gaze settled on her aunt.
Dressed in trousers that had been cut off at the knee, and wearing striped stockings and a large, billowing shirt that looked as if it might belong to a pirate, Aunt Gladys was an unexpected sight, especially since her face was covered in something that looked, unfortunately, like blood.
Before Beatrix could process that sight, or determine why her aunt might be covered in blood in the first place, Norman appeared directly in front of her. To her utter astonishment, he then picked her up as if she weighed nothing at all and strode for the door.
Chapter 7
“I insist you set my niece down at once, sir, and also insist you explain to me why you’re trying to hustle dear Beatrix out of my home when she’s only just arrived.”
A tingle began creeping up Beatrix’s spine when Norman, instead of setting her down, tightened his hold on her and continued for the door.
It was unexpected, the tingle, as well as confusing, because he’d proven himself time and again to be one of the most irritating men she’d ever encountered. Still, irritating or not, he was currently being downright chivalrous as he tried to protect her from her aunt. And while she was perfectly capable of looking out for herself, his chivalry was making her feel all sorts of curious things.
“What do you want me to do?” Norman asked, his breath tickling her ear.
“She wants you to put her down so she can properly greet her favorite aunt,” Aunt Gladys called out before Beatrix could respond.
Norman caught Beatrix’s eye. “Miss Huttleston is your favorite aunt?”
“She’s my only aunt.”
“Ah well, that explains much.” He frowned. “Frankly, though, I got the distinct impression that you don’t think of her as being one of your favorite—”
Beatrix placed her hand firmly over Norman’s mouth, muffling the rest of his words, right as the sound of footsteps drew her attention. Those footsteps apparently drew Norman’s attention as well because he slowly turned around, drawing her closer when Aunt Gladys came into view.
Unfortunately, Aunt Gladys’s appearance was less than reassuring the closer she got to them.
A red substance th
at did look like blood was dripping from her face and onto her billowing shirt, but Aunt Gladys ignored that as she smiled at Beatrix, which was rather frightening because the red smeared all over her face was in sharp contrast to the whiteness of her teeth.
“Ah, there’s that face I haven’t seen in far too many years,” Aunt Gladys began. “Why, you’ve turned into a most beautiful young lady, something I always worried about because you were rather homely as a child. How delightful to see that you’ve grown out of that stage.”
“Good thing you’re accomplished with chitchat because I wouldn’t know how to respond to a statement like that,” Norman muttered.
“I’m afraid I’m at a loss as well,” Beatrix muttered back. “But you may set me down now, Mr. Nesbit. It’s beginning to feel rather peculiar being held in your arms this long.”
“I believe, given the adventure we’ve shared today, that it’s perfectly fine to address me as Norman,” he said, right as Aunt Gladys took another step toward them.
“On my word, you’re Norman Nesbit,” Aunt Gladys exclaimed.
Instead of setting her down, Norman drew Beatrix closer to him. “I am Norman Nesbit, but I must admit I’m taken aback that you’re familiar with who I am.”
Aunt Gladys gave a wave of her hand. “Your mother, Mary, and I share a delightful disdain for each other—which is why I’ve taken it upon myself to learn everything I can about the Nesbit family.” She winked. “I always find it best to gather pertinent information about one’s nemesis because you never know when such information might be useful.”
Norman bent his head closer to Beatrix. “I’m confident I can outrun your aunt as well as Lurch—er, I mean Edgar. Just say the word.”
Aunt Gladys let out a huff. “There’s no need for that, Mr. Nesbit. I assure you there’s nothing to flee from.”
“I beg to differ, unless you have a reasonable explanation for whatever madness was responsible for . . .” He waved a hand in her general direction.
Aunt Gladys exchanged a look with Edgar, who was still standing in the hallway. “Whatever is he talking about?”
Edgar winced. “I believe he’s referring to your face, one that currently looks as if you’ve recently participated in something concerning.”
A booming laugh was Aunt Gladys’s response to that. “Oh my, I completely forgot. I must look a fright right now. Why, it’s little wonder poor Mr. Nesbit is trying to whisk Beatrix away from me.” She laughed again, hardly an encouraging sound since her laughter echoed around the hallway, eliciting a rousing round of howls from the cats still sitting in a perfectly straight line.
With a last chuckle, Aunt Gladys nodded to Norman. “No need to fret you’re about to deliver my niece into the hands of a madwoman, Mr. Nesbit. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. The condition of my face is a direct result of a new beauty regime I’m testing out.”
“Begging your pardon, Miss Huttleston,” Norman began, “but I’ve got two sisters, neither of whom would ever embrace a beauty regime that leaves them looking as if they’ve been in a brawl.”
“A most excellent point, and one I’ll be certain to pass on to Miss Blanche Bell, the inventor of this beauty product, which is, if you’re curious, made out of clay.” Aunt Gladys patted her face, albeit gingerly. “We, as in myself and the women who are currently waiting for me in the parlor, decided the original color of the clay was less than appealing, which is why we added a smidgen of red paint to the mix, hoping that the brighter color would appeal to women with whimsical natures.”
Norman’s brows drew together. “Begging your pardon yet again, Miss Huttleston, but I have to believe that what you’re currently wearing on your face would repulse whimsical women, although it might appeal to women possessed of bloodthirsty natures.”
“Duly noted,” Aunt Gladys said cheerfully. “Perhaps we’ll try a nice shade of yellow next.”
“Which is a color that tends to make one appear sallow,” Norman pointed out. “In my humble opinion, lavender would be the wisest choice because scientific studies suggest that people find lavender a most relaxing color, which should, at least in theory, encourage consumers to purchase such a beauty product, if it does, in fact, result in any beneficial beauty results.”
Aunt Gladys tapped a finger against her chin. “A worthy consideration to be sure. However, because Blanche is convinced that this particular beauty remedy must remain on a woman’s face for at least thirty minutes to ascertain whether or not it will draw out impurities, there’s no point in mixing up a new color until we know if it works.”
Norman nodded. “A logical decision.”
“I’m nothing if not logical,” Aunt Gladys returned before frowning. “But speaking of logic, is there any logic in continuing to hold on to my niece? Surely both of you have determined that I don’t present a threat to Beatrix, unless . . .” She smiled. “Could it be that the two of you have formed an attraction to each other, and you’re using this most unusual situation as a way to enjoy unexpected closeness?”
Beatrix found herself back on her feet a split second later, the rapidity of her return to the ground causing her to lose her balance and stumble into Norman, who steadied her and winced.
“Sorry about that.”
“As you should be. Was there a reason you just dropped me like a hot potato?”
“Of course there was. I’ve often been the victim of many an aunt, sister, mother, grandmother, or random stranger who’ve set their sights on me as a potential suitor for one young lady or another. A bachelor gentleman is evidently difficult to ignore for women with matchmaking on their minds, even though I’ve been able to steer relatively clear of that because of my work. I don’t have time for romantic nonsense.” He shot a glance to Aunt Gladys. “Thought it best to nip any thoughts of matchmaking your aunt may be harboring in the bud before they got out of hand.”
Aunt Gladys laughed. “My dear boy, while I’m sure you would make Beatrix an admirable suitor, even with your reputation of being an eccentric, I’ve got plans for her that don’t include gentlemen . . . yet. But do know that I’ve now taken your reluctance about matters of courtship into account, and with that settled, what say we repair to the parlor for some refreshments? We were just about to enjoy some lemonade before we partake in some dancing.”
“See if he’ll agree to a few turns around the parlor with us,” a voice called out from behind Aunt Gladys. “It would be awfully nice to have a strapping young man to dance with for a change—not that we mind dancing with Edgar or Hubert, but Edgar tends to get winded after a while and Hubert is missing a leg.”
Beatrix directed her attention past Aunt Gladys and found they’d been joined by at least ten women, all of whom had faces smeared with red and all of whom were wearing unusual ensembles of clothing, quite as if they’d rummaged through old trunks and thrown on anything that wouldn’t be missed if it was ruined.
The woman who’d just invited Norman to join them in a dance waggled her fingers Norman’s way.
Aunt Gladys blew out a breath. “Honestly, Mamie, how many times must we go over this? It’s not appropriate for you to blurt out observations about strapping young men.” She turned to Beatrix. “Mamie’s only recently come to us from a dance hall off of Twenty-second Street. She spent almost three years there playing the piano, but now she’s given up that life and is determined to improve her circumstances.”
“How’s she determined to do that?” Norman asked. His obvious determination to avoid addressing the flirtatious batting of the lashes from Mamie made Beatrix’s lips curve.
“By improving her knowledge of proper etiquette and behavior, which will hopefully then see her achieving some success with obtaining employment with a reputable orchestra. Truly, her skill with the piano is something that cannot be denied.”
Norman glanced to Mamie and then quickly back to Aunt Gladys after Mamie blew him a kiss. “Have you been meeting with much success?”
“She’s still a work
in progress.” Aunt Gladys sent Mamie a fond smile before she nodded to Norman. “Do say you’ll join us for some refreshments.”
“And dancing,” Mamie called over her shoulder before she followed the rest of the women out of the room.
Norman shuddered before he shook his head. “Regrettably, I must decline, Miss Huttleston. I’ve been away from home for a few weeks and have matters that I need to attend to this evening.” He tilted his head. “I am curious, though, about what was said regarding a man named Hubert. Does he really dance with only one leg, and how does a person go about that?”
Aunt Gladys leaned to the right and gestured someone forward. The sound of uneven clomping rang out, and then a man appeared through the dimness of the hall, walking over to Norman with a distinct limp. Bending over, he rolled up his pants, revealing a peg leg that had been painted a bright yellow.
“Hubert Barrett, sir,” Hubert said while Norman bent over to get a closer look at the man’s leg. “As you can see, I do have a leg of sorts, one that allows me to enjoy a few turns around a room. Mind you, I’m not capable of doing a full polka because that vigorous dance leaves the stub right below my knee throbbing something fierce.”
Norman dropped to a knee and peered at the wooden apparatus attached to Hubert’s knee. “Did the physician who fit you with this wooden leg take his time measuring you? It seems to me as if the cup that goes over your knee and keeps the leg attached is not fitting properly.”
“They don’t make them individual-like. I was simply shown a room where they had a few legs, picked one out, and the good doctor showed me how to pull it on and keep it on with suspenders attached to my belt.”
“Seems a bit antiquated,” Norman said as he straightened. A loud clock began clanging as it marked the time, which set the cats to scattering, one of which slunk across the floor to snatch the dead mouse Phantom had left behind, disappearing with it down a hallway.
