Magician's Ward

by Patricia C. Wrede

  "You'll have to hurry, or we'll be late," she said as she bustled Kim up the stairs. "I've sent for Sally to do what she can with your hair. It ought to have been in papers all morning, but that can't be helped now."

  "It wouldn't have helped then," Kim muttered.

  "What did you say?"

  "Nothing."

  "I hope you don't intend to be difficult about this," Mrs. Lowe said. "Mrs. Hardcastle has gone to a good deal of trouble to arrange this meeting, and it is probably the best opportunity you will have to settle yourself comfortably."

  As if that's the reason I came back to London, Kim thought, frowning. Fortunately, Mrs. Lowe had stepped forward to open the bedroom door, and did not see Kim's expression. Mrs. Lowe's maid, Sally, bobbed a curtsey as they entered. A pair of curling tongs lay heating in the fire, and a pale yellow walking dress waited on the bed. Kim rolled her eyes. "You mean I have to change clothes, too, as well as having my hair fussed with? What's wrong with what I have on?"

  "Mrs. Hardcastle informs me that Mr. Fulton is partial to yellow," Mrs. Lowe said coldly. "Now, sit down and let Sally fix your hair. We have barely half an hour before we must leave."

  Kim considered briefly, then sat. She could, she supposed, delay their departure if she worked at it, but delaying or avoiding this call would only make Mrs. Lowe more determined to arrange another. She had to think of a way to put an end to the matter once and for all, or she'd fall in the soup sooner or later.

  "You have lovely hair, Miss, though it's a bit short," Sally ventured as she wound the first strand around a curlpaper. "I dare say it'll look that nice when it's all done up proper."

  "That will do, Sally." Mrs. Lowe studied Kim for a moment, and then she and Sally went to work. With considerable effort and ingenuity, they produced a passable arrangement of curls from Kim's dark, unruly hair. At least, Mrs. Lowe said it was passable, but even to Kim's unpracticed eye the coiffure bore no resemblance to the elegant styles worn by real ladies. I look like a fishmonger's daughter trying to ape Quality, she thought gloomily. I bet it'll be all straggly before we've gone three blocks. If it stays up that long. She shook her head experimentally, and Mrs. Lowe clucked at her.

  Getting into the gown without disarranging her hair was an effort, and Kim was glad that Sally was there to do most of the work. When Mrs. Lowe was satisfied with Kim's appearance at last, they descended the stairs once more.

  Mairelon was waiting in the hall. "There you are at last! I thought you were in a hurry. I've had the coach waiting for half an hour." He picked up his gloves. "Shall we go?"

  Mrs. Lowe stared at him, for once bereft of speech.

  "You're coming, too?" Kim said with relief.

  "Oh, yes." Mairelon smiled seraphically at his dumbfounded aunt. "After all, Aunt Agatha said only this morning that she expects me to pay more attention to my social duties. I thought I had best begin at once, before I forgot." He signaled the footman, who opened the door wide, and offered his arm to his aunt. By the time Mrs. Lowe recovered from her shock, they were in the carriage and on their way. Mrs. Lowe could hardly rip up at Mairelon as long as Kim was present, so the journey was accomplished in silence.

  They emerged from the carriage in front of a sturdy brick townhouse of modest proportions. Two of the lower windows had been bricked over. An iron railing enclosed a yard or so of space in front of the house, where an extremely ugly pottery urn stood empty. Three slate steps, freshly scrubbed, led up to the wooden door. An impeccably correct butler opened the door and led them up the staircase inside. Kim, noting the empty candle sconces on the wall and the half-hidden darns in the linen drape covering a table in the upstairs hall, was not impressed. Mrs. Hardcastle may be bosom bows with Mrs. Lowe, but she's not as full of juice. This place wouldn't be worth the time--let alone the risk--to a decent cracksman.

  They found Mrs. Hardcastle in the saloon, a dark and austerely furnished room whose narrow windows did little to lighten the atmosphere. Mrs. Lowe checked briefly in the doorway, and when Kim entered close on her heels, she saw why.

  Mrs. Hardcastle had more guests than they had expected. Not only that, the young woman shaking her golden-guinea curls at the offer of a slice of cake was a diamond of the first water. From the top of her high-crowned hat to her heart-shaped face and perfect complexion, to her slender figure, to the elegantly turned ankles and dainty feet set off by neat kid boots, she was everything that current fashion demanded of a Beauty. No wonder old poker-back's nose is out of joint, Kim thought with satisfaction. She didn't bargain for any competition, let alone a regular out-and-outer.

  Beside the Beauty sat an undistinguished girl, also turned out in expensive (though in her case, unbecoming) fashion. A sober-looking gentleman and their middle-aged hostess completed the company.

  Though Mrs. Lowe must have been annoyed, she gave no sign of it beyond that initial hesitation. She greeted Mrs. Hardcastle with the warmth due an old friend, and acknowledged the necessary introductions with perfect aplomb. The Beauty was a Miss Letitia Tarnower; her companion, Miss Annabel Matthews. The sober gentleman was, of course, Mr. Henry Fulton.

  As the newcomers seated themselves, Kim studied Mr. Fulton. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, which was considerably younger than she had expected. His morning-dress was neat and correct, but lacked a certain elegance. He's a Cit, and well enough off for Mrs. Lowe to think he's "reasonably respectable," but he doesn't follow Society fashion. Well, most Cits don't. She wondered whether he had been informed of the purpose of their meeting.

  Then Mr. Fulton caught her eye, reddened slightly, and looked away. He knows. And if he had come intending to inspect a potential bride, then she could no longer simply dismiss Mrs. Lowe's maunderings about marriage and her opportunities in London.

  She glanced at Mr. Fulton again. His face was pleasant enough. I ought to jump at him. There can't be very many well-to-do Cits willing to take up with a girl off the streets, even if I am the ward of a gentleman now. So why is the idea so . . . repellent?

  "Tea, Miss Merrill?" Mrs. Hardcastle said.

  "Yes, thank you."

  Mrs. Hardcastle beamed as if Kim had said something clever. Kim blinked, then accepted the teacup with a noncommittal murmur. This earned her an encouraging nod and a not-too-subtle significant look in Mr. Fulton's direction.

  Kim chose to ignore the hint. She sat sipping at her tea, in the faint hope that a polite lack of interest would discourage any more attempts to draw her into conversation with Mr. Fulton. There was also a slim chance that sitting quietly might keep her from committing any of the social solecisms that would earn her a trimming from Mrs. Lowe once they returned home.

  "I am pleased to find you here, Mr. Fulton," Mrs. Lowe said. "My nephew's ward was particularly eager to make your acquaintance."

  "Yes, it is so nice to meet new people," Miss Tarnower said with a dazzling smile before Mr. Fulton could respond. "Mrs. Hardcastle's acquaintance is so very varied that one never knows who will turn up. I would not be astonished to find the Prince of Wales himself at one of her saloons."

  Mrs. Hardcastle looked quite struck for a moment, then shook her head. "It is kind of you to say so, but I fear that His Highness is considerably above my touch."

  "Oh, pooh! You are too modest. Everyone knows you, and you know everyone. I'll wager that if I gave you a name, you could tell us all about that person, no matter who it is! There now, you cannot say it is untrue."

  "Ah, but it would be inhospitable of her to correct a guest," Mairelon said.

  "That was not what I meant at all," Miss Tarnower said with a puzzled frown. "Oh! I see. You are bamming me."

  "Letitia!" Miss Matthews said in an urgent undertone that carried rather better than she intended it to.

  Miss Tarnower glanced at her companion, then turned back to Mairelon. "Is your acquaintance as wide as Mrs. Hardcastle's, sir?" she asked with another dazzling smile.

  "Oh, at least," Mairelon murmured.

  "Richard," Mr
s. Lowe said softly, in the same warning tone that Miss Matthews had used. Being more experienced, her pitch was better-chosen; if Kim had not been sitting next to her, she would not have heard a thing.

  "Mr. Merrill is well known in France, I believe," Mrs. Hardcastle told Miss Tarnower.

  "Too well known," Mairelon said. "Even under the new king."

  "But I am not interested in the king of France." Miss Tarnower frowned, as if suddenly struck by a thought. "Unless he is to be in London this Season?"

  "I believe that to be unlikely," Mrs. Hardcastle said.

  Mr. Fulton leaned forward. "I take it you were in France during the war, then, Mr. Merrill?"

  "Some of the time," Mairelon acknowledged with a faint smile.

  "I thought your name was familiar," Mr. Fulton said with some satisfaction.

  "It is of no consequence," Mrs. Lowe said hastily. "It was a . . . personal matter."

  "What, still?" Mr. Fulton looked from Mrs. Lowe to Mairelon and said apologetically, "I am very sorry if I have been indiscreet, but since my brother saw no harm in relating the story to me, I thought--"

  "Tommy Fulton!" Mairelon said, snapping his fingers. "Last time I saw him was in that little French town where Old Hooky set up his, er, coin exchange. St. Jean de Luz, that was it. Good heavens, are you his brother? How is he?"

  "He was badly wounded at Waterloo, and I fear his health has not been the same since," Mr. Fulton replied. "Still, he does tolerably well."

  "I'm glad he made it through." Mairelon's face clouded. "Too many didn't."

  Mrs. Lowe was frowning in a mixture of relief and mystification that Kim found puzzling. Didn't she know or care what Mairelon had really been doing during those years when London Society thought he had run off with the Saltash Set?

  "Tom speaks very highly of your . . . work," Mr. Fulton said to Mairelon.

  "No need to mince words," Mairelon said. "Not now, anyway." He smiled at the puzzled expressions of the two young ladies opposite him. "I met Tommy Fulton while I was on the Peninsula, spying on the French. He was one of the pickets who made it possible for me to cross back and forth across the lines when I needed to. Very solid."

  Mr. Fulton inclined his head. "He will be pleased to know you remember him so kindly."

  "Remember him? I could hardly forget him. Did he tell you about the incident with the chickens?"

  Seeing that the conversation was about to degenerate into military reminiscence, Mrs. Lowe and Mrs. Hardcastle both hurried into speech.

  "I am sure you have many fascinating tales, but--"

  "Perhaps Richard can visit your brother some other--"

  The two ladies both stopped short and waited politely for each other to continue. Since Mr. Fulton was also waiting for one of them to finish her speech, this gave Letitia Tarnower the opportunity to reenter the conversation.

  "I dislike chickens," she announced. "They are stupid birds, and they have nothing whatever to do with who one knows, which is what we were discussing."

  "Yes, and I quite agree that it is pleasant to meet new people," Mrs. Lowe said, though her tone was at odds with her words. She managed a stiff smile at Miss Tarnower, then turned to Mr. Fulton with a warmer expression. "It is, for instance, very pleasant to make your acquaintance at last, Mr. Fulton. We have heard so much about you."

  "I, too, have heard much about you, Miss Merrill," Mr. Fulton said, and smiled. "I must say, it did not do you justice."

  Beside Mrs. Hardcastle, Mairelon frowned suddenly. Mrs. Lowe nudged Kim and gave her a pointed look. Annoyed, Kim raised her teacup and sipped again. Old fusspot. It would serve her right if I did disgrace her in public. Then she blinked and began to grin. And I bet it'll send Fulton to the rightabout in a hurry, too.

  Mairelon was watching her, and his frown deepened. Before he could queer her pitch, she looked at Mr. Fulton and said very deliberately, "Don't go pitching me no gammon. You ain't heard near enough, acos I'll lay you a monkey the gentry-mort ain't told you I was on the sharping lay afore Mairelon took a fancy to adopt me."

  Mrs. Lowe's breath hissed faintly between her teeth in anger; Mrs. Hardcastle looked shocked, and the two younger ladies, merely puzzled. Mr. Fulton seemed taken aback, but he rallied enough to say, "No, I don't believe she did."

  "Well, I ain't no mace cove, and I don't hold with bubbling a flash cull, not when it comes to getting priest-linked, anyways."

  "Kim!" Mrs. Lowe had recovered from her surprise-induced paralysis; it was a tribute to her good breeding that she kept her voice low despite her anger and chagrin. "Hold your tongue, at once."

  Kim set her teacup on the table. Looking up, she met Mr. Fulton's eyes. "And I'll tell you straight, this ain't been my lay, right from the beginning," she continued, as if Mrs. Lowe had never interrupted. "I ain't never been no Madam Ran. So I ain't going to get in a pucker if you was to shab off."

  "I . . . see," Mr. Fulton said in a dazed voice.

  "Well, I do not," Letitia Tarnower said crossly.

  "I should hope not!" Mrs. Hardcastle groped in her reticule and produced a bottle of smelling salts, which she at once made use of. "I have never heard anything so vulgar in my life! Not that I understood the half of it myself."

  "Really?" Miss Matthews's wide eyes were fixed on Kim. "Was it so very bad?"

  "It was certainly intended to be," Mairelon said. His eyes, full of amusement, met Kim's, and she felt lightheaded with relief. As long as he hadn't taken her antics in bad part, she didn't give a farthing for Mrs. Lowe.

  Unexpectedly, Henry Fulton laughed. "Miss Merrill, I think we are both correct. I had not heard nearly enough about you, and what I did hear certainly did not do you justice."

  Kim blinked and said cautiously, "Well, that ain't my lookout."

  "Kim!" Mrs. Lowe said. "Be still!"

  "It is much too late for that," Mrs. Hardcastle said acidly. "Really, Agatha, you might have told me."

  "Told you what?" Mairelon said. "That my ward was once a street thief? I didn't think it was a secret."

  "A street thief?" Letitia wrinkled her nose and looked at Kim with disfavor. "How horrid."

  "I think it is the most romantic story I have ever heard," Miss Matthews said with conviction.

  Mr. Fulton gave her an approving look, which caused Miss Matthews to blush in confusion.

  Kim shook her head. Abandoning cant language, she said soberly, "It may sound romantic, but living on the street isn't very pleasant. Horrid describes it much better."

  "I do not believe that was what Miss Tarnower was referring to," Mrs. Hardcastle said. She seemed even more upset by Kim's reversion to standard English than she had been by the string of thieves' cant.

  Mrs. Lowe rose to her feet. "We must be going," she said stiffly. "At once."

  "But you have only just arrived," Letitia objected. "And I particularly wished to ask Mr. Merrill something, because he has been on the Continent."

  Kim had not thought it possible for Mrs. Lowe to get any stiffer, but she did. "Another time, perhaps."

  "Nonsense, Aunt," Mairelon said, leaning back in his chair. "We can spare another few minutes to gratify the young lady's curiosity."

  "Richard . . ."

  "What was it you wanted to ask, Miss Tarnower?" Mairelon asked.

  "Why, only if you had ever heard of a Prince Alexei Nicholaiovitch Durmontov," Letitia said.

  "Durmontov?" Mairelon said in a thoughtful tone. "No, I can't say that I met anyone of that name while I was in France, though there were a number of respectable Russians there from time to time. Of course, most of the people I dealt with there were not respectable at all."

  "That appears to continue true." Mrs. Hardcastle sniffed and looked pointedly in Kim's direction.

  "Well, it's only to be expected," Mairelon said consolingly. "London Society isn't what it once was."

  Both Mr. Fulton and Miss Matthews experienced sudden fits of coughing. Kim found herself entirely in sympathy with them; she was having trouble chokin
g back her own laughter at Mairelon's deliberate outrageousness.

  Mrs. Hardcastle, however, was neither amused nor misled. "I was speaking, sir, of your so-called ward."

  Mrs. Lowe bristled and began to say something, but Mairelon held up a restraining hand. "Were you, indeed?" he said in a deceptively gentle tone to Mrs. Hardcastle. "Then you will certainly not wish to attend her come-out ball. I must remember not to send you a card."

  Kim's stomach did a sudden flip-flop. Come-out ball? He's got windmills in his head. Doesn't he?

  "Richard!" Mrs. Lowe gasped.

  "Ah, yes, you wanted to be going," Mairelon said, ignoring the reddening Mrs. Hardcastle. "I find that for once I am in agreement with you, Aunt." He rose and nodded to Mr. Fulton. "Give my regards to your brother. If you'll send me his direction, I shall stop in to see him. Your servant, ladies." He made an elegant bow that managed to include Miss Matthews and Miss Tarnower while excluding Mrs. Hardcastle, and ushered Kim and his thunderstruck aunt from the room.

  5

  They were hardly out of Mrs. Hardcastle's house before Mrs. Lowe turned to Mairelon. "Richard, I fear that your unfortunate impulses have landed you in difficulties once again."

  Mairelon raised an eyebrow. "I do hope that you are not referring to my ward. I thought I was finished with that subject for today."

  "Not at all," Mrs. Lowe said with a look at Kim that spoke volumes, none of them pleasant. "But that I intend to discuss with you privately, at a later time." She climbed into the carriage and waited for Kim and Mairelon to find their own seats. Then, as the carriage began to move, she said, "No, I was referring to your invention of a come-out ball for Kim. While I fully understand your desire to give Mrs. Hardcastle a set-down, I must tell you that it will certainly have precisely the opposite effect, once she realizes that no such party is being planned."

  "I'm sure she feels just as you do," Mairelon murmured. "But think of her chagrin when she discovers that it will, in fact, be held."