by Wendy Vella
“There, it seems we are both clumsy today, Samantha.” James then picked up his knife and fork and proceeded to finish his breakfast, which now tasted like ashes in his mouth. Samantha looked first at him and then at the large dollop of jam he had dropped on the cloth, then picking up her crumpet, she gave a little smile and began to eat once again.
“Thank you, James.”
Her words were tentative, but she had spoken without him prompting, and in that moment he felt they had made progress.
“Are you ready to inspect your rooms, Samantha?” he asked twenty minutes later.
“Yes,” she said, wiping her mouth.
James assisted Samantha from her chair. Remembering how the Sinclairs had constantly seemed attached to each other, he held out his hand. Samantha took it, and they made their way down the long hallway to the stairs. It felt so precious clasped in his, precious and vulnerable. Looking around him as they walked, he noticed how dark and austere his home was.
“We need to redecorate this house, Samantha.”
“Yes, it is very dark, James.”
And you hate the dark just like I did, he realized. Because their father had not wanted to spend money on candles or lamps, therefore they had lived in darkness.
“You will never have to live in the dark again, Samantha, I promise you.”
James kept up a steady stream of words as they made their way to the nursery, which was not easy, as talking had never been his strong suit, yet Samantha appeared to listen and occasionally nodded or murmured.
Eden had told him to exercise patience when dealing with his sister and it had been advice that went against his nature, as he was a man who took action and expected results. However, James was determined to forge a relationship with Samantha, so he would be patience itself.
The nursery had two huge windows that looked over the gardens at the rear of the property. There was a main room with two smaller ones leading off it. The walls were a drab gray and the curtains equally as drab. Looking at his sister, he thought that perhaps the curtains were made of exactly the same fabric as her dress. Should young girls dress in such dull colors?
“I think you need some new clothes, Samantha.”
“Yes, please.”
Well that seemed comprehensive enough. Now how did one go about buying young girl clothes, James wondered.
“Your Grace, Lady Samantha.”
“Mrs. Gotheram.” James acknowledged his housekeeper as she entered the nursery behind them. Short and stout, she had been with him since he was bundled from Raven Castle and sent to London at age ten. It had been she who was waiting for him when he came home from school and she who had helped him through his darkest moments. James had spent many hours with this woman in his youth.
“We will need all new furnishings and entertainments for Lady Samantha, your Grace.”
“Of course, please get whatever you think is necessary.”
“And what of other things, Your Grace?”
“Other things, Mrs. Gotheram?” James said, feeling totally at sea, as he had no idea what the “other things” were. What sort of brother was he?
“She’ll need things to occupy her time, your Grace. Books and such. Because I am sure there will be plenty of times when you are not here and then Lady Samantha will be on her own.”
Mrs. Gotheram always made her agitation known by the line of her lips, drawn straight and tucked inside each other.
“Ah-ah perhaps Samantha and I will see to the other things then.”
When had he ever opened his mouth before thinking? Yesterday, when you promised Miss Somer a trip to Astley’s, James reminded himself.
“Excellent, your Grace, I knew you would take to the task of looking after your wee sister once you had some guidance,” Mrs. Gotheram said, patting Samantha’s cheek as she bustled past. “Now about the colors in here, do you have any particular favorites, my dear?”
Samantha looked at James, who shrugged, and then to the window where a weak sun was trying to break through the clouds.
“Sunshine yellow.”
Remembering the darkness of Raven Castle, James immediately understood his sister’s need to live in the light.
“Excellent choice, Samantha, and now we will leave Mrs. Gotheram and go shopping.”
“She is a very nice woman,” James said as they left the nursery. “You have nothing to fear from her,” he added as his sister pressed closer to his leg. At least she wasn’t pulling away from him.
“Really?”
“Really,” he affirmed, taking her hand in his once more. He liked the feeling of it tucked inside his and realized it was something he could get used to. Funny, he’d never really understood the need for personal contact, but he was beginning to.
They left the house once Samantha had pulled on her bonnet and gloves, both equally as drab and ugly as her dress. Once in the carriage, they headed out through the busy London streets, with James pointing out sights for his sister along the way. She sat very still listening and watching, her hands in her lap, placed one on top of the other.
James wondered if you could hate a man more every day, especially as he was dead. Sending his father several curses for what he had done to Samantha, he vowed again to do whatever he needed to make her understand there was good in the world, in him, and that he would never harm her.
When the carriage stopped, he got out and lifted her down beside him.
“This is a store that has some of the things I believe we need, Samantha.” At least he hoped it did. Buttles had told him it was the place to start. Taking her hand in his once more, he entered and found his butler had been correct. It appeared to have row upon row of books; surely some of them would be suitable for a young girl.
“There are a great many books, James.” Samantha’s eyes were wide as she looked from side to side, taking it all in.
“Yes, there certainly are.” The smell was musty and yet spoke of many hours of wonderful reading adventures hidden between the pages before them. James remembered the first day he had entered a bookshop and purchased whatever he wanted. The sense of freedom had made his knees weak.
“Good morning.”
“Good morning.” James nodded to the proprietor as he approached.
“We have a large amount of books suitable for children upstairs, as well as other toys that the young lady would like to see, I’m sure.”
“Excellent, thank you. That is where we shall head then.”
They climbed the stairs with Samantha leading the way, her little legs hampered by her thick skirts and the sturdy boots on her feet.
“Oh,” she said when they reached the top. If possible there was the same amount of books as downstairs. “May I go and look, please?”
“Of course,” James said, heading toward the first shelf himself. “Take as much time as you need, Samantha.” He soon found himself as engrossed in the collection before him as his sister.
“Can we add this book to the collection, Samantha?” James said, holding up the tales of Robinson Crusoe some time later. The tutor his father had sent him had never allowed him to read anything like this, but he had heard other boys discussing it at school.
“Yes.” She nodded, her face a picture of concentration as she once again turned to the book of fables she was studying. “Can I have this one, James?”
“Of course,” he said, taking the large book with bright-colored fairies flying all over the cover from her. He may not be able to go back and make the last few years easier for her, but he would bloody well try to make the rest better.
Samantha had lost some of her reserve toward him as the minutes ticked by, and was now showing him one book after the other; in fact their pile was growing with every one she viewed.
“Can I look over there now, James?” Samantha pointed to another room. She seemed eager and he wondered what she had seen to cause such excitement.
After organizing for their purchases to be delivered, James followed his sister. He was
surprised at how much he’d enjoyed accompanying her to the store. He found her on her knees before a large dollhouse; the front was open and she was studying the inside intently. Crouching beside her, he looked inside.
“There is a small table and chairs and a bed too,” Samantha whispered reverently, as if she did not want to wake the tiny people who slept inside.
“This is a nice doll,” James said, picking up one that lay beside the house. It had black ringlets, green eyes, and a dress of bright pink with ruffles.
“She is very beautiful, just like Eden and Essex, don’t you think, James?”
“Hmmm” was all he could manage by way of agreement. Eden intruded far too much on his thoughts without his sister reminding him of her beauty.
It was testament to just how far their relationship had come in such a short time that he felt only slightly awkward discussing dolls with his little sister.
“James.”
“Yes, Samantha.”
He knew what she wanted; he could see the longing in her eyes as she looked down at the doll now in her hands. But he wanted her to ask him if she could have it. He wanted her to feel comfortable with him.
“C-can I have her?”
“Yes, but you must give her a pretty name to match her face.”
“Eden,” Samantha whispered.
“Ah... no,” James said, feeling his necktie tighten and restrict his breathing. “I think she should have her own name, don’t you? Not someone else’s.”
Samantha looked at the doll then back at him and nodded.
“Thank you, James.”
“You’re welcome.”
She struggled to her feet, clasping the doll to her chest. Her eyes were level with his now, and then she bent at the waist and kissed his cheek.
“It is the most wonderful gift in the world.”
“No,” James rasped, lifting a hand to cup her cheek. “You are the most wonderful gift in the world.”
Her smile lit her entire face.
“Samantha!”
James heard the squeal from behind him and knew it was a Sinclair. Regaining his feet, he inhaled, pushing the emotion that choked him aside. Bracing himself he then turned. The twins were running toward Samantha, squealing loudly, and Eden was following slowly behind. The little girls soon joined Samantha on the floor and were immediately lost in the world of dolls while their sister had stopped several feet away looking everywhere but at him.
“Have you come to purchase books, or dolls?” James said, hoping to draw her gaze.
“Neither. My sisters grew tired of watching the dress fittings, so I brought them here until Essie and my aunt are finished.”
“And have you all settled in?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Her words were polite and distant, which was what he had wanted. James closed the distance between them, forcing her to retreat or look at him; he knew she would choose the latter. She had been crying, he could see the pallor of her cheeks and redness in her eyes. Someone had upset her and he could do nothing to control the rage that flooded his body.
“Who has made you cry?” His hand wrapped around her wrist as she turned to leave. “Tell me, Eden.”
“Release me at once.”
“Not until you tell me who has made you cry.”
“I am no concern of yours, Duke. I have family who look after my welfare.”
“They do not appear to be doing a very good job,” James whispered. There was so much sadness in the gray depths of her eyes that his stomach churned.
“No good can come of this, James, so please release me, and keep your distance.”
“Eden, come and see these dolls!”
Wrenching free, she hurried to her sisters. He watched as she hugged Samantha. His sister did not respond, but also did not pull away.
“They are beautiful, my loves.”
“Look at this one, James.”
James moved to stand before Dorset Sinclair and took the doll he was handed while his mind grappled with the fact that Eden had been crying. Surely he was not the cause? Had she lain awake last night thinking of their kisses?
“It is time for your fittings now, girls,” Eden said minutes later. Once again she looked everywhere but at him.
“We are to have new clothes, Samantha,” Dorrie said, taking the doll back from James and replacing it reluctantly on the shelf.
“Would we be asking too much to join your fitting, ladies?” he said quickly before he gave himself time to think. James had not the first idea how to go about procuring his sister new clothes. “Samantha is in need of new clothing also and as we are yet to secure a companion for her, the task, I am afraid, is left to me—a man.”
Eden muttered something that he did not catch, but thought it better he hadn’t, if the look on her face was any indication.
“If you wish, Duke, we will take care of Samantha’s needs and return her home to you in a while. There really is no need for you to accompany us.”
“His name is James, Eden.”
He didn’t smile as her teeth snapped together at Somer’s words, but at least her eyes now held fire instead of sadness.
“If it will not be too much of an inconvenience, I would be most grateful for your assistance, Eden.”
James had a task that he needed to see to, and this would give him the opportunity to do so.
“Thank you, James,” Samantha whispered. Her little face had lost the pinched look of a few days ago and he thought she looked happier. Perhaps some of it was the Sinclairs’ presence, but he also believed their blossoming relationship was helping.
“I have a few errands to run, Samantha, and then I will return home.”
“In that case, we shall keep Samantha with us until you collect her, if you wish?”
“Very well, and thank you, Eden. I shall call at the Wynburg residence later today.”
After a round of curtseying they left, and James wondered again who had made Eden cry and how he could find out.
...
He stepped from his carriage before a small brick-fronted building, tucked discreetly down a narrow lane. Taking the four front steps in two strides, James knocked twice on the white door. Seconds later he was ushered into a parlor that held a desk, two chairs, and a large cabinet. Rather than sit in one of the two upright chairs he walked slowly around the room.
Devonshire Sinclair had given James Mr. Spriggot’s name yesterday, telling him the man was one of the best private detectives in the business. James had not questioned the eldest Sinclair on how he knew this, he had merely nodded and taken the card. Sinclair may irritate him with his knowing looks and continual teasing, but he was an honorable man and he had saved James’s life, therefore he was trustworthy.
“Your Grace,” a small thin man said, walking into the room. “I am Mr. Spriggot.”
James shook the offered hand before lowering himself into a seat; the man circled the desk and did the same.
“How may I be of service to you this day?”
James could understand why Spriggot was so good at his work, as he had an appearance that was easily forgettable. Small, thin, and with a face that held little if no expression, the man would blend easily in any crowd. His eyes however were another matter entirely; the dark depths were alive with curiosity.
“Someone is trying to kill me, Mr. Spriggot, and as I have no wish for them to succeed, I would like to employ your services to ensure that does not eventuate.”
Rather than appear startled as most people would in learning that someone was trying to eradicate one of the more powerful peers of the realm, Mr. Spriggot’s brow furrowed in thought.
“I have come to you as I wish the investigation to be undertaken with the utmost privacy, and was assured you were the man for this.”
“I will do what I can, your Grace. Now then,” he picked up a quill, dipped it in the ink, and looked up at James, “I shall need all the details you have, and I would ask for half my fee up front if you please.�
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The man had obviously dealt with several members of society in his time, James thought, pulling some notes from his pocket. Many aristocrats believed they did not need to pay as others did for the services rendered to them. He should be affronted but wasn’t; in fact he respected the man for daring to ask him for money.
“Excellent, now please begin to relate the facts in a slow and concise manner and I will make notes.”
James did as he asked, telling him about the attempt made on his life.
“An extremely brave lady to have taken such a risk, your Grace, if I may say so.”
“Yes, I will forever be in her debt.”
Mr. Spriggot scratched a few more notes before lifting his head once more to look at James.
“Can you tell me anything about the men, your Grace?”
“I cannot. However, the woman who rescued me said one of the men was called Syd, and that they referred to the man who wanted me dead as ‘his lordship.’“
“You have obviously given thought to who may want you dead, your Grace. Heirs, business dealings gone wrong?”
“I do not have business dealings go wrong, Mr. Spriggot, and my heir at this point in time is my cousin, but I have no reason to believe it is he. Last I heard he was in America building a vast fortune. There are of course other family members here in London, but they are not due to inherit should I die.”
Mr. Spriggot questioned James thoroughly until he believed he had all the facts he needed.
“I shall begin my investigations at once, your Grace.”
“I should be grateful,” James said, getting to his feet.
“May I also enquire how you came to know my name, as I usually only work with clients who have used my services before, your Grace.”
“Lord Sinclair gave me your name, sir.”
Nodding, the small man smiled, although it was not a gesture that warmed his face, just the smallest baring of his teeth and then it was gone.
“A very shrewd man, if you don’t mind me saying so, your Grace. I have a great deal of respect for Lord Sinclair.”
James wanted to ask what services Sinclair had used Spriggot for, yet he remained silent. The information was not his to know. Nodding good-bye, he left the establishment and climbed into his carriage to start the journey back to the Wynburg townhouse, where he would collect Samantha and once again see Eden.
