Edmund returned, trotting toward them. His hat and the shoulders of his coat were damp. “It is raining,” he said, brushing himself off, “and I think it very unfair that custom dictates the gentleman soak himself providing transportation for the ladies.”
“Do not be so difficult, Edmund,” Mama said. “It is just a little water. You, there,” she called out to a passing Hartswell’s employee, “we require someone to carry our things to our hackney, if you would be so kind.”
“Will you stay with us in Wimpole Street?” Bess asked Edmund as Mama rallied a stream of helpers. “Or take lodgings so you may entertain your friends without the oppressive presence of your mother and sister?”
“Oh, there is the club for that,” Edmund said, “and it will be easier for me to resist temptation if I cannot bring it home with me.”
Surprised, Bess said, “I believed—forgive me, but I believed you were satisfied with your habits.”
“But you are not,” Edmund said in a low voice, “and I find myself increasingly inclined to borrow your views. Fun is all very well, but there is a limit.”
“Truly, you astonish me. There must be something more to this change of heart.”
Edmund glanced toward their mother, who was paying them no attention. “I…lost a large sum of money at hazard a few weeks back. No, nothing I could not afford, don’t look at me that way. But it was sobering.”
“Edmund, if you learned something from it, I cannot call it regrettable. But you still gamble.”
“I enjoy cards. I see nothing wrong with that. But I have no desire to go the route Ravenscroft has, playing very high. Though if I had his luck, perhaps I would change my mind.”
“Lord Ravenscroft is a good friend of yours.”
Edmund eyed her ironically. “Meaning that he should not be? He’s not a bad sort, certainly nothing like his father, who is the worst sort of reprobate.” He offered Bess his arm, and they strolled across the hub toward the grand double doors in their mother’s wake. “The Earl of Waymark gives the nobility a bad name. Ravenscroft is simply high-spirited and always ready for a wager.”
“That still sounds rather…I beg your pardon, I should not criticize your friend. You know him better than I.”
Edmund patted Bess’s hand. “Always so considerate, small Bess.” He hurried her out the door and into the carriage swiftly enough that she did not become more than damp, then settled himself across from her and Mama. “At any rate, I intend to stay in Wimpole Street.”
“Then you may escort us wherever we choose to go,” Mama said with an air of having settled things to her satisfaction. “Today is for looking about us and making plans. So much to do, you know! Edmund, you must discover what is playing at the Theatre Royal, as I am eager to attend.”
Bess was less enthusiastic about the theatre. Mama always insisted on hiring a box, saying how much she disliked being pressed by crowds, and at that distance most plays were nothing more than moving smears of color to Bess. She preferred opera, as she had told Mr. Quinn days ago. How wonderful if their shared enjoyment meant they might meet!
She turned to look out at the passing streams of pedestrians and carriages. Rainy days in London were pleasant for how they swept away the smells of the streets and the distant Thames. “We should call in at Hatchard’s,” she said, idly tracing the edge of the damp roof. “I have not bought a new book in many months, and now that I no longer need worry about my luggage allotment as a member of the War Office—”
“A lending library is not good enough for you?” Edmund teased. “No, I have forgotten, you intend to build a library of your own and take subscriptions.”
“Lending libraries are all very well for helping one decide what books to purchase for oneself,” Bess said, adopting a lecturing pose, “but suppose there is a book one wishes to read often? How tedious to the proprietor, to repeatedly lend out the same book to the same person. I really believe I am doing them a favor.”
“And we must visit the warehouses to supplement your wardrobe,” Mama said. “Those dreadful War Office gowns…you should be properly attired.”
Bess secretly preferred the comfort of her War Office wardrobe, which did not require a woman to depend on others to help her dress, but she merely nodded her agreement. It was unfortunate that the fashion could not bend in the direction of convenience, but perhaps, if the war was nearly over—and from what Clarissa said, Wellesley was close to ending it—all the women coming home from service might make a difference. Bess had already determined she was not giving up her convenables.
The carriage pulled up in front of the familiar stoop of their Wimpole Street house, and Edmund escorted Mama, then Bess, indoors. The narrow front hall, papered in thin blue stripes, smelled of polish and cleanser, but it was warmer than Bess had expected, and she felt a rush of pleasure upon entering it that surprised her.
A row of servants stood lined up to greet them, and Mama was already going down the line, acknowledging each one. “Keaton, how good to see you,” she said to the short, balding man dressed as sprucely as Bess had ever seen him. “And Mrs. Ponsonby. I am sure we will all get on splendidly. Now, I wish to have tea served in my drawing room, and our things—yes, thank you, I see Peter and Lucius are already bringing them in—thank you all very much.”
Bess followed her mother upstairs to her preferred drawing room, which was as warm as the entry hall, though in this case the blazing fire explained the warmth. Mama sank onto a chair near the fire and warmed her hands. “Bess, sit. I feel quite harrowed from our journey.”
“It took all of an hour, Mama,” Bess said, amused, “and most of that was the drive from Lamberton to Exeter.”
“I call it harrowing when one must keep track of the bags, and be assured the Bounder knows where she is to go, and arrange for all the things that must be done in my absence—harrowing indeed.”
Edmund bent before the fireplace and warmed his hands as Mama was doing. “Truly, it is a miracle anyone goes anywhere,” he said with a straight face.
Mama rapped him lightly on the back of the head. “Impudence.”
The door opened, and Keaton entered, bearing a silver salver full not of tea things, but of neatly stacked cards and envelopes. Mama sat back and let out a little cry of joy. “Come, Bess, help me sort these. Is it not exciting to imagine the possibilities they represent?”
“Very true,” Bess said. She picked up the nearest envelope and neatly slit it open. “And I look forward to being nothing more than one Extraordinary Speaker in a city full of them.”
Chapter 23
In which Bess’s secrets are public knowledge, for good or ill
A chill wind blew strands of hair free from Bess’s elegant coiffure as she hurried from the carriage to the door of the Gates’ mansion on Grosvenor Street. She resisted the urge to clap her hands over her head to protect her headdress and instead wrapped her pelisse closer to her body. Stormy weather was all very well when one could be indoors reading, but it was quite another thing to be forced to go out in it. But Eleanora Gates had particularly invited Bess to this evening’s entertainment, and Bess would dare any number of storms to attend.
The door swung open, and the Gates’ butler bowed them in. “Bess!” Eleanora exclaimed, hurrying forward. “I am so very glad to see you well. It is such a relief to have you back in England.”
“I am relieved to be here.” Bess embraced her friend tightly.
“Come in before you freeze. Mrs. Hanley, Mr. Hanley, welcome to our home.”
Bess divested herself of her wrap. “It has been…do you know, I do not believe I have seen you in person since I left for India?” she said. “How is Mr. Gates? And your children?”
“Very well, though I fear Henry is not here tonight. Some business in the colonies that took him across the Atlantic this afternoon. But he sends his affection.” Eleanora drew Bess’s hand through her arm and led her into the spacious drawing room to the left. “I believe almost everyone in attendance�
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“Bess!” Rose Fanshawe shrieked. Eleanora stepped back in time to avoid being bowled over by the young woman in her enthusiasm to embrace Bess. “I told myself I would not believe you were safe until I saw you in person. Those terrible savages—Bess, you are quite well, are you not?” Rose’s lovely face that had charmed a legion of suitors scrunched up in concern. “One hears such dreadful things.”
“I am perfectly well, and they are not savages, not the way you imagine,” Bess said, suppressing a flash of annoyance. “Come with me, I see Maria and Honoria.” She smiled a little ruefully at Eleanora, who returned her smile before turning back to greet more guests. Rose was sweet, but occasionally single-minded.
Eleanora had done as promised, and invited the women whose reticula all intersected with each other’s and with Bess’s and Eleanora’s. Maria, and Honoria, and Rose—all women whose Voices had reassured and comforted her while she was lost in Peru. Her heart felt full to bursting with happiness, not least because none of them needed to ask her about her adventure, and they could talk of commonplaces as if nothing odd had ever happened to her.
She found, to her pleasure, that her mind-reading ability did not trouble her in this crowd as much as she had feared. She still had not had time to Speak with Clarissa on the subject, as Clarissa was busier than ever these days, and had had little opportunity to explore her new talent. She could hardly ask someone to participate in an experiment. But she guessed that a group of Speakers, trained as they were in controlling their Speech, might be less prone to wandering thoughts than the average person. That was something she might investigate, given time.
Finally, Eleanora joined their little group, and said, “I realize conversation is pleasurable, but the men seem positively anxious to dance, and I believe we should oblige them.”
Bess cast an eye over the groupings of men standing here and there on the periphery of their chattering crowd, well lit by the glittering chandelier that was the very model of the famous ones in the Assembly Rooms in Bath. They did not appear despondent. “Well, we should not allow them to feel left out, that is certain,” she said in her most somber tone.
“Precisely,” Eleanora said with a wink. “Now, make yourselves available, you know how difficult it can be for a man to overcome his natural shyness to ask a woman to dance.”
The women laughed, and with final embraces, dispersed into the crowd, which had become substantial while Bess was engaged with her reticulum. She found Edmund standing near the door to the dining room and said, “Hungry already, brother?”
“No, I have been waiting for Miss Fanshawe to stop chattering to you so I may ask her to dance,” he said, “but she has already been claimed by that man with the waistcoat in an unflattering shade of green. I fail to understand why men supposedly of wealth and status so often have the worst of sartorial tastes.”
“Never fear, I am certain Rose will dance with you at least once tonight,” Bess said. “Though I must warn you that her heart is still set on Lord Saxby. As she normally changes her affections with the rapidity of a swallow building a nest, I must assume she is more serious than usual.”
Edmund shrugged. “She is pretty and charming, and that is all I care about for now. Unless you wish to natter on at me about my matrimonial prospects as Mama does.”
“Excuse me,” a familiar voice said, “but I was wondering if Miss Hanley would care to dance?”
Bess turned around. “Mr. Pakenham!” she exclaimed, recognizing the blond hair and the charming smile. “I did not know you were in London. Nor that you knew the Gateses.”
“Henry Gates is a long-time business associate of mine,” Mr. Pakenham said. “My good fortune, as it permits me to once again enjoy your company.”
“I feel obliged to stand in our father’s stead and give my permission,” Edmund said with a smile.
“I scarcely want that,” Bess said, taking Mr. Pakenham’s arm.
As they took their places in the dance, Mr. Pakenham said, “I wish to offer my congratulations on your harrowing escape. You are quite the stuff of legends.”
Bess froze briefly before regaining control of herself. How could Mr. Pakenham know of her ordeal unless…could he be Mr. Quinn? She examined his face closely, but saw no secret knowledge there, nothing but earnest curiosity. But how else could he have got that information? “Am I?” she said, hoping she sounded normally surprised. “I was not aware anyone knew I—to what, precisely, are you referring?”
She watched his face as she said this, but his expression never faltered. “To your shipwreck and kidnapping by the Inca natives, of course,” he said. “It is common knowledge.”
Bess immediately ran through a list of people who might have made it common knowledge and came up empty. No one she knew would have spread those stories…or was she wrong about that? She had been so overwhelmed she had lost track of what she had told and to whom. “I did not know,” she repeated.
“No one thinks less of you, naturally,” Mr. Pakenham said. Bess caught a glimpse of a thought that flickered past too swiftly for her to make sense of it. “In fact, I intended to ask a favor of you. I belong to a scientific club, an organization of men fascinated by exploration and the uncharted regions of the world. When we learned of your experiences in the wilds of Peru, we were all naturally keen on hearing your story. Would you consent to deliver a lecture next week? I promise we will all be very attentive.” Again Bess nearly caught a passing thought, the same thought, she believed.
“I…will consider it,” she said. Ever since speaking with Mr. West, her reluctance to speak about the Incas, at least those parts of her experience Mr. West had not forbidden, had faded. Though she still had no desire to reveal the Incas’ riches, and potentially spark a treasure hunt, she had begun to feel the world might benefit from knowing there were still unique and beautiful cultures in the world that had their own ways of survival. And if Mr. Pakenham was correct, and her experience was common knowledge, it was likely people would continue to pester her until she satisfied their curiosity. Mr. Pakenham’s club, on the other hand, might be an excellent venue for telling her story, full of sober men interested in advancing human knowledge.
“I appreciate your consideration,” Mr. Pakenham said. “I hope you do not believe that was my only intent in approaching you tonight. I hoped to dance with you again.”
“I am glad of it,” Bess said. “You are an enjoyable partner.”
“If I were more clever, I would have waited to approach you until it was nearly suppertime,” Mr. Pakenham said, “and secured your company to myself for even longer.”
“Then we should make the most of the time we have,” Bess said with a smile. Was he Mr. Quinn? She found it hard to believe that her friend, so well-known to her after all those days of Speech, could pretend so well to be nothing but an acquaintance. Or—and this was a compelling thought—perhaps Mr. Pakenham intended building a friendship so that he might reveal the truth when they knew each other as well in person as they did in Speech.
At the conclusion of their dances, Mr. Pakenham bowed over Bess’s hand and said, “Please do consider my offer. I believe you have much to give in the cause of knowledge.”
“Mr. Pakenham, you are correct,” Bess said, coming to a decision. If everyone knew she had been in Peru, it was better she correct their misapprehensions. “I would be happy to speak to your club. Shall we set a date?”
His eyes lit with appreciation. “Is Wednesday next acceptable? At two o’clock in the afternoon?”
“Certainly. I look forward to it.”
“Not as much as I do,” Mr. Pakenham said, and grazed her gloved knuckles with a kiss so light it was over before Bess could react. He backed away and disappeared into the crush.
That had been unexpected. Bess rubbed her knuckles with her thumb and fumbled her way to a chair. Mr. Pakenham had certainly shown her the most decided interest, and if he truly did mean to court her, what would she do? She consulted her feelings and thoug
ht about what Rose would say. He did not make her knees quiver or her heart beat faster, but she enjoyed his company, and he was handsome, and likely Rose would be in genteel hysterics if such a man had paid her such compliments. But Bess was not Rose, and her only previous romance had been…not a romance at all, though John had been sincerely attached to her, possibly more than she had been to him.
Bess sighed. She still missed John, though he did not trouble her thoughts as he had in the weeks immediately following his death. Perhaps there was something wrong with her; perhaps she was incapable of loving anyone. Or perhaps she should stop being maudlin and permit herself time to find someone she might love—someone kind and funny and considerate, who shared her interests and supported her in her troubles. If she were to find someone like that, love would certainly follow.
She danced again, several times, and became increasingly disturbed as the evening wore on. Every partner seemed to know something of her adventure—some of them, unnervingly, knew false facts about her adventure. In some cases, their information was so far incorrect it was all Bess could do to keep from responding irritably. By suppertime, Bess’s head ached with frustration, and she spoke politely but tersely to her dining partner, wishing herself at home, safely in her darkened bedchamber.
After supper, she excused herself from dancing and sat near the fireplace, chatting with anyone who chose to sit with her. At one point, Rose dropped theatrically into a chair adjacent to hers and exclaimed, “Oh, Bess, is this not simply the finest party? I declare I have danced my feet off!”
“It has been so agreeable, yes,” Bess said.
“Agreeable, bah, that is tepid talk,” Rose scoffed. “You will not go adventuring again, will you, Bess? This is so much better than a sea voyage, and safer.”
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