by Joan Smith
My mind was fully occupied with Lord Algernon’s masquerade—and the cause for it. Why had he said he was his papa’s secretary? Why had he claimed he possessed only a small competence? Every word he had uttered thus far was a lie. The curricle he had supposedly borrowed from Dolman, the closed carriage we drove that evening—none of it made any sense.
After the play, Algernon suggested dinner at the Pultney Hotel, where many of the crested carriages were heading. I would like to have seen the place, but knew it would not give us any privacy to hear the tale I was on nettles to hear.
“If you are hungry, milord, Miss Thackery and I will make you a sandwich. I am more hungry for an explanation of your deception than for food,” I said.
“It is just as well. No doubt the table I reserved will have been taken by someone else, as I asked Sharkey to make the reservation.”
We drove directly home, but we did not bother with sandwiches. Over sherry and biscuits, we finally got a story out of him. Whether it was the truth we had no way of knowing; it sounded quite farfetched to me.
“The fact is,” Lord Algernon said, “my papa has been displeased with me. Gambling debts, a life of dissipation. He cut me off without a sou. Said it would teach me a lesson to have to support myself. So I fooled him and offered to work for my daily bread. He feared some of my friends would give me a synecure and insisted I work for him—and still support myself on my very minimal earnings as his secretary.”
“You said he wanted you to live at Berkeley Square,” I reminded him.
“Yes, after a few months he did rescind his harsh terms to that extent, but by then I had made up my mind to show him I was not the wastrel he took me for. Our friends are all aware that I have been sent to Coventry and josh me about it. You must have noticed, Catherine, that several of the people we met teased me about my work.”
“Yes, I did notice that, but why did you tell me you were Mr. Alger?”
“Pride, I suppose.”
“You need not be ashamed of honest work just because you have a title, Lord Algernon!” Miss Thackery said at once.
“That was not my meaning, ma’am. I did not wish to tell you I was the black sheep of the family and hoped to pass for a worthy, striving gentleman of modest means. As to the others, I thought I would fit in better with the tenants if I ignored the title. You must own, a lord living in a couple of hired rooms in this neighborhood sounds improbable. They would not have believed it, nor would you, I daresay. My being Mr. Alger saved explanations. I meant no harm.”
Miss Thackery nodded her comprehension of this speech. “Wise of you, milord. Sharkey would have robbed you blind, and as to Miss Whately ...”
“It seems very strange to me,” I said. “Could you not have reformed yourself without moving to Wild Street?”
“Perhaps, but Papa was quite angry at first. The salary he pays did not permit me to hire rooms at Albany, or any such address. He felt me good for nothing and wanted to show me a lesson. Later, after we both got over our fits of temper, I still wanted to show him one.”
“Well, you have showed him his lesson now and ought to return home. This is no place for a gentleman,” I said severely.
“Oh, you shan’t be rid of me that easily, Catherine. I shall stay out my year. I find Wild Street quite congenial... now.” He gazed into my eyes as he emphasized that last word, implying that I was the cause of its new congeniality.
Miss Thackery suddenly decided we all needed some solid food—and used its preparation as an excuse to leave us alone. She thought she smelled romance in the air, but I discerned a fishier aroma.
“What about your dealings with Sharkey?” I asked. “Would Lord Dolman approve of you assisting a common felon?”
“He always has a soft heart for a reformer. He approves.”
“You will never reform Eric Sharkey.”
“Never say never. I reformed me,” he said.
“Were you really that bad?” I asked reluctantly.
“I wasted a deal of time and money. I did not ruin innocent maidens, or cheat at cards or kill anyone. You tell me how bad that makes me. Am I irreclaimable?” His smile was a challenge, and an invitation.
“I am not well enough acquainted with you to know.”
He watched me a moment, then said, “My own feeling is that with the right lady to keep me on course, I could become an honorable member of society.” He set aside his sherry and reached for my fingers.
I moved them away.
“What is bothering you, Catherine? Is it the chess set, the crystal decanter? I like a game of chess. The set was a birthday present from Mama a few years ago. I did not feel I was breaking the terms of my bargain with Papa by bringing it with me. As to the crystal wine decanter and glasses—well, I can do without my valet and groom, and without a few of life’s refinements, but I cannot and will not drink wine out of a cup. I bartered a pearl shirt stud for them at a pawn shop.”
“You have an answer for everything,” I snipped.
“Unlike you, who have not answered my question.”
“You did not ask me a question.”
“I implied one. What I meant was, are you interested in reforming a ne’er-do-well who is eager for reformation?”
“I believe Wild Street offers people in greater need of help than you, Lord Algernon.”
“My friends call me Algie, Catherine.”
“I only met you an hour ago, Lord Algernon. This sets our acquaintance back, does it not? You really must not use my Christian name on such short acquaintance.”
“No, no! After all, I have known you for several days. You are still Miss Irving, are you not, from Radstock?”
“That is correct. I am Miss Irving, and I would appreciate it if you would call me so.”
“Oh, no. I will not give up my hard-earned privilege. I am not totally reformed yet, you see.” I believe he was about to revert to his abandoned ways, but unfortunately Miss Thackery came in with cold mutton and bread, and our privacy was over.
Miss Thackery subjected him to a discreet but thorough catechism of his family, his home, and other subjects that indicated she had shoved him under the microscope for examination as a potential husband. I listened sharply, but with an air of ennui to conceal my interest. We were just finishing our tea when the front door opened and someone came in. I noticed then that Algie had placed himself facing the hall, so that he had a view of anyone entering.
“That cannot be Miss Whately,” I said. Footsteps were moving quickly up the stairs. There was no singing.
“Sharkey,” Algie said, with a menacing grin. “Excuse me, ladies. I have a little business to discuss with Sharkey. Thank you for a lovely evening.”
We insisted that the pleasure had been ours, and as Algie moved to the stairs with a meaningful stride, I said, “Algie, for goodness sake don’t cause a commotion so late at night. Take him outside before you use that blunt instrument.”
“You’ll never hear him fall,” he said, and ran upstairs.
I waited, listening, at the foot of the stairs when Miss Thackery took the tray to the kitchen. Not a sound came from above. Sharkey was on the third floor, however, and I feared any racket would disturb Mrs. Clarke and Jamie, whose rooms were below his. I went up to the second-floor landing to listen. From inside Algie’s room, I heard the unmistakable sound of low laughter. Far from doing battle, Algie and Sharkey were enjoying a good chuckle. Then Algie spoke, but in no angry way. He seemed to be asking a question. His actual words were indistinguishable.
Sharkey had a loud, carrying voice. His reply was perfectly audible. “I followed her home all right. He didn’t go near her. I think you’re wrong about him, Algie. He don’t seem to be interested in the girl.”
Algie murmured something in reply. Sharkey said, “Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on her. But you’ll have to take over yourself tomorrow night. Unless you want me to put off going to Stop Hole Abbey ... ?”
“No, no!” Algernon’s objection was loud e
nough to be heard.
I tiptoed quietly back downstairs and went to my bedchamber. Stop Hole Abbey is a criminal haunt where stolen goods are traded. But Lord Algernon, the great reformer, not only refrained from discouraging Sharkey, he appeared to be the one encouraging him. In fact, as Sharkey asked his opinion, the only logical conclusion was that Sharkey was going at Algernon’s request. Algernon was dealing in stolen goods. What would his papa say, and do, when he found out?
The story Algernon had told about his father suddenly seemed incredible. No rich and noble father would make his son live in such penury that he was forced to take rooms on Wild Street. Algernon was here because he wanted to work hand in glove with the detestable Eric Sharkey—for a share of the criminal profits. Algernon was a criminal.
I saved the most personal sin for the last. On top of his criminal activities, Algernon was so besotted with some girl that he had Sharkey following her, to see whom she met. Probably some proud beauty who was aware of Algernon’s criminal streak. The only reason Algernon was trying to butter me up was because he liked the convenience of having a biddable landlady. If I had known all this last night, for instance, I would have turned him and Sharkey over to Bow Street.
It was too late now; the evidence was gone—but at least Lady Pryor had her pearls and ring and watch back. I had outwitted them that time. And I would outwit them again. Sharkey was off to Stop Hole Abbey tomorrow night. Very likely he would return with some other stolen goods. I would keep a watch on the front door, and if he went to Algernon—with his pockets bulging—I would send for Bow Street.
It was much later, just as I was dozing off, that I remembered Algernon had not upbraided Sharkey for giving us outdated tickets for Covent Garden. It had not bothered him a whit that we suffered the disgrace of being put out of our box. I renewed my resolution to sell the house and return to Radstock as soon as possible.
Chapter Eleven
I was up early the next morning. Before breakfast, I went to the kitchen and spoke to Mullard about scraping and painting the front door. He was enjoying a hearty breakfast of gammon and eggs with Mary Freeman. Mary had worked wonders on the kitchen. Its surfaces were all too old and faded to gleam, but they were clean, and Mary wore a clean apron and cap. It lifted my spirits to see things being put to order, and to smell the tantalizing whiff of coffee in the air.
I took a cup of coffee to the dining room to await breakfast. I was just looking about for the journals to discover an estate agent when Mrs. Clarke’s head peeked in the door. She looked pale and tired, and her work clothes were modest in the extreme, but neither a plain gray round bonnet nor the air of fatigue could dim her natural beauty. I said good morning and inquired for Jamie’s health.
“Good morning, Miss Irving,” she said. “Jamie is fine. He is teething and was awake in the night, but he will be all right. I wonder if I could ask a wee favor of you. I am expecting a parcel from my aunt today. She is sending some of her old baby clothes for Jamie. Would you mind holding it for me? I’ll pick it up after work. Or you can just ask Miss Lemon to take it up if it is in your way.”
“I would be happy to, Mrs. Clarke.”
“Thank you. I must dash. Mam’selle Lalonde gets that cross if I am late.”
I heard her speaking to Sharkey in the hall as she left. Such was Mrs. Clarke’s youth and beauty that she nudged even Sharkey into civility.
“I am going your way, Mrs. Clarke,” he said. “I’ll walk along with you, if you don’t mind.”
“I will be happy for your escort, for they are tearing down that old building on the corner on my way to work ... and some of the fellows shout and leer as I pass by.”
“We’ll see about that!” Sharkey said in a blustering way.
“Mr. Butler usually accompanies me, but he—” The door closed, cutting off her speech.
I remembered seeing Miss Thackery reading the Observer in the saloon yesterday and went to fetch it. As I was returning to the dining room, Lord Algernon came downstairs.
“Good morning, Catherine,” he said, with a smile.
“Good morning, Lord Algernon,” I said coolly. “Did you ring a peel over Sharkey last night? I must compliment you on your discretion. I did not hear any falling body.”
“We have worked out a compromise. He gave me tickets—properly dated—for Drury Lane for tomorrow evening to make up for last night’s catastrophe. I hope you and Miss Thackery will be my guests.”
“Very kind, but we prefer to know what we are getting into when we go out with a gentleman.”
“Cut to the quick!” he said, with an exaggerated grimace. “You will never let me forget that, will you? But as I said, these tickets are properly dated.”
“I am sure the tickets are fine. Perhaps the colonel could spare Miss Whately to accompany you. I shall be busy making the house ready to show to potential buyers. I am just looking for an estate agent to call on this morning.”
An expression more of hurt than anger creased his handsome brow. “What is the matter, Catherine?” he asked softly.
“I have come down with a bad case of reality, Lord Algernon. A pity you could not do likewise.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“A clever scoundrel like you should be able to figure it out.”
I left him standing in confusion with his hand on the banister post while I strode back to the dining room. I should not have let him know I was so angry. It might urge him to caution—and make it more difficult to catch him and Sharkey with their loot. I would be more conciliating the next time I met him, but I would not go out with him again.
I circled the names of a couple of estate agents within walking distance of Wild Street, according to a map of London Aunt Thalassa had in her desk. The only other item of interest that occurred that morning was a reply from Papa, positively urging me to remain on as long as necessary to get the house in shape for selling or renting. I sensed the fine hand of Mrs. Hennessey in his letter. It would suit her very well to have Miss Thackery and myself out of the way, to give her a clear field with Papa.
Later in the morning Mullard began scraping the front door. He used some sort of foul-smelling chemical to soften the paint. The reek of it invaded the house, causing Miss Whately to come down and complain. At eleven-thirty in the morning, she had not yet put on a dress, but wore a garish flowered dressing gown.
“It’s enough to give you a headache, Miss Irving. It can’t be good for a body.”
“He is nearly finished. I shan’t keep you, Miss Whately, as I see you are just making your toilette.”
“Oh, lud, I’m sick to death of all my clothes. If I have to put on that yellow gown again I’ll wretch. Which reminds me, what are you doing with the old malkin’s gowns, Miss Irving, if you don’t mind my asking? What I was thinking— We’re about the same size, me and Mrs. Cummings, except around the waist, and she had some dandy things. I couldn’t begin to pay you what they’re worth, but old Jack would be good for a couple of quid. He likes me to dress fancy.”
“You are welcome to take a look, Miss Whately. There will be no charge,” I added.
This being the case, Miss Whately, whom I was immediately urged to call “Renie,” found much to her liking, even including colored silk hose with ladders and some antiquated shoes with gaudy silver buckles and other dramatic ornaments.
“You might ask Mrs. Clarke if she wants what’s left,” she said when she had her arms full to overflowing. “She’s that handy with a needle, ain’t she? You ought to see the neat mend she made in Mr. Alger’s jacket sleeve. He ripped it when he was helping her put up Jamie’s crib. Of course it stands to reason, her being a modiste and all. She’d be glad of a little extra work if you need anything in the way of mending or sewing, Miss Irving. She makes all Alger’s handkerchiefs and that.”
It was thoughtful of Algernon to help the widow out in this way. I was glad there was at least a small streak of generosity in him. “That might be convenient. I shall see if w
e need anything. I expect Mr. Butler also gives her a little work.”
“Yes, and even old Vivaldi. He has an eye on her, if you want my honest opinion. I’ve caught him more than once loitering round her door. Old enough to be her pa, the old hound. Of course he’s no real competition for Mr. Alger.”
“Surely it is Mr. Butler who has the inner track!”
“Don’t you believe it,” Renie said, and laughed. “He hadn’t a look-in once she caught Alger’s eye. Well, stands to reason, a swell like Mr. Alger. He’s ever so fond of Mrs. Clarke. Takes her personal in his carriage when she has to go out of an evening. Says she’s going to visit some friends of her late husband’s. Straight to the nearest country inn, says I. Oh, that Alger is the one, ain’t he? I wouldn’t mind leaving my slippers under his bed—in a manner of speaking,” she added, when I stared at her with my mouth open.
It was not her latest vulgarism that caused my jaw to drop, however, but the news that Algernon was seducing that nice Mrs. Clarke. I was furious, but I tried to conceal my rampant interest in this subject, while still extracting anything she might have to tell. “Would you like some coffee, Renie?” I suggested.
“I don’t mind if I do, dear. I just ran out. My last cup was so weak I had to help it out of the pot.”
We went to the saloon, and I rang for Mary to bring coffee.
Renie said, “You’ve got this rat’s nest fixed up ever so nice, Miss Irving. Who’d have thought it could look so swell.”
“Yes, the proportions are rather nice, and the fireplace, too. Has Mr. Alger been seeing Mrs. Clarke for very long?”
“Ever since the day he moved in. He no sooner clamped his eyes on her than he was making up to her. In her room for an hour that very night, and Miss Lemon hadn’t moved in yet, either,” she said, nodding her head sagaciously. “In fact, it’s him as found Miss Lemon, and it wouldn’t come as a shock to me if he paid her wages as well. I mean to say, she’s only got her man’s half pension, hasn’t she? How does she afford a full-time woman?”