What Happens in Piccadilly

by Bowlin, Chasity

  But there was always another option. The portrait in the corridor of the duke’s residence came to mind, as did Montgomery’s lovely governess. The stationery, Burney thought, glancing back at it again, was also perfect for blackmail.

  Broke, with no hope of raising the funds needed on his own merit, desperation had Burney reaching for one piece of the heavy paper and the quill and ink in their elaborate stand. He wrote carefully, camouflaging his own hand as much as possible. When it was done, he scattered fine sand over the surface to prevent the ink from smudging. With it completed, he slipped it into the pocket of his coat after donning it and quickly exited the secreted apartment via the same door he’d entered through hours earlier. On the street, it was still dark but dawn approached. The lamplighters were on the tail end of their nightly tasks and were now dousing the gas lamps and rapping on windows to wake those who paid for the service.

  A small boy was assisting another boy, older and harder in appearance, a boy who had clearly seen far too much during his tenure on the streets. Taking a precious coin and the letter from his pocket, Burney approached the pair. “I have a job for you.”

  “We know what that coffee house really is,” the older boy said. “We’ll not be doing any work for you in there.”

  “I only need a note delivered,” Burney said casually. “And I’ve coin to pay you for it.”

  “That’s it?” the younger of the two said. “Just knock on the door and hand ’em the note?”

  “Not at all. I want you to wrap this note about a rock and toss it through a window. You can throw well enough to do that, can’t you?”

  “We’ll go to the gaol if we’re caught!” the older boy protested.

  Burney smiled. “Then do not get caught. At this hour, if you hurry, you’ll be able to get away before the house stirs enough to even discover what actually happened. Toss it and run… and get a guinea for you troubles.”

  “A guinea? I don’t believe it!” the older boy snapped.

  Burney held up the coin. “And do you believe it now?”

  “You pay us up front,” the older boy said.

  “You do as you’ve been asked and I’ll be waiting at Piccadilly Circus to pay you,” he said. Handing the note to the smaller boy, he added, “And if you don’t do it, I will find out.”

  “We ain’t crooks,” the younger one replied and took the note.

  “Do not open that,” Burney warned.

  “Can’t read no way,” the boy answered flippantly.

  “House number 114 on Piccadilly. Do you understand?”

  “Aye, sir. We understand,” the older boy answered. “And we’ll get it done.”

  With that taken care of, Burney wandered aimlessly toward Piccadilly Circus, prepared to wait for his reluctant accomplices. It was a dangerous thing to make an enemy of Montgomery. And the truth was, he liked Montgomery. But friends were a luxury he couldn’t afford at the moment. If he didn’t get the money to his cousin, he’d be ruined. Then the credit they were living on would be revoked. He’d wind up in debtor’s prison. He didn’t have the protection of a title to keep him from it.

  *

  The sound of breaking glass awakened the servants. They, in turn, awakened the remainder of the house. Clad only in a banyan, which he’d only taken to wearing now that there were children roaming the halls at all hours of the day and night, Winn left his chamber and headed toward the morning room that faced the street. Broken glass littered the floor and a rock lay on the carpet, bound with twine and wrapped in a note.

  “I thought it best to let you examine the item, my lord,” the new butler, Foster he recalled, said. “I thought perhaps it might be personal in nature.”

  “It’s a rock through my bloody window. I’d say it’s definitely personal,” Winn groused as he strode toward it. Glass crunched beneath his leather-soled slippers as he stooped to retrieve it. He didn’t open the note in front of anyone. Instead, he took it and retreated to his study with it. Was this some retaliation from Monsieur Dumont? It seemed unlikely. The man was a coward, after all, and a bully. Had it been only the rock, minus any form of communication, he might have leaned more heavily in that direction.

  Taking a seat at his desk, he carefully untangled the twine, noting that it had been tied rather clumsily. Almost childishly. Should he check to see that William was still abed? But then he unpeeled the slightly damp paper from the stone and unfolded it carefully.

  It wasn’t William’s doing. In fact, despite the rather elaborate efforts taken to disguise the penmanship, it was obvious to him immediately that it was Burney. Not because he recognized the hand, but because Burney was the only other person who had been in Averston’s home to see the portrait of Mademoiselle Delaine and who had also seen Calliope St. James’ face. Recalling Burney’s desperation to seal the deal for his cousin’s tobacco shipments, it was obvious that he was in need of funds. And now it was equally obvious that he would not hesitate to procure them through unscrupulous means.

  Crumpling the note, Winn considered his options. The first thing he’d have to do is be completely honest with Miss St. James. He’d hoped to shield her from the truth and, in doing so, shield her from Averston. But if Burney exposed her, Averston would not stop until the girl was dead. He knew that. She posed too great a threat to all that the duke held dear.

  Cursing, he rose and left the study. Climbing the stairs to his chamber, he began dressing. It wasn’t quite dawn yet, but he had no intention of waiting. He meant to beard the lion in his den, so to speak. His valet entered, sleepy-eyed and clearly concerned by all the commotion of the early morning vandalism.

  “May I be of assistance, my lord?”

  Winn shook his head as he hastily tied his cravat. “I’m not concerned about whether or not I’m fashionable at the moment. It’s hardly a requirement for beating another so-called gentleman to a pulp.”

  The valet inhaled sharply, clearly appalled by such ungentlemanly violence. “Surely a duel would be more the thing, my lord.”

  Winn rolled his eyes. “I don’t want to kill him… nor do I have any great desire to be shot myself. No. A sound thrashing ought to take care of it. But thank you for the advice, Smithton. It’s greatly appreciated. Should I ever need clarification on whether blackening someone’s eyes or sending them to meet their maker is the most gentlemanly course of action, I’ll be certain to seek out your wise counsel.”

  The valet, giving every appearance of being chastened when nothing could be further from the truth, ducked his head. “Very well, my lord. And should this gentleman manage to thrash you instead, I will have poultices at the ready to treat your wounds.”

  “Your faith in me is astonishing, Smithton, and I thank you for it,” Winn said as he headed out the door. Down the stairs and into the darkened streets beyond, he made straight for the set of rooms that Burney kept on Church Street. With his brisk pace, fueled by anger, he actually reached those rooms in time to see Burney disappearing through the front door. If there had been any doubt at all that the man was responsible, seeing him out and about at such an ungodly hour was all the proof Winn required.

  Quickening his pace, he crossed the street, all but abandoned at such an hour, and entered the building just behind Burney who was already at the top of the stairs. The other man looked back at him and Winn saw the guilt in his expression. “I’d like a word with you, Burney.”

  “Now isn’t a good time, Montgomery. Heavens, I’m only just getting to bed.”

  “I wasn’t aware blackmail required such late hours,” Winn snapped. “And it wasn’t a request, Burney. We will have those words and we will have them now… here in the corridor or in the privacy of your rooms. I’ll let you decide.”

  Burney hesitated, but only for a moment. He opened the door, stepped aside and waved for Winn to precede him into his small apartment. Once inside, Burney closed the door, and Winn whirled on him immediately. The punch landed squarely, sending Burney stumbling backwards and clutching his no
se.

  “Were it not for decades of friendship between our families, I would call you out on the spot!” Winn snapped. “You dare to blackmail me? To extort funds from me? Not to mention that you are very likely risking the life of an innocent woman in the process!”

  Burney shook his head, still clutching his nose. “I’ve no notion what you’re talking about. But clearly you are upset about something you think I’ve done.” There was panic rising in his voice.

  “I think you or some miscreant you hired threw a rock through my window with a note wrapped about it attempting the most ridiculous extortion imaginable… demanding a sum of four thousand pounds or the Duke of Averston will be told that the missing heir to the Averston fortune is acting as governess to my nieces and nephew. Did you really think I wouldn’t piece together that it was you, Burney?”

  “You can’t prove it,” Burney denied.

  “I don’t have to prove it… and I certainly don’t have to pay you. You’ll not see a pence from this, Burney. I’ll tell Miss St. James myself about her parentage and I’ll see to it that Averston will never get near enough to her to do her harm.” Winn was too disgusted with the man to even want to hit him again. He just wanted to be away from the man. “If you approach me in society, it will go badly for you. Do not think to trade on our friendship or my long-held respect for the remainder of your family. In short, Burney, do not make me embarrass them that way… and stay the hell away from mine. Is that understood?”

  “You have it all wrong, Montgomery,” Burney implored. “I’m not the villain here.”

  “No. You’re not a villain. You lack the courage to be a villain, Burney. What you are is a coward and that is even worse. If you ever think to threaten me or mine, and that includes those in my employ, I will make you regret it.”

  “Please!” Burney cried out.

  Winn turned back to him. “What?”

  “Amelia’s debut is tomorrow… please don’t disappoint her or mother by not coming. I know what I did was wrong, but I’m desperate, dammit! You’ve no idea the dire straits we’re in!”

  “I know that hosting an elaborate ball is hardly the way to get yourself out of them! Think man! You’ve spent a bloody fortune on this ball and I know Amelia would have understood if you’d needed to postpone her coming out.”

  “It is all worth it if Amelia can marry well! I need to see her settled so that she is safe from scandal!” Burney snapped.

  “What scandal, Burney? Dammit, I’ve been a friend to you all your life! I would help you if you only told me what you needed,” Winn replied.

  Burney laughed bitterly. “There are some things that cannot be helped. Promise me you will come to the ball. If I had to explain to Mother why you weren’t there—please… having you there would help to cement her status as an incomparable.”

  Amelia Burney would never be an incomparable. She was a pretty enough girl, but painfully shy and far too sweet for her own good. Society would eat her alive and Burney was too damned foolish to see it. “I’ll be there. I’ll dance with her one time and one time only, as agreed. And then we are done… and you will leave Miss St. James be. I can help you, Burney, but if you cause that girl harm—”

  “They wouldn’t really hurt her!”

  Winn shook his head. “My God, but you are stupid. Yes, Burney, they would hurt her. They would hurt anyone who opposed them… or at the very least the dowager duchess would. What Averston is capable of, I’ve no notion. But I wouldn’t trust him any further than I could throw him.”

  “You’re wrong about him.”

  “Perhaps. I was certainly wrong about you. We might not have been close but, at one time, I would have counted you as a friend.” Winn turned on his heel and left, the younger man sputtering behind him. As he left, he did not return to his house on Piccadilly but instead made his way toward Jermyn Street and the Darrow School for Girls. He needed to speak to Calliope St. James about her parentage and the potential threat she now faced because of it. It was definitely a conversation that needed to take place somewhere that his nieces and nephew were not.

  Chapter Ten

  Callie was donning her pelisse with the assistance of one of the maids when a knock sounded at the door. The housekeeper, Mrs. Wheaton, who in their unusual house also fulfilled the role of butler, appeared scandalized that anyone would dare knock upon their door so early. It was unusual to Callie’s mind, but far from unheard of. Mrs. Wheaton opened the door and a familiar voice greeted Callie’s ears.

  “I’m sorry to have called so early but it is imperative that I speak with Miss St. James immediately.” From his tone, he was clearly unhappy about something.

  “Then I suggest you make an appointment to meet with her during the hours when it is acceptable to pay calls,” the housekeeper replied sternly.

  “It is urgent, Madam, or I would never dare to presume… please. I daresay it could be a matter of life and death,” he insisted.

  Worried, Callie stepped forward. “It’s fine, Mrs. Wheaton. Send one of the maids to fetch Effie and I’ll see his lordship in her study.”

  “It’s very irregular, Miss,” the housekeeper warned.

  “I understand that, Mrs. Wheaton, but I daresay the Earl of Montgomery would not be here if he did not consider the situation to be of a most urgent nature,” Callie replied.

  The housekeeper walked away, grumbling under her breath about lords and their urgencies. It was followed closely by something that sounded rather like “my eye”.

  “Not a trusting sort, is she?” he asked.

  Callie smiled but it was a cool expression and, with it, she conveyed a warning. “We are standing in the entryway of a home that functions primarily as a school for the illegitimate offspring of gentleman of your standing, my lord. I’d say she’s entitled to her skepticism.”

  “Touché, Miss St. James,” he conceded as he stepped fully into the entryway.

  Turning on her heel, Callie led the way down the corridor to the small study that Effie had converted into an office of sorts for herself. “The children are well?” she asked as the door closed behind them. She was giving voice to the fear that had been plaguing her since she’d first recognized his voice. What other reason would he have to come there, after all?

  “They are quite well, though I daresay they are already tearing my house apart without you there to guide them… but this is a matter of some urgency, Miss St. James,” he said, his tone grave. He moved away from her, crossing the expanse of carpet to stare out the window into the back garden. When he looked back at her, his expression was one of grim resolve. “The threat is not to the children in this instance, but to you.”

  If he’d said the grass was blue and the sky green, she wouldn’t have been more surprised. “To me? You can’t be serious!” she protested.

  “What do you really know of your parentage, Miss St. James?”

  Callie shook her head. “Nothing. I have no notion of who my mother or father are… or were. I was left at the gate of the St. James Workhouse. Someone rang the bell and departed before the attendant even discovered me.”

  “Was there any identifying information with you? Anything significant about the basket or the clothing that you were dressed in?”

  Callie shook her head. She didn’t know honestly and there was likely no way to obtain any such information now. “There’s nothing… not so far as I am aware, at any rate. Before I answer any more of your questions, I think it’s time you answered mine! What is this about, my lord?”

  He was silent for a moment, staring at her in a considering way, thoughtful and focused. After that long silence stretched to the point of discomfort, he began speaking abruptly, “I may know who your mother was… and your father. It was strange coincidence that shortly after you came into my employ, I was attending a meeting with several gentleman at the home of the Duke of Averston. Do you know him?”

  Callie blinked. Then she blinked again and again, as if doing so would force the words he’
d uttered to penetrate the fog that had claimed her mind. With no clarity forthcoming, she managed to utter, “No. Why on earth would I be acquainted with a duke? But do go on.”

  He cleared his throat and began to pace as he talked. “Burney, Mr. Charles Burney, whom we happened to run into while shopping the other day was the gentleman responsible for putting together a prospective business deal that he hoped I, and the Duke of Averston, would be willing to invest in. While there—at the duke’s residence—to discuss the matter, I saw a portrait of a woman and the resemblance between you is so marked that it cannot be mere happenstance. There must be some familial link… because it is undeniable.”

  “And who is this woman?” Callie asked.

  His expression shifted once more, to one that was tinged with compassion. “Who was this woman… I’m afraid she is long dead, Miss St. James. And I fear her death was not one of natural causes. Her name was Mademoiselle Veronique Delaine. She was a French actress and a very successful one. She was also the mistress of the former Duke of Averston… your father.”

  Callie stared at him for a moment as if he’d gone utterly mad. Then she began to laugh. “If I were the daughter of a duke and his mistress, why would I have been left at a workhouse, my lord? Surely they would have made other arrangements even if, due to societal and family pressure, they could not raise me themselves!”

  “The former duke made it clear that he planned to marry her, Mademoiselle Delaine… but his mother, your grandmother, had other ideas. Your mother left you on the steps of the workhouse, I’m assuming, because she was literally running for her life and… yours. The dowager duchess is a formidable woman, Miss St. James, and I have no difficulty at all believing that she is capable of everything that Averston admitted to me, albeit in a vague fashion. She killed or had your mother killed and would likely have done the same to you had your mother not placed you on the steps of the St. James Workhouse and left you to whatever mercy might be had within those walls.”