“That looks like something a cowboy might wear,” Manfred said when he opened the door for her. He was dressed to go out himself, but he raised his eyebrows hopefully when he saw her basket. “Still potatoes in there?”
“No. Cake.” She brushed past him, feeling like a gunslinger in her long, swinging coat.
“I think I’ll stay home for a bit. No need to rush out.”
She couldn’t help noticing that even with her smart bonnet and gunslinger coat, he was dressed far more expensively than she was. “Where were you going? Not to the Mews’s home, I hope.”
They had been out of town during the summer, but had returned a couple of weeks ago. Manfred and Lady Mews were close conspirators of a kind she tried not to think too much about, but that lent itself greatly to the legend of the Scandalous Crosses. Magdalene hoped she’d experienced her only personal scandal when she was ten years old, and it hadn’t been the usual kind of Cross drama at all.
Manfred propelled her into the kitchen and pulled out a chair, then whisked the basket from under her arm and opened the napkin. “This looks like good cake.”
“It was meant for a wedding cake, but it fell apart.”
“To our benefit. Cup of tea?”
“Please.”
She sighed and untied her bonnet ribbon. At least Manfred had a practical side, more so than George in a way. He could take care of himself, as she expected Captain Shield could. He knew how to get a stove going in the morning, knew how to heat water and make tea.
“Does Lady Mews buy your clothing?”
He sat next to her with a freshly filled teapot. “I thought we didn’t discuss these things.”
“I am afraid we are coming to a time when we must discuss unpleasant things in this household.”
“You mean George’s drinking? He hasn’t been at it for long.”
“But there are children in this household who need a stable influence.”
“I could get money for a nursemaid.”
“I think school is the answer. Do you know the earl has offered to pay to board them?”
He shook his head. “I’ll miss the little blighters.”
“So will I, but if George doesn’t come to his senses soon—” She paused when she heard footsteps in the corridor.
Her eldest brother lurched into the room, his face red and his eyes unfocused. Did he have on anything under his dressing gown? She saw a flash of pale, bare calf and turned away with a shudder.
George leaned over her. She thought he was reaching for cake, but instead he picked up her new bonnet, the ribbons dangling in her thankfully empty teacup. His breath oozed wine into the air as he slurred, “Where’d this come from?”
“My old bonnet became too wet and the dye ran all over my face.”
“This isn’t proper mourning.” He shook it at her.
“I only got it today.”
“And the coat?” He pointed an unsteady finger at her, then staggered back a step as if moving his arm unbalanced him.
“Come and have a cuppa,” Manfred suggested, pushing back a chair with his shoe.
“Who bought you that coat? You always say we are poor. I know you wouldn’t spend money on yourself. You’re too s-s-spinsterish,” he stuttered.
Her heart rate increased. “I am not spinsterish. I’ll have you know Captain Shield bought them for me, when both my bonnet and shawl soaked through in the rain this morning.”
“Whore!” His arm swung through the air.
Her eyes crossed as his hand moved, then her head snapped back as his knuckles caught her cheek. She started to fall backward. Manfred leapt up, his chair crashing to the ground as he grabbed for her.
His teeth gritted. She saw he’d knocked over the teapot, and hot tea cascaded over the table, dripping onto his greatcoat. Thankfully he was still dressed for the outdoors.
She put her hand to her cheek, feeling the hot place where George had struck her. Tears welled in her eyes from the sheer sting of the blow. He had never hit her before. She felt the inside of her mouth with her tongue. Blood dripped, hot and coppery, where her teeth had sliced a gash into her flesh.
“You’ve made this house unsafe for both your children and sister,” Manfred hissed at his brother. “Go back upstairs, now.”
“You don’t tell me what to do,” he pouted, his lips trembling.
“Lock yourself in the boys’ room with them, Magdalene,” Manfred said. He seemed to have gained half a decade in maturity in the last minute. “I’m going to Uncle’s.”
She backed out of the room behind Manfred, wanting to take her basket of cakes upstairs for the boys, but not daring. George regarded them with narrowed eyes, his head moving side to side, snakelike, but he didn’t move.
When she and Manfred were at the stairs, she whispered, “Will someone from Gerrick House come get them tonight?”
He pulled out his handkerchief. “Spit.”
She complied and the cloth turned red.
He tucked it back into his pocket. “I’ll make sure of it. Bar the door. Pack what you can for them. Don’t trust the lock. He has all the keys, of course.”
She nodded and dashed upstairs. It wasn’t until she was inside, a chair thrust under the doorknob and the boys asking questions and pointing at her cheek, that she began to shake.
On Thursday evening, Judah sat on a plush sofa in a gaslit parlor in Mayfair, at the home of Sir Cyril. The man had returned an invitation by the next post. When the door opened, Judah stood, but it was only a footman with a tray.
He considered it, but one result of working at Redcake’s was he was rarely hungry. Too much sampling of pastry, and he now was able to have a hot bowl of soup each day at noontime, thanks to the new menu. While he had a good walk each day, to and from Regent and Oxford streets, he would like to ride as well. He wondered if his purse would extend to that.
To that end, he noted a variety of paintings featuring horses on the walls. He stood and walked over to peruse them. “Sir Cyril must keep quite a stable.”
“I come from a racing family, Captain Shield,” said a rich voice. “Out of Newbury, though I met your parents at Ascot many years ago.”
Judah turned and saw a man of middle years, comfortably paunched, with an exceptionally thick head of graying brown hair and a full beard. “Thank you for seeing me, Sir Cyril.”
“By all means. I would be happy to thaw relations between your family and mine.”
“I have recently come back to England and was unaware of any tension.” Was he stepping on Hatbrook’s toes yet again? He thought if he avoided the aristocracy he could keep free of Hatbrook’s crowd, but of course politics was another place where his brother might be involved.
“Yes, of course. Your late father and I did not agree on a farm bill. Your brother and I disagree on various points as well.”
“The late marquess was active in politics?”
“Sometimes,” Sir Cyril said. “He was a man of moods and seasons.”
“So you say. I did not know him well. Or my mother, for that matter.”
“Your mother seemed to grow into motherhood. When your sister was born that was the first time I saw the domestic side of her. I often dangled Lady Elizabeth on my knee before I broke with your father politically.”
“You must have been to Hatbrook Farm then.”
“Oh, yes. My grandmother moved to Eastbourne in the early eighteen-sixties so I was in the neighborhood during school holidays and the like.”
“What year? I cannot believe I never met you.”
“I’m not sure of the exact year.”
Judah regarded the man closely. Sir Cyril’s eyes were a watery blue, nothing like his, but his frame was not so different, minus the paunch. Could this be his father?
“Do you have children?” he asked. “Perhaps I would remember them.”
Sir Cyril coughed. “No, an injury, you understand.”
“So sorry.” He wondered when the injury had taken place, but the man
had a mortified blush high on his cheeks and it would be ruinous to press further.
Sir Cyril sighed. “My lady would be here to greet you as well, but I am afraid she had a family engagement this evening.”
“Some other time,” Judah said politely.
“I believe you mentioned that Miss Cross told you I had been a family friend?”
“Yes.”
“Are you close to her family?”
“Tolerably so.”
Sir Cyril leaned over, knocking a teacup with his elbow. “Dreadful doings there yesterday. I understand the young Cross boys were sent haring across London to their uncle’s house in little but their short jackets.”
“I did not see Miss Cross today,” Judah said, alarmed. “We often meet in the street, because we, er, live near each other.” He had seen Hetty, however. Their housemaid had come with a note from Magdalene, begging off work for the day, with no explanation. Hetty had seemed rather upset, but he had thought it was because she was forced out in the rain. He’d planned to call after seeing Sir Cyril.
“Grief can do great damage to a household, and of course a man is never so civilized as when he has a kind wife.”
“Do you think there is damage?” He tapped his shoe on the carpet, eager to leave.
“Well, George Cross has shut himself up in his house since his wife passed. Not so unusual under the circumstances, but since he was all but nursemaid to the boys, he usually goes out to the park with them. It is greatly remarked about among local governesses.”
“I am sorry the family pain has become such a source of gossip. I did know the earl had offered to ease their way into his old school, despite the time of year. Perhaps the headmaster was only willing to hold the beds for a day or two.”
Sir Cyril lifted a knowing eyebrow. “It is a good story to put out, at any rate. They do not have enough servants, or live in a good enough street, for too much of the truth to leave their doors. But, if you are an admirer of Miss Cross, you may want to take a close look at her situation.”
“Do you have any immediate fear?”
“I know young Manfred Cross is often seen at a certain lady’s card parties, and he was not there last night.”
“No doubt sharing in the tender family leave-taking.”
“Quite. Now, let’s have a maid in to pour for us, and we shall discuss our friends and interests.” Sir Cyril settled in for a long monologue.
Judah was captive for forty more minutes. Then, he had a cab driver go by Miss Cross’s home, but the lights were all extinguished. “By Jove,” he muttered. “I wish I knew what was going on inside that house.” He tapped on the roof of the hansom so the driver would go on. If things were very bad, Hetty would have told him.
Resigning himself to not seeing Magdalene until the next day, he tossed and turned all night. Could Sir Cyril be his father? He wasn’t sure if he even liked the man. His enjoyment of gossip reminded him of the cakies in his employ, all of them a flock of high-pitched, excited starlings. And Sir Cyril was a bit smug, though he did admire the man’s size, rude good health, and head of hair. Compared to most Members of Parliament, he was a god among men.
It seemed to take double the usual time to shave and dress the next morning. He needed the strong cup of tea that would be waiting on his desk when he arrived at Redcake’s.
Thankfully, he could see Miss Cross in her new coat and bonnet, now covered in black crepe, standing next to Eddy. He felt instantly relieved. What he didn’t expect was their almost matching visages. The marks on her face were fresher than Eddy’s. He swore. Reaching for her chin, he tilted her face into the light. “What did George do to you? That madman.”
She pulled back. “Captain Shield! It was a misunderstanding about my outerwear. He thought I was being disrespectful about mourning.”
“So he hit you? Is this how a man treats his sister? Where was Manfred?”
“Shhh,” she soothed. “Manfred is fine. It is unspeakable to have this conversation.”
“Pardon me for saying, miss, but there ain’t no point to keepin’ it private, leastways when you have a gentleman concerned,” Eddy said, handing Judah his paper.
“I am your protector, Miss Cross,” Judah said, inspired to his theme by Eddy’s words. He tossed the lad a penny.
She blinked.
“As your employer,” he explained. “You are in my care, and this is unsupportable.”
She smiled faintly at Eddy and took Judah’s sleeve, to pull him to the side of a fountain on the Square, where the noise of the water might make their conversation more private. “He is my brother.”
“He isn’t the head of your family. The earl is. Is he comfortable with your treatment? Do you know the news about your young nephews is all over Town? I had to hear it from Sir Cyril, of all people.”
Her chin went up. “You saw him? Did he give you any answers?”
“I am not concerned with myself at this moment, but with you. Miss Cross, you cannot go on like this.” He opened his umbrella to protect them from the drizzle that had just started misting the pavement.
“You do not live in my house,” she said stiffly. “You cannot know what goes on in my private life. If someone had damaged my face at Redcake’s, that would be very different. I allow you are my protector there.”
Was she going to dismiss her pain, and the risk, so lightly? “Are we not friends, Miss Cross?”
“You claim to be my brother’s friend, too.”
“Then I shall go to him this instant,” Judah said. “As soon as you are tucked into the Fancy, I shall take a hansom to your brother’s door.”
“That is rude and presumptuous. It was a momentary derangement, brought on by my wearing gray. It shall not happen again.”
He regarded her still-gray coat until she flushed. “If you truly thought that, your nephews would not be gone.”
“That was Manfred’s plan.”
“Did he witness this act of brutality?”
She looked down, then sighed. “Yes. It is as if he became a man overnight.”
“So he is there providing protection whenever George is there?”
After a moment she shook her head. “George is always there. Manfred has his own company to keep.”
“With Lady Mews.”
“Do not gossip about my family, sir,” she hissed.
Judah felt abashed and wondered if he were more like Sir Cyril that he realized. All those years he’d spent in the officer’s mess where shop talk was not allowed at table had had its effect on his conversation. “Could you not go to your uncle’s, too?”
“I can’t leave George. He only eats what I hand to him. He is disconsolate.”
“But he drinks.”
“A great deal,” she responded in a tired sort of way.
Judah scratched his chin. “Was it like this before his wife died?”
Her expression soured. “You’d never have known he cared about her until she became ill. He was not a very good husband, any more than most gentlemen.”
“I wonder that you lived in his house.”
“I never thought to consider anywhere else. Nancy kept the tone as high as she could, though circumstances diminished over time.”
“You have been placed in a very difficult situation.”
“I do not deny that. Nancy kept things calm as long as she could, and he certainly loves the boys, but he did not trouble himself much with family before he fell into debt.”
“Were you able to get the boys’ things to the earl, or to the school? From what Sir Cyril reported, they didn’t have their trunks.”
“George has insisted they’ll be coming home as soon as his illness has passed. He doesn’t want them to go to school.”
Is “illness” what they are calling habitual drunkenness now? He had always smelled liquor on the man’s breath when they met, but he had never seemed impaired. “That is terribly selfish of him.”
“They are all that is left of Nancy, he says.”
“He does no credit to her memory. The boys must go. Who shall reason with him?” Judah stared down a trinket seller who had moved toward them, a professional smile on his face.
“Who can reason with a man in his state of mind?” she countered.
“And he claims to be ill?”
“Yes. It is the drink, of course, and grief. He can call it whatever he wishes.”
“Meanwhile the boys have only the clothes on their backs.”
“It isn’t as bad as that. I made bundles for them, nightshirts and so forth. Mostly they will wear their school uniforms.”
“If George will not sign for them, can they go to school?”
“I believe they will trust the earl’s word at the school. They are his great-nephews and no one would be surprised if he says their father is not well enough for paperwork.”
Without considering his actions overmuch, he took her hand in his and squeezed. Their gloves squeaked coldly against each other, but she looked down with a tiny smile.
“I know you are my friend, Captain Shield. You have done so much for me.”
“I would do more,” he said on instinct. His hand moved from her glove to her hair, and he tucked a strand back into her bonnet. “You will need to repin, I think.”
“Manfred had only so long to wait for me this morning. I didn’t do a very good job.”
“How can I make your situation more safe?”
“Keep employing me,” she said. “Money makes a world of difference.”
“Do you mean to set up your own establishment?”
“I do not know what my plans are. I hope my brother will resolve his grief and get hold of himself.”
He wondered what might go wrong before that happened, if it ever did. “I think your uncle should have a chat with him.”
“I’m sure he will when the boys are gone from Gerrick House.”
“Do you have friends you can stay with?”
She shook her head. “My oldest friend lives in Yorkshire. Her father died young and she went to be a ladies’ companion due to her family’s changed circumstances. There is Lady Bricker, of course. I’m sure she would take me in.”
One Taste of Scandal Page 16