Cynthia Bailey Pratt

by Splendid You

  Simon said abruptly, “Don’t encourage her, Keene. She doesn’t need any more motivation.”

  Ignoring his interruption, Julia said, “I shall certainly avail myself of your offer, sir. Good day.”

  Simon walked briskly down the stairs. Julia, recognizing pettishness when she saw it, made no attempt to keep pace. A faint mutter came to her ears. “Are you saying something, Mr. Archer?”

  “Your exhibition was disgraceful!”

  “What exhibition? You are the only one here with an exhibition.”

  “You are flirting with Keene! I make no apology for the harshness of the term.”

  “No, why should you? Of course I was flirting with him. He does it so beautifully, it would be a wanton waste not to.”

  “You admit it?”

  “Goodness, yes. He’s the sort of man who simply must flirt. I especially admired the way he laughed, as if I were the wittiest woman he’d ever met. Really, he’s wasting his talents at the museum. He should be in politics. I wonder if I might suggest it to him. Given the right mentor and a really clever wife, he could be Prime Minister in ten or fifteen years.

  The next sound Julia heard over Simon’s footsteps was the grinding of his teeth. “You shouldn’t do that,” she said helpfully. “A man on my father’s estate used to grind his teeth at night and one morning they all fell out.”

  “I’m stopping into my office for a moment, Miss Hanson. Perhaps you would care to examine our treasures from Byblos?”

  She did not, but thought it would be wise to give Simon a chance to recoup his temper. She’d been riding him too hard, though it gave her a strange pleasure to see him react so badly to what was, after all, nothing more than a trifle of eccentricity. She resolved to be a model of decorum for the rest of the day, no matter what the provocation.

  A little while later, Julia and Simon stood outside the museum, attempting to flag down a cab in Great Russell Street. “I doubt a cab will take us to Lumber Street, nor should you go there yourself, Miss Hanson. It sounds most insalubrious.”

  “Do you mean it’s a slum?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “You may go alone, if you wish, Mr. Archer. As it happens, I do have some errands to run. I shall accompany you next time.”

  “There won’t be a next time.”

  “Yes, there will. Oh!” She waved her hand vigorously at a passing cab. “I don’t think he saw me.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because he didn’t stop, of course.”

  “No. I meant...” She saw him take an almost visible grip on his temper and decided to stop teasing once and for all.

  Gently, Julia said, “I doubt whether Mrs. Pierce will talk to you without me being there. Certainly she will deny anything sooner than jeopardize her employment with the museum. You—in your nice suit and collar— will look like the museum incarnate to her.”

  “That’s regrettably true.” He pulled out his watch and consulted it. “What errands do you have?”

  “I must return to the Bull and Bush—indeed, I think I should have done so already. They will be wondering if I mean to pay for my lodging there, or if I have run out on them. Then I must have my trunks sent to my house. Though it was very good of your sisters to lend me some necessary items, I do long to have my own wardrobe. Then I must see about sending some flowers to your mother—what does she like?”

  “I haven’t any idea. Violets, I think.”

  “Not at this season! Well, I shall think of something. A box of chocolates for your sisters, as well. They were all so kind to me, especially Lucy. What a dear girl! Reserved, of course, but interesting.” She waved even more energetically at another empty cab. Her good resolutions were strained beneath the impact of her frustration. “Blast!”

  “What did you say?” Simon said, startled out of his customary politeness.

  “I must say something! It makes me so furious when they simply will not see one! And I don’t suppose you’d approve if I said ‘damn.’ “

  “No, I would not. My sisters never use oaths.”

  She just laughed at that. “Of course not.” She scanned the street for another cab but there seemed to be a lull. “While waiting for my clothes to come, I shall inspect the house to see what needs to be done. Last time I was there, I rather thought the whole place needed to be freshened up. New paint, new wallpaper, and I’m quite sure I detected a funny smell in the drawing room. The carpet must have been damp, which may mean a leak somewhere. I shall have to have it pulled up.”

  “You’re intending to refit your father’s town house while you are here?”

  “Yes, I’m thinking of doing it all myself as a wedding present to my new stepmother. She doesn’t care for those sort of details and quite approves of my taste.”

  “She’d be compelled to say that in any case.”

  Julia looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Are you suggesting, Mr. Archer, that my wedding present will be unwelcome?”

  “I can only think that a bride would like to have some say in how one of her homes shall be decorated.”

  “That is because you do not know Ruth. She wanted to have her drawing room painted last year and found choosing a color so paralyzing that she took to her bed and wrote me a pleading letter to come at once to solve the question for her.”

  Suddenly Simon laughed and Julia found the little flame of anger that had been starting to boil in her heart blew out the instant he smiled. “Why are you laughing?” she asked, trying hard to maintain her disapproving expression.

  “I remember... Last season, when I had written my mother a full account of my findings....”

  “Yes?”

  “I received an express letter back and opened it eagerly, expecting to read raptures of delight. Instead, out fell two scraps of material—patterns for the dining room curtains. Of the four women living under that roof, not one of them could make a final determination between sea-green and eau de nil.”

  He stepped off the curb and raised one single eyebrow toward a cab tooling along the street. Instantly, the driver hauled on the reins and the horse trotted decorously up to where Simon waited. He turned to Julia and smiled as he opened the door. “May I accompany you on your errands. Miss Hanson? Then, after luncheon, perhaps you’d do me the honor of visiting Lumber Street in my company?”

  Seated in the cab’s dingy interior, Julia looked at Simon sitting next to her. “Is it because you are a man or because you are at home in the city that the cab stopped for you? None of them would stop for me.”

  “A lady doesn’t travel alone in town. Only ... certain ‘other’ kinds of women.”

  “Oh, I see. How marvelous!”

  “You are the most unaccountable ... What is so marvelous about being mistaken for a ... a lady of ill repute?”

  “Not very much, I suppose, only it isn’t something that has ever happened to me before. At home, you know, I am quite the most respectable figure, if thought of as somewhat eccentric. I never drive without my maid, and a groom has always followed me when I ride. But to be mistaken for an erring sister!” She laughed delightedly as the cab rattled and bumped its way along.

  Simon shook his head at her. "I'm sure you would not think so under other circumstances.”

  “No doubt it’s a rather grubby way to make one’s living. But as it’s only a few cabbies who think it is my way, I needn’t worry. There is something strangely liberating in being thought a shameless woman—I suddenly understand the professional courtesans of Greece much better than I ever have before.” She saw that he was watching her, almost as though he were interested against his will.

  “I’ve often thought I should have made an excellent member of that sorority. I certainly wouldn’t have been much use at weaving or cooking, or any of the other things ancient women did to occupy their time. But as a hetaera I would have had the freedom to debate philosophy and politics with men, own my own property, and choose my lovers without recourse to anyone’s opinion. As a
young Englishwoman, I can do none of those things without being thought even more eccentric than I am at present. Yes, I think I should have been a courtesan. I would have been good at it.” She sighed wistfully.

  “If the prospect pleases you so much, why not pursue it? Even in our morally upright city, men still have their mistresses.”

  Though she was rather startled to hear “morally upright” Simon Archer mentioning such things to an unmarried woman, she was pleased as well. Was he coming to think of her not as a weak and feeble woman, but as the equal companion she wanted to be? The answer to that question might very well prove to be the same as the one he’d just asked.

  Julia sighed. “Don’t imagine I have not considered it!”

  Ignoring his shocked protest, she went on. “There are not so many professions open to a well-read woman as you might suppose. I should make a dreadfully neglectful governess, too busy reading things myself to instruct my pupils. The same objection applies to being a companion. I could marry, but a husband must be found first and my choice has made his feelings entirely plain, for which I do not blame him, being so very plain myself.” She sighed again, looking at her hands, or out the window, anywhere but at Simon.

  In a less bracing tone, she said, “There is the difficulty in a nutshell. It is a very good thing I have my allowance from my father and need not seek work or a husband to keep me out of the poorhouse. Even so, could I but find a ‘protector’ who would desire me for my mind, then I might flee to him even without marriage. But men, alas, are all too prone to wanting beauty in their mistresses, caring little whether the women can read or even speak English, let alone four living languages and one dead.”

  The road was growing progressively rougher as their cab penetrated into the less-well-maintained portion of London. A sudden lurch as they went through what must have been the king of all potholes threw Julia against Simon. For an instant, she was practically sitting on his lap.

  She apologized and tried to return to her place. His arms had tightened around her instinctively but now he did not let go. He stared down into her eyes from only inches away. “As a man of science, I cannot allow you to carry on under an error of perception.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth and she felt her lips begin to burn as she recalled the brush of his fingertips over them as they had stood together at the foot of the staircase.

  “Plain?” he whispered. “Not a bit of it.”

  Then Simon bent his head to kiss her.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Simon did not know why he had chosen that moment to kiss Julia. He only knew that something in her eyes when she had said she was plain had hurt him. Inspected feature by feature, she was not pretty, yet taken all in all, she appealed to him as no woman ever had before. He could not find the words to tell her, so he kissed her.

  He felt her lips quiver under his and realized she’d probably never been kissed by a strange man before. His arm was around her shoulders so that she could not have moved away, though of course he’d have let her go the instant she signaled she wanted to. But she didn’t try to push him off or even wriggle away.

  She just sat there, her head tilted up, as he pressed his lips to hers. They were warm and soft, sweet and tender, and Simon felt a trifle ashamed of himself for stealing a kiss that belonged properly to the man she’d marry one day.

  Therefore, he put her gently away from him. He noticed that her eyes were wide open as though she had not known to close them during a kiss.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Simon wondered if he’d ever have the power to rock her on her foundations as she’d been doing to him since the moment they had met. “For what?”

  “For telling me you don’t think I am plain.” She adjusted her hat, which had somehow twisted off-center. He noticed that her hands were trembling ever so slightly. It made him feel oddly triumphant, though it was the only sign of disquiet she showed.

  Ducking her head a tad, she glanced out the dirty window. “Are we there yet?”

  “Julia,” he said, and even the first time he said her name it didn’t seem odd to do it. “Julia, a kiss isn’t a compliment. You don’t thank someone for it.”

  “But it is a very great compliment. You wouldn’t have done it if you found me utterly repulsive.”

  “No. You’re not repulsive to me ... at least not utterly.”

  “May I say ‘thank you’ for that, at least?” She gave him her sideways smile and added, “I don’t find you repulsive either, Simon.”

  The driver knocked on the roof and the door swung open, pulled by a string from his seat. Simon climbed out first, hoping his reddened cheeks would fade before Julia saw them.

  “Will you wait?” he asked the cab driver as he dug in his pocket for the fare.

  “Yes, guv’nor. If you don’t mean to be too long abaht it?”

  Simon looked about him. It was not as fearful a slum as some he’d seen just a few blocks farther north. The people here walked a fine line between privation and destitution. One person per household might actually have income—precarious at best, but just enough for rent and a morsel of food. The other members of the family would contribute whatever they could scrounge. In the deepest stews, there was no hope of regular income, no matter how meager, so the desperation there was bleakest, for there could be no escape.

  Even here, the houses were so close together that the street was quite dark despite it being midday. Lines of washing ran haphazardly from one side of the street to the other and each terminating window had a face, a pale circle dimly glimpsed through soot, keeping a watchful eye on the shirts, skirts, and diapers. Urchins ran about, chasing some ball improvised from rags, shrieking. Older children stood in doorways, pinched faces staring in amazement at the wondrous sight of a cab on their barren street.

  “Simon?” Julia said, holding out her hand.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather wait for me?”

  “Why?”

  “Well, it’s a bit...” His gesture took in the whole squalid scene.

  “I’m sure Mrs. Pierce’s house is neat as a new pin.”

  Yielding, Simon helped her to descend and guided her steps around a ripe pile of refuse. Julia said, “I wonder which is her house. Excuse me, miss?”

  The girl she spoke to pointed to herself in disbelief.

  “Yes, that’s right. Would you be so kind as to tell me where Mrs. Pierce lives?”

  The girl wrapped her threadbare shawl more closely around her shoulders. With a regal air that would have done a queen justice, she ignored the giggles of her friends and left the shelter of her doorway to approach the strangers. “Wotcha want with ‘er? She h’ain’t done nothing.”

  “No, of course not. I met her last evening at the museum and asked her to do some mending for me.”

  “You did? ‘Go’s he, then?” the girl asked, nodding disdainfully toward Simon.

  “See here,” he began, but Julia put her hand on his arm and he found himself silenced. If it had been left to him, he would have offered the girl a penny to show them the way.

  Julia said only, “He’s a friend of mine. I’d very much like to see Mrs. Pierce. Will you take me to her?”

  These words—or possibly something in the tone of her voice—acted like a magical spell on the suspicious girl. Simon was at a loss to explain what alchemy had happened. One instant the creature was distrustful, asking all sorts of impertinent questions. The next, even her posture had softened. She smiled, showing teeth that were as irregularly spaced as the laundry overhead, and said, “I’m ‘er daughter. I’ll show yer.”

  As they went inside, the other girls were offering a half-dozen types of “sauce” to the impassive driver. Only by the pleading eyes, as those of some trapped animal, did he reiterate his wish that his passengers would not be long.

  The girl said, “You’ll pardon me, miss, I’m sure, fer being so rude just now. I’m a bit worried about Mum and that’s all there is to that!”

  “
Worried about her? Is there something the matter?”

  “She’s been mighty queer ever since she come ‘ome last night. Talkin’ wild, makin’ big plans and she come ‘ome with all sorts of...” Miss Pierce stopped in the middle of the hall and lowered her voice to a mere thread. “She’s got more money in her ‘ands right this minute than I h’ever seen in all my life. I’m that worried, miss, that she ain’t come by it ‘onest.”

  “You needn’t worry, Miss Pierce. Mr. Archer here gave her that as a tip.”

  “Wot? ‘Im?” She gave a jerk of her head that expressed both acceptance and disbelief in one. “Why’s a swell givin’ money to the likes of ‘er? ‘Sides, it don’t explain the other one.”

  “What other one?”

  “Cove wot showed up ‘ere at the most h’awful early hour. I’m an h’early riser myself but ‘e was on the doorstep afore I was up. Talked to ‘er for h’ever so long.” Again she dropped her voice. “And gave her a mess of silver before he left. Wot’s Mum done that’s worth such a lot o’ money to swell coves?”

  Simon realized she did not want her neighbors to know about her mother’s newfound wealth. Ten coppers might mean much to a starving man, and Simon knew he’d given the charwoman much more than that. Wondering how many people might be listening behind the doors, he said, “Let’s not stand in this drafty hall any longer than need be.”

  Miss Pierce continued spilling her words on Julia as she followed the girl’s thick-soled boots up a wobbly staircase. Simon wouldn’t have trusted it to bear a dog’s weight but he followed the two girls, expecting every instant to see the bolts pull out from the wall.

  Julia’s prediction had been correct. The furniture in Mrs. Pierce’s rooms was cheap and shoddy, yet it glowed from the application of elbow grease. Not a speck of dust or mud was anywhere to be seen and the thin curtains and worn carpet looked newly laundered. Mrs. Pierce herself looked distracted.

  When they entered, she was counting on her fingers and then making marks on a piece of paper. “Mum,” her daughter said. “Mum, someone’s come to see you.”