Romance at the Royal Menagerie

by Ruth J. Hartman

  “Four? How wonderful. Wait, I still only see three.” She studied the little balls of fur as they were separated for the sniffing. “Yes. Four. I hadn’t discerned the smallest one. The runt of the litter. My heart always melts for the littlest ones. So sweet.” She sighed.

  “Are you content, Miss Hartwell?”

  She angled her head toward him. “Oh, yes. Quite.” She shrugged. “I’m so glad…”

  He smiled. “What causes your gladness?”

  Glancing down toward the ground, she whispered, “That you and I have become… acquaintances.”

  “Yes. I can honestly say that as wonderful as the event was, it has been ever so much more enjoyable to witness it with you.”

  Chapter Five

  Holding the smelly bucket, which contained bloody remnants of the leopard cubs’ birth, away from her dress, Francesca waited for her father to finish cleaning out the leopard’s cage. Belle and her babies would get special attention. At least for a time.

  One of the workers had taken ill, so no one had had the time to clean out the cage yet. The leopard and her babies had been getting more visitors the last couple of days. Perhaps some of the wealthy people would give a donation to the zoo to help feed the extra hungry mouths?

  A screeching laugh, not unlike a crow’s caw, caught Francesca’s attention. Was a deranged bird loose, wreaking havoc on the visitors and animals? She turned toward the disturbance. Mr. Fairgate stood a few feet away. With a woman! Who was she, and why was she firmly attached to Mr. Fairgate’s arm as if he might blow away any second? Francesca, not seeing a strange bird, eyed the mystery woman.

  Had she uttered that awful noise? The woman was pretty in her white dress and light blue hat, with honey-blonde hair in a popular style, but her eyes, ice blue and narrowed, were off-putting. Almost frightening.

  Mr. Fairgate stepped toward Francesca. He swallowed hard, darted a glance toward the other woman and back at her. Although his eyes never fully met her own. They seemed focused somewhere in the vicinity of her nose. “Good morning, Miss Hartwell.”

  Aware of the stains on her dress from the bucket’s contents, the noxious smell from said bucket, and a few pieces of hair pulled free of her bun, Francesca gritted her teeth. “Good morning, Mr. Fairgate. I trust you are…” She glanced again at the stranger attached to him, “…well today?”

  He inclined his head toward her just a small bit. “Thank you. Yes, I am well. And you?”

  Blowing a hank of hair from in front of her left eye, she nodded, which only served to bounce the hair back over her eye again. Certain she had some of the bucket’s contents on her hands, she had no desire to touch her face or hair.

  “Fine. Yes, I am well. Thank you for asking.”

  Why today? Why now? Could her appearance be any more disheveled? Any more unattractive? Horrid? And who was the woman? She wanted to know, but would not ask. The woman was clearly her social superior. If she wanted an introduction, she would ask.

  Icy blue eyes glared at Francesca and then turned their cold stare to Mr. Fairgate. He cleared his throat. “Oh. Yes. Pardon me. Miss Cartwright, may I introduce Miss Hartwell?”

  Miss Cartwright grimaced. Was that supposed to be a smile? The woman appeared to be suffering from some kind of intestinal upset. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Hartwell.”

  Francesca raised an eyebrow. I’m sure you’d rather be anywhere else at the moment. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Cartwright.” I’d rather be anywhere else, too. Trust me!

  Staring at Mr. Fairgate with a proprietary look, Miss Cartwright tugged him closer to her. Oh! The woman’s breast pressed against his arm. Francesca’s face heated. How brash of her. How unseemly. Surely someone dressed as she was would know to not act like a trollop in public.

  Who was she and why were she and Mr. Fairgate at the menagerie? Talking to me? Were they an item? Engaged? Married? Surely if the latter were the case, Mr. Fairgate would not have visited with Francesca before, and definitely would not have held her hand as they witnessed the birth of Belle’s cubs.

  Her father stepped out of the cage and snapped the door closed. “There. That’s done. Now on to the…” He glanced up at the couple standing close to the cage and frowned. “Begging your pardon, Mr. Fairgate. Miss. I’ll step out of your way so you can see the cubs a little better.”

  Francesca backed up a step. Should she stay here and converse with Mr. Fairgate? Would it be rude to simply walk away? But oh, how she longed to get rid of the smelly bucket, change her dress, and wash her face and hands. And to be sure, her hair needed some repair as well. She must look a fright. Resembling something the cat, or leopard, dragged in.

  Darting a glance to Miss Cartwright, Francesca sighed. Dressed in beautiful, expensive attire. Regal. Tall. Buxom. Things Francesca would never be. Her own slight frame resembled that of a young girl when compared to the other woman. Short of stature with small hips and breasts. Was Miss Cartwright the type that Mr. Fairgate found attractive?

  Time to go. She had no wish to stay and watch that woman clinging so indecently to Mr. Fairgate. She took another step away and turned, sloshing some of the bucket’s vile contents to the ground.

  The icy-eyed crow cawed again. “Wait.”

  Biting her lower lip, Francesca angled back toward them. “Yes?”

  Miss Cartwright tugged Mr. Fairgate’s arm closer still. Much more and the man’s elbow would sit atop her cleavage. The woman gazed up at her prey, batting stubby eyelashes at him. “Perhaps young Miss Hartwell could show us around the zoo.”

  He frowned. “I… well…”

  Angling her body away, Francesca took another step. I need to escape. Now! “Oh. Um. You see…”

  Mr. Fairgate tried to wrench his arm free, but it stuck fast. He sighed. “I’m sure Miss Hartwell has other duties with which to fill her time. We shouldn’t—”

  Nodding, Francesca took yet another step away. “Yes. I have… duties… which cannot be neglected. I—”

  Ice-blue eyes blinked and snapped back open. She leaned toward Francesca, pulling poor Mr. Fairgate along, as a horse tugs a cart. “I insist. You simply must.”

  I just want to get away. She glanced down at the bucket. Had the smell suddenly gotten worse? Noxious fumes, like that of something that had died and should have been buried weeks ago, rose and swirled around her nose. “I need to dispose of…”

  Miss Cartwright waved her unoccupied gloved hand in front of her face. “By all means, please have someone take away that… filth. Surely you have servants who do that sort of thing?”

  “Franny,” Papa called from a couple of cages down. “I’ll be with the Keeper for an hour or so. Only come for me if it’s an emergency.”

  “Yes, sir.” She took a deep breath. She’d been hoping to use her father as an excuse for escape. Blast! She glanced up at the pair.

  Miss Cartwright was glaring at the bucket, wrinkling her long, pointy nose. “Perhaps I was mistaken. You don’t have servants for the dirty work? Perhaps you…?”

  “Miss Cartwright.” Mr. Fairgate frowned at the crow, lowering his eyebrows and shaking his head. If looks could maim…

  Francesca gasped. Had that woman just called her a servant? Yes, she did help out with messy, sometimes unpleasant tasks, but she was no one’s servant. Clenching her teeth, she loosened her death grip on the handle of the bucket. Her thumbs twitched. What would happen if she… oh… accidentally flung the repulsive contents all over Miss Cartwright’s immaculate dress? Smelly, bloody innards running down her perfect white—

  Mr. Fairgate cleared his throat. Francesca glanced at him. He widened his eyes and gave a brief shake of his head. Had he guessed her thoughts? Likely. She’d never been one to be able to hide her moods.

  So be it. Francesca let out a breath. She wouldn’t dump the bloody mass on his companion’s dress. But oh, wouldn’t it have been fun? Even a highly bred woman would look a like a fool with the sticky, slimy leopard afterbirth dripping from her pers
on. A smile crept across her lips. Or perhaps it would be of more enjoyment to dump it over her head and it would dribble down her hair, seeping—

  “We haven’t got the whole of the day to spend standing here, Miss Hartwell.” Tap. Tap. Tap. Miss Cartwright’s boot toe made contact with the ground. She raised a perfect blonde brow.

  Seeing no alternative to doing the woman’s bidding, as she didn’t want to create a scene and make trouble for her father, Francesca glanced around. It didn’t seem as if she would escape Mr. Fairgate and his clinging crow. There must be someone about who could relieve her of the bucket.

  Spotting Tom, a young man whose father worked with the elephants, she waved him over. “Hello, Tom. These visitors have asked me for a tour around the zoo. Would you mind terribly disposing of this…?” She darted a glance down, then up.

  Tom raised his eyebrows, but nodded. “Yes, Miss Hartwell.”

  As Francesca handed him the bucket, she leaned close to his ear. “Thank you. I’ll explain later.”

  He grinned, grabbed the handle, and headed away.

  Miss Cartwright cawed again, her beak in the air. “That certainly took long enough. May we now get to the… animals?” She sniffed and… had she rolled her eyes? Wait. Did she even want to see the animals? Or was she here because…?

  Ah. Now Francesca saw how it was. She narrowed her eyes. Miss Cartwright was only here because it was what Mr. Fairgate had chosen to do. Left up to her, she’d surely not be at the zoo, with the animals, speaking to Francesca.

  Well, we will see how enjoyable we can make the visit for her. “Please follow me, Miss Cartwright, Mr. Fairgate. And we’ll begin the tour.”

  ****

  Agonizing pressure on John’s arm made his fingers go numb. Why wouldn’t the woman loosen her talons from his arm? Surely he would now have permanent indents there. Marked for life by a loud, hideous creature. He’d have loved nothing more than to have given the cut direct to Miss Cartwright, flung her hands from him, and ordered her back to her own carriage, but had only frowned at her rude behavior and whispered her name.

  As satisfying as it would have been to be just as vile back to her, she would tell her father, who would tell Uncle Cleo, who would give John a lecture. Now was definitely not the right time to anger his uncle. The poor man didn’t need the worry or bother at this stage in his life. He seemed to have enough trouble just catching his breath. Closing his eyes briefly, John willed away thoughts of his uncle. If he did not, grief at what was to soon happen would surely overcome him.

  John had been looking forward to today. To seeing Miss Hartwell, talking with her, just enjoying her company. It was not meant to be. As soon as he’d stepped from his carriage, someone had called his name. He’d turned, his heart dropped to his stomach. Miss Cartwright’s carriage was coming up to the Tower entrance behind his. What is she doing here? Had she followed him?

  Since speaking her mind at his uncle’s house about the smelly, dangerous animals at the zoo, she would surely not have had an interest in seeing them herself. That meant… He shook his head. Did the woman know no bounds for trying to get what she wanted? And after all this time, couldn’t she give up gracefully and see that John had no interest in her for anything deeper than mere acquaintanceship? Not even that, if he had a say.

  No. This was Miss Cartwright. She’d always been bossy and demanding, even when they were children. Insisting on her own rules when playing games, never satisfied when things did not go as she wished. If anything, she’d gotten worse as they’d gotten older.

  With a knot in the pit of his stomach, he’d realized he was stuck with her. It had ruined any chance he had of spending time with Miss Hartwell. Once shackled with Miss Cartwright, he’d hoped that perhaps Miss Hartwell wouldn’t be at the zoo today. Perhaps he wouldn’t even see her. Everything in him desired not to be seen with Miss Cartwright, especially when the woman he wished to see might be about.

  He’d watched Miss Cartwright disembark from her carriage, had heard her scold her driver for the bumpy ride. As usual, her cleavage was visible for God and everyone to see. And she’d frowned. Had he ever seen her without it? No. No smiles from her. Nothing pleasant was ever associated with her.

  John had raised his eyes toward the heavens and sighed. Why me? Why her? Why now?

  Tap. Tap. Tap.

  John’s thoughts returned to the present. He glanced down. Miss Cartwright’s impatient toe was tapping in her impatient boot. Why couldn’t she just go away? Being cold toward her over the years hadn’t deterred the woman. What would it take to convince her that he had no interest?

  In times past, he’d voiced his displeasure at her rudeness and selfishness. But it had always been when they were not in the company of those outside of the household. Miss Cartwright would laugh in his face and shake her head. Nothing ever moved her. Or softened her harsh countenance.

  She was an immovable force with which he no longer had the patience or desire to fight. And his uncle, hearing their disagreements, had taken it as simple, good-natured sparring. John could not bring himself to do anything that would bring his beloved uncle concern or pain.

  Not now. Not ever again.

  Glancing back up, his eyes locked with Miss Hartwell’s. Just for an instant. She raised a brow, and then turned away. Heat rose to John’s face. How mortified Miss Hartwell must have been when Miss Cartwright had insinuated that she was a servant. And how terrible that he hadn’t spoken up in Miss Hartwell’s defense.

  John clenched his hands into fists. Too bad it was unseemly to openly offend a woman in public. Slanting a glance to his left at Miss Cartwright, and then back toward Miss Hartwell’s retreating back, he sighed. But oh how much enjoyment he’d get from putting Miss Cartwright in her place.

  A lion’s growl from their left startled him. Miss Cartwright jumped. Miss Hartwell, however, didn’t flinch. What an amazing woman. Not only was she lovely, she was brave and heroic as well. When she’d saved his life… He trembled. That day could have turned out so differently. So terrifying. And deadly.

  The talons on his arms clenched more tightly. Miss Cartwright gasped. ”Oh. I’m so relieved these awful creatures are behind those bars! They’re penned up like prisoners, as they should be. They’re like the thieves and murderers of the animal world. Horrible, evil thugs.”

  Ahead of them, Miss Hartwell stopped abruptly. Back stiffened. Head held high. Beneath her upswept hair, a small patch of bare skin on the back of her neck reddened. Shoulders rose as she took a deep breath. Seconds passed before she turned toward them.

  Of course, she had to have heard the insensitive comment. How could she not? Miss Cartwright’s squawk carried for a mile. But Miss Hartwell spoke not a word. Biting her lip, she clenched her jaw muscles. And a tiny bit of moisture threatened to escape over her lower eyelids. Teetering on the precipice, but not falling toward her perfect cheek. What John wouldn’t give to throw the woman attached to his arm into the lion’s cage, so he could embrace and comfort the woman in front of him.

  A few steps ahead and turning from them once again, Miss Hartwell skirted around a small brown pile of something unmentionable. Had something escaped the smelly bucket after Tom had taken it from Francesca? John stepped around it as well.

  But would Miss Cartwright see the—

  “Oh! What is that? Eewww!” Miss Cartwright widened her eyes and stared at her boot. Stomp. Stomp. “It’s not coming off!” Stomp. Stomp. “Mr. Fairgate, do something!”

  Biting his lip, John held back the laugh threatening to escape. “And what shall I do? Tis only…” He glanced down. “Uh…”

  Stomp. Stomp. Stomp. “I care not what it is. I simply insist you…” Stomp. “…make it go away.”

  Miss Hartwell stood still, saying nothing. Surely she hadn’t planned for Miss Cartwright to step in the smelly blob of unknown origin? He peered at her face. Raised his brows. She was biting her lip, holding back a grin.

  The little minx. She had planned it! Miss Hart
well had known it was there. Still he remained successful at reining in his laugh; the smile, however, emerged of its own volition.

  Miss Hartwell glanced down. Shook her head. “Oh, dear. Look at that. What a shame on your beautiful boots, Miss Cartwright. And they had looked so shiny and clean. Here, have a seat on the visitor’s bench over there, and I’ll get something to wipe it off for you.”

  Pouting, grumbling, and was that last sound a curse? Miss Cartwright mumbled and hopped, unladylike, to the bench, finally freeing John’s arm. He rubbed it hard, hoping to regain some circulation. That woman had a grip like a vise.

  Ten steps away, toward a wooden crate beside one of the cages, and then ten steps back. Miss Hartwell knelt down in front of the bench. “Here, Miss Cartwright. Hold out your boot and I’ll clean it off with this old towel. Then I’ll wipe up the… um, deposit you stepped in, so someone else doesn’t ruin her boots.”

  “Well, I never! This zoo is filthy. Someone should teach those animals to clean up after themselves.” Miss Cartwright kicked out her leg toward Miss Hartwell’s face. Luckily for the latter, she leaned to the side a mere second before the slimy boot would have left an unpleasant souvenir on her cheek.

  John ground his teeth. If it weren’t for word getting back to his uncle, he’d give Miss Cartwright a large, loud piece of his mind. And she would not enjoy being on the receiving end of that. Oh, Uncle Cleo, why do you want me to make Miss Cartwright my wife? At his first opportunity, he’d apologize profusely for Miss Cartwright’s unseemly behavior, but out of her earshot. It seemed the least he could do for Miss Hartwell.

  Letting out a deep breath, John glared down at Miss Cartwright. “Is everything to your satisfaction now, so we may continue with the tour?”

  A shrug. “I suppose my boot is clean enough for trudging around this place. But I shall be buying a new pair as early as tomorrow.” She stood, reaching out for John’s arm, ready again to claim her prize.