Romance at the Royal Menagerie

by Ruth J. Hartman

  Taking a large step to his right, John moved just out of reach. He might not be able to take the liberty of showing her outright rudeness in public, but he didn’t have to have her clinging to him, either. Miss Cartwright pushed out her lower lip and sighed, but John stood firm. You can’t always get your way.

  “Are we all ready to continue?” Miss Hartwell tapped her own boot, old and dusty to the other woman’s new and shiny. Was she mimicking Miss Cartwright’s impatience? If so, bravo! A grin tugged at John’s mouth. A glance at Miss Hartwell’s face showed her fighting a smile, as well.

  “Yes.” John nodded. “And thank you, Miss Hartwell, for taking the time to…” He darted a glance at the crow beside him, “…humor us.”

  Not in the least appeased, Miss Cartwright sniffed. And mumbled. Most likely something not fit to repeat.

  Miss Hartwell stepped ahead, pointing to the next cage in line. “This is a lynx, a gift from Asia. Since, of course, the cats have been extinct here for quite some time. Notice the large ears and paws. The short tail. Isn’t he gorgeous?” A smile played on her lips. A sigh.

  “Yes. He certainly is.” John moved to stand beside her at the door. The cat prowled around the edges of the cage, giant paws clomping on the floor, finally coming to rest directly in front of Miss Hartwell. Images of the near-attack from the leopard a few days previous washed over John.

  Sweaty palms. Racing heartbeat. Fear of pain from claws and teeth. Dying beneath a wild animal… becoming its prey.

  No. He would force the thoughts away. Even with the dislikable Miss Cartwright present, he determined to ignore all negativity and enjoy his time with Miss Hartwell.

  Tap. Tap. Miss Cartwright grumbled. Broken phrases floated from behind. “Waste of time… boring… dirty… smelly beasts.”

  “Wouldn’t you like to step closer, Miss Cartwright? See the lynx?” Miss Hartwell motioned with her hand. “He’s quite breathtaking.”

  “No. Thank you. I can see quite well from here.” Miss Cartwright crossed her arms, pressing her cleavage up even more until seams and fabric threatened to burst.

  Heat rose from John’s neck to his face. Sometimes the woman was positively indecent. Several men walking past turned their heads to stare at her. Eyes first to her chest, then up to her face. If only she would take interest in a man other than me. She was attractive, he supposed, if one liked that sort of display. He, however, was captivated by simple beauty. Natural grace. A kind nature.

  Eyeing the smaller woman next to him, John sighed. It seemed Miss Hartwell might be taking hold of his heart. He found himself quite captivated with her. And thought of her when he was at the zoo or not. Yet he could not say anything to that end. Not with the cawing crow in their midst.

  And not when his uncle had other plans for him.

  A shuddering sigh escaped his lips. How was he going to resolve this difficult situation?

  Miss Hartwell frowned. “Is something the matter?”

  Clearing his throat, John shook his head. “No. Everything is fine.” No, it isn’t. But I cannot express that sentiment. Not here. Not now.

  And maybe not ever.

  Tap tap from behind them. Miss Hartwell rolled her eyes toward the noise. “Well, let’s move onward, shall we?”

  The boot taps, sighs and grumbles continued through the zoo. Cage after cage. The lion. The tiger. The panther. And John’s nemesis… the leopard. And on around the corner, through various groups of zoo visitors, to the ostriches, wolves, monkey, zebra, the brown bear – indeed smelly – and finally to the last cage, the elephant.

  John’s gaze traveled from huge grey feet planted on the floor, up to the slow-moving trunk, to small, sad eyes. Floppy large ears hung loosely from a giant head, waving like flags on a gusty day. “My word. I’d seen renditions of elephants before, but never fathomed their enormity. I can hardly take in the mass, the bulk…”

  “Yes. She is huge, isn’t she?”

  “This is a female? I cannot imagine the size of a male.”

  “I don’t as often stray to this side of the zoo, as I love the cats too dearly to be apart from them much, but I do admit the elephant is something to behold. And quite sweet.”

  The creature dipped her long trunk into a large metal tank of water, slurped, snorted, and then maneuvered the trunk’s opening toward her mouth.

  “I assume that’s how she drinks? By putting water from her trunk into her mouth?” John leaned in toward the bars.

  “Sometimes.” Miss Hartwell smiled. “But in this case, she’s filling a pouch in her throat. That way, she can save water for later, if her water trough goes dry during the night.”

  “You’re joking.”

  She shook her head. “Strange but true.”

  “Extraordinary.”

  Miss Hartwell peered back over her shoulder. “Miss Cartwright, this is the last animal we have to view. Would you not step closer? Take a better look?”

  Miss Cartwright, toying with a ribbon dangling from her hat, startled. Had she not even been looking at the animals at all? John shook his head. What an exasperating woman. “Miss Cartwright, surely you would not have come to the Tower and spent such a great amount of time only to fool with your attire?”

  More grumbling. A step toward them. Then another. “If I must.” Five more steps and she stood next to John. Even in such a large spread-out area, her strong perfume was nearly overpowering. How could she complain about the smelly animals when her perfume was, at least to him, as malodorous? It was surprising the people, as well as animals, didn’t expire from her scent.

  Once again tugging on her hat ribbon, she raised her gaze up.

  Up.

  And up.

  Slowly, inch by inch, her blue-eyed gaze traveled across the grey beast’s wrinkled body. Her mouth dropped open, widening more with every inch that her eyes took in. A gasp. Her gloved hand flew to her cheek. “T-that’s… a… m-monster!”

  John waited for her to step away. Or turn. Or dig her talons into his arm again. Instead, Miss Cartwright stood fast, nothing stirring about her. Lot’s wife, as a pillar of stone, could not have been as unmoving.

  Miss Hartwell leaned in his direction and whispered, “She seems to be in some sort of trance.”

  John shrugged. “I know not why she is staring so intently. Perhaps if she’d followed the natural progression in size of the animals, from cats to bear to elephant, she would not be so stunned at the moment.”

  “Yes. Perhaps.” Miss Hartwell leaned in toward the cage’s bars. “Brunella? Come closer, dear.”

  “The elephant’s name is Brunella?” John raised one eyebrow.

  Shrugging, Miss Hartwell smiled. “Everyone has to be called something.” She wiggled her fingers toward the animal, which with slow, heavy steps trudged closer, trunk reaching out to touch Miss Hartwell’s fingers.

  “Amazing. Truly amazing.” John shook his head. Was there no end to this woman’s gifts?

  A moan to John’s left drew his gaze again to Miss Cartwright. Was she preparing to succumb to the vapors? Reaching out his hand, intent upon nothing more than seeing to her health, John touched her shoulder. A screech erupted from the woman’s lips, startling him. Miss Hartwell jumped.

  As did Brunella.

  The elephant’s small eyes widened. She let loose with a scream of her own. A loud trumpet blast that shook walls, floors, and people.

  “Ahhh!” Miss Cartwright screamed louder. Was she trying to outdo the animal?

  Brunella, not to be out-shouted, trumpeted again. Long, loud, and piercing. And stepped to her right. Once. Twice. Reached the end of her trunk into her throat. Pulled it back out. Lowered her trunk.

  And let forth a stream of liquid as such to rival the River Thames.

  Right on Miss Cartwright’s hat.

  John smiled.

  Justice at last.

  Chapter Six

  Changed into a clean dress, with hands and face washed and hair restored, Francesca found her way back to
the large cats. Standing in front of Belle’s cage, she watched the leopard groom her babies.

  “Belle, you are such a good mother. But then I had no doubt you would be. And your babies are beautiful.”

  The leopard lifted her head, stared at Francesca, and blinked, resuming tongue baths for her offspring. Having heard someone say once that a cat blinking at you was good luck, Francesca lifted one corner of her mouth. “Thank you, Belle. After the fiasco of earlier today, I need all the good luck I can find. But then, seeing Brunella splash water all over that woman was kind of—”

  “Kind of… what?”

  She gasped. Mr. Fairgate stood just behind her. She’d thought he had left when Miss Cartwright ran screaming from the Tower. Must have followed her out and then returned.

  Oh, no. And he’d heard her say—

  He stepped forward. “Kind of… amusing? Enjoyable? Just desserts?”

  Heat crept up her neck. “Well, I—”

  “I’ll tell you what I thought.”

  This is where he says what a terrible person I am. How I shouldn’t have thought it funny. That Miss Cartwright is someone he cares for… someone…

  “The word that comes to my mind is justice.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Please don’t misunderstand me, Miss Hartwell. Normally I am a kind, thoughtful man. But Miss Cartwright has a way of…”

  Francesca stared at him. Did he not care for her as much as she’d thought? Could it be that he was not involved romantically with her?

  “…annoying those around her.” His dark eyebrows rose.

  Her mouth dropped open wide. Francesca gasped. “But I thought—”

  “That she and I were an item? Miss Cartwright would love nothing better. In fact, that’s been her main goal since we were children.”

  “Then you and she aren’t… you…”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “I see.”

  Uncomfortable silence. Would he explain further? She couldn’t ask more questions about the matter. She just couldn’t. As much as the words longed to spring from her lips, her father’s admonition about her speaking her mind too much enforced her silence. Besides, she’d already said too much. Too many personal questions about which she had no business to know. He must think her a bumpkin. An immature child. Too inquisitive for her own good.

  Belle groomed the last cub, and then lay down on her side. The tiny leopards mewed and scooted up to her belly. Small paws kneaded the mother’s fur as the babies drank. Squeaks and suckling noises seemed unnaturally loud. Somehow, it didn’t seem right to be watching this with Mr. Fairgate.

  How had she witnessed the cubs’ births with him at her side? Belle had pushed and growled. And four babies emerged from her—

  For that was such an intimate experience and it brought heat to her face, spreading to her stomach and lower. Did he now think her the type of woman who would—?

  “Miss Hartwell, please let no more time pass before I offer you an apology on Miss Cartwright’s behalf.”

  Startled from her reverie, she turned her head. “You’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “No, but I did not put her in her place when she said… when she was so unpleasant toward you. I only…”

  “What?”

  “You see, my uncle is quite fond of her. Although I’ve never understood why. Maybe because he and her father have always been good friends. I didn’t want to say anything which would…”

  “You’d rather he not hear of something negative you said about her?”

  “Exactly.”

  She smiled. “Think no more about it, Mr. Fairgate.”

  “Thank you. I… you are most kind.”

  She shrugged, not sure what to say next.

  “Say, Miss Hartwell, if you have the time and wouldn’t mind, could you give me a further tour?”

  “I’m afraid I’ve already shown you all of the animals that live here.”

  “But what of the rest of the Tower and its grounds?”

  “You’d like to see more of it?”

  “Certainly. Are you familiar with the rest?”

  She nodded. “But as I’m sure you’ve heard, the stories are not all pleasant.”

  “Yes. But living as I do in the same city, I should be more familiar with its history. Would you mind terribly?”

  “Not at all.”

  They walked through the gate from the Lion’s Tower and along the causeway over the moat. Nearing the fortress’s main entrance, Francesca turned toward Mr. Fairgate. “While showing you the animals here, I neglected to tell you of some that used to be here, but are gone.”

  “Oh?”

  “Back in the twelve-hundreds, there was a great white bear from the north.”

  “A white bear?”

  “Yes. It seems odd, doesn’t it? But apparently from another part of the world where it stays cold, they have solid white bears. The only things dark on them are their eyes, noses, and claws.”

  “I had no idea. It must have seemed ghostly compared to the darker ones.”

  “Some people talk of ghosts here at the Tower.”

  “Of animals?”

  “And people.”

  “Tell me more about the bear.”

  “He was very large and loved the water. They kept him in chains, poor thing, while in the Tower, but every day he was taken down to the River Thames. A cord was tied to his leg and he was allowed to fish.”

  “I can only imagine the reactions of people who witnessed that.”

  “I understand it was quite the spectacle.”

  “Yes. That would have been something to see.”

  They approached another gate and exited out onto the grounds. “That’s Tower Hill.”

  “Weren’t there executions out here?”

  “Yes. Many.” She shivered.

  He touched her arm briefly. “If you’d rather not talk about the atrocities, I understand.”

  “No, it’s fine. It’s all part of our history. Good and bad.”

  He nodded. “Wasn’t Anne Boleyn killed here?”

  “Yes, poor girl. The second wife of King Henry VIII. Accused of adultery. Whether true or not, some believe she was accused simply so he could have her killed.”

  “Why would he do that?”

  “He was anxious to marry. Again.”

  “Lovely king our country had.”

  “Quite.”

  They approached the moat’s far side. The closer they got, the ranker it smelled. Mr. Fairgate covered his mouth with his hand. “Goodness, that is—”

  “Awful. Yes.” She covered her nose as well. “I don’t come here much, for obvious reasons, but years ago, there was an alligator that swam here. I wish I could have seen that.”

  “I imagine it would have been entertaining. But also frightening, from what I’ve read of them.”

  Turning back toward the Tower complex, Francesca pointed up. “Over there is where Captain Blood nearly absconded with the Crown Jewels. Thankfully, he didn’t succeed.”

  Mr. Fairgate shook his head. “You were right. Most of the history isn’t pleasant. Yet I find it all so fascinating.”

  “Not always something of which to be proud, yet I find it fascinating as well.”

  “Thank you for taking the time to show me. Perhaps I can return the favor and show you something one day soon.”

  Francesca smiled. What would he have to show her?

  ****

  Francesca sat on a visitor’s bench directly across from Petunia, the black panther. The silly cat was chasing her own tail. Laughter bubbled up from Francesca’s throat, unbidden. An older couple turned to stare at her. She cared not. Everything the cats did was fascinating. The laughter at Petunia’s antics released pent-up frustration that Francesca had experienced over Mr. Fairgate and Miss Cartwright. True, he’d said he had no interest in the other woman, but she most certainly seemed to have her claws sharpened to hang onto him.

  The bench shifted as someone sat on the other end.
Glancing in that direction with a welcoming smile for the visitor, she soon lost her mirth.

  Miss Cartwright. What is she doing here? Determined to be pleasant despite the other woman’s penchant for being otherwise, Francesca forced a placid expression. “Good afternoon, Miss Cartwright. How are you today?”

  Pristine white gloves sat on the lap of a sky blue dress. Was it silk? She certainly appeared to have the means for it. A hat, overflowing with a ridiculous number of ribbons and… Was that supposed to be a parrot? The ugly ornament perched on the right side, as if ready to take off in flight. One wing pointing up, the other toward Francesca. And the bird was… Francesca squinted. Yes, the red, yellow, and green creature wore a frown.

  How appropriate.

  Gaze traveling down from the bird to the woman’s face, Francesca raised an eyebrow. How could a woman and her hat ornament be mistaken for twins? Such an occasion certainly warranted a chuckle. But judging from Miss Cartwright’s own frowning countenance, anything resembling good humor from Francesca might earn her a good smack.

  Ice blue eyes closed to near-slits. Miss Cartwright’s glare chilled Francesca’s skin to goose flesh. The woman surely had not an ounce of warm blood in her.

  “Miss Hartwell. How pleasant to see you again.” Lips pursed with every word. A person could not have looked more sour if eating lemons.

  What to say next? They had nothing in common, save poor Mr. Fairgate, and there was no love lost between them, to be sure. “Well…” She darted a glance downward. “I see you have new boots.”

  Francesca was mistaken if she’d thought for a moment that the icy woman couldn’t get any colder. Coming from between clenched teeth, Miss Cartwright’s voice was scarcely above a whisper. “No thanks to you.”

  Hmm. Possibly not the wisest words I could have uttered. But something, yes, everything about the other woman drew out a mischievousness that was new for even Francesca. “Quite sorry about that.” Not in the least.

  A harrumph befitting an irritated ostrich was the response. Again, so very difficult for Francesca not to laugh. The woman was dislikable and rude. And absurd. Even without a parrot on her hat. “I’ve not come here to discuss my boots. I’d insist upon recompense for their demise, but it’s obvious you could never afford them.”