“We run in the same circles,” he responded. “In fact, the man you saved—I’m sure you must remember dragging a man out of the water?—is due to leave shortly for a season working the excavations in ancient Egypt. When he returns, I believe he will be married.”
“Is he officially engaged?”
“No,” Hunter admitted. “But he has been a contender in the quest for the hand of Lady Margaret for some time, and I believe that today, after such high drama and fear for his life, she may have decided that he’s the one she’ll choose to marry.”
She turned away quickly, as if she felt distressed and would prefer he not see it. Then she lowered her head and murmured, “Please…if you would take me back to the river, I would be most grateful. I’m sure I shall find out who I am and where I belong.”
He leaned forward, absently setting a hand on her knee as he spoke. “But, dear girl, Mr. Turnberry is anxious to thank you for his life. We must allow him to do so.”
She visibly winced. “As I am? I would deeply appreciate a return to the sea.”
“River.”
“River!” she snapped.
She moved. He realized that his hand touched her still—and that it was far more disturbing to him than to her. He withdrew.
“We are nearly at my town house. My sister often spends time there—I’m quite sure we will find something appropriate for you to wear.”
“Sir! I cannot go with you to your town house alone.”
“Fear not,” he said, smiling. “I have the most proper housekeeper one might ever hope to have. You’ll be in the best of hands.”
They came at last to the town house with its elegant wrought-iron gates and handsomely manicured lawn. He wondered if she had not caught his attention before because, in a very strange way, she reminded him of himself. In his younger years, he’d seen what he was and what he was not. And he’d realized he must improve his own lot, which he had managed to do quite nicely, first in the military, then by charming the queen, and then with his very real fascination for all things Egyptian. He had written a number of books on his experiences, and therefore earned a fair penny from his publishers, and if his own efforts had not seen him to financial success, the death of his beloved and landed godmother had increased his position most pleasantly. The boon had not been expected, because the old girl, who had been a true adventurer herself and had always engaged him in tart conversation, had always pretended poverty and gratefully accepted his many gifts.
The carriage passed through the gates to the porte cochere at the side door. It opened as Hunter jumped down from the carriage, reaching back to assist his unwilling guest. She hesitated, but at last accepted his hand, apparently deciding that it would be churlish to refuse it.
“Dear me, dear me!” This from Mrs. Emma Johnson, his housekeeper. She gave Hunter a scathing look, as if he had committed a crime. “Sir Hunter! What in heaven’s name? Dear child, do come in and I will see to you! Do your parents know where you are? Hunter, did you take this young lady sailing on such a day and lose her in the river? Oh, child, thank the Lord you’re all right. I shall see to you immediately.” She slipped an arm around his red-haired sea vixen, staring him down. “Now, Hunter, it’s none of my business, but—”
“No, Emma, it’s not!” he said, but smiled. She was very dear to him. When he was quite young and struggling, she had even suffered many a week without pay, assuring him that he could pay her when…well, when he could. He had done his best to reward her for those days of service when her work had been based on loyalty alone.
She narrowed her gray eyes in a severe warning, and again he had to smile. “Emma, I did nothing terrible, I assure you. She was drowning—”
“It was not until he tried to help me that I was drowning!” the girl protested.
“It’s amazing what you do seem to remember,” Hunter murmured.
“Good heavens! What did happen?” Emma demanded.
“I suppose we must let the young woman explain,” Hunter said.
“Young woman? What is your name, dear?” Emma asked.
“Yes, dear, what is your name?” Hunter repeated. He watched her face heat with color. “Ah! Dear me, how could I forget so quickly? She suffered a bump on the head and has forgotten everything. Can you imagine, Emma?”
The housekeeper looked horrified. “Hunter, what did you do?”
“I’m innocent, I swear!” he said.
“Aye, mum, he’s innocent this time, I can vouch for that,” Ethan said, coming round from having led the horses and conveyance on to the carriage house and the groom. “Sir Hunter saw a friend swept clean off the deck of another yacht, and he dived to rescue the fellow. Seems that, wherever she came from, the girl had the same idea.”
Emma stared her. “Child! You went into the Thames? Why, ’tis filthy with the rot of thousands, no matter what they say has been done for sanitation in the reign of our good Queen Victoria!”
“I’ve been in it before,” the girl murmured. She flushed again, catching Hunter’s glance, “I…uh…think I’ve been in it before! I mean…perhaps I’ve been in water quite frequently…at least, I believe that I have….”
Emma glared at Hunter once more. “Well, and look at you, in just your drawers and a blanket! Humph!” She wagged a finger at Hunter. “You, sir, have your reputation, but it shall not sully mine. I’ll see to it that our poor dear guest has a bath and is set right up. Ethan! You must go for the doctor immediately—”
“Doctor!” the girl protested.
“Of course! You’ve lost your memory. And with the master of the house around, dear, we wouldn’t want to add to that the fact that you’ve lost your senses! No, no, this must be handled in all proper haste!”
“Emma, I’m hardly likely to seduce the girl beneath my own roof,” Hunter murmured wryly.
“Indeed, hardly likely,” the girl muttered.
“In fact, Ethan will help me out of this river sop I wear, Emma, and you see to the young lady here. They’ll be wanting to know about this at Lord Avery’s manor—it was David Turnberry who went into the drink, and he’ll want to thank our mystery girl properly. I’ll give a call to the manor—assuming the blasted telephone decides to work—let them know that I’ve got the girl.”
“But I do think we should have the doctor—” Emma began to protest.
“I’m fine!” the girl assured her.
“Humph!” Emma said.
“Let’s see…perhaps we should give her until the morning, see how she is faring then. Emma, I’m sure you will have a delightful room ready somewhere in this place?” Hunter said.
“A bath…and a bit of rest. Alone. If I may. That would be lovely,” the girl said. “And if I feel at all ill in the morning, I swear I’ll see a doctor!”
“All right, then, Hunter, be gone up the stairs. Young woman, I’ll get a good deep bath going, and you’ll be warm and cozy in no time. Now, Hunter, you must stay away.”
“Good Lord, trust me, I intend to!” he assured Emma. He couldn’t help winking at his less-than-gracious guest before he passed her by. His fine deck shoes squeaked and he was beginning to feel more than a chill, despite the blanket around his shoulders.
Ethan followed him to his room, dragging out the hip bath, ready to be of service. “Stop, my friend,” said Hunter. “I’ll heat my own bath. See to it that there are coins left on the dresser in the blue room—which is surely where Emma will take our guest. Oh, and see that there are enough coins for transport in the pocket of whatever piece of clothing Emma chooses for our guest.”
Ethan arched a brow.
“Believe me, my friend,” said Hunter. “It is for the girl’s benefit.”
“You want her to run away?”
“She’s going to run back to the river. You mark my words. Besides, don’t worry. I intend to run after her. Ah, Ethan! Please, just do as I say!”
Ethan grunted but left to do as bidden.
KAT, HER MEMORY QUITE INTACT, found being and
talking with Mrs. Johnson—Emma, as she preferred to be called—easy and comfortable. The woman was so warm and caring! Kat didn’t think that she’d ever had such a delightful bath, the water so deliciously warm. The house and furnishings were exquisite. Kat had never been in such luxury!
Emma chatted about the neighborhood—charming, she adored it, they’d been there almost a decade. Then there was the amazing way one could now get about—on a train in a tube underground! “Oh, that it had been there when I was a young girl!” she declared. She mostly talked about Sir Hunter MacDonald, the love of her life, it seemed.
Kat wished desperately that she’d been taken to the home of David Turnberry, instead, for she was certain that there she’d have heard from his housekeeper and might have learned all kinds of delicious little nuggets about his life. But it wasn’t to be. She had to remember where she was. And why.
And remember to be grateful. So she listened. Sir Hunter had been an impressive soldier, and it had been for his gallant service to his country that he had been knighted. Why, Emma gushed, he was called upon often to play the diplomat for the queen! And, well, of course, he did have his reputation, but only because there were so many widows and even a few divorcées who did not understand mourning as did their dear queen. And Americans! Well…they were a breed of their own, adventurers-adventuresses, all. And then, of course, there was his obsession with Egyptian antiquities. Yes, there had been quite a hullabaloo at the museum just a year ago. Dastardly going-ons, but all settled in the end, the evil ones out of the picture, and those involved would be sailing off again, learning more and more, and adding to the grandeur of the British Empire!
Yes, yes, yes, Kat thought. But how much could a girl listen to, especially about a fellow who had almost drowned her? All right, it was true that that had not been his intention, and he had made her a guest in his very beautiful home. So she held her tongue while his housekeeper worked her hair with sweet-smelling suds and prattled on. She didn’t have much of a choice.
“But, of course, you’ve read about him, I’m certain,” Emma continued. “He has been the idol of the country many a time. Oh, I forgot! Poor thing. Your memory is gone. But if anything stirs in the darkness, let me assure you, despite his wretched reputation as a ladies’ man, Sir Hunter is a gentleman, a true gentleman.” Emma seemed determined that Kat should understand that.
The woman added ruefully, “I’m certain that many of the rumors are fact, I’m sorry to say, but as I told you, he tarries only with divorcées and widows, women who are quite adult and mature, and responsible for their own actions. I don’t believe he frequents houses of ill repute—well, not the lower sort, anyway. But surely, you must be aware that he has a kind heart. And courage! Why, he has fought again and again in the queen’s service, held his own, even when he didn’t think we had the right to be where we were—Good Lord, child, you mustn’t ever repeat that! He is a loyal subject of our good queen, right down to the toes! And then, of course, there is his constant hunt for Egyptian antiquities.”
“Do you mean treasures?”
Emma Johnson sniffed. “Treasures? Not as we think of them, dear. Treasures to Sir Hunter are relics of the past, the older, and so it seems, the nastier, the better! But then again, it is such a thing among almost all of the British aristocracy and elite these days. That, and mesmerism!” she said with a snort. “Still, he might have chosen a season by the Riviera or in Italy. Oh, he enjoys his stops in Rome and such, but it’s Egypt he goes for, Egypt he loves. He works with the museum, you know. And he always manages to wrangle the best dig for himself or be granted the best location, through our own embassies and the Egyptians, who are in charge. Well, we say that Egyptians are in charge, but it’s still our influence that guides it all. And glad they are of English intervention.”
“English money, I would think,” Kat murmured softly.
Emma laughed delightedly. “Well, now, and there’s the truth. But the Turks were there for a quite a long time, as well, and the Egyptians are glad of our protection, you mark my words. And, of course, the French are forever around. But…I do so wish Sir Hunter would settle for an autumn in a lovely European city!”
“But…it sounds fascinating. Really.” Kat leaned back. “I’ve only ever dreamed of Ancient Egypt!” She jerked back up. “David Turnberry is going for this season in Egypt, as well, isn’t he?”
“Many go, as I said. And you must understand, this is when the season for archeology begins—summer is far too hot! Fall into winter…well, they’re all about to set sail for the mysteries of the past as it is…next week!”
A week! Kat thought. A week. A week in this country, and then…
David Turnberry would go to Egypt. When he returned, he would marry?
Kat sighed softly. It was insane to think, just because he looked up at her after she had saved his life and said I love you, that anything in the world could bring her to his true attention. He was about to become engaged to be married. To an elegant creature of his own class.
He can’t love his presumed fiancée! Not when he said those words to me!
But she had panicked and run away. In part because of Hunter MacDonald. But now…he meant to introduce her to the man. She would have a formal introduction to David Turnberry.
“All right, step out now, child,” Emma was saying. “I’ve a fine set of clothing for you. The Lady Francesca—she’s Sir Hunter’s sister, married Lord Hathaway—leaves ample here, and she’ll be more than pleased that she could help out with a girl pulled from the river, one willing to risk her own life to save another!”
Kat suddenly felt terribly uncomfortable, hearing the words of praise. She had to wonder if she would have attempted the rescue if it had been anyone other than David Turnberry. The thought troubled her, and she barely noticed the silk of the drawers she stepped into, or the simple elegance of the gown Emma slipped over her head, with exquisite lace on the bodice.
“And, oh dear! If a night’s sleep doesn’t help your memory, we must do something,” Emma said suddenly. “There is bound to be some young fellow somewhere, terribly worried about you. No ring on your finger, though.”
Kat’s heart seemed to stop in her chest. No, there was no young fellow worried about her. But her father would be. And her sister, and so many dear friends…
How far had she come? How was she going to get back? If she had to walk…
She lowered her head, biting her lower lip. Surely, a man such as Hunter MacDonald would have left a few coins somewhere about. She would not steal! She would see that they were returned. Public transport was getting very good indeed, and she knew London well.
Like the poor man’s daughter, the urchin, that she was!
“Yes, indeed,” she managed to say somberly. “By tomorrow, I’m sure I shall be fine. I do believe that when I wake up, everything will rush back,” she lied. Then she yawned. “Forgive me. I’m exhausted.” She lifted her hands with her words, then let them fall. She heard a soft tinkle within the folds of the dress. Her fingers moved dexterously over the pockets. The relief that swept through her almost caused her to faint in reality. Coins!
“As well you might be after such a day! Now, just sit before the fire while I brush out your hair. I’ll have you upstairs napping in no time.”
Kat could barely sit still while the kindly woman dried her hair before the fire, brushing all the snarls from the long tresses. When she was done, her hair was as soft as silk, far softer than it had ever been. But she was so riddled with guilt about the hasty departure she planned that she had to force herself to stop fretting long enough to voice a sincere thank-you for the housekeeper’s help.
That same guilt made it difficult for her to appreciate the subdued elegance of the house or the little touches that made it so uniquely Sir Hunter MacDonald’s residence—the relics sitting atop the newel posts, the hieroglyphs that adorned the walls. The fine oil paintings, some of English country sites and some of ancient Egypt. One was of the Sphinx at suns
et, and it was so breathtaking that her steps did falter.
“I can show you more of the house, dear,” Emma offered.
“Thank you, I shall so enjoy that…later. But I beg of you, I must have a few hours of undisturbed rest.”
“Of course!”
And so she was led up the grand staircase to a room. It was planned for female guests, or so it appeared, for the furniture was a light and lovely wood, and the canopy and spread of the four-poster bed were blue and white, enhanced by the shades of an Oriental rug.
“Rest well, my dear. I will see to it that you’re not disturbed,” Emma vowed.
“Thank you again, ever so much!”
The door closed. Kat moved to the bed and lay atop the spread, keeping herself still for several long seconds.
Then she rose. She started for the door, then noticed the coins sitting on the dresser. She placed them in her pocket with the others and took the time to look in the lovely little Oriental bedside table for paper and a pen.
“I will return the dress and the coins,” she wrote. The words looked cold and rude. She hesitated, then added, “Thank you ever so much.” No, it wasn’t enough. But time was ticking away. She sketched herself as a Sphinx, with a smiling face, and as the caricaturists did, she added a little balloon at the side of the lips, writing in, “I do thank you!”
Enough. She had to leave, make her way home, then return here before anyone was the wiser and be ready to allow David Turnberry to thank her for his life.
She hurried for the door and out into the hall. There, she listened. There was no sound other than that of the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer.
She fled down the stairway to the front entry. There was no lock on the front door. Not now. What would she do when she returned? Perhaps it would be locked by then; dusk would surely be coming on.
Well, that was a worry she would have to contend with when she returned. Right now, she had to go to her father and sister.
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