And worry that she would be able to return at all!
On the street and down the block, she paused to draw a breath.
She was out. She had gotten out very easily.
Now the great problem—was she going to be able to get back in?
“THE BIRD HAS FLOWN!” Hunter noted.
He sat astride Alexander, his riding mount, hidden against a small field of trees in the narrow side yard of the town house. Ethan, at his side on Anthony, glanced his way, his features wrinkling in a silent question.
“We shall follow,” Hunter said.
She obviously knew where she was going. She quickly made her way through the streets by Hyde Park, finding a station for the omnibus.
There, she boarded.
Following the bus, which was pulled by heavy draft horses, was quite easy. The streets were busy, and the pedestrians often careless, so the going was somewhat slow.
His redhead changed vehicles and headed, as he had suspected, for the river. And, there, of course, his concealing themselves became a bit more difficult. Hunter dismounted, handing Alexander’s reins to Ethan, and bidding the man to wait with the horses.
“I don’t know what either of you is about!” Ethan grumbled.
Hunter laughed. “I’m not at all sure I know myself!”
He hurried then, for once the girl had departed the vehicle, she began to move quickly through the streets, the rows of tightly packed houses, the people milling in the walkways and alleys. He assessed the neighborhood.
It wasn’t the poorest section of the city, but rather the old City of London itself, where some of the architecture of the late sixteen hundreds remained, simple homes built soon after the Great Fire had ravished the city. Most of the inhabitants were hardworking tradesmen, though the area attracted students, musicians and artists. The streets, if not grand, were clean.
“Why, core and blimey!” an old woman who’d been sweeping called out. “It’s Kat!”
“Shh, Mrs. Mahoney, please!” the girl cried, and she raced past the woman. “Is Papa in the house?”
“Frettin’ and wailin’, he is!” the woman said. “Why, he has some of his friends in the police out looking for you, child! There was a rumor that you had been rescued from the water, but…well, no one knew just who had done the rescuing and where you’d gotten to!”
“Oh, no!” the girl cried.
“And what is that you be wearing, Mistress Kat?” the woman demanded.
“I must see Papa,” the girl said, and rushed by the woman, heading into a small house that was painted and finely detailed with new gingerbread trim. The place surely dated back to the days of the Flemish weavers, Hunter thought.
Determined to avoid a conversation with the old woman, Hunter slid quickly against a wall. There was a narrow alley leading to a rear courtyard, and he sidled down the length of it. He did not need to go far.
An open window and drawn draperies allowed him an excellent view of the show within. There she was, the girl whom the old woman had called Kat, wrapped tightly in the arms of a tall, bewhiskered fellow. Another girl, also red-haired, though of a lighter shade, stood by. She embraced Kat next, then stepped away as the dignified older fellow wrapped Kat in his arms again.
When at last the embracing ended, the second girl—her sister?—demanded, “Katherine Mary! What on earth are you wearing? Goodness! Where did you get such an elegant dress?”
“I shall explain,” Kat said.
“Indeed, you shall!” the old fellow responded gruffly. “I have been out of my head with fear and grief. Eliza told me of this insane thing you felt you must do, and I was left to convince myself that you would return, that you had not gone down to the bottom of the Thames! There are police officers out looking for you, young woman. Eliza, send Maggie to inform the police that my child has been found, that we will not need to dredge the river!”
The man was truly furious, and yet obviously greatly relieved. Hunter felt guilty, as he knew the girl must. She appeared stricken, as if she had not realized till now just how painfully her absence had been experienced.
The girl Eliza hurried from the room to summon this Maggie—a servant of some sort, Hunter assumed—despite the fact that this household seemed rather poor—but was very quickly back, not about to miss an instant of what was going on.
“Papa,” Kat said, apparently in an effort to soothe. “Poor Papa, I am so sorry, I hadn’t imagined such a fuss. Why would you send the police after me? You know that I swim better than a fish.”
“Aye, that I know,” her father said proudly. “But you’d gone after a university bloke, and then disappeared from sight! What will I do with you, what will I do? If only your dear sainted mother were still alive!”
“Kat, where did you get the dress?” her sister demanded again.
“It is borrowed… Papa, please, all will be well. You see, I was helped by another gentleman after I helped the first gentleman. I have been at a safe and truly gentle place, I swear it! You see, I am to meet with David Turnberry, the first gentleman, who is soon to be affianced to Lord Avery’s daughter, and I must—”
“Lord Avery!” Eliza exclaimed. She looked across the room. “Papa, she will get a reward. A good reward!”
“I needed no reward,” Kat said.
“Well, I’d be happy for it!” Eliza exclaimed. “Scrimping and saving for something other than fish on the table.”
“Eliza!” the father said sadly, shaking his head.
Eliza apologized quickly. “Papa, Papa, you do so well, I am truly sorry for my words of complaint. But…Kat! That gown! It’s exquisite—where did it come from? Oh, my God! I should get dressed. I must go back with you and—”
“No,” the man said firmly. “No one is going anywhere.”
“But we must give this serious consideration,” Eliza pleaded.
“Katherine Mary, you are my child. My daughter. And you’ll not go off among young men, whether they’re poor as paupers or rich as Midas, without proper escort. Without me!” he bellowed.
“Oh, Papa, please! I must go to Lord Avery’s on my own. I swear to you, I am safe. There is a wonderful woman named Emma Johnson, and she is like my guardian angel.”
“You were at the grand house of a woman?” her father inquired. “Why have these people not escorted you home?”
“Papa…forgive me, but I’m pretending to have lost my memory. I’ve told them I don’t know who I am.”
The man sank into a chair. “You are ashamed,” he said softly.
“Oh, Papa, never!” she cried.
He looked up at her sadly. “We do not need the charity of others. I work hard, we work hard. And we earn our living. Meager, that it is. But I’m an honest man, and I do an honest day’s work. You will take no reward.”
“Papa!” Eliza protested. “Papa, in truth, you are a great artist! You are simply too quick to work for those who promise to pay, but cannot pay.”
“They are the interesting subjects,” the father murmured.
“And then, when there is a rich man about, you refuse to charge what your work is worth! I would say that many a rich man owes you. And if the truth of your service were ever known, you, Papa, would be knighted! Therefore, nothing coming our way would be charity, but rather your due,” Eliza stated.
He shook his head again. “A man’s life is far greater than any sum of money. Kat will take no reward.”
Eliza groaned, turning away.
Kat lowered herself to her knees, setting her hands upon her father’s knees. “Papa, I will take no reward. But may I go back to Mrs. Johnson just to meet these people? I swear to you, I shall refuse the reward. But I would like…I would dearly love…just this time…to meet these people, to let them thank me. Oh, please, Papa!”
“It is a hard world out there, lass! We haven’t money, but again, we’ve pride. And you’ve no great dowry, but again, lass, you have your virtue.”
“It is not at stake, Papa,” she vowed levelly
, not offended, her promise earnest.
“I fear to let you from my sight!” he said.
“She is in lo—” Eliza began, but Kat flew to her feet and whirled on her sister.
“Perhaps, since it is a castoff, Papa will allow me to keep the dress, and you may have it!” she said, her eyes offering both a plea and a warning.
“What kind of a father would I be to let you go?”
“A kind and trusting one?” Kat suggested.
“No!”
“Oh, Papa, please! It’s just a dream, a silly dream, to have one chance to be thanked and feted. And I know the streets, the way of people, rich and poor. You’ve taught us well. You used what you worked so hard to attain to see that Eliza and I had an education. You taught us to know right from wrong. Please…trust in me, Papa!” The last plea seemed to touch his heart, for he rose and took her hands in his.
“I do trust in you. But I’m deeply sorry that you may not have your moment of glory. I am a poor man, but I will not sell my pride, nor my responsibility.”
“But, Papa—”
“Hate me, child, rail against me. I will not let you go.”
“Papa, I can never hate you!” She was in his arms again, cherished, but dismayed.
Hunter, from his position outside the window, could see her face as she held on tight to her father. She loved him, but she was stubborn. Reckless. And she was plotting. She had come upon a dead end, and she would discover a way around it.
What would it be? Hunter wondered. He realized that, listening, he had caught and held his breath. He released it slowly, thinking.
He wondered if the wicked little redheaded vixen knew that she already had far more than money, a title, or half of the silly things considered important by members of the so-called elite, the place her beloved David inhabited.
Her father drew away. “The dress, lass, must be returned. Where did you acquire it?”
“It belongs to Francesca, Lady Hathaway,” Kat said unhappily.
“But she lives far from London!” the father said.
“Her brother’s town house is not so far.”
Eliza gasped. “You were at the town house of…Sir Hunter MacDonald?”
“Hunter MacDonald!” Papa roared.
Hunter winced. It appeared he was well known.
“Papa!” Eliza said, apparently shocked by her father’s response. “The man is a favorite of the queen!”
“Yes, and it’s because the man has a reputation for outlandish adventure, always riding into the fray. I daresay that the queen enjoys the stories of his escapades—and the flattery he doubtless showers on her.”
“But they say that he’s brilliant!” Eliza said excitedly. “And oh! Far more than charming. Why, there have been rumors of his affairs with ladies of the highest strata!”
Both her sister and father were staring at her in horror.
“No, please,” Eliza persisted. “He has sullied no reputations, he has merely…well…goodness! How do I put it delicately? Played among players?”
Hunter shook his head. Things were only getting worse. And though he hadn’t really the least idea of what he was about, he decided that the time had come to knock on the door.
He was just heading for the door when Kat spoke.
“Sir Hunter is not so much, I assure you, Father,” she said. “I promise you, there is not the least worry regarding my virtue as far as he is concerned. But…I might have met Lord Avery, Father.”
“And her precious David!” Eliza murmured.
“What?” their father demanded with a frown.
“Oh, she might have had a lovely dinner, Father, that is all,” Eliza said. “You know, Papa, rubbed elbows with the truly elite!”
“There is no sense in it,” the man said softly. “No sense at all, and you must believe me, and accept this regret rather than one far greater. Do you understand, Katherine Mary?”
Kat looked down. “I bow to your wisdom, Papa,” she replied. Then she gave a massive yawn. “Papa, I am to bed.”
“’Tis best, my girl,” he said gently. “Tomorrow, we will return the dress.”
“Tomorrow,” she agreed.
She started for the narrow stairway. Then she turned. “I love you, Papa,” she said.
“Aye, child, and I love you.”
Kat smiled, hesitated and went on up the stairs.
Outside and unseen, Hunter leaned thoughtfully against the wall. Then he looked through the window again, and a frown creased his forehead. He realized that he knew of the girl’s father. His frown dissipated, to be replaced by a small smile.
At last he moved away, certain of the need to hurry home.
Kat, he knew, would soon be on the road again.
Chapter 3
A NOTE HAD BEEN DELIVERED to the house in Hunter’s absence. Lord Avery begged pardon; the excitement of the day had been too much, and he wished to retire early that evening. He requested, however, an audience the following morning, and asked if Hunter would bring the young lady to the manor, or if they might call upon the town house.
He could have tried calling on the telephone, but Lord Avery never seemed to hear what was said, so Hunter sent Ethan off with the reply, requesting Lord Avery and his party to attend a late breakfast at his town house the following morning.
He went upstairs, obviously intent on entering the Blue Room, despite the fact that Emma pleaded he not do so. “She doesn’t want to be disturbed!” Emma said firmly.
Hunter laughed. “A quid says she isn’t in there!”
“Quid! Street language, Hunter,” Emma warned with a sniff.
“Bet me?”
“Good heavens, Hunter, a respectable matron doesn’t gamble!”
“Good thing—because the girl isn’t in there!” Hunter said, and pushed open the door. Emma frowned, looking in.
“But she was so very exhausted!”
“Well, she’s awakened now,” Hunter murmured.
Emma squared her shoulders, a frown furrowing her brow. “Has she run away?”
“I think she just needed…a little air,” Hunter said.
“I do hope she returns. Such an exquisite little creature. Why, Hunter, in all my life, I’ve never seen such eyes as hers. And she’s ever so polite. A true joy. Not that it’s my place to say, but compared to a few of the women you’ve had here… Oh, sorry. And I’ve worked so hard on a lovely supper… Oh, not that I don’t want you to enjoy a lovely supper, but—”
“Emma, I do believe she’ll be right back,” Hunter said. “You go tend to the supper.”
When Emma was gone, he saw the note on the dresser. As he read it, he was surprised by the little stirring of emotion that seized him.
And then there was the sketch. A marvelous reproduction of the Sphinx.
Her father.
Not that it had been such a natural thing that he should have realized the man’s identity by peeping through his window. But oddly enough, it had just been the week before that he had been out in the country at the home of his friends, the Earl and Countess of Carlyle, that he had first seen one of the stirring seascapes painted by William Adair. Brian hadn’t really known anything about the artist. He had simply fallen in love with the wild natural turbulence, the sense of the sea, of the wind, in the painting. “A local fellow, I was told, though the gallery owner didn’t know much about the artist personally, for he had acquired the work through an agent. I must, soon, find out where he does live. The piece is quite magnificent, but I bought it at a steal from a fellow down on Sloane Street.”
Hunter had been entranced and had studied the oil at his leisure. The signature had been small but firm, and entirely legible. William Adair. And once he had followed Kat, peeped in through the window and seen the pieces hanging within the small abode, he had realized that oils of such power and emotion could have only been created by the same artist.
And so his mermaid was the man’s daughter. And her little sketch gave proof of an amazing, if untapped a
nd untrained, talent, as well.
He replaced the note as it had been left and slipped out of the room, leaving all as if he had never entered it.
Then he waited in the yard, determined to catch his guest in the act of trying to return undetected. He wondered how long she waited to depart her home unnoticed. It would have taken her a bit of time, since she would have had to convince her sister to be part of her subterfuge. In Kat’s mind, all she would have to do was elude her father for the evening. Her one magical evening. She couldn’t know as yet that there would be no way to see Lord Avery—or David—tonight.
At last, he saw her. Behind a pillar on the porch, he watched as she made her way down the street. She slowed before reaching the house, and must have been dismayed to realize that he was outside. She hovered by a mulberry bush, certain that he must give up soon and go into the house.
He did not.
At last she wandered by, twirling a piece of impossibly brilliant hair between her fingers. “Sir Hunter!” she said, sounding politely surprised.
“My dear girl,” he replied just as pleasantly. “Wherever have you been?”
“Oh, not far,” she lied sweetly. “I just slipped out for…some air.”
“Ah. And did the air help any?” he inquired.
“Help with what?”
“The return of your memory, of course!”
“Oh! Well, no…I’m so sorry. Yes, yes, of course, I had thought that a walk might bring much more to mind regarding my identity, but…alas, I’m afraid that it hasn’t been so.”
“Oh, dear,” Hunter sympathized.
“Will…will I be seeing Lord Avery and David Turnberry this evening?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not.”
“Oh?” She sounded startled, certainly. And, actually, quite cross.
Understandable, given her circumstances.
He smiled. “Lord Avery has an old ticker, my dear. Heart, that is. He must rest tonight. He will come tomorrow.”
“I see.” She lowered her head quickly, hiding her disappointment. And trying to come up with a new plan, he imagined.
“I’m so sorry that you’re disappointed. However, we’ve a lovely dinner awaiting us, at your convenience.”
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