by Sarita Leone
Pushing a fallen lock of hair off her cheek with a grimy hand, Vivian paused at the end of the hallway. She had checked the rooms on one side; there were only a dozen or so rooms left to check and still there was no sign of life.
What if she had imagined the cry for help?
Worse yet, what if the call had not been human?
Vivian chased the ghostly thought from her mind. She did not believe in the supernatural, preferring to give credence to only that which she could explain in a logical manner.
Ghosts? The whole idea is preposterous!
“Help me. Please, won’t someone help me?”
Thoughts scattered as Vivian followed the sound. One door was ever-so slightly ajar, so she pushed it open and dashed into the room. It too was filled with covered furniture but near a huge fireplace there were three black-bristled brushes. A black footprint marked the floor beside the tools.
She crossed the room. She stood beside the fireplace, wondering how to proceed, when the voice called again.
“Help—please, help me!”
She bent, and then took a deep breath as she ducked into the empty fireplace opening. It was only about waist-high so she had to nearly double over to fit inside the space. A larger person would have been denied access to the spot, or might have found themselves stuck had the thought to push into the fireplace struck them. She could not imagine why anyone would want to do so.
Soot fell in clumps on her head and shoulders as she lifted her face to peer into the chimney. The view was not what she expected it to be. Where light from the sun should have been, there was only darkness. Then, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she saw the darkness shift.
“Hello?” She spoke in a normal tone of voice but in the confined space it sounded loud, even to her own ears.
Closing her eyes as the shape above her sent a fresh shower of creosote and cinders down on her, Vivian asked the obvious in a gentle tone. “Are you stuck?”
The voice belonged to a child. “I am, Your Ladyship.”
Vivian swallowed her laughter, not wishing to offend the young man who, even in his dire position, remembered his manners.
“‘Miss’ will do for now.”
She wondered how best to extricate the fellow. His legs straddled the rectangular opening, and his boots were planted on two opposing walls just above her head.
“We shall have you out of here shortly,” she said, pretending confidence she did not possess.
Liam had gotten into all sorts of tight spots and she had always managed to pull him out but he had never wedged himself as firmly into a chimney as this child had. It would not do to hurt him by yanking him down but she could not leave him like a cork in a bottle forever.
“How exactly did you get yourself in there? And what, precisely, is stuck?” Logic told her to proceed in reverse order, simply undoing whatever he had unwittingly done.
“I climbed in, miss. And it’s my shoulders. I thought I could brush up another level or two but when I reached high my arm twisted. When that happened, my shoulders went sideways and I—”
She hated to cut him off but it was getting hotter by the minute in the tight space. Long explanations were fine in their place, but this was definitely not the place.
“I get the idea.” She placed her hands around his ankles. “Can you let yourself dangle?”
“What if I fall? I could break my bloody head!”
Vivian stifled a laugh. “I promise I won’t let you fall and break your…well, I won’t let you fall, that’s all. I am right below you so I am in a grand position to catch you when you come loose. Trust me, won’t you? I have a younger brother and I am always rescuing him.”
He sounded unsure. “You do? Have a brother, that is?”
Sweat rolled down her spine. Sticky from the heat and filthy from the soot, she was in need of soap and water but that would have to wait. First, she had to convince her new friend to trust her. It seemed he was not the trusting type.
“I do. His name is Liam.” She wiped the side of her face with her shoulder. “I have never dropped him, and I will not drop you. Now, the only way I can see to get you out of here—and me, as well—is to pull you out. You will drop into my arms and we shall both leave this stuffy chimney behind. Sound like something you might care to try?”
When his response did not immediately come, Vivian considered—then discarded—the thought that pulling him without his consent might be the best way to proceed. She was sure she could have done it but doing so would not instill trust in this little fellow, so she waited.
“All right, miss. If you’re sure…”
“I am. Now, let go of the walls with your feet. Just let them hang…” The burnt taste of soot filled her mouth as it fell off the soles of his boots. “That’s right. I am going to pull you, ever-so-gently so don’t be frightened—”
Vivian tugged his legs hard, knowing in her heart that he was not going to come free unless she took drastic action. Relief coursed through her when she felt him slip from the chimney and onto her. They both tumbled to the hearth in a tangle of arms and legs. A chimney brush plopped onto the center of the skirt of her borrowed lavender dress.
The child in her lap could not have been more than five or six. His smile, so bright against his filthy face, made her forget her wardrobe woes.
“You unstuck me! Thank you, miss! It feels ever so much better not to be up there.”
“You’re very welcome.” She ran her hands lightly over his shoulders and arms, and through his hair. “Are you broken anywhere?”
“Nah, I didn’t hurt myself. I did make a mess of you, though.” He brushed a cinder off her right sleeve, leaving a black trail behind. “Oh, miss! I am sorry!”
“Don’t fret. I am sure this can be laundered out.” She knew the stains would never come clean but smiled anyway. “Now, what do you say we climb out of here? It is too hot by far to sit here and chat all day.”
The child scrambled off her lap and crawled from the fireplace. She gathered her ruined skirt around her knees and did the same. When a hand suddenly came into view in front of her face, Vivian stopped moving and craned her neck backward.
“May I be of service?” Will Fulbright’s hand looked much too fresh to touch but there was no polite way to refuse it. She put her dirty hand in his unsoiled one and allowed him to help her to her feet. “Are you all right?”
He held her hand longer than was absolutely necessary. Heat warmed her cheeks. This time her sheen had nothing to do with the fireplace or its chimney. Will’s thumb traced a lazy circle on her palm, sending a thrill straight to her heart.
Brushing her free hand down the front of her skirt did nothing whatsoever to improve her appearance. A smudge, no doubt from the grit on her palm, appeared on the fine fabric.
Botheration! I shall have to repay Lucie for this dress—somehow.
“I am fine,” Vivian said with a small nod. She smiled when Will clutched her hand tightly before releasing it. His concern showed clearly in his expression, so she rushed to reassure him. “Truly, Mr. Fulbright, I am just fine.”
“I am relieved to hear that.” Then he turned to the small boy by his side. “And what about you, chap? Are you unhurt after your unlucky journey into the chimney?”
“No harm done, Your Lordship.” A smart tug on the brim of the blackened cap he wore sent a cloud of soot falling around the child’s slight frame.
“Glad to hear it. And you may call me ‘sir’. I am not anyone’s lordship.” Will gave the boy’s cap brim a teasing pull, and asked, “And what is your name? I do trust you have one—and I shall bet it is a jolly good name, as well. So? Care to tell us who you are?”
The easy banter between man and boy captivated Vivian. She could not help but wish that Liam had the type of male companionship the two before her fell so conveniently into. They seemed to take it as their due, the friendship that bloomed over a tug or two on a hat and a brief introduction.
Poor Liam. He has missed
so much, and does not even know it.
“My name is Edward but no one calls me that except my Gram.”
“What does everyone else call you, then?” The boy’s mischievous grin did not fit the staid name. Vivian could not picture him being called “Ed” either, so when he chortled his answer she was not surprised.
“Why, everyone calls me Eddie, sir! My mum says that she should’ve called me that from the first, and not have bothered with anything proper.” He removed his cap and smacked it against his thigh. A fresh wave of dust rose in the air but it did not matter. Both Vivian and the boy were filthy, and if Mr. Fulbright lingered much longer he would surely end up dirty as well. Slapping his hat back onto his head, the child shrugged. “All I know is I’ve got an easy name to hear. When Mum hollers for me, I know it’s me she wants. Not a lot of Eddies, you know. Loads of Johns and Jacks but not so many Eddies. That’s all that really matters, Mum says.”
Vivian had missed something. “What’s all that matters?”
As philosophically as a young child might, he shrugged and said, “Why, knowing where your home is, miss. Mum says that as long as I know where to go when I’m called, I’ll always be all right. She says the heart’ll lead me home every time. That’s what she says, leastways.”
“Your mother is a smart woman.” It was hard, but she kept her voice from giving any hint at the lump that had formed in her throat.
“I think so. Well, thanks a bunch for pulling me out of the chimney, miss.” Eddie tipped his cap. Then he turned to the man and said, “And thank you, sir, for helping get us both out of there.” He gathered his brushes, tucked them beneath one arm and turned for the door. Pausing in the doorway, he looked seriously at Vivian. “Now don’t you go getting ideas about climbing in there again, miss. It’s no place for a lady.”
“I shall remember that, Eddie. Thank you for the advice.” Vivian dipped a tiny curtsey as Eddie dashed out the door and down the hallway. They heard his footsteps grow faint. Then, the sound of his boot soles on the stairs.
When they were alone, she became conscious of her dishevelment. She did not know why it mattered, only that it did.
As if reading her mind, Mr. Fulbright reached out and swept a fingertip over her cheek. To her horror, when he pulled it back it was blackened.
“Oh, I know I look awful. I did not plan…that is, I do not make it a habit of—”
“Rescuing small boys? Really, Miss Fox, do not apologize. Who knows how long that climbing boy would have been trapped in the chimney if you had not come to his aid?” His smile was warm, and his words equally so.
Vivian forgot her appearance when his gaze caught hers. The flecks of amber in the man’s eyes looked like bits of gold, and she could not pull her gaze from his.
A woman could get lost in those eyes.
When Mr. Fulbright placed a hand on her shoulder and leaned close, his eyebrows knit, she realized she was staring. Mortification made her face hotter, and she dropped her gaze to the floorboards as she scrambled for some way to extricate herself.
“Are you sure you are all right?”
She nodded. “I am fine, thank you.” Then a thought struck her. She looked up and asked, “How did you know the climbing boy was missing?”
He put his hand in his trouser pocket and rocked back on his heels. “I met the chimney sweep as he was coming down from the roof. He asked if I had seen a young boy. When I said I had not, he said the climbing boy had gone into one of the chimneys over an hour before. I just assumed he was stuck somewhere, so I came to take a look.”
“How did you know exactly which floor he was on? More to the point—how did you decide which room to search?”
The manor had several chimneys, and numerous fireplaces. It seemed a miracle that the boy had been found at all.
“Why, I followed your trail, of course.” Mr. Fulbright grinned, looking so satisfied that she smiled in return.
“My trail?”
When he pulled his hand from his pocket and uncurled his fist, two lengths of lavender embroidery floss laid across his palm. “Your trail, Miss Fox. One on the stairs and the other was just outside the door. So, you see, it was not at all difficult to track you—and Eddie—down. Quite easy, in fact.”
****
“So you are saying you did not have a pleasant excursion with Vivian? Is that it?”
Oliver hated to displease his mother but he could not give her what she so plainly sought. Still, it would not do to make the outing sound as if it had been to the devil’s lair instead of the horse auction.
“I thought we discussed this yesterday when I returned home.” Had he realized he would be rehashing yesterday’s news, he would have remained in his rooms.
“Yesterday you were less than chatty. I know you well; there are things you are not telling me about what went on in Town. Standing in for Vivian’s mother, as I am while she is visiting, gives me cause to understand what—and who—may be vexing the poor girl.” His mother watched him over the rim of her tea cup. “So, you are saying you did not have a pleasant time with her?”
“I am saying that our trip to Tattersall’s was not as enjoyable as I had hoped it would be.” He stood, and then proceeded to pace the floor in his mother’s sitting room. There were numerous hassocks and tables filled with bric-a-brac to avoid so his stride was shorter than the norm but just being up and about released some of the pent-up energy that pulsed through him. Oliver took a full turn around the room before he spoke again. “Actually, the ride there, as well as most of the hours we spent at the auction, was agreeable. It wasn’t until I purchased a lovely gray mare that Vivian cut up my peace.”
“What disturbed her? The horse could not have been a bone-setter, not if it was up for sale at the auction.” Lady Gregory frowned, a gesture Oliver saw so infrequently it held his attention for almost a full minute. He stared at her until she prompted, “Well? Oliver? Are you listening to me, or am I just sitting here talking to myself?”
“I am sorry. I am listening—and you are not talking to yourself, I promise.”
“That is good to hear. Talking to oneself, especially at my age, is not advantageous. It might get me a padded room at Bedlam if anyone caught me at it.” Her eyes sparkled, the frown on her face pulled up to a twitching smile.
The joke hit its mark. He stopped pacing, sat down in the chair across from hers and chuckled. Shaking his head, Oliver said, “Oh, Mother, you are a lark. No one would ever take you for being befogged. Quite the opposite, in fact. You are the one person I know who always seems to put a finger on the pulse of a situation.”
“Tell me the situation, then, and we will see if we can unravel what has you so tied up,” Lady Gregory said gently.
When he was a little boy he had sat in this very same room and heard those exact words on many occasions. Then, his troubles had been of the quickly solvable, boyish variety. Now, they were more complicated and while he loved his mother’s willingness to help he was not at all sure she could “unravel” things that easily.
What did he have to lose? He was getting no closer to tracking down the thief or discerning the intricacies of their visitor’s character than he had been a day ago. Why not get another perspective?
“Vivian seemed to get pleasure from looking at the horses. She petted many but fell in love with the one gray mare. I thought she would be happy when it was one of those I purchased.”
He paused, the recollection of her joyful laughter at the moment she realized the gray was his causing his heart to swell. She had clapped her hands the way an entertained child might, and he had loved seeing her so pleased.
Then, things had turned unpleasant.
Oliver shook his head but he could not erase the memory of the harsh words they had shared. “She got annoyed when she found out that most, if not all, of the horses I bought yesterday will be sold once the fox hunt is over. She does not care for the idea at all, and says that it is a… She said that I am…” He still could not believe
what she had said, what she had accused him of being. No one—not even when he was at his most pitiful or furthest out of control—had called him what she had. No one!
“What did she say, dear? It cannot have been that bad.”
His mouth tasted sour, as if he had swallowed a cupful of vinegar. “She said that it is cruel to sell the horses just when they will grow accustomed to living here. And she said that I am…”
“What did she call you?”
He swallowed the sour taste in his mouth, and then spat the word. “Heartless. She says only someone without any heart would do something so cruel.”
Lady Gregory sat back in her chair and crossed her legs. One foot wiggled in midair, sending the hemline of her skirt fluttering. She looked dangerously close to laughing, although he could not see how she could feel thusly. How could she be amused by his dressing down?
“You said as much yesterday. Now, dear, you cannot believe she actually meant that. It is evident that you two were on opposing sides of the fence, that’s all. Why, Vivian would think that the horses should remain at in our stables. Why would she feel they should be shuffled off to other estates when they might have a comfortable existence right here?”
She had a point, but he did not feel like giving in. Oliver sniffed his disagreement, which brought a fresh glance of amusement his way.
“I thought you would be on my side.”
“I am not on anyone’s side.” Her tone was soft by comparison to his rough one. “I am only pointing out that Vivian would think anyone heartless who would turn any creature out.”
“It is not as if I plan on setting them loose on London’s streets, left alone to fend for themselves. I would find them fine homes, the way Father did when he thinned out the stables. This is no different—why, Father has been furnishing mounts for guests for years, and has always resold the horses once they have provided service. It is nothing new.”