by Rhys Bowen
I tried to retrace my steps to Belgrave Square, really wishing I’d taken the policeman’s advice and gone straight home. Then through the fog I heard a noise I recognized—a train whistle. So some trains were still running in spite of the fog, and Victoria Station was straight ahead of me. If I found the station I’d be able to orient myself easily enough. Suddenly I came upon a line of people, mostly men, standing dejectedly, scarves over their mouths, hands thrust into their pockets. I couldn’t imagine what they were doing until I smelled the boiled cabbage odor and realized that they were lining up for the soup kitchen at the station.
That was when I had a brilliant idea. I could volunteer to help out at the soup kitchen. If I volunteered there the family would approve, in fact the queen herself had suggested that I do some charity work, and at least I’d get one square meal a day until Binky and Fig arrived. I hadn’t been able to afford decent food for ages. In fact there was a horrid empty sick feeling in my stomach at this moment. I started to walk past the line to try to find somebody in charge when a hand shot out and grabbed me.
“ ’Ere, where do you think you’re going?” a big, burly man demanded. “Trying to cut in, weren’t you? You go to the end and take your turn like the rest of us.”
“But I was only going to speak to the people who run the kitchen,” I said. “I was going to volunteer here.”
“Garn—I’ve heard every excuse in the book. Go on, to the back of the queue.”
I turned away, mortified, and was about to slink off home when the man behind him stepped out. “Look at her, Harry. She’s all skin and bone and anyone can see she’s a lady, fallen on hard times. You come in front of me, ducks. You look like you’re about to pass out if you don’t get a good meal soon.”
I was about to decline this kind offer but I caught a whiff of that soup. You can tell how hungry I was when boiled cabbage actually smelled good to me. What harm could there be in sampling the wares before I offered my services? I gave the man a grateful smile and slipped into the line. We inched closer and closer and finally into the station itself. It had an unnaturally deserted air, but I heard the hiss of escaping steam from an engine and a disembodied voice announced the departure of the boat train to Dover, awaking in me a wistful longing. To be on the boat train to Dover and the Continent. Wouldn’t that be ripping?
But my journey terminated a few yards ahead at an oilcloth-covered table to one side of the platforms. I was handed a plate and a spoon. A hunk of bread was dumped onto the plate and then I moved on to one of the great pots full of stew. I could see pieces of meat and carrot floating in a rich brown gravy. I watched the ladle come up and over my plate, then it froze there, in midair.
I looked up in annoyance and found myself staring into Darcy O’Mara’s alarming eyes. His dark, curly hair was even more unruly than usual and he was wearing a large royal blue fisherman’s sweater that went perfectly with the blue of his eyes. In short he looked as gorgeous as ever. I started to smile.
“Georgie!” He could not have sounded more shocked if I’d been standing there with no clothes on. Actually, knowing Darcy, he might have enjoyed seeing me standing in Victoria Station naked.
I felt myself going beet red and tried to be breezy. “What-ho, Darcy. Long time no see.”
“Georgie, what were you thinking of?” He snatched the plate away from me as if it were red-hot.
“It’s not how it looks, Darcy.” I attempted a laugh that didn’t come off well. “I came down here to see if I could help out at the soup kitchen and one of the men in line thought I was coming for food and insisted I take his place. He was being so kind I didn’t like to disillusion him.”
While I was talking I was conscious of mutterings in the line behind me. Good smells were obviously reaching them too. “Get a move on, then,” said an angry voice. Darcy took off the large blue apron he had been wearing. “Take over for me, Wilson, will you?” he called to a fellow helper. “I have to get this young lady out of here before she faints.”
And he almost leaped over the table to grab me, taking my arm and firmly steering me away.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, conscious of all those eyes staring at me.
“Getting you out of here before someone recognizes you, of course,” he hissed in my ear.
“I don’t know what you’re making such a big fuss about,” I said. “If you hadn’t reacted in that way nobody would have noticed me. And I really was coming to offer my services, you know.”
“You may well have been, but it is not unknown for gentlemen of the press to prowl the big London stations in the hope of snapping a celebrity,” he said in that gravelly voice with just the trace of an Irish brogue, while he still propelled me along at a rapid pace. “It’s not hard to recognize you, my lady. I did so myself in a London tea shop, remember? And can you imagine what a field day they’d have with that? Member of the royal family among the down-and-outs? ‘From Buckingham Palace to Beggar’? Think of the embarrassment it would cause your royal relatives.”
“I don’t see why I should worry about what they think,” I said. “They don’t pay to feed me.”
We had emerged from the soot of the station through a side door. He let go of my arm and stared hard at me. “You really wanted that disgusting slop they call soup?”
“If you must know, yes, I really did. Since my last attempt at a career last summer—a career you cut short, by the way—I haven’t earned any money and, the last time I heard, one needs money to buy food.”
His expression changed and softened. “My poor, dear girl. Why didn’t you let someone know? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Darcy, I never know where to find you. Besides, you seem to be broke yourself most of the time.”
“But unlike you I know how to survive,” he said. “I am currently minding a friend’s house in Kensington. He has an exceptionally good wine cellar and has left half his staff in residence, so I don’t do badly for myself. Are you still all alone at Rannoch House, then?”
“All alone,” I said. Now that the shock of seeing him in such upsetting circumstances had worn off, and he was looking at me tenderly, I felt as if I might cry.
He steered me to the edge of the curb and found a taxi sitting there.
“Do you think you could manage to find Belgrave Square?” he asked.
“I could give it a ruddy good try, mate,” the taxi driver replied, obviously only too glad to earn a fare. “At least we won’t have to worry about traffic jams, will we?”
Darcy bundled me inside and we took off.
“Poor little Lady Georgie.” He raised his hand to my cheek and stroked it gently, unnerving me even more. “You really aren’t equipped to survive in the big world, are you?”
“I’m trying to,” I said. “It’s not easy.”
“The last I heard of you, you were with your brother at Castle Rannoch,” he said, “which I agree is not the jolliest place in the world but at least you get three square meals a day there. What in God’s name made you leave and come down here at this time of year?”
“One word: Fig. She reverted to her usual nasty self and kept dropping hints about too many mouths to feed and having to go without her Fortnum’s jam.”
“It’s your ancestral home, not hers,” he said. “Surely your brother is grateful for what you’ve done for them, isn’t he? Their son would be dead and so might Binky be, had it not been for you.”
“You know Binky. He’s a likeable enough chap, but he’s too easygoing. Fig walks all over him. And he’s been laid up with that horrid infection in his ankle; it has left him really weak. So all in all it seemed more sensible to bolt. I hoped I’d be able to find some kind of work.”
“There is no work to be had,” he said. “Nobody is making money, apart from the bookies at the racecourses and the gambling clubs. Not that they make money out of me.” He gave me a smug grin. “I won fifty quid at the steeplechases at Newmarket last week. I might not know much but I do know my horses. If
my father hadn’t sold the racing stable, I’d be home in Ireland running it right now. As it is, I’m a rolling stone like you.”
“But you do work secretly, don’t you, Darcy?” I said.
“Whatever gave you that idea?” He shot me a challenging smile.
“You disappear for weeks at a time and don’t tell me where you’re going.”
“I might have a hot little piece on the side in Casablanca or Jamaica,” he said.
“Darcy, you’re incorrigible.” I slapped his hand. He made a grab at mine and held it firmly.
“There are certain things one does not discuss in taxi-cabs,” he said.
“I think this is Belgrave Square.” The taxi driver pushed open the glass partition. “Which house?”
“In the middle on the far side,” Darcy said.
We came to a halt outside Rannoch House. Darcy got out and came around to open the door for me. “Look, there’s little point in going out anywhere tonight in this fog,” he said. “It will be impossible to get a cab to drive us anywhere after dark. But it’s supposed to ease up a little tomorrow. So I’ll pick you up at seven.”
“Where are we going?”
“To have a good meal, of course,” he said. “Posh frock.”
“We’re not gate-crashing someone’s wedding, are we?” I asked, because we had done that the first time we went anywhere together.
“Of course not.” He held my hand as I started up the steps to the front door. “Society of Chartered Accountants dinner this time.” Then he looked at my face and laughed. “Pulling your leg, old thing.”
Chapter 3
Rannoch House
Wednesday, November 9
Fog has lifted. Dinner with Darcy tonight. Hooray.
I spent the day working on getting the house ready for impending doom. I took off dust sheets, swept carpets and made beds. I left laying the fires for another day. I didn’t want my hair to be full of coal dust when I went out with Darcy. You see how frightfully domestic I had become. I kept darting over to the window to make sure the fog wasn’t creeping in again, but a stiff breeze had sprung up and by the time I started to get ready for my date with Darcy, it had started to rain.
Having been home to Scotland, my posh frocks had been cleaned and pressed by my maid. I chose bottle green velvet and even attempted to tame my hair into sleek waves. Then I decided to go the whole hog and attacked my face with lipstick, rouge and mascara. I topped it with a beaver stole that was one of my mother’s castoffs and was actually looking quite civilized by seven. Then of course I worried that Darcy wouldn’t show up, but he was there on the dot, with a taxi waiting. We sped along Pall Mall, around Trafalgar Square and into the jumble of lanes behind Charing Cross Road.
“Where are we going?” I asked cautiously, as this part of the city seemed poorly lit and not too savory.
“My dear, I am taking you to my lair to have my way with you,” Darcy said in a mock villain voice. “Actually we’re going to Rules.”
“Rules?”
“Surely you must have eaten at Rules—oldest restaurant in London. Good solid British food.”
The taxi pulled up outside an unprepossessing leaded-glass window. We went inside and a delightful warmth met us. The walls were rich wooden paneling, the tablecloths starched and white, and the cutlery gleamed. A maitre d’ in tails met us at the door.
“Mr. O’Mara, sir. How delightful to see you again,” he said, whisking us through the restaurant to a table in a far corner. “And how is his lordship?”
“As well as can be expected, Banks,” Darcy said. “You heard that we had to sell the house and the racing stable to Americans and my father now lives in the lodge.”
“I did hear something of the kind, sir. These are hard times. Nothing makes sense anymore. Except Rules. Nothing changes here, sir. And I believe this must be the old Duke of Rannoch’s daughter. It’s an honor to have you here, my lady. Your late father was a frequent visitor. He is much missed.”
He pulled out a chair for me while Darcy slid onto a red leather bench.
“Everyone who is part of London history has eaten here.” Darcy indicated the walls, lined with caricatures, signatures, and theatrical programs. And indeed I could make out the names of Charles Dickens, Benjamin Disraeli, John Gals-worthy, even Nell Gwyn, I believe.
Darcy studied the menu while I was gazing around the walls, trying to see if my mother or father had made it into the array of signed photographs.
“I think tonight we start with a dozen Whitstable oysters each,” he said. “Then for soup it has to be the potato leek. You do it so well. Then some smoked haddock and of course the pheasant.”
“An admirable choice, sir,” the waiter said, “and may I suggest a very fine claret to go with the pheasant? And perhaps a bottle of champagne to accompany the oysters?”
“Why not?” Darcy said. “Sounds perfect to me.”
“Darcy,” I hissed as he went away, “this is going to cost a fortune.”
“I told you, I won fifty pounds on the gee-gees last week,” he said.
“But you shouldn’t spend it all at once.”
“Why not?” He laughed. “What else is money for?”
“You should keep some for when you’re hard up.”
“Nonsense. Something always turns up. Carpe diem, young Georgie.”
“I didn’t study Latin,” I said. “Only French and useless things like piano and etiquette.”
“It means seize the day. Don’t ever put off anything you want to do because you’re worried about tomorrow. It’s my motto. I live by it. You should too.”
“I wish I could,” I said. “You seem to fall on your feet, but it’s not that easy for a girl like me who has no sensible education. I’m already considered a hopeless case—twentytwo and on the shelf.”
I suppose I hoped he’d say something about marrying him someday, but instead he said, “Oh, I expect a likely princeling will show up in good time.”
“Darcy! I’ve already turned down Prince Siegfried, much to the annoyance of the family. They’re all equally bad. And they are being assassinated with remarkable frequency.”
“Well, wouldn’t you want to assassinate Siegfried?” he asked with a laugh. “I know I would. My fingers are itching for his throat each time I see him. But some of the Bulgarians are okay. I was at school with Nicholas and he’s the heir to the throne. He was a damned good scrum half on the rugby team.”
“And to a man, that makes him good husband material?”
“Of course.”
The champagne bottle opened with a satisfying pop and our glasses were filled. Darcy raised his to me. “Here’s to life,” he said. “May it be filled with fun and adventure.”
My glass clinked against his. “To life,” I whispered.
I am not a big drinker. After the third glass of champagne I was feeling decidedly carefree. The soup somehow came and went. So did the smoked haddock. A bottle of claret was opened to go with the pheasant, which appeared swimming in rich red-brown gravy with tiny pearl onions and mushrooms around it. I found myself deciding that I’d been stupid, trying to earn my own living. Life was for having fun and adventure. No more gloom and doom.
I finished every morsel on my plate, then worked my way through the bread and butter pudding and a glass of port. I was feeling content with the world as the taxi whisked us back to Rannoch House. Darcy escorted me up the steps and helped me put the key in the door when I was having trouble locating the lock. At the back of my brain a whisper was saying that I was probably just a little drunk while another whisper added that I probably shouldn’t be letting Darcy come into the house late at night when I was all alone.
“Holy Mother of God, but it’s cold and bleak in here,” Darcy said as we closed the front door behind us. “Is there nowhere warm in this confounded place?”
“Only the bedroom,” I said. “I try to keep a fire going in there.”
“The bedroom. Good idea,” he said and steer
ed me toward the staircase. We ascended together, his arm around my waist. I wasn’t conscious of taking the steps. I was half floating, intoxicated with the wine and his closeness.
The last embers of a fire still glowed in the bedroom fireplace and it felt comfortably warm after the frigidity of the rest of the house.
“Ah, that’s better,” Darcy said.
I saw the bed before me and flung myself down on it. “Ah, my bed. Bliss,” I said.
Darcy stood looking down at me with amusement. “I must say, that wine certainly has done wonders for your inhibitions.”
“As you very well knew it would,” I said, wagging a finger at him. “I know your evil intentions, Mr. O’Mara. Don’t think I can’t see through them.”
“And yet I haven’t noticed your telling me to go.”
“You just said that the purpose of life was to have fun and adventure,” I said, kicking off one shoe so violently that it flew across the room. “And you’re right. I’ve been miserable and boring for too long. Twenty-two years old and a boring virgin. What is the point of that?”
“No point at all,” Darcy said softly, removing his overcoat and draping it over the back of a chair. His jacket followed and then he loosened his tie.
“Don’t leave me all alone here, Darcy,” I said in what I hoped was a seductive voice.
“I’ve never been known to turn down an invitation like that,” Darcy said. He sat to take off his shoes, then he perched on the edge of the bed. “You’ll make that lovely dress all rumpled. Let me help you off with it, my lady.” He lifted me into a sitting position, which was no longer easy, as my limbs didn’t seem to want to obey me and I have to confess that the room was swinging around just a little. I felt his hands down my back as he undid the hooks on my dress. I felt it swishing over my head and then the cold air on the silk of my underslip.
“I’m cold.” I shivered. “Come and keep me warm.”
“To hear is to obey,” he said and took me into his arms. I turned my face toward him and his lips found mine. The kiss was so intense and demanding that I found it hard to breathe. His tongue was exploring my mouth and I was floating on a pink cloud of ecstasy.