Lydia gave her a much-abbreviated version of her rescue, leaving out the fact that Mr Chase and his fellows even now stood on guard. She did not even consider mentioning how attractive he was.
“Fascinating, Lydia.” Irina seemed content with the story, or at least she had no further questions.
Snapping her fingers at Ida, which meant she wanted her cloak, Irina gathered her reticule. “I will go say hello to Grandmama while I am here.”
“Please do not, Irina. In the time it takes for you to hand your cloak to Delphie, you and Grandmama will be shouting at each other. I promise you that I will arrange for another meeting with Mr. Allerton to discuss our business collaboration. He will have the use of the dye recipe. Even Grandmama agrees to that since you will be the one to inherit it eventually.”
“That’s what you said last week when you made the appointment that you canceled.” Irina could not hide her petulance.
“What happened last night was beyond all imagining and I must be excused. I know Mr. Allerton has gone to Manchester, but I promise that as soon as he returns, I will reschedule the meeting. Please trust me in this.”
“All right.” Irina’s agreement was suspect. Trust did not come easily to any of the Chernovs. Grandmama was right about that.
With the same flurry in which she’d arrived, Irina left the shop and the carriage sped away.
“What I want to know, missus, is how come you are not the one to inherit the recipe, since you are Mr. Chernov’s widow? Is it some devilish Russian law?”
Before Lydia could think of an explanation or even a reprimand for such familiarity, the delicate ting of the shop bell distracted both of them. Mr. Chase entered, leaving the boys still on guard outside.
“Go work in the back, Ida.”
“I’ll have some tea,” Ida said with a sniff.
“Good morning, Mr. Chase,” Lydia began, and hoped the man could not hear the nerves in her voice. His smile astounded her. It filled his cheeks with dimples, and the lines around his eyes mirrored the grin. His blue, blue eyes went straight to her heart and brought color to her cheeks.
“Good morning, Mrs. Chernov.” He bowed as though he knew she was a lady disguised as a shopkeeper.
How could he know? No one knew. She busied herself tidying the counter. He knew nothing. The smile was all part of his game. She did not curtsy in return, but he did not seem offended by the insult.
“How are you this morning?” He took only one step closer, but now she could see the turquoise flecks in his dark blue eyes. Stop staring, she commanded herself. You are a grown woman.
“I’m very well.” She searched for something less intimate to discuss. “Thank you for the guard last night. I am sure his presence was the only reason that I slept at all.” As if how she slept was less intimate than her health. But she suspected that Mr. Chase could make a conversation about the weather too intimate a subject for a lady to discuss.
“If you have a moment, I can tell you what I found out about Nesbitt the Butcher.”
A thunk from the back told her that Ida was close enough to hear. That only strengthened her determination to keep this discussion about business. “Please, yes. Tuesdays are always quiet. Most of my customers know that Wednesday is the day for new fabrics. I used to try to entice them to come into the shop by holding back some of the bolts. But that created a sense of competition that is not what I had in mind at all.” She stopped herself and, touching the chain at her neck and the coin, she closed her eyes and drew a breath.
In a calmer voice, she began again. “My apologies. I am chattering because I am not sure I do want to hear who Nesbitt works for and why.”
Mr. Chase took her hand and warmed it between his. “I wish I could give you all the answers you need, even if you are not sure you want them, but I am not such a good investigator as that.”
Lydia pulled her hand from his. The kind of warmth his touch conveyed affected far more than her hand. He let it go without comment and continued.
“A friend of mine took on the task of locating Nesbitt. It should not have proved difficult and indeed it was not difficult to find his shop, since all involved in related trades are in the same area.”
“Not a place a gentleman would visit?” she asked, as if that was the reason Mr. Chase had not gone himself.
“Not at all. My friend is very adept at blending in. A skill that I have no talent for. I am too tall.”
Lydia pressed her lips together to keep from laughing. As if his height was the only reason people noticed him. What nonsense. His arresting looks and a certain charisma attracted attention the way a woman’s too revealing décolletage drew a man’s eyes.
He had actually reddened a little, so perhaps he was reading her mind again.
Lydia felt heartened at his discomfort, relieved to be one of two distracted by whatever floated in the air between them. Mr. Chase cleared his throat and went on.
“Nesbitt has not been in his shop for two days and did not come in this morning either.”
“But how can he stay in business if he is so unreliable?” She shook her head, that being the least important of the dozen questions that came to mind. “I beg your pardon, Mr. Chase, but as a shopkeeper I am appalled that anyone would be so irresponsible. It is very bad for business.”
“Yes, but we have established that Nesbitt has other sources of income. And he is also fortunate to have an apprentice who is five times the butcher Nesbitt is.”
“Then, in fact, we are no better off now than we were before your friend found the shop.”
FIVE
“We,” Chase thought. She had said, “We.” What was her Christian name? Thank the great and good she was a widow. Chase had thought her pretty last night by the scant light of gas lamps. If he had seen her in full light for the first time, he would have realized pretty did not do her justice. He thought a moment. Hers was a quiet beauty of which he was becoming more and more aware. Yes, quiet beauty was entirely accurate.
He cleared his throat again. “We have made progress. Fortunately for us, his apprentice enjoys talking. With the apprentice’s help, my friend learned Nesbitt’s direction and the places where he usually spends his day when he is not in his shop. The boy even agreed to send word when Nesbitt returns if we are not able to find him sooner.”
Mrs. Chernov nodded and her body lost some of the tension he had feared was due merely to his presence. Chase decided that we was fast becoming his favorite word.
“In any case, until we are able to find Nesbitt and are sure he has been convinced to find other interests, I will have my men and boys remain on watch to assure myself of your safety.”
She closed her eyes and he realized that the allure radiating from her eyes was the key part of her loveliness. He had not been able to see her golden blond hair last night or the lovely face framed by eyes of such amazing green that, when she closed them as she just had, his world dimmed a bit. He suspected that the rest of her, now covered in a gown of the most perfect shade of lavender, was every bit as alluring as her eyes. Face it, Chase, he said to himself. You are well on your way to playing the fool.
She opened her eyes and his world brightened.
“I wish I could say it was not necessary, Mr. Chase, but if I did not worry for myself, I have Grandmama to think of and the servants.”
“Yes, you do, and I’m relieved that you are being sensible.”
“Oh, Mr. Chase, if there is one thing I have learned how to be, it is sensible. Or perhaps prudent is the better word.”
He wanted the story, the whole miserable story, of how she learned that prudence was the better impulse.
She straightened and her eyes took on a stern cast. “Before we pursue this incident any further, Mr. Chase, I must know something.”
He nodded, willing to tell her his deepest secret if it meant her eyes would brighten again.
“Those boys who were on guard this morning—who are they and how are they related to you?”
“Not by blood but by friendship, for I have not yet married,” he answered promptly.
“A little less cryptic an explanation, if you please.” Her expression was as severe as an annoyed governess’s. One did not need to be married to have children. Was that what she thought? he wondered.
“They are being tutored by a man who is educated and understands their needs. He is willing to allow them an adventure when the need arises.”
“How odd. Where are their parents?” Mrs. Chernov said, raising a hand to her cheek.
“I have no idea.” And that was the complete truth, but he thought he’d best leave before he was compelled to lie. “For now I bid you good day.” He took her hand and bowed over it, wanting to press a kiss to the wrist or her palm but staying himself. His prudence, a virtue he rarely practiced, was going to be tested.
He paused at the door because he could not resist one last question. “Mrs. Chernov, what is your Christian name?”
She shook her head a little and pointed to the bolts of cloth behind her, an array of shades of purple that were the perfect backdrop to her golden beauty. An image of her, naked and wrapped in purple silk, distracted him quite thoroughly for a moment.
“My Christian name?” She paused and he wondered if she would refuse outright to tell him or if she was distracted by images of him naked as well. He could hope so.
“Well, Mr. Chase,” she said with a smile, not coy but teasing, “I do work with purple cloth.”
It meant nothing to him at first. “Could you be a little less cryptic?” he asked, smiling as he used her own phrase. Then it came to him. “Lydia!” he announced as he turned more fully toward her.
“Very good, sir.” She laughed and touched the chain at her neck. “You know the Bible.”
“Not all that well, I’m afraid. But I had a . . .” He stopped before he used the word tutor. “Um, teacher who insisted on starting each day’s lesson with readings from the New Testament.”
He closed the door that he had opened only a crack. “And what else do you share with St. Paul’s Lydia? It’s from one of his letters, is it not?”
“No, from Acts: ‘a certain woman named Lydia, a seller of purple.’ It’s unclear whether she sold the dye or the fabric, but for my purposes it’s fabric.”
“But the important thing about Lydia is that she was a successful woman of faith and generosity. A lovely name, Mrs. Chernov. You wear it well.”
“Thank you, Mr. Chase. I will see you tomorrow.”
It was a dismissal as surely as if she had opened the door for him, but he had left her smiling.
He admired so much about her besides her amazing beauty. She was brave, independent, and sensible, with a few less appealing attributes mixed in: cautious, skeptical, and prickly.
All of those qualities, the good and the less than perfect, would put him at a disadvantage when he told her his true name. How odd that the “advantage” of birth and wealth would not work in his favor at all.
Then she would have to decide if she wanted any more to do with him. And he wanted to be part of her life. As much as he wanted her physically, he wanted to know where she came from, why she lived here, what she hoped for the future. But he was afraid that once she knew who he was, the image of Lydia Chernov swathed in purple cloth might be as close as he would ever come to making love with her.
“Lydia, dearest, you must stop worrying. It has been days now and there has been no sign of trouble.” Grandmama struggled up from her seat and moved to the table, feeling her way to her place. “Come eat your dinner and tell me when you have rescheduled your meeting with Mr. Allerton.”
Lydia sat down and stared at the usually appetizing fish in a clear sauce. The filet was a modest serving at her request, but still she could not bring herself to do more than take one small bite. She made sure to clink the silver on the edge of the plate so that Grandmama would think she was eating.
“Mr. Allerton will be away for another week. Irina has been in once since Tuesday and is all impatience when there is nothing I can do about his travels.”
“Yes, Irina wants everything now, if not sooner, and you are left to pacify her as best you can. Wise you are to discourage her from calling on me, or I fear I would be reduced to poking my own granddaughter with my stick to make her leave.” Grandmama took a dainty bite of her fish before she went on. “Now, that gentleman who keeps calling. The one who rescued you. Please do send him up to visit.”
Lydia all but shuddered at the thought of Mr. Chase and Grandmama with their heads together. If Grandmama considered him worthy, Lydia would not have one secret left. Grandmama would tell him everything. God forbid, she prayed.
“I would not embarrass you, I promise, my dear one. I only want to meet the man who gives all appearances of appreciating what a treasure you are.”
And so it went. By the time Delphie had cleared away their supper and came to help Grandmama to bed, Lydia had a headache from Grandmama’s pressure, kindly meant, but pressure nonetheless. Taking a seat by the window, she thought about sending a cup of tea to the man standing on guard, but then she saw him take a drink from a bottle.
It was another drizzly, fog-bound night and she certainly did not begrudge him his bottle, but she found herself praying that he did not drink himself into oblivion.
Leaning back, she closed her eyes and wondered when Mr. Chase would decide that Nesbitt was done with her. They had only known each other for a short while, but already she knew she would miss Mr. Chase’s visits, the way he invited himself to take tea in the back room, how easily he coaxed her to tell him about the business, and the way he told stories about his boys and his own inclination to gamble.
“No more than is wise,” he’d insisted, telling her how he came to be in Birmingham for two more months.
“Of course, little did I know that this hiatus would be such a blessing in disguise. How else would I have met you?”
Was it a bad sign that his flirting no longer embarrassed her? She drifted off to sleep in the chair, wondering if he would stop at flirting and if she should introduce him to Grandmama. No one understood people better than she did.
Lydia was more asleep than awake when the sound came to her.
Wish.
It sounded like a slipper dragged across the floor, but she knew that Grandmama was abed and Delphie asleep on the pallet beside her.
Wish.
Lydia stiffened but kept her eyes closed. Could Alexei’s unquiet soul be haunting her, or was this her brain playing tricks? Finally she opened her eyes and looked around the night-darkened room. There were no apparitions, no signs of anything out of the ordinary. Her imagination, she decided. Indeed, if she was brutally honest with herself, she would have to admit that it was her own heart that was unquiet.
Lydia closed her eyes, thinking she should go to her room and make ready for bed, but she fell asleep before she gathered the energy to move.
SIX
Fog quieted everything and the damp air chilled him to the bone. Chase huddled in his greatcoat and wished he’d worn warmer gloves. Just as he was about to check his timepiece, he heard something other than the creak of old wood and brick buildings, more than the scratching of cats and rodents.
Footsteps.
Heavy footsteps.
Chase had learned over the last few nights that during his short stretch of guard duty, this street was virtually untraveled until first light. He had yet to see one man abroad, so the sound he heard now told him there was trouble on the way.
It came from the mews behind the building that housed Chernov Drapers. With his walking stick at the ready, he moved as quietly as possible down the alley between the bakery and the fabric shop. He leaned around the corner cautiously. And saw no one. Sheathing his half-released sword, he stepped more fully into the mews and went to test the door that was the back entrance to Mrs. Chernov’s flat.
“You’re mine now, you prissy fool!” Nesbitt bellowed.
Since Nesbitt w
as kind enough to announce his presence, Chase had time to see the heavy cudgel aimed for his head. He raised his left arm to stop the blow and released his sword from its cover.
Chase heard the crack before he felt the break in his arm. In that split second before the pain overwhelmed him, he raised his sword stick and ran it through Nesbitt’s arm. The man jumped back. You would think the fool would have learned the first time how dangerous the sword stick could be.
With his own wounded arm pressed against his chest, Chase dropped his sword and, using his good arm, landed one sound punch on Nesbitt’s jaw. The man collapsed to the ground like a woman in a dead faint.
Just as the altercation ended, the door of the baker’s shop opened, as did Mrs. Chernov’s door.
“What goes on here?” a man shouted.
“It’s all right, Mr. Florencio.” Lydia hurried to Chase.
Even through the haze of pain, Chase noticed that though her hair was tousled, she was still fully dressed, even with shoes on. Had she just risen or never slept?
Looking over her shoulder, she continued her explanation to the baker. “This gentleman has been guarding my place of late from just such an intruder as the man on the ground.”
“Ah, Mrs. Chernov. I thought that now with Mr. Chernov no longer among us, your life might be quieter.”
“Yes, well, it has been for most of this last year, and I hope it will be again soon.”
“You do not need my help?”
“No, thank you, sir. You are kind to offer it. But I think Mr. Chase can handle this miscreant. Indeed, it appears he already has.”
With a cautious nod, Mr. Florencio closed the door.
“Are you hurt, Mr, Chase?” Her voice was anxious. “It’s so dark. Come inside and let me see.”
Chase shook his head, even though he could feel where the bone was broken.
Holding his arm against his chest and doing his best to ignore the throbbing pain, Chase stepped away from her and nudged Nesbitt with his boot. The man groaned but did not open his eyes.
The Unquiet Page 14