by Shana Galen
You think I’m nice?
She had to remember he was a man. Everything he did was for his own selfish reasons. She could not fathom what those might be, but she did not trust him.
Seven
Neil needed a drink. He hadn’t had so much as a sip of wine since he’d arrived at the orphanage. Without drink to smooth the edges, he felt his emotions too keenly. Since coming back from the war, Neil had learned that feeling anything was dangerous. He didn’t want to relive the anguish he’d felt when his brother had died or when Draven’s men had been killed. He’d felt it all too powerfully, and he’d been powerless to do anything about it.
Now, the rawness of the pain and loss he’d suffered seeped in again. And with those emotions came others. Neil couldn’t have said why, but when he’d heard Lady Juliana’s voice on the other side of the kitchen door, in reply to Charlie, his chest had tightened and his heartbeat quickened. He’d been eager to see her, anticipated the look on her face when she saw the meal he’d helped the boys prepare.
And then he’d seen her—her body wrapped in the long, flowing lines of the dress and her hair perched delicately on her head, making the graceful nape of her neck appear porcelain against the blue of the dress. He’d been momentarily stunned by how much he wanted her approval of the breakfast. And then when she’d given it, he wished all the boys would disappear so he could take her in his arms and…
What would he have done? Kiss her? To what end? She was an unmarried lady, not a widow or an actress. He could be attracted to her, but he couldn’t act on it. And that was for the best, because while he was here, he had to maintain strict control. He had his orders. Today he would make sure the building was secure for the boys’ safety. She’d taken steps to hire a new cook and a new teacher. Once those servants were here to take care of the orphanage, she’d have to admit she was not needed here.
When all the boys had finished ladling porridge into their bowls and each taken two rolls from the basket, he filled his own bowl and took a seat at the head of the older boys’ table. He couldn’t think for all the noise the lads made, and he sent a look down the table that had the effect of stopping the conversations in midstream. The little boys quieted, and Neil looked at Lady Juliana, whose eyes were wide at the sudden silence.
“My lady,” he said, “have you seen Mr. Goring this morning?”
She sipped her tea and replied, “I have, Mr. Wraxall. He stepped out for a moment to fetch his own breakfast.”
“But why?” Robbie interrupted. “We made enough for him.”
Neil gave the lad a long look, and Robbie bowed his head. “Sorry, Major. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s fine, Robbie,” Lady Juliana said.
Neil frowned again. The lad would never learn discipline if she didn’t correct him.
“I believe Mr. Goring wasn’t certain whether enough had been prepared for him. He did not want to assume.”
Neil could tell she was lying because she didn’t want to hurt the boys’ feelings. Goring probably hadn’t believed the boys could cook a decent meal. Hell, Neil wasn’t sure he’d believed it either. But Neil suspected wherever Goring went he had a reason for going other than fear over lumpy porridge. Jasper would be watching, and Neil would know soon enough.
“Since we don’t know when Mr. Goring will return, I’ll need you boys to help me with some of the tasks I had planned,” Neil said.
Most of the younger boys cheered while the older boys looked wary.
“What sorts of tasks, Mr. Wraxall?” Lady Juliana asked.
Neil took a bite of his roll. Considering the limited ingredients he and the boys had had to work with, it was not bad. “Securing the locks, mending broken stairs, and the like.”
“Oh, but those are Mr. Goring’s responsibilities. I am certain he will return within the hour.”
Neil was far less certain. He didn’t think the man would be back until midday, if at all. But that wasn’t the point. “My lady, may I speak with you privately?”
Her brows rose. “Of course. We can speak in the parlor after breakfast.”
Neil rose. “We’ll speak now.”
Her brows lowered again, and she gave him a poisonous look. Slowly, she rose and placed her napkin in her chair. “We will be back in a few minutes, children.”
The boys nodded, keeping their heads down. All except Walter, who grinned as though he expected his headmistress to be scolded and enjoyed the idea.
Lady Juliana swept out of the room, and Neil followed her. She went directly to the parlor and held the door open until he crossed the threshold. Then she closed the door quietly and marched to stand before him. She was petite and she had to look up at him, but that didn’t seem to cow her.
“I don’t know what you are used to in your everyday life, Mr. Wraxall, but let me make one thing clear—you do not give me orders.”
Neil felt the prick of heat that indicated she’d fired his temper. He pushed it down. “Someone needs to.”
Her dark eyes grew round with an emotion somewhere between surprise and fury. “I assure you, sir, that someone is not you. I have been running this orphanage for several months now, and in that time—”
“In that time, you’re lucky it hasn’t fallen apart or worse.” He inclined his head. “I suppose I should not interrupt you, either, but I don’t have time for social niceties.”
“You, sir, are no gentleman,” she said, then immediately covered her mouth. “I do apologize. I should not have said that.”
It was one of the worst insults a lady might mete out, but Neil would not allow it to faze him. “No, you are correct, my lady. I am no gentleman. I’m a bastard, as you must know, and I promise you that I no more want to surround myself with a dozen boys who remind me of my own bastardy every time I look at them than you want to look at me yourself.”
“That’s not what I—”
“But I have my orders, and I will follow them. As you have no teacher for the boys yet, I will keep them employed with assisting me by making repairs around the orphanage.” He began to pace. “The smaller ones can fetch and carry, while the older ones can do most of the work. By the end of the day, I expect the stairs will be sound, the windows and doors secure, and all the chimneys clean so they are not a fire hazard.”
“I’ll allow that.” Her voice made him stop in his tracks. “On one condition.”
“You will allow it?”
“Yes. I am headmistress of this building, and I am responsible for the welfare of these children. That is not a question legally. The board of directors has put me in a position of authority.”
Neil folded his arms over his chest. “Is my father on the board?”
She advanced on him. “Is that a threat, Mr. Wraxall?”
“Clearly. And I do not make frivolous threats. I would prefer to complete my orders by sending you home to your father. Since you won’t comply with that directive, then my only choice is to do what is necessary to ensure your safety and well-being on these premises. If you attempt to hamper my efforts, I will take whatever measures necessary to defeat you.”
“Am I an opponent to be defeated?”
She was angry. He could see the stains of pink on her cheekbones, but it was better they have this conversation now and put everything out in the open. He could do what was necessary more quickly then, and she’d know her place. “You tell me,” he answered.
“I will tell you, Mr. Wraxall.” She poked him in the chest. “You are a bastard, but not by virtue of your birth. No. In that way, you have no right to compare yourself to these children, who bear no shame for the sins of their parents. You are a bastard because you think you have the right to come in here and throw your power around just because you see me as a defenseless woman in charge of defenseless children.” She poked him again. “I have news for you, Wraxall. I have known men like you, and I am
far from defenseless. You have today and today only to complete your sacred orders, and then I want you out. If you don’t leave, I will have you physically thrown out, and I’ll make certain both my father and yours know of your unpardonable behavior.”
Neil felt heat creep along the back of his neck. What she threatened would indeed cause him no end of explaining and probably anger his father and St. Maur. She wasn’t worth it, and neither was the orphanage.
“That won’t be necessary, my lady. I will finish today and be gone tonight.”
She nodded once. “Good.”
“Is that all?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Good.” He opened the parlor door and stormed out.
* * *
Julia’s legs felt wobbly as she reached tentatively for a chair. Finding one of the armchairs, she lowered herself into it slowly and took a shaky breath. How dare he threaten her! How dare he speak of her boys as bastards! He did not want to look at them? Fine. She didn’t want to ever see his face again.
She didn’t go back to the dining room. She was too angry, and she knew her feelings would show on her face. If one of the boys were to ask what the matter was, she’d probably burst into tears. Not because she was weak. No. Because she was so angry that all she could think to do was wail with fury. She busied herself in the parlor with the account books, answering correspondence, and studying lists of inventory the cook had made up before she had left.
By the time she glanced at the clock again, it was almost eleven. She’d been aware of the sound of the boys’ voices and the tapping of hammers and louder banging on occasion, but now she realized she hadn’t been bothered once all morning. For all that Mr. Wraxall was an arse, he seemed to have the children well in hand. They would probably be hungry for lunch, and she would make sure all was well before making sandwiches for the midday meal.
She opened the parlor door and made her way into the entryway. She stopped at the opening and stared at the activity. Boys sat on the stairs, hammers in hand, nailing boards down. The younger boys stood ready with nails, while the older boys pounded or ripped out rotten boards and called for younger boys to bring new pieces of wood. At the door stood Mr. Wraxall with Walter and Robbie. He was showing the two how to install a new dead bolt. Outside the open door, two of her boys painted the steps leading up to the orphanage door. And since the door was open, she could see the dark clouds gathering behind them. It would rain this afternoon and the rain would likely be heavy. It was a good thing she did not need pots and pans to make sandwiches.
“It looks as though you have been working very hard, boys.” She did not look at Mr. Wraxall, but she could feel his gaze on her, and it made her want to shuffle her feet. She forced herself to stand still.
“We have! We have!” James told her, his high voice even higher with excitement. “Come and try the steps. They don’t creak anymore.”
“I shall try them when you have finished. In the meantime, I thought I would make sandwiches. You must have worked up an appetite.”
There was a chorus of ayes and hurrahs.
“Good. Then I will call you when the meal is ready.”
Still without looking at Mr. Wraxall, she made her way to the kitchen, laid out bread and sandwich items, and put together two dozen sandwiches. It took her three trips to carry all the sandwiches and the pitchers of lemon water to the dining room, but when she’d finished and set the tables, she called the boys. The sound of their progress was what she imagined a stampede of wild animals in Africa must sound like, and she quickly moved out of the way lest she be trampled. It wasn’t until after the boys were all seated with food and drink and had said a prayer that she noticed Mr. Wraxall had not come to the dining room.
“My lady,” Michael was telling her, “did you know we used one hundred and twelve nails so far today?”
“Goodness. That many?” She spied Charlie stuffing part of a sandwich crust in his pocket. “Charlie, what are you doing?”
“I thought I’d feed this to Matthew, Mark, and Luke.”
Of course. The cook usually gave the boys scraps from the kitchen for the rats. “You go ahead and eat that,” she told Charlie, “and I’ll bring them an apple, cheese, and a piece of bread after lunch.”
“All that?” Charlie smiled. “They won’t be able to finish it.”
“Then they will have the leavings for dinner.” She scooted Charlie’s plate closer to the edge of the table so fewer crumbs would fall on the floor. Charlie’s and the other young boys’ eyelids drooped. She’d have to encourage them to nap after lunch. “Michael, where is Mr. Wraxall?” she asked.
“With that man,” Michael said.
Julia glanced at the older boys’ table. At her look, several of them nodded. “What man?” she asked.
“He wore a mask,” Michael said. “Like a highwayman.”
Sean nodded. “It’s true. And he seemed to come out of nowhere. Ralph and I were painting outside, and he wasn’t there. Then we looked up, and he was right before us.”
“He was like a spirit,” Ralph said. “He didn’t even walk up the steps. We would have seen him.”
Julia stood. “Robbie, make sure all the boys finish their lunches and then take their plates back to the kitchen. I need to speak with Mr. Wraxall.”
Robbie was on his feet. “Yes, my lady.”
She started for the doorway, and when she reached it, she noticed Robbie was still standing and Billy had joined him. “Why are you still standing?” she asked.
“The major says a gentleman stands when a lady stands.”
“Too bad you’re no gentleman,” Walter muttered loudly enough for her to hear.
“Well, I think it shows very good manners.”
Michael and Sean jumped up too.
“Thank you, gentlemen.”
She left the dining room and closed the door behind her. As much as she wanted to dislike Major Wraxall, he was making it more and more difficult. But she’d see what this meeting with the masked man was all about.
Wraxall was not in the entryway, which smelled of freshly cut wood and wet paint. She was about to check in the parlor when she heard a murmur of voices outside the door. The new bolt had been installed, but it was not in use. Quietly, she pulled the door open.
And came face-to-face with a man in a black silk mask.
His hair was covered by a length of black silk tied at the back of his neck, and he wore a black mask that covered most of one side of his face and the upper portion of the other. Behind the mask, eyes the blue of the sea before a storm looked at her. “Who are you?” she blurted out, putting a hand to her pounding heart.
“This is a friend of mine.”
She turned to see Wraxall moving closer to her. She hadn’t even noticed him when she’d stepped outside. The wind blew fiercely, making the branches of the birch tree bow and wave. “I see. What is he doing here?”
“He’s good at finding people. I asked him to look for Mr. Goring.”
“Mr…” Belatedly, she realized she hadn’t seen him all morning and hadn’t even thought to look for him. With Wraxall nearby, she hadn’t needed the servant, though he certainly could have made himself useful lighting fires in the grates or carrying the trays into the dining room for her. How long had she been relying on herself and not noticing the manservant’s absence? “Mr. Goring hasn’t returned then.”
Wraxall shook his head. “I think he’s long since had his breakfast.”
“Oh dear. I hope nothing has happened to him.”
“He’s perfectly well. I have just come from him,” said the man in the mask, his voice a deep rumble. “He is sitting at the Ox and the Bull.”
“What is that?”
“An alehouse nearby,” Wraxall told her. “One Slag and his gang frequent.”
A shiver of unease ran up her spine. Goring had
been the one to tell her to keep her distance from Mr. Slag. He’d been the one to tell her Slag’s gang ran all Spitalfields. Lately, Slag had been paying more attention to her, and Goring hadn’t been able to keep the crime lord out. But she couldn’t think of any reason Goring should wish to spend any time in Slag’s establishment.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “Is Mr. Slag keeping Mr. Goring there against his will?”
“No,” the masked man told her. “Your servant seems quite content to partake of Mr. Slag’s hospitality.”
“What of his duties here?”
“Lord Jasper and I believe your servant may have found a new master,” Wraxall told her.
Julia stared at the masked man. He was a lord?
“We think Slag is paying Goring for access to you,” Wraxall continued.
A thousand possibilities flew through her mind in that moment, swirling about like the leaves dancing in the wind along the street. She knew exactly why Slag wanted access to her. He wanted her father’s money or her as his mistress. “But Mr. Goring warned me away from Mr. Slag. Why would he do that if he was working for the man?”
“Perhaps he wasn’t working for him initially,” Wraxall said, “but every man has his price. Whatever the case, Goring is working for Slag now.”
“Then I shall dismiss him immediately.”
Wraxall held up a hand. “Not so quickly. Take away Slag’s perceived pathway to you, and he’ll be forced to find another or do something more dramatic. Now that we know of Mr. Goring’s duplicity, we can watch him and discover Slag’s plans.”
“And then what?” she asked.
“And then we persuade Mr. Slag you are not worth the trouble.”
“That sounds like a job for the Protector,” the masked man said. “If you have no more need of me at the moment, I’ll take my leave. I think I’ve scared enough women and children for one day.”
“You didn’t frighten us,” Julia lied. “I was not expecting you.”
The masked man’s eyes met hers with a penetrating stare. “Would you like me to scare you?” He touched his mask. “The few women who’ve looked on me without my mask have either screamed or fainted. Which would you be?”