She punched her pillow. “And where the hell does he get off tellin’ me I better not go through that front door while he’s gone? Oh, what I’m gonna tell him when he gets home! He said himself he liked it when I got mad at him, so I’ll be more’n happy to oblige him! I’ll knock him right off that high horse he’s gallopin’ around on! Dammit, by the way he orders everybody around, you’d think he was a duke himself!”
Antsy, she jumped off the bed, paced in a circle for a few moments, then returned to the window. A disturbance was happening in the street below. She saw a disabled carriage, one of its wheels lying broken on the pavement. A well-dressed man stood away from the coach, waiting patiently for two men to repair the vehicle.
She squinted to see the elegant man better, her eyes widening suddenly. “That’s a dukish man, Itchie Bon! Great day Miss Agnes, I can see his flarin’ nostrils from all the way up here!” Excitement rushing through her, she ran to the door, having every intention of flying downstairs to meet the man in the street. But as her hand turned the knob, she stopped. “I promised Saber,” she mumbled to her dog, “that I wouldn’t go through that front door.”
Her shoulders slumped, and she kicked a potted plant as she ambled back to the window. “Damn you, Saber! Damn this prison I’m in, and damn that stupid promise I made to you!”
Leaning against the sill, she placed her chin in her cupped hands and studied the fancy man below. “You could probably tell me everything I want to know,” she told him, her breath fogging the pane. “But there you are, down in the street, and here I am, up here lookin’ at you from the damn window.
“The window,” she repeated, lifting her head from her hands. “The window.” Swiftly, she opened it. A brisk breeze rushed through it, blowing her curls into wild disarray. “Oh, Itchie Bon, guess what I’m gonna do!”
Tearing back to the bed, she ripped the sheets off it, and quickly tied them together before attaching them to the leg of the heavy dresser near the window. She pulled on her homemade rope, satisfied it was strong enough to hold her weight, then dropped it down the side of the house.
As she prepared to descend, she threw a sheepish look at her dog. “Well, he said I couldn’t go through the front door, Itchie Bon. He didn’t say a damn word about the window. It’s his own fault. He should have given his royal orders in a clearer way.”
It took but a minute to scale down the side of the house. When her feet hit the ground, she turned and saw the elegant man staring at her. Smiling and waving to him, she skipped across the street and stopped before him.
“I saw you from my window up there,” she informed him, reaching for his hand and pumping it vigorously.
The man frowned at her window, at her, and the hand she was shaking. Pulling it away from her, he gave her his back.
Calmly, Goldie pulled a scrap of paper and a pencil from her pocket. “Dukish folks are rude,” she said, reading each word as she wrote it. She walked around him, facing him again. “Do somethin’ else. I’m takin’ notes, y’know.”
He lifted his chin. “Are you being punished, little girl? Is that why you escaped your house by way of the window?”
Goldie stiffened. “I’m almost nineteen,” she enlightened him, standing as tall and straight as she was able. “And I left the house from the window because...because the door’s locked, and I can’t find the key.”
He regarded her intently. “I see,” he said, rubbing his chin. “You are an American.”
She lifted her paper and pencil again. “Dukish folks don’t ask people about their heritage, they tell ’em,” she read while scribbling. Looking back up at him, she gave him a wide smile. “Y’say I’m American, huh? Well, I reckon I am, but there’s other ways of lookin’ at it, y’know. On my daddy’s side I’m English and Scottish. On Mama’s side I’m Polish and Switzerlandian.”
“Switzerlandian?” He frowned again. “I believe the word is Swiss.”
“All right, Swiss. And Mama said her family always suspected that an Oriental slipped in somewhere along the line. If that’s true, I wish I could have inherited his or her slanted eyes. Don’t you think slanted eyes are purty? If I had slanted eyes, I wouldn’t be so upset with my gold ones. I’m kinda gettin’ used to ’em though. Saber says they’re like dancin’ coins. Anyway, I’m part English, like I already told you. So in a way you and I are countrymen.”
The man stared down at her for a long moment before clearing his throat. “Yes, well, how may I help you? You climbed out of a second-story window to be with me. Considering your effort, I assume there is a reason why you wanted to see me?”
“Are you a dukish man?” she blurted, holding her breath while waiting for his answer.
“I beg your pardon?”
“A dukish man. You know—somebody like a duke. Maybe an earl? A baron? A knight? Does Queen Vicky really knight folks by puttin’ a sword on their shoulders? Mildred Fickle said she did. I always wondered what would happen if Queen Vicky tripped and accidentally stabbed the man instead of knightin’ him. What would happen if she—”
“Young lady, it is highly improper to call Her Majesty by such an indecent name. I realize you are an American, and as such you may not know any better. But you would do well to remember in the future.”
“Sorry,” she mumbled, making a mental note to remember not to nickname royal people. “Do you know Majesty Victoria?”
“Her Majesty the Queen,” he corrected her.
Goldie wrinkled her nose. “Well, do you know her?”
“As a matter of fact, I have the Queen’s ear.”
Goldie’s eyes widened. She took a step backward. “Do you have it with you?” she asked incredulously. “I’ve never seen an ear off somebody’s head before. How’d she lose it? Did she fall on her sword while knightin’ somebody? Why do you have it? Did she give it—”
“My word, miss! That is not what I meant at all! And for you to suggest that Her Majesty cut off her ear—Why, I don’t believe I’ve ever heard anything as preposterous in all my life!”
“But you said—”
“I merely meant that Her Majesty attaches great importance to my opinion. To have the Queen’s ear is not an expression to be taken literally. Now, if you will excuse me, I have had quite enough of this witter, thank you very much.”
“Witter?” Goldie lifted her pencil again. “What’s that?”
“Wittering, miss, is what you have a great talent for. It is pointless chatter.”
“Witter,” Goldie murmured, writing the word. “Do all dukish folks say that, or just you?”
He began to walk away.
“Wait!” she called, running after him. “Just answer a few more questions for me, and I’ll—”
“What exactly is it you want from me? During the past ten minutes, you have spoken to me about lineage, slanted eyes, Mildred Fickle, and accidental stabbings. Now I ask you, miss, what do those things have to do with me?”
“I don’t reckon they have anything to do with you. I just got off on those subjects. It’s fun to go off on tangents and see where you end up. Haven’t you ever done that?”
“I believe I have done so today, have I not? Really, miss, I must be going—”
“What did you have for breakfast this mornin’? One of the things I don’t know too much about is what dukish folks like to eat.”
He sighed deeply, but complied. “Kidneys in cream sauce, a bit of mutton, bread, almond pudding, and tea.”
She grimaced. “Saber’s all the time eatin’ kidneys too. He’s always tryin’ to get me to eat ’em with him, but me, I don’t eat guts. Can’t see ’em, can’t eat ’em. I like eggs and grits for breakfast.”
He sniffed haughtily, his nostrils flaring. “Young lady, I have never thought of kidneys as...guts. The very idea is revolting.”
“Then why do you eat ’em?”
“I assure you I will think twice before eating them again. You have spoiled for me what I once considered a fine meal.”
; “Grits are better anyway. Eat those instead. If you could have anything you wanted to eat, what would it be?”
The man glanced at his carriage, saw that it would be a few more minutes before he could escape inside it, and decided to make the best of his absurd situation. He looked back down at Goldie. “Without a doubt, it would be eel pie. I confess to having a terrible weakness for it, and often overindulge.”
Goldie shuddered visibly. “Great day Miss Agnes.”
“Is there something wrong with eel pie? Surely you don’t consider eels to be...guts, do you?”
“Well, no, but—Look, mister, I already spoiled kidneys for you. I don’t want to spoil your pleasure with eels too.”
“Nothing you say could spoil eel pie for me.”
She took his statement as a dare. “They’re slimy. May as well eat worms. Y’know, mister, I’m purty sure you’re dukish. You flare and wheeze better’n I ever saw anybody do it before. And you’ve got a real nice wiggle to your walk. But you could be even more dukish if you could manage to talk like Shakespeare. A cane and a white wig wouldn’t hurt either. Didn’t anybody ever tell you about those things?”
“A wiggle?” He closed his eyes for a moment, struggling for composure. When he opened them again, he saw his coach was ready, the footman waiting beside the door. “Miss, it has been a...an experience meeting you. The best of luck to you in all your endeavors—whatever they may be.”
“Just one more question. What’s your name?”
He took her paper and pencil from her and jotted down his name. “Good day.” With that, he walked to his carriage.
Goldie waved as it rumbled down the street.
* * *
Saber’s mind was still on his meeting with Tyler Escott when the coach halted in front of the house. Looking out, he saw a streamer of knotted sheets hanging from Goldie’s bedroom window. His first notion was that she’d washed them and hung them out to dry. But upon remembering that the house was full of servants, he discarded that assumption and became immediately angered when a second conclusion came to mind. He jumped out of the carriage and raced up the steps of the house. In the few seconds it took him to reach the front door, his anger had catapulted to fury.
“Saber!” Goldie called from across the street. She raced to the house, her curls flopping as she bounded up the steps. “See that carriage goin’ down the street?” she asked, pointing to it. “There’s a dukish man inside it, and I met and talked to him! He—”
Saber took her by her shoulders. “What in heaven’s name is that?” he demanded, motioning toward the sheets.
She waited to feel the hurt his anger would surely cause. It didn’t come. Instead, she felt flippancy. “It looks like a homemade rope to me.”
“And what, may I ask, is it doing there?” He clenched his jaw.
“Hangin’ out the window and flutterin’ in the breeze.” She noticed his jaw moving. “Saber, are you eatin’—”
“Goldie—” He broke off when Bennett, the butler, opened the door.
“Mr. West—Miss Mae!” Bennett exclaimed, his brow creased in confusion. “How did you—”
Goldie tossed him a bright grin. “I bet you’re wonderin’ what I’m doin’ out here, aren’t you, Bennett?”
“Bennett is not the only one,” Saber muttered, urging her inside. For the sake of the servants, several of whom were spying from various corners, he smiled and led Goldie upstairs. Once in her room, he marched straight to her window and pulled in the rope. “Explain this, Goldie.”
“I think you already know everything you’re askin’,” she replied, tossing her hair off her shoulders.
“You left the house. After I told you to—”
“You said I couldn’t go through the front door. You didn’t say a damn word about leavin’ through the window.”
He threw the sheets down and rammed his fingers through his hair. “Where did you go? You didn’t, God forbid, return to the East End, did you?”
“No, but if I’d wanted to, I would have.”
He stared at her. This was another glimpse of the new Goldie, he realized. One who not only stood up to him and bore his anger, but dared to disobey him as well. And as much as he wanted to stay mad at her, he couldn’t. She was wonderful this way, he decided. He loved seeing her look at him with such stubborn confidence in her beautiful eyes.
Still, he could not allow her to come and go as she pleased. It was simply too dangerous. He crossed to her, enfolding her in his arms. “The East End is a dangerous place, Goldie. All of London is full of perils. I’m only worried about your safety. If something happened to you while you’re in my care... God, poppet, I can’t even think about it.”
His gentle voice and sweet words touched her deeply. She hugged him to her, inhaling the scent of sandalwood that clung to his clothes. “I’m sorry for leavin’ the house, Saber. Really I am. I’m not usually this much trouble. But this duke stuff is so important to me that I just can’t calm myself down over it. And when I saw the dukish man in the street, I just had to talk to him. I was only outside for about fifteen minutes before you got here. Daddy’s honor, I’ll try not to worry you like that again.”
He didn’t miss the fact that she swore only to try. Smiling, he buried his face in her wind-blown curls, feeling them tickle his nose.
“You’re right to eat kidneys, y’know,” Goldie informed him. “Lord only knows how you can choke ’em down, but dukish folks eat ’em, Saber. And you might try bein’ a little rude every now and then too. The man I met today started out bein’ an ill-box. He came around after a while, but he never did fall all over himself tryin’ to be nice to me. Anyway, eat eel pie sometime too. And talk about the Queen’s ear. The dukish fella has it, y’know. And in case you don’t know, that isn’t a literal expression. It only means that the Queen listens to his opinions and usually thinks they’re right.”
“He has the Queen’s ear?” Saber’s mouth fell open. Many moments passed before he could properly phrase the question that exploded into his mind. “Goldie—Who—He—What was the man’s name? Did you find out who he was?”
She dug into her pocket, withdrawing her paper. “He wrote it down on here.”
Saber took it from her, examining it closely. His hand shook when he saw the name. “Oh, God.” He sat down upon the dressing-table stool and glanced at the name again. His only consolation was that the gentleman Goldie had met presented absolutely no danger to her.
He looked up at her, almost afraid to ask her what she’d said to the man. After all, he mused miserably, she could take the most innocent of subjects and turn them inside out before her listener had time to understand a word! “What did you talk about with the man, Goldie?”
“Oh, lots of things. Grits, stabbings, guts—”
“Guts?” Saber covered his face with his hands and looked at her through his fingers. “You talked about guts with Lord John Russell.”
“So? Who the hell’s Lord John Russell?”
“The Prime Minister of Britain.”
Chapter Fourteen
Asa looked up from the pile of dust on the stone floor of the cottage and saw Big busy hanging curtains at the window by the door. Quietly, he lifted the small throw rug by the hearth, and swept the dirt under it.
“I know what you did, Asa,” Big announced, without ever turning around. “Now you’ll have to beat the rug as well as sweep the dust outside.”
Asa cracked the broom over his knee. “I ain’t no damn maid, Big!”
“Nevertheless, you cannot leave the dirt under the rug. You don’t want Goldie to see it, do you?”
Asa shuddered with heartache, frustration, and his need for a whiskey. “No. No, I don’t want her to see it.”
“What do you think Goldie will say about the curtains we made?” Big asked, stepping back to examine them. “They cover the cracks in the panes nicely, don’t you think? For two men who have never held needles, I don’t think we did too badly. They—”
“My hands are shakin’ again. Big—Big, I need a drink. You don’t understand how hard it is.”
Big turned immediately, his heart going out to the suffering man. “Asa, no. Don’t. Think of how proud of you Goldie will be when she gets home. Think of how happy it’ll make her to know you’ve given up drinking. And don’t forget how much better a few of the villagers have been treating you since you’ve cleaned yourself up. Granted, they’re still wary, but they’re coming around. That will mean the world to Goldie.”
Asa clenched his huge fists to keep them from trembling. Thoughts of Goldie tumbled through his mind. He ambled to her cot, picking up the rag doll he’d bought her years ago. Smoothing his quaking hand over the doll’s stained face, he sighed deeply. “This is the only thing I’ve ever give her. Besides heartache. I’ve give her plenty of that.”
Big joined Asa at the cot. “Asa, I couldn’t believe it when I got here and saw the change in you. If your efforts to straighten yourself out don’t prove your love for her, I don’t know what does. How can you say you’ve never given her anything? One of her many dreams was for you to give up drinking. Well, you’re giving it to her now.”
Tears filled Asa’s bleary eyes. “I chopped down her tree.”
Big frowned in confusion. “You did a lot of things, Asa. The point is that you’re trying to change and—”
“I ain’t been without her since the day we laid her mama and daddy to rest. She’s been taggin’ along in my shadow for some twelve years, Big. I never paid much attention to—I—She—I didn’t understand how much she meant to me until I stayed sober long enough to realize I didn’t have her no more. God Almighty, Big, she had so many dreams. She’d tell ’em to me sometimes, but I never listened real good. I—I didn’t make none of her dreams come true for her. I’ve given the girl nothin’ but tears and problems. Now she’s done grown up on me, and I ain’t never gonna get another chance to be with the little girl she used to be.”
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