Bees in the Butterfly Garden (The Gilded Legacy)

by Maureen Lang

  Madame Marisse’s Handbook for Young Ladies

  As Meg anticipated, the following day produced sunny skies. And though Claire told the driver they would stay in the open carriage and forgo the still-wet pedestrian paths, Meg was so eager to look for Ian that she refused to worry over details. She had every reason to hope she would see him soon—perhaps even today.

  The driver took them through the menagerie, past the bear cage and the swans in the pond, past the peacock that unfolded its colorful tail. It was as if Central Park had come alive again, and the animals had missed showing off for their visitors after so many days of inclement weather.

  Perhaps because they ventured past their regular spot, Meg saw signs of neglect in the park for the first time. Trees untrimmed, once-lush lawns gone to weed in spite of old signs warning people to keep off, pathways rutted with running water from the recent rain. When they passed the ruins of Mount St. Vincent—the chapel, conservatory, art gallery, and restaurant that had burned to the ground the year before—the park’s gradual decline seemed even more noticeable. Nelson had complained only the day before about how city politics threatened the pastoral escape, but since his plans for the park’s improvement supported allowing Sunday concerts, he hadn’t been able to gain much help from Fifth Avenue neighbors or even the church. Saturday concerts were quite enough for them, when working-class folks were unable to attend because of the six-day workweek. He lacked the church’s support because they hadn’t yet decided if a concert accommodated proper Sabbath rest.

  Meg’s eye was drawn to a dog loping along the path nearby. The animal’s muddy paws and filthy tendrils of wet fur made her wonder why the dog hadn’t been kept from the shadier paths that took longest to dry or why he wasn’t at least leashed. The owner called after it affectionately from atop a horse, and from the mud streaking both the horse and the rider’s pant legs it was obvious they’d come from a similarly unwise route.

  Her heart fluttered. That owner was Ian.

  “Please stop the carriage!”

  “Whatever is the matter, Meg?” Claire asked as the carriage came to a halt nearly as sudden as Meg’s entreaty.

  “It’s . . . my cousin, Ian . . .” What had been the name he’d chosen? Maguire was on the tip of her tongue. “Ian Vandermey. I wondered if he was still in the city, and there he is.”

  It took only a moment to catch his eye, as if he fully expected to meet them at this traditional spot where pedestrian, carriage, and equestrian trails converged. Or had he simply been following from a distance?

  She greeted him with a smile, noticing that he was nearly as spattered with mud as the dog. Perhaps he hadn’t minded the smudges to his face, if they hid any remaining evidence of his recent encounter with Keys.

  “How nice to see you, Ian!”

  She would have started the introduction, but Roscoe approached first and threw up a pair of thoroughly soiled paws to the edge of the carriage. That dog!

  Evie screamed but followed so quickly with a laugh that Meg was unsure if she was afraid or delighted. “Oh, may I pet him? He has the friendliest eyes!”

  “If you can find a clean spot to touch,” Ian said, “he’d welcome any attention you have to spare. We were just headed to the pond to clean him off.”

  Evie folded and set aside the parasol Claire insisted she use and raised an uncertain hand, at last touching a spot directly on the top of the dog’s massive head. The animal pressed as close as he could, making Evie laugh again. Meg was relieved only that the dog wasn’t as smart with door latches as Pindar was; otherwise she was sure he’d have crawled right inside and settled atop all of their laps.

  Ian reined in his horse beside the carriage, removing his hat to greet Meg. She saw then that the mud did seem strategically placed. “How nice to see you, Cousin Meg.”

  Meg tried to calm her fast-beating pulse by recalling her manners. “Claire, permit me to present to you my cousin, Mr. Ian Vandermey. This is Claire Pemberton and her sister, Evie Pemberton.”

  Claire nodded her greeting, holding her own parasol to the far side so as not to get in the way. “How very nice to meet a relative of Meg’s. I’ve known her for years and have yet to meet a single member of her family.” Leave it to Claire to politely ignore the state of Ian’s personal attire.

  “Our family is a rare breed,” Ian said, flashing a smile that did nothing to help Meg control her heartbeat. How white his teeth were! “Nearly extinct, in fact.”

  “Then you both ought to get married and have lots and lots of children,” Evie said. “At least then your children will have plenty of cousins.”

  “Evie.” Claire’s cautious voice was tinged, for once, with what sounded like amusement.

  “You’re no doubt right, young lady,” Ian said. Then he eyed Meg again. “I would enjoy an opportunity to visit with you while we’re both here in the city. Will you be attending Saturday’s concert in the park? Provided the fine weather holds, of course, and the grounds continue to dry?”

  “Yes,” Meg said. “We attend the concerts regularly.”

  He replaced his hat. “Then I hope to see all of you there. Good day.” He directed his horse onward—a careful walk, no doubt due to Ian’s recovering ribs—then whistled for the dog, who scampered away, leaving behind paw prints on the top edge of the carriage.

  Saturday. Leaving her less than two days to search for a clue to what was hidden in the office corner.

  The concert on Saturday was to be a ballad event, blending instruments with soloists. Meg had looked forward to the performance for its own merit, but now that she knew she would see Ian again, she found herself all the more eager to attend.

  The only possible source of trouble was Geoffrey Mason. He’d started the habit of going to the grounds early to claim prime locations along the iron seating that circled trees and foliage, protecting park landscaping while doubling as chairs. A service for which Claire seemed grateful even while Evie was always quick to grab a seat beside him. Though he allowed Evie to sit on one side, he’d come to expect Meg to sit on the other—and often filled every gap in the concert with conversation that demanded her attention.

  Perhaps it was just as well for Geoffrey to meet Ian; Meg would make it clear that Ian was only the most distant sort of relation and let Geoffrey draw his own conclusion. If he watched Meg as closely as he usually did, she intended to leave the impression her heart was already taken.

  An impression that seemed more honest than so much else about her these days.

  The afternoon was warm, and so Meg chose the lightest of her white muslin dresses, the sheerest lace gloves, the smallest hat of straw with the tiniest paper-flower embellishment. The trees were still young in the Ramble, where the concert was to be played, so there would be little shade. In deference to the close proximity of seating, she would bring her most petite parasol of brushed chiffon, the one trimmed simply in lace rather than fringe that might otherwise impede the view of someone nearby. A delicately carved white wood fan was an absolute must.

  Geoffrey waved to them as they approached, and as usual Evie drew near to him first.

  “Good afternoon, Evie,” Geoffrey greeted her. “You’re looking very happy today.”

  Evie had refused to wear braids, opting instead to keep her hair free but for the pearl hairpins that loosely held back her light-brown waves. Meg had to admit that though Kate’s visits had been an uncomfortable balance between truth and lies, she had produced an astounding result in Evie. The girl had thrown her energy into trying to look older and, in so doing, displayed some of that beauty Kate claimed she possessed.

  Geoffrey was not alone today. He’d brought with him his parents and Nomi as well, so only Nelson was absent from this gathering of neighborly households. Nelson had claimed too much work to be able to go to the concert, something Meg noticed Claire tactfully omitted when Mrs. Mason asked about him.

  “You’re looking especially lovely today, Miss Davenport,” Mrs. Mason said with a twinkle in
her eye when she looked from Meg to Geoffrey. Her approval of Meg—based solely on Meg’s friendship with the Pembertons and her attendance of Madame Marisse’s—had come to be as much an annoyance to Meg as Geoffrey’s interest in her.

  No one was seated as yet, but Evie squeezed between Geoffrey and his mother. “Won’t you sit beside me and Geoffrey, Mrs. Mason?” she asked. “I wanted to show you my new hairpins. The pearls are from England. Look closely at this one—the left. Its color has a bit more luster than the other, don’t you agree?” She shifted her head from side to side to offer a better view. “I was reading just the other day about a famous pearl one of the English kings wore at his beheading simply hundreds of years ago. The tale goes that the crowd rushed forward to claim the single earring—you know, since he no longer had need of it—and the jewel disappeared. I would guess any pearl from England might be that one. Imagine! This very pearl could have been worn by a king.”

  Mrs. Mason gasped, though she did make a belated attempt to cover her horror for kindness’ sake.

  Meg suppressed a laugh, resuming her search of the area for any sign of Ian.

  Ian stared at Kate as she made herself comfortable on the chair in the fancy room at the Glenham Hotel registered to Ian Vandermey. He’d had to leave Roscoe with Pubjug at a hotel room less fussy about accepting animals—at least ones Roscoe’s size.

  At first he’d refused to let her in, stating he would be late. It took Kate’s announcement that she intended to be his companion to the concert and her threat to confess all to the Pembertons to make him listen.

  “You won’t go through with a confession, Kate.”

  She stopped smoothing the wrinkles from her red dress and sent him a confident smile. “Won’t I?”

  “No, you won’t. Because telling everyone Lady Weathersfield is a figment of your imagination might send you to jail as well as me.”

  She shook her head, lifting one elegant hand to assure her hair was still in place after unhooking the mesh veil that had shrouded her face. “The crimes I committed are in the past, perpetrated against carefully chosen men wealthy and proud enough not to admit they’d given me money they must have suspected I had no intention of returning. In any case, no charges were pressed against me. I was as good at that as John was.”

  “Still, it’s a risk you’ll take to admit who you are. And what about Meg? You’d ruin her socially just by your association with her.”

  Now Kate leaned forward, the confidence replaced by earnest entreaty. “I don’t want to cause trouble for any of us, Ian. Not for you or for myself, but especially not for Meg. And I suspect if you let yourself think about it long enough, you want the same thing.”

  He took a seat across from her, avoiding her gaze. He didn’t have a reply because he’d done exactly as she hinted: not allowed himself to think of it. Especially lately, while he’d been concocting a plan to use against Brewster that unavoidably utilized Meg and her connection to the Pembertons. He didn’t have to see evidence that Brewster was watching them both; he just knew it.

  “Ian, the Bible says that the laws of the governments are here to execute revenge on those who do evil. This stealing, you know it’s evil. To resist the power of the rightful law is to resist the ordinance of God.”

  “God has nothing to do with plenty of the laws out there, Kate. And He has nothing to do with this. All I want is to be free of Brewster.”

  “And ruin Meg’s life in the process? You don’t care that you’re using her?”

  He stood in a surge of annoyed energy, pleased when the sudden movement caused only a trace of pain to his healing ribs. “If that’s the only way to keep her from Brewster, why not?”

  “I know your father taught you to believe in the Bible, Ian.”

  So John had told her even about that! Kate might have used a gentle tone, but each word stung him—because they were true.

  “Do you know that it says it would be better for you to have a millstone tied round your neck than to cause an innocent to fall? Do you want to be a stumbling block to another? To Meg, of all people? You couldn’t have loved John and not loved her, too.”

  “That’s enough, Kate.” He gave her his back as images assaulted him. Not just recent ones of John, speaking to Ian in his dreams, but others of Ian’s own father, starker than ever though it had been more than a dozen years since his death. There is nothing worse, laddie, than to cause another to fall away. . . .

  “No, it isn’t enough,” she persisted. “Why must you do this? To be free of Brewster or for revenge? Or maybe it’s something else. Maybe it’s far simpler than any of that.”

  She paused just long enough to make Ian look at her. “This desire of yours—” Kate used the softest of voices because she’d neared him, and he easily heard her—“this desire for money can never be satisfied because that isn’t what you really want. You’ll always want more because money cannot satisfy you. Not when it’s your father’s faith that you’re missing.”

  Ian turned so violently that Kate took a step backward, away from him. But Ian didn’t apologize for frightening her; it was her fault his thoughts made his mood so ugly. “God let my father, my mother, and my brothers die on that ship! And left me, the most useless of the bunch. Why, Kate? To torment me? Well, He’s done that, all right.”

  Kate gently shook her head. “No, Ian. Not to torment you. But to wait until you were ready for Him, the way the rest of your family was.”

  If she’d kicked him in his sore rib cage, he wouldn’t have felt less assaulted. The truth, his father had once told him, could cut like a sword.

  He turned again, tearing both hands through his hair. It had taken years for Ian to conquer the echo he’d carried with him after the death of his family. Their voices used to haunt him, but his pain over their loss led eventually to associating that pain with God, making it easier to ignore Him as well as his memories.

  Somewhere along the way the voices had eased, eventually disappearing. Until lately.

  The irony was not lost on Ian: Meg wanted so badly to join her father’s legacy that she was willing to break the law. For Ian to join any legacy of his own family, he must do the opposite.

  But if he did, his plans didn’t have a chance—and he wasn’t about to give them up just yet.

  Once the concert began, Meg both welcomed and resented the performance. Where was Ian? Her mind was so preoccupied she was barely able to enjoy herself. She gazed as much at the surrounding crowd—looking for just one face—as she did the gazebo where the musicians sat and the soloists came to perform.

  Meg was the first to her feet during intermission. Surely he was here somewhere! She might not have specific evidence of how to reach the Pemberton treasure, but she had plenty of suspicion she was eager to share.

  “Our Mr. Plowden should be here with the refreshments shortly,” Geoffrey said, referring to his butler. “He knows where to find us.”

  “That’s very kind of you,” Meg said, still searching the crowd. She barely listened as Geoffrey went on about which songs thus far had been his favorites, noting various qualities about the vocalists who had performed.

  Soon the Mason butler arrived with a basket of refreshments, from rolled cheese-and-cucumber sandwiches and pickled peppers to plum cakes and fresh oranges offered in their own silver bowl, accompanied by orange knives or spoons as desired.

  Meg accepted a glass of tea à la russe, sipping its sweet, lemony flavor. Everyone chatted around her, Evie demanding Geoffrey’s attention with her questions and, when he drifted away, seeking his mother. Moments went by so slowly Meg could scarcely contain herself from setting out on a search of her own.

  “Oh! Look, Meg, there is your cousin.” Evie, facing the other direction, was full of excitement. “And he’s with Lady Weathersfield!”

  Meg turned so quickly she nearly spilled her tea. It was true: there they were, as unlikely a couple as Meg had ever seen. Kate was dressed in her trademark red, her hair swept up beneath a matching
feathered hat with a lace veil hooked from one side to the other, effectively shrouding her entire face. This time, only her gloves were black.

  Her arm was looped with Ian’s, whose image took Meg’s breath away. With neither that dog nor any remnant of his attack, there was nothing to diminish his portrayal of a perfect gentleman. In a light frock coat and vest, tan trousers, and a brown silk top hat, he looked as crisp and fresh as if they hadn’t been seated through the entire first half of the concert. Evidence of her father’s pocket watch glistened from his vest, and she found a surprising sense of satisfaction seeing him wear it.

  “There you are, you darling!” Kate greeted Meg. “How many times have I said to this dear boy that I simply will not let this concert end until we’ve found you? I see you’re not alone.”

  While Claire made introductions, which not unexpectedly resulted in a trace of awe on Mrs. Mason’s face, Meg found her way to Ian’s other side.

  There were plenty of refreshments left to offer, although Meg knew she couldn’t swallow another thing. Ian accepted a glass of sherry while Kate received currant wine, and the conversation picked up again about the music, the city, the state of the park. As they talked, Meg linked her arm with Ian’s.

  Mrs. Mason undoubtedly noticed but was clearly so impressed by Lady Kate that she ignored the attention Meg had for her “cousin.”

  When the musicians returned to the stage, warning the audience the concert was about to resume, Geoffrey’s father invited Kate to take his seat.

  “Oh no, Mr. Mason,” Meg said, knowing she was breaking more than a couple of rules by standing in the way of a gentleman’s offer of a seat. “Lady Kate may have my place. I absolutely cannot sit again, and I’d like to continue stretching my limbs by enjoying a brief walk with my cousin.” Two more rules broken: referencing her limbs and intending to walk away, relatively alone, with a man of mysterious relation.

  “But, my dear Meg,” Kate said, “I don’t mind in the least accompanying you and Ian.”