“Erm, no,” Eve murmured. “That was Ruth, my maid, with her bucket.”
“M… morning, sir.” Ruth spoke up. “Would you like some tea?”
“God, yes,” Asa said, rubbing vigorously at his face.
Eve nodded at the maid. “Leave the fire for now, Ruth, and fetch a tray of tea, please.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ruth bobbed a curtsy and hurried from the room, regrettably leaving her bucket behind on the floor.
Eve slipped from the bed and found her chemise, then pulled it over her head before crossing to her chest of drawers for a wrapper.
When she turned, Asa was watching her don the article of clothing with a mournful frown. “Have you considered doing away with servants?”
“No,” she replied briskly. “And if I did, there would be no one to bring you your breakfast.”
“Ah.” He stretched, his fists nearly reaching the canopy of the bed. “I suppose that’s a good point.”
“’Tis,” she said. She cleared her throat delicately. “There’s a washbasin and necessary in my dressing room.” She indicated a small door.
He nodded and stood, buttoning the falls of his breeches.
Eve hastily looked away. Ruth would be back in minutes.
And indeed, five minutes later Asa and she were sitting down to tea and gammon steak.
Eve poured Asa a cup and handed it to him, watching as he added both milk and sugar. “Will you be going to the garden today?”
“Yes.” He took a sip of the tea and hummed under his breath. “Today and every day until we open.”
She nodded. Of course he would. “We might as well go together, then.”
“Oh, no.” He shook his fork obnoxiously in her face. “I haven’t forgotten the day, even if you have.”
Her heart sank a little and she knew she had a guilty expression on her face. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He gave her an old-fashioned look. She’d never been very good at lying. “The Ladies’ Syndicate, luv. It meets today if I’m not mistaken.”
She winced. “I didn’t think I should go.”
He arched an eyebrow.
She turned her teacup around and around in her hands, watching as her opal ring winked in the light. “It’s just that they can’t really want me there. Lady Caire…” She swallowed, not finishing the sentence. Val had blackmailed the elder Lady Caire to make the aristocrat bring Eve to the last meeting. She wasn’t sure how—or over what—but Lady Caire would hardly welcome her back.
Fortunately Asa didn’t seem to notice that she’d not finished her thought. He nodded, cutting his gammon steak. “I didn’t want to go to Rachel’s baptism, and yet you made me.” He popped a piece of the gammon into his mouth and chewed, openmouthed. “Fair’s fair.”
“But the garden—”
“You can come afterward.”
“And Dove—”
“The dove can stay home for one day.”
She pouted.
“Or”—he rolled his eyes—“I’ll bring her to the theater for you while you’re at your meeting. You can join us later.”
She sighed. “Oh, very well.”
He grinned. “That’s my girl.”
She scowled morosely down at her tea.
“Eve…,” Asa said.
She looked up warily.
“Last night,” he said carefully. “Your nightmare. Was it because of Hampston?”
“I don’t…” She inhaled, steadying herself. “I don’t truly know. He makes me nervous. And then there’s the dolphin tattoo he has.”
He watched her as if waiting for more, but she took a hasty sip of tea instead.
He placed his hand on hers where it rested on the table. “I want you to know that I turned Hampston away yesterday. I merely went with him to find out something about the man”—he shrugged—“though in the end I learned little besides his being a pompous ass. In any case I turned him away. For you.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
And this time she knew: the smile he gave her was entirely for her.
BRIDGET CRUMB HURRIED down a narrow lane in St. Giles, a hood pulled over her head. Around her the buildings seemed to lean in over the street, nearly blocking the sun. Bridget shivered and pulled her cloak more firmly about her person. It always seemed colder in St. Giles.
There was an open channel running down the middle of the lane, wet with noxious substances. She skirted a small child squatting and poking at something in the channel with a stick. The child wore a too-large waistcoat and nothing else.
But then in St. Giles he was lucky to have even the waistcoat.
A beggar sat in a doorway, his scarlet coat marking him as a former soldier. He was missing both legs and held a filthy hand palm up in his lap.
The beggar didn’t make a sound as she neared, but Bridget paused for a moment to fish a coin from her pocket and drop it in his palm.
Then she hurried on without a backward glance.
It didn’t do for a respectable woman by herself to linger in St. Giles, even in the middle of the day.
She turned a corner and saw her destination. The Home for Unfortunate Infants and Foundling Children was newly built of practical brick. It stood in the middle of Maiden Lane, a beacon of hope in an otherwise cheerless district.
Bridget mounted the wide steps and rapped smartly on the door.
It was answered in less than a minute by a middle-aged butler with a sloping belly. “Good morning, Mrs. Crumb.”
Bridget nodded as she stepped inside the home. “Mr. Butterman.”
She doffed her cloak as a small white dog came racing around the corner, barking madly.
“Dodo.” She bent and politely offered her fingers to be sniffed before petting the little dog.
“If you’ll follow me, ma’am,” Mr. Butterman said, leading the way into the house.
Bridget was always grateful at the butler’s grave courtesy. As a fellow servant, he didn’t have to treat her as a guest of the home, and yet he always did.
That quiet courtesy made him more of a gentleman than many an aristocrat in her book.
“Most of the ladies have already arrived,” Mr. Butterman murmured as he opened the door to the downstairs sitting room.
Inside, the scene was cozy. A fire crackled in a small grate while a half dozen or so ladies sat and drank tea. Three little girls—orphans of the home—carefully passed plates of haphazardly buttered bread.
“Oh, Mrs. Crumb.” A cheerful-looking woman with light-brown curling hair looked up at her entrance. She shifted a sleeping baby from one shoulder to the other. “It’s so nice to see you again, though I confess I fear my house will never be as ordered as it was under your management.”
“My lady.” Bridget made a very correct curtsy to Lady Margaret St. John. She’d had the honor of serving as Lady Margaret’s housekeeper before she’d taken the position at the Duke of Montgomery’s house.
“Please sit down, Mrs. Crumb,” Miss Hippolyta Royle, an olive-complexioned woman with fine dark eyes, said in a low contralto. She sat next to Mrs. Isabel Makepeace, who wore a rather dashing pink-and-black sack gown. “We’re all most anxious to hear what you’ve learned.”
“I’m afraid, ma’am—” Bridget began.
“I don’t understand.” A lady who had been sitting at the far end of the room stood, and Bridget realized with a bit of a shock that it was Miss Eve Dinwoody.
Oh, dear, this was awkward.
Bridget usually had no trouble keeping the expressionless facade of a very good servant, but she couldn’t help her eyes widening—just a tiny bit.
“It’s quite all right,” Lady Phoebe said soothingly. The lady might be blind, but she was very good at picking up on the atmosphere of a room. She sat beside her elder sister, Lady Hero Reading, who, in contrast to Lady Phoebe’s short, plump form, was tall and slender—and had gorgeous flaming-red hair to boot. “You do remember when I said none of us judge each other on our brothers’ actions
?”
Miss Dinwoody looked torn between fleeing and sitting back down. “Yes, I do.”
“Well, it’s quite true.” Lady Phoebe smiled sweetly and beside her Lady Hero nodded.
Miss Dinwoody wavered, glancing at Bridget. “But what is my brother’s housekeeper doing here?”
And at that the last lady in the room spoke. “Please. Sit down, Miss Dinwoody, and we’ll explain.” The elder Lady Caire, a woman in her sixth decade and with pure white hair, glanced at Bridget and nodded slightly.
Bridget straightened to attention under Lady Caire’s gaze before turning to Miss Dinwoody. She took a deep breath and met the other woman’s eyes. “I’ve been endeavoring since I entered your brother’s employment to discover the whereabouts of some compromising letters as well as another artifact used by His Grace for the purpose of blackmail.”
“Oh, dear God.” Miss Dinwoody covered her mouth with one hand as she abruptly sat down on a settee. She looked at Lady Caire. “The letters are yours, aren’t they?”
Lady Caire inclined her head.
Miss Dinwoody closed her eyes. “You must know that I have nothing to do with Val’s schemes. I’ve attempted to dissuade him from his more outrageous actions in the past”—she glanced guiltily at Lady Phoebe—“but it’s been impossible. Val listens to no one.”
Bridget’s lips tightened at Miss Dinwoody’s obvious distress. How awful to feel guilty for the actions of a brother who simply had no shame.
“We truly don’t blame you.” Lady Margaret moved to sit beside Miss Dinwoody, her baby still asleep on her shoulder. “You wouldn’t believe some of the things my own brothers have done…” She winced as if at a memory. “Or possibly you would, but in any case, I’m very glad that I don’t have to answer for their actions.”
Miss Dinwoody pressed her lips together and then straightened her back. “Thank you.” She glanced around the group of ladies. “Thank you all.”
Lady Margaret laid her free hand gently on Eve’s knee.
Lady Hero stirred. “Then we’re agreed?” She looked at each member of the Ladies’ Syndicate in turn and received a nod or a smile from every one. Lastly she turned to Miss Dinwoody with a small smile on her face.
Miss Dinwoody frowned as if in puzzlement. “Agreed on what?”
“On your membership to the Ladies’ Syndicate, of course,” Lady Caire drawled. “That was why you came today, wasn’t it?”
“Oh.” Miss Dinwoody looked uncertain.
Bridget couldn’t blame her. Lady Caire had long been a lioness of society, elegant and cold and very imposing when she wanted to be. She stared at Miss Dinwoody without so much as a smile on her face. It was very hard to tell if she welcomed the younger lady or not.
But Miss Dinwoody rallied. She lifted her chin and said firmly, “Yes. Yes, I do want to join the Ladies’ Syndicate.”
“Congratulations.” Lady Caire inclined her head. “You’re our newest member, Miss Dinwoody.”
“Oh!” Miss Dinwoody blinked and two spots of bright pink shone in her cheeks. “In that case, do call me Eve.”
“To Eve!” Lady Phoebe cried, holding up her teacup.
“Hear! Hear!” Miss Royle said, and all the ladies toasted Miss Dinwoody with their tea, which, unfortunately, woke up Lady Margaret’s baby.
Bridget cast her eyes down and waited patiently in the resulting commotion. How lovely it must be to be welcomed into such a group of friends. Miss Dinwoody had glowed as the other members had held up their teacups. Bridget could almost be envious of her, save for the fact that the Ladies’ Syndicate was so very far out of her league it might as well be like reaching for a star in the sky.
Better to know her place and take pride in being a good servant.
It was quite a little while before the meeting resumed.
When it did, Lady Caire nodded at Bridget.
Bridget folded her hands in front of her and said clearly and precisely, “I’m afraid I have to report that I haven’t been able to find the letters.” She cleared her throat. “Or the other item.”
For a second there was dead silence, and then the information seemed to sink in.
Miss Dinwoody frowned. “Val’s blackmailing someone else from the Ladies’ Syndicate as well, isn’t he?”
Bridget made sure this time that her eyes didn’t stray to any one member in the room. She inclined her head.
Miss Dinwoody set down her teacup with a determined clink. “How can I help?”
Chapter Fifteen
Next they came to a great oak, the tallest in the forest. Eric tilted back his head and pointed up. “My mistress bade me pluck the acorns from this tree, but I cannot reach them.”
Dove smiled and shook her head at him. “And did you never learn to climb trees as a child?” So saying, she pulled herself up from branch to branch, and soon brought down a bag full of green acorns.…
—From The Lion and the Dove
It hadn’t been all that bad in the end, Eve reflected a few hours later. Even with her brother playing the evil villain of the piece, she’d enjoyed herself at the Ladies’ Syndicate meeting, not least because the ladies had been so very welcoming. Eve smiled to herself at the memory of being toasted with tea.
And she’d been able to offer a little help as well for Mrs. Crumb’s search—or at least she hoped so.
Eve frowned at the reminder of Val’s iniquities. Why did he feel a need to hurt so many people—people who were her friends? She shook her head, glancing out the window of her carriage as it pulled to a stop outside the back gates of Harte’s Folly.
“We are ’ere, ma chérie,” Jean-Marie rumbled in his deep voice.
Eve glanced a little guiltily at her footman as he helped her down from the carriage. What must Jean-Marie think of her? He must know—Tess, too—that Asa had shared her bed last night.
But Jean-Marie only gave her his white-toothed grin, his eyes perhaps a little more warm this morning.
If she didn’t know better, she’d think he approved of her scandalous liaison with Asa.
They walked through the garden on the way to the theater, and Eve noticed all the small changes that had taken place in the last weeks. The gardens looked neater, the paths properly edged and graveled. The plantings had been filled in and Lord Kilbourne’s maze was up and looking much more impressive than his description had given her to hope.
Harte’s Folly was nearly ready to be opened.
She felt a thrill that she’d been a small—very small—part of helping to put the theater and gardens back in order.
She turned to Jean-Marie to tell him her thoughts, and then she smelled it:
Smoke.
They’d made it as far as the courtyard, and she looked up in shock to see a tendril of smoke drift over the gabled roof of the theater.
Dear God, surely not.
“Where is Asa?” She looked frantically at Jean-Marie. “He must be inside.”
She started forward, but the footman stopped her with a hand on her arm. “Wait, Eve.” He jogged to where several gardeners had brought buckets and a lander and spoke hurriedly to the men.
Jean-Marie ran back. “’E was seen going into the gardens with Lord Kilbourne.”
Eve looked at him, dread in her heart. “We have to find him.”
“Non.” The footman shook his head vehemently. “Stay ’ere, Eve, do you comprehend? I will find Mr. Makepeace, oui?”
He waited only long enough for her nod, and then he was running into the garden.
More workmen and gardeners were rushing to the courtyard to help. Several had full buckets of water, but the ornamental pond was dozens of yards away. A bucket line would take minutes to set up.
And there were people in the theater.
Eve ran inside.
The orchestra was still playing, Mr. Vogel waving his arms, oblivious to the tendrils of smoke curling around the rafters overhead.
“Mr. Vogel!” she shouted as she hastened down the center aisle. “Mr.
Vogel!”
He turned, startled.
She made his side, panting. “The roof’s on fire!”
She didn’t have to say anything else. Comprehension lit in the composer’s dark eyes. He turned to his musicians and clapped his hands. “Out! Now. Ve must leave at once.”
He started shooing his orchestra as she turned toward the stage. “Miss Dinwoody! Vhere are you going?”
“The dancers!” she shouted back, not bothering to stop.
Behind the stage the alarm had already been given. Half-dressed dancers and actors raced toward the doors.
Eve caught sight of Polly, her hair down about her shoulders as she carried a crying toddler. “Polly! The children—”
“Already outside, ma’am,” Polly called back. “Everyone has heard that the theater is on fire. We’re all getting out of the theater. Go yourself, ma’am!”
Eve was turning to do just that when she remembered.
Henry—and Dove, if Asa had done as promised and brought the bird in to her desk. Both were still in the office.
Eve whirled and, picking up her skirts, ran to the office. She burst inside, relieved to see Henry already on his feet.
“Come on, boy,” she called, crossing to the desk. She picked up Dove’s cage. “Come, Henry.”
Behind her the door slammed.
Eve started and turned. Something pounded on the door.
What—?
She carried Dove’s cage across the small office and tried to open the door.
Tried and failed.
The handle twisted easily enough, but the door was jammed or blocked.
Smoke began curling under the door…
ASA STOOD SQUINTING at the newly painted wooden maze. “Damn me, you were right—it does look just like marble.”
“And it’ll hold,” Apollo said in his rasping voice. “At least until the hedge grows up around it properly.”
“Well done.” Asa slapped his friend on the shoulder. “I think you’ve done the near-impossible and restored the garden in only one season.”
“As much as can be done.” Apollo shrugged broad shoulders. “I shall have to work on it next summer as well, you understand.”
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