The Counterfeit Viscount

by Ginn Hale

  “I’m playing a ghost,” the young man commented. “A murdered first wife returned to torment my evil husband.”

  “Seems to be a lot of that going around—evil husbands, I mean,” Nimble replied. “We have a few in our tale as well.”

  “Yes, but we can’t decide if ours are actually to blame or not,” Archie put in.

  “They’re always to blame one way or another,” the second girl stated, then downed the remainder of her beer and flopped back in her seat. “Marriage should be banned until women are given the same rights as men. Like the Nornians have.”

  Her companions exchanged a look of amusement, and Archie guessed the complaint was one they’d heard on many occasions before.

  The five of them exchanged a few more civilities, but the interest of the other three waned notably when Nimble let it slip that he and Archie hadn’t yet secured funding for their production.

  “We’re hoping that interested parties might volunteer their time and skills,” Nimble stated.

  The young man laughed, and two girls wished them the best of luck with pitying smiles. All three departed very soon after that.

  “What would you have done if one of them volunteered to assist us with the production?” Archie asked.

  “I suppose I’d have thrown together a play and hoped that a certain handsome viscount decided to fund it.”

  “You know he would.” Archie laughed. “He could never say no to you.”

  Nimble’s pleased smile was charming and dauntingly affectionate. Archie felt as if his heart was fluttering with a strange delight. How odd it was to feel drawn to Nimble even when he looked well past his prime, gray-haired, age-speckled, stooped, and soft around the middle. Still, Archie couldn’t imagine another man he would rather have been with.

  Nimble sipped his beer and frowned at the taste.

  As long as Archie had known him, Nimble’s preferred drink had always been black tea. He was a bit of a granny that way, though he could put away pine whiskey when he wanted to. Archie wondered if there wasn’t somewhere the two of them could go for a few drinks and then perhaps….

  But no, that was done between them. Nimble had put an end to it, and Archie simply had to accept it and stop wishing matters could be otherwise.

  He snatched up the map he’d drawn of the Dee Club.

  Why had that girl mistaken it for a stage design, he wondered? Then he considered. The arena was a stage of a kind, wasn’t it? The fights were presented almost like theater for a roaring audience. There had to be a backstage area, as well as wings where the fighters waited to be announced. And the lower levels where the infirmary was housed did have the appearance of a vast trap room hidden beneath a stage floor.

  So why not use the arena for the recitals and musicals performed the rest of the week? It wasn’t as if performers from the club’s theater troupe didn’t take part in the fights. At least a few of them had been present. Archie wished he’d managed to remain sober so he could better recall who exactly he’d seen there and in what capacity.

  “I don’t like you being there on your own,” Nimble said.

  “What?”

  “At that club.” Nimble nodded to the map. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to be there without anyone to watch your back. Not with your uncle skulking around and people disappearing from the place with suspicious regularity.”

  Archie could hardly argue. Silas had nearly shoved him into the river three days ago. Even so, he hesitated to agree, in part because he didn’t want Nimble coming afoul of his uncle, but also, he realized, because he didn’t want Nimble to have to endure the snide comments and snobbery of the club members.

  Which was foolish, and likely Nimble would laugh at him if he ever said as much.

  “You’re already a member, so there shouldn’t be any difficulty sponsoring me, should there?” Nimble asked.

  “No. No, none at all….” Archie wondered what supplies Nimble would need to conjure spells that could ensure his safety in the club. “Could you be ready to come with me by tomorrow?”

  “Tonight would be better.” Nimble set his beer aside. “Pugg is one of the Wednesday performers, isn’t he?”

  “He is,” Archie said. “The show starts around seven.”

  “Can you meet me at the club at five?” Nimble asked.

  “Anything for you, old boot.”

  Chapter Five: Shots in the Dark

  Archie arrived a half hour early, only to discover Nimble already waiting in the shadows of the cherry trees. An odd nervousness fluttered through Archie as he stilled to study Nimble’s altered appearance. He’d stripped away his mustache and padding, rinsed the gray from his hair, and washed out the lines and shadows that had previously tempered his striking features. A jewel-blue tailcoat accentuated his glossy black hair and dark complexion, while his indigo pinstriped trousers clung to his legs in a way that Archie found almost mesmerizing.

  Nimble was certainly never going to melt away into the dull anonymity of a crowd, Archie thought ruefully as he glanced down at his own wardrobe—another tediously elegant study in shades of pale gray.

  Nimble lifted a leather journal and jotted down some note with a clerk’s pencil. Then he returned to his thoughtful study of the fishermen on the far banks of the White River.

  “Penning a poem?” Archie called out.

  Nimble glanced up and grinned, then schooled his expression into a study of somber dignity and recited:

  “Oh, River White, your foam yellow as nags’ teeth!

  How many a strange mystery

  Of our city’s culinary history

  Has come bobbing up from sewer pipes beneath?”

  Archie snorted.

  “A better question of our time,” Archie answered, “was ne’er before addressed in rhyme.”

  “Oh, you should hear the verses I’ve composed on the subject of dental hygiene.” Nimble shoved the journal into his pocket and tucked the stubby pencil behind his right ear, just as a practiced clerk would have done. “Adventures in Dentures is what I’m calling the collection.”

  “A biting satire, I suppose?” Archie drew the gilded Dee Club medallion from his coat pocket. He’d chosen a gray silk ribbon but now realized how dowdy it looked compared to everything else Nimble wore. Even the gold of the medallion seemed faded next to the fiery orange quince flowers adorning his waistcoat.

  Archie reached out, meaning to hand the thing over, but Nimble stepped nearer to him and bowed his head. A strange sense of intimacy filled Archie as he carefully lifted the ribbon over Nimble’s head. His hands brushed Nimble’s hair and then rested briefly on his shoulders. It was hardly a moment’s contact, much less a caress, and yet, touching Nimble here in broad day, in public, it felt like a kind of declaration.

  Two bright blue dragonflies darted past them. From a branch overhead, a shrike took flight after them. In an instant the bird handily snapped up one of the pair in its jaws.

  Archie looked back at Nimble. He wished he possessed even a shred of magic to imbue the medallion with any real protection for Nimble.

  Nimble lifted his head, and a flush seemed to color his face. He held Archie’s gaze, then ran his hand over the ribbon and medallion. He looked pleased and about to make a joke. Then his smile folded to a straight line and he narrowed his gaze past Archie’s shoulder. Archie turned to see Silas and his two varlets striding from the stable and through the club’s wide green doors.

  Silas carried a slightly wilted bouquet of scarlet peonies and pink snapdragons under one arm. His expression struck Archie as far too smug for a man who’d just lost his country property. Perhaps the bank hadn’t informed him yet. No, Silas had to have received notice by now. There was some reason the news hadn’t dispirited him. Archie guessed it was the prospect of Agatha Wedmoor’s dowry.

  “And the snake has come a-calling for your girl,” Nimble commented.

  “She’s hardly mine,” Archie replied, but he turned and started after his uncle. He hadn’t
grown fond of Agatha, but he did feel a kind of sympathy for her. Her plight so reminded him of his mother’s.

  “Off to the rescue, we go, then,” Nimble commented as he drew alongside Archie.

  Inside, a crowd of club members and their sponsored Prodigals filled the galleries, many excitedly discussing the prospect of the evening’s entertainments. Two new Prodigal actresses from the Queen’s Theater had been sponsored since Archie had last attended the club, and they’d agreed to perform a recital. The warm humidity of too many tightly packed bodies filled the place with the atmosphere of a hothouse.

  “Standing room only, eh?” Nimble commented as they worked their way through the crush of men. Archie noted Neet’s flushed countenance peeping out from a clot of young men all circled around two very tall, radiantly beautiful Prodigal women. Strings of pearls supported the golden medallions that glinted from the silky breasts of the actresses’ green gowns. Archie thought he recognized Lupton’s stocky figure—brandy snifter in hand—farther down the hall. He appeared to have cornered Archie’s uncle in some conversation. Silas looked bored but not yet belligerent, while Lupton appeared indifferent to Silas’s disinterest.

  As Archie neared them, he noticed Agatha Wedmoor and Nurse Fuggas creeping up the stairs with Phebe between them. He gave a nod, and Nimble looked to the stairs with a very thoughtful expression. Archie guessed the women would withdraw to Agatha’s private rooms on the third floor, where Agatha’s maids could repel any male callers.

  “Of course, it’s not my place to say why Archibald might bear you some ill will.”

  Lupton’s voice drew Archie’s attention. The man appeared unaware of the Smith twins’ glares or Silas’s refined pose—which conveyed to all the world that he was a indulging the rambling of a drunk.

  “But if you truly felt that battle would make a man of him, why didn’t you at least send him to serve with peers in the cavalry?” Lupton, for all his flushed face and alcoholic air, sounded sincere. “We would have looked after the boy, kept him safe.”

  Several of the men standing near the two of them looked uneasy, and their expressions only grew more alarmed as Archie stalked closer. Though neither Silas nor Lupton seemed to notice him through the crush of gray-clad men.

  “You’re quite correct, Lupton. It’s not your place to say anything on the subject at all,” Silas replied, and he twitched the bouquet hanging from his left hand like an angry cat flicking its tail. “But since you’ve deemed yourself qualified to comment upon the private matters of my family, I’ll tell you. I am proud that I had the faith to place my nephew’s edification in God’s hands. I entrusted him to the Children’s Brigade to learn humility and piety. Qualities that I hardly think the horse guard are famous for. If I hadn’t, I have no doubt that he would have grown up a simpering effeminate—” Silas shot a disdainful glance to one of the men looking on, and the young fellow colored. Several of the men standing near him stepped away slightly. Silas turned his sneer back on Lupton. “He’d probably be a lobcock and a drunkard to boot.”

  Lupton stiffened and his face darkened with anger. But before he could respond, Archie sidled up beside his uncle.

  “As is, I’ve blossomed into a feckless wastrel,” Archie announced. “So, praise the Lord.”

  “Deo gratias,” Nimble called out as if he were in a particularly lively church. “Amen and all that!”

  Silas nearly dropped his bouquet as he spun on Archie and caught sight of Nimble. “What is this?” Silas demanded.

  “Nimble Hobbs, sir.” Nimble made a show of tugging his forelock. “Most obliged to make your acquaintance. I’m the fortunate soul whom your most generous nephew has deigned to sponsor into this magnificent establishment.”

  Silas stared at Nimble, then recognition showed in his expression. “You were at the funeral….”

  “Yes, sir! I served with your unfathered nephew, Archimedes. Sadly that brave boy’s edification involved too many cannon balls for us to ever learn how he might have turned out. Still, the righteous will have their reward in the end, eh?” Nimble grinned a wide display of his jagged teeth. “Most gratified that you recall me, sir. I promise I have never forgotten you either.”

  Silas glanced to Archie, then turned on his heel and shouted after one of the Prodigal servants. He strode away, demanding water for his flowers and that Lady Umberry be informed that he had arrived. Mike and Nate paused a moment—sizing up Nimble, Archie thought. Then they lumbered after their master.

  Lupton cast Nimble and Archie a melancholy sort of smile, while around them groups of men muttered varying opinions of both Archie and his uncle. Silas was not without his supporters. The fact that he so often invoked the Good Lord never failed to impress certain peers, who believed above all else that their wealth and privilege resulted from divine benediction—certainly not the exploitation and oppression of the lower classes.

  “Good to see you back at the club, Archibald,” Lupton said. “Neet was fretting that we might never have the pleasure of your company again, if a certain lady didn’t come to her senses soon.”

  “He needn’t have feared. I’m not so easily disheartened,” Archie replied.

  He formally introduced Lupton to Nimble. Lupton didn’t seem to know how to proceed beyond that. Archie wasn’t certain if it was because so many sponsors treated their Prodigal companions like exotic pets, to be displayed but not interacted with, or because he was well past his first glass of brandy. But then Nimble performed a few sleight-of-hand tricks, mostly pretending to pull coins from Archie’s ears, and Lupton warmed to him.

  Miraculously Nimble produced Lupton’s own pocket watch from thin air. (Archie had lifted it and passed it along while Nimble provided the distraction of broad gestures and amusing dialogue.)

  “Amazing! You must come around to the stage and meet the other performers!” Lupton declared. He handed off his empty snifter to a passing servant, then beckoned Archie and Nimble both to follow him along to the sedate little chamber theater where the club’s recitals and variety shows took place. Archie and Nimble followed him down past aisles of green velvet seats and right up onto the polished boards of the stage itself. Neither the silver-haired crone at the piano nor any of the pink-robed dancers took much note of Lupton as he strode past. Someone up on a catwalk issued a wolf-whistle, which inspired a few twitters.

  As they stepped between the black velvet curtains of the left wing, a spindly Prodigal child in a polka-dotted leotard dropped down from a handstand to favor Lupton with a smile. In return Lupton fished into his jacket pocket and handed over his snuffbox.

  The towheaded child took a pinch in a quick, practiced sniff and thanked Lupton, saying, “Ta, Pops! Who’s the gents?”

  “The handsome youth is none other than Lord Fallmont from the society pages. And this strapping blue jewel is Mr. Hobbs, who is something of a magician, Maggie.” Lupton grinned, and Archie thought this might have been the first time he’d really seen the other man seem happy without a drink in his hand.

  Maggie sauntered after them to the backstage. Some twenty people in various states of dress and activity populated the space. Jugglers and acrobats, all costumed much like Maggie, stretched and chatted. Musicians lounged with their instruments. A pair of older men strained to tighten the corset that held two women back-to-back in the illusion of conjoined twins. A plump lad crouched next to a birdcage, tinkering with the cogs of the clockwork parrots inside. Four clowns shouted up to the indistinct shadows scurrying above on the catwalk. Archie picked out a pair of very pale yellow eyes gazing down at them. Then several fat sandbags descended slowly from the rigging overhead and a backdrop painted like the stormy sea rose. A canvas displaying a night sky and city roofs lay behind it.

  For just a moment, Nimble stilled and gazed at the painted stars with an expression of longing. Archie recalled that Nimble had used to volunteer for night watch because he loved to stand out under that wide-open sky and witness those stars stretching out forever. Despite the roar
s of big guns and the groans of the wounded all around them, Nimble had always looked more at peace in those times.

  “Flossy painted that one,” Lupton stated. “She’s a keen student of the sky. Did another that’s got a moon so detailed, you’d swear it was transported from the heavens.”

  Archie made admiring sounds, and Nimble pulled his attention away to point to the wall of closets that seemed to serve as prop rooms and dressing rooms. Most of the doors hung ajar. Archie glimpsed a few figures leaning close to mirrors, applying makeup. Others napped on divans. But it was the big table where two men sat playing cards that Nimble indicated. Archie recognized the nearest one as Mr. Pugg. His three big deerhounds dozed in their huge kennel cages a few feet behind him.

  “Your club magicians?” Nimble asked.

  “Well, Burns is.” Lupton indicated the elderly fellow opposite Pugg. He wore a green satin morning coat and long underwear. His trousers hung over the back of an empty chair. “Young Pugg there assists him but has his own routine featuring his trained dogs. Shall I introduce you?”

  “Oh, I’d be very much obliged,” Nimble replied. “Never thought I’d get a chance to meet the Incredible, Incombustible Burns in person.”

  Archie cast him a sidelong glance, half expecting to catch a hint of sarcasm in Nimble’s expression, but he seemed sincere in his awe of the half-dressed elderly stage magician. Archie felt a little chagrined. He’d not even heard of the man before this moment.

  “My pleasure, then!” Lupton straightened and puffed up his chest a little as he strode to the table. He made introductions in a friendly, breezy manner, and Burns invited them all to join him and Pugg playing cards. Pugg smiled, but there was something a little too measured in the way his gaze moved over Nimble’s face and then darted to Archie. Did he suspect they were on to him about Nancy’s disappearance, or was he worried they might notice the cards tucked in his sleeves?

  “You understand that we’re all cheats at this table, Lord Fallmont?” Burns said as he handed the deck of cards over to Lupton. “We don’t play for money, and we don’t mean any harm by it, just practice of our craft.”