Anna Jacobs (8 page)

Beatrice flushed. “Oh. Well - I thank you for the compliment, but it’s a pleasure to help people like him.”

“Not all ladies feel that way. You are to be commended.”

An embarrassed silence fell and they were both relieved to see a footman coming across the square to tell them that her ladyship was waiting for them with a light luncheon as soon as they were ready to return.

Justin was certainly happy to join the others, for Miss Dencey was not at all a comfortable companion. And the memory of her laughing face as she spoke to Tom still rather piqued him, if truth be told. Few ladies were so transparently impervious to his charms and none had ever before shown herself to be actually bored by his conversation.

Beatrice stifled a sigh as they turned back toward the house. “It seems a pity to stay indoors on such a lovely day.” Forgetting her London manners, she walked back with what could only be described as a stride.

Justin noticed that she turned at the door to look back longingly at the sunny sky. She clearly meant what she said about wishing to be outdoors. She was, he decided as he watched her, the most puzzling lady he had ever met.

* * * *

Indoors, they found Johanna waiting for them alone, her eyes still crinkled in amusement.

“Has the battle been won?” asked Justin lightly.

Beatrice frowned to hear him talk so flippantly about something as serious as a quarrel between husband and wife.

“It has indeed. The combatants are indulging in a touching reconciliation at this very moment.”

“And who won the engagement?”

“Who do you think?” she countered.

“Jennice, of course. I’d back her any day.” There was a tinge of scorn to his voice. That was what you got for marrying. A wife who wheedled and wept, doing anything to get her own way. He had seen it happen all too many times.

Johanna inclined her head. “Correct! Jennice is to stay in town with me for a month or two before returning to Lymsby. Boris will join us here from time to time.”

Beatrice occupied herself with her food as the other two joked about the Newthorpes. Would she ever grow used to the way members of the ton poked fun at serious things? If she were expecting a baby, the last place she’d want to come to would be London and the last thing she’d wish would be to run away from her husband. She indulged herself briefly in a little fantasy of a home and family of her own - and why Mr Serle’s face should figure in that fantasy, she couldn’t understand. As if she’d want to marry a man as fashionable and uncaring as him - however attractive he was - and you couldn’t deny that he was attractive! Even Jennice responded to his charm.

“And did you two enjoy your walk?” Johanna asked, intrigued to find out how Justin, who usually bestowed his attentions only upon spirited ladies of dashing habits, had coped with a quiet, serious-minded companion.

“Very much!” he said automatically, inclining his head toward Miss Dencey.

“Beatrice?” Johanna asked, for her cousin was avoiding her eyes.

“Oh, the gardens are very pleasant, Johanna, and it was very - um, kind of Mr Serle to escort me. Though I have to admit that I prefer real walks in the countryside. One is so restricted in the town.”

Johanna raised her eyebrows in surprise at this lukewarm statement. “You’ll have to grow used to taking the air in such a way, I’m afraid, my dear,” she said. “I’m not one for long walks myself, and certainly not brisk ones. I much prefer shopping.” Her grin at Justin showed him just how amused she was by his failure to charm the lady.

He responded with the tiniest of shrugs.

Beatrice, who hadn’t noticed the interchange, kept her mouth resolutely closed on the truthful comment she would have liked to make. “Shopping can be very pleasant, too,” she muttered, unable to think of a better response without telling an outright lie.

Once Justin had taken his leave, Johanna asked curiously, “Did you not enjoy his company?”

“Whose?”

“Whose do you think? Serle’s, of course!”

“It was kind of him to take me away from the quarrel. I’m not - not used to such things.”

“Serle is accounted very good company by most young ladies, not to mention being thought handsome. Why, he’s one of the most sought-after bachelors in town! Now, he would make a very proper match for you or Eleanor.”

Beatrice didn’t like to see everyone fawning over a man who cared so little about the people around him. She abandoned caution and politeness to say roundly, “Well, I’m not a young lady and if you really want to know, Johanna, I prefer people whose conversation is less frivolous and who don’t spend their time mocking other people.”

Her tone was severe and dismissive. She had definitely decided now that Justin Serle would make the worst possible husband for Eleanor. Dear Eleanor needed someone more serious-minded, someone who would counter her impulsiveness. But not someone stuffy. That would be just as bad! Oh dear, this was all going to be so difficult!

Beatrice wished, and not for the first time, that her Aunt Marguerite had entrusted this task to someone else.

Chapter 4

Within a few days, Beatrice had grown more used to her cousin’s indolent habits and to the patterned behaviour of the upper classes in town. On their brief visits to London, before her aunt grew too frail to travel, she had suspected that such a life would not suit her; now, as the slow days passed and she struggled to stay awake until late at night, she grew more and more certain of it.

Back at Satherby she had been able to keep more rational hours and had a myriad occupations to keep her busy, what with visiting the tenants, helping the sick, managing a large household for her aunt, practising her singing, talking to Eleanor or simply walking in the home park. Here in London Johanna’s house ran smoothly without the need for much attention from its languid mistress. And no one Beatrice met here ever seemed to say what they meant or to discuss anything interesting.

In order to avoid upsetting anyone, she developed the habit of walking out with her maid early in the morning, when Johanna and her daughter were still in bed. She loved to watch the street life that teemed in London once you got away from the calm oases inhabited by the rich.

Johanna expostulated with her in vain. “But such creatures are dirty!”

“So would you be if you had to share a water pump with a dozen other streets!”

Johanna couldn’t even begin to imagine that situation, so ignored it. “Well, don’t let anyone see you on these expeditions - and for heavens sake, take a footman with you for protection!”

Beatrice didn’t actually refuse to do this, but simply ignored this instruction. A starchy footman would drive away the very people she wanted to talk to. Tilly was quite enough company, thank you.

Unfortunately, this innocent desire to help her fellow creatures led her into trouble the week after Jennice’s arrival in town. Early one morning she was watching with amusement an old woman buying a pie from Tom and making a big fuss about which one to choose from his tray. The two of them had already had sharp words because he had refused to let the customer feel all his stock to see which pie was the warmest, and they were now vigorously debating which was the plumpest pie on offer.

Smiling, Beatrice wished she had her sketch book, for she would have loved to try to capture the old woman’s expression and the way her whole body was absorbed in the choosing of that one pie. 

Then Tilly screamed and shouted, “Stop thief!” and Beatrice realized with a shock that a small boy had cut the strings of her reticule and was even now darting along the street with his booty. If it hadn’t been for Tilly’s quick eye, he’d have got away unnoticed, for Beatrice had felt nothing.

Angry at being caught like that, she started to run after him, following him round a corner and off the main street. She saw him turn another corner and increased her pace.

Tilly, puffing and gasping, was soon left behind.

Beatrice had spent most of her youth roaming the countryside, as she grew older, fending for herself and her mother. She reverted instinctively to the same mode of behaviour in this crisis, forgetting that it was shocking behaviour for a lady to run like that.

Suddenly, as she turned yet another corner, she felt herself falling and was unable to prevent it. She thudded to the ground and lay there, half stunned. A figure loomed over her and a filthy hand reached out toward the gold chain around her neck.

“Tut! Tut!” said a hoarse voice. “Very careless of me to trip you up like that! What a pretty necklace, my dear!”

Beatrice slapped his hand aside and covered the chain with her own hand. When she tried to roll away from him, however, it only brought her into contact with another pair of legs clad in ragged fustian trousers. Another man was barring her way on the other side and another set of black-nailed fingers was reaching down toward her.

A voice screamed, “There she is! Help!”

Beatrice’s new assailant cursed and tried to grab the gold chain. She fought him off, but then something struck her head and pain exploded around her. As she felt the chain snap, the world receded into a red mist.

It was some time before she came to her senses. Through a blur of noise and pulsating colour, she gradually became aware that she was leaning against a man’s chest, with Tilly crouched beside her fanning her face.

“What - happened?”

Tilly stopped fanning for a moment to clasp her hand. “Oh, Miss! Are you all right? You gave us such a fright!”

“What on earth were you doing chasing someone down these unsavoury lanes?” demanded a furious voice above her head. “Had you taken complete leave of your senses, Miss Dencey?”

“I was ... they’d stolen my reticule.” She had to force the words out, for her head was still swimming. She fumbled at her neck. “And they took my chain.”

“That’s when one of them kicked her, sir,” Tilly put in.

“You should have let them take it, Miss Dencey. They wouldn’t have hesitated to kill you for it! These are the back streets of London, not some country village! Such men would cut your throat as soon as look at you!”

“It’s Justin Serle,” Beatrice said, who was still feeling very strange. “How did he get here, Tilly? And why is he so angry with me?”

“I don’t think she’s come to herself proper yet, sir,” the maid whispered. “An’ she’s that pale! I’ve never seen her so white.”

“She’ll probably be sick in a minute,” he said, still sounding angry. “People often are when they’ve been hit on the head. Can you run and find us a hackney cab?”

“I don’t think I ought to leave her,” said Tilly dubiously. “If she’s sick, she’ll need me. And what if they come back again?”

“I can defend her if those villains return, believe me.” His expression was steely, though his arms were still gentle as he supported Miss Dencey. To his surprise, he was again feeling protective toward her. What was there about her that elicited this response in him?

Tilly stood up, hesitating, seeming uncertain where her duty lay.

“Mr Serle has a very strong heartbeat,” announced Beatrice. “I can hear it quite clearly.” She nestled against his chest with a happy murmur.

Justin jerked his head in the direction of the main streets. “On your way, girl! I want to get Miss Dencey home as soon as possible. The best way you can help your mistress at the moment is to find us a cab!”

Footsteps clumped up to a point behind Beatrice’s head, but she couldn’t summon up the energy to turn round and see who it was.

Tom’s voice announced gruffly, “They got clear away, sir, I’m sorry to say. I couldn’t keep up with them. Look, I can go an’ get you a hackney, if you need this young woman’s help.”

“I’d prefer you to stay here with me, Tom, in case we’re attacked again. Move yourself, girl! Tom, go and stand on the street corner and keep an eye on Miss Dencey’s maid. We don’t want her getting attacked as well.”

Tilly bowed to the voice of authority and moved off.

Beatrice, lying there dreamily, heard the conversation continue.

“I doubt I’d be much help to you in a scrap, sir.” Tom’s voice sounded tight and angry.

“You’ve still got one hand and two feet, haven’t you? Of course you’d be some use.”

The other voice became more cheerful. “Well, I’d certainly do my best, sir. Nicest lady I ever met, Miss Dencey is. Lucky day for me when I collapsed in front of ‘er, I can tell you.”

Justin stared down at the pale face so close to his. He hadn’t realized before how long Miss Dencey’s eyelashes were, or what a pretty colour her hair was when the sun was shining on it.

She looked up at him for a moment with unfocused eyes, then grimaced. “I feel s-sick.” She was finding it hard to form the words. “But I can’t - can’t sit up properly.”

Deftly, Justin moved her into a sitting position and held her until she had finished vomiting, then lifted her in his arms, carrying her a short distance along the street before stopping again. He fumbled in his pocket for his handkerchief and wiped her mouth.

She allowed his ministrations, leaning against him again when he had finished, for he felt so warm and comforting. The world was beginning to make a little more sense now. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble.”

“You were quite feather-brained to take such a risk!” He glanced around, alert to the possibility that the thieves might come back with reinforcements. Then he looked down and saw tears come into her eyes at his sharp words and his voice became gentle again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be scolding you now. You must be feeling dreadful.”

The world was still hazy around her, but she felt a need to explain. “Didn’t like to - to be robbed.”

“He dropped your gold chain when I hit him with me tray, Miss,” volunteered Tom. “I’ve got it here safe for you.”

“Oh, Tom! Thank you so much!” She tried to turn her head toward him, but winced as pain shot through her.

Justin’s voice sounded in her ear. “You should be resting, Miss Dencey, not trying to talk. Or move.”

“Oh. Yes.” She closed her eyes and tried to do that, but could still hear what they were saying, as if it were at the far end of a long tunnel.