Anna Jacobs (9 page)

“Remind me to reimburse you for the pies you lost,” said Justin. “Miss Dencey is very obliged to you. As am I. You bore into that villain like a good ‘un.”

“Ah, you should ‘ave seen me when I ‘ad both me arms,” said Tom regretfully. “I’d ha’ caught one of ‘em for sure in them days. Nor I don’t need payin’ to ‘elp a regular trojan of a lady like Miss Dencey.”

“You’ve more than earned a reward.”

“Well, all right, then. No, not that much. I wouldn’t take nothin’ at all, sir, only I need money for more stock, you see. Mine got spilled - full tray, it was, too - an’ all the pies will ‘ave been picked up and et. I ain’t got nothin’ saved yet, with you see, me only just starting in the trade.”

Beatrice felt Mr Serle fumble in his pocket and one of his hands momentarily left her. As the hand returned to hold her more tightly, she gave in to the temptation to snuggle more closely into the crook of her rescuer’s arm. “You’re stronger than you look,” she murmured. “Not just a dandy.”

Justin, who prided himself on his sporting prowess, stiffened and exclaimed in astonishment, “A dandy! Is that what you think of me?”

“Always talking about fashions and parties,” she explained, still feeling light-headed and more than half convinced that this was just a dream and a bad one at that. It didn’t really matter what she said in a dream. She’d never dare say such things to anyone in real life, of course, though she had often longed to.

Justin’s lips tightened and Tom hid a grin.

“Always immaculately dressed,” she continued. “In the height of fashion. That’s a dandy, isn’t it?”

The rattle of wheels and the sound of Tilly’s voice interrupted Beatrice’s ramblings, and she felt herself being lifted up and settled in a vehicle which smelled of stale sweat and mouldy straw. She couldn’t help moaning, for being moved made her head stab with pain, but a gentle voice promised she would soon be safe in her bed, so she subsided against Serle once more, clinging to him with her free hand. “I feel safe with you,” she confided. “Don’t let them hit me again!”

“No, I won’t.”

As the cab began to move, Beatrice could feel herself drifting away into a warm darkness. The dream must be coming to an end. She would be glad to wake up. Her head was hurting so much she couldn’t think properly.

Justin stared down at her beautiful hair, tumbled on her shoulders now and brushing against his chin. He had a sudden urge to stroke it, so lustrous was it, and he barely prevented himself from doing so. Fortunately the maid didn’t seem to have noticed anything. But the strange impulses continued to bombard him. He could feel Miss Dencey’s breasts rising and falling against his chest. She had a woman’s figure, warm and soft, not a slight girlish frame, like so many young ladies, some of whom had barely turned seventeen. It surprised him that he hadn’t fully appreciated before what an attractive woman she was. Perhaps that was because she wasn’t showy, didn’t set out to attract. She was just - herself.

His expression became grim as he remembered what she thought of him. A dandy, indeed!

Another period of jolting was followed by a chorus of voices and by more movement and light, which hurt her head again. Beatrice sighed in relief when a man’s deep voice told the others sharply to be quiet and then ordered someone to show him where Miss Dencey’s bedchamber lay.

“You’re breathing very deeply,” Beatrice told the person who was carrying her. “Where are you taking me? Oh!” For as he started to climb some stairs, the increased jolting made her head begin to throb again. She clutched his shoulder tightly.

“Is it hurting you?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a mere thread of sound.

“I’m sorry. But see, we’re here at your bedroom now.”

As he laid her on the bed, she opened her eyes, only to find the room spinning about her. With a sigh, she let herself spiral down into the darkness, glad to leave the pain behind.

* * * *

When Beatrice awoke, it was dark and Johanna was sitting by her bed. There was a rustle of silk, then a whisper of, “Bea?”

“Johanna,” she managed. “What - what happened?”

“At least she seems to be in her right senses,” Johanna commented to someone invisible beyond the pool of light thrown by a single candle.

Beatrice frowned. “Of course I’m in my senses? But why am I lying here with ... Oh!” Memories came flooding back.

“You were attacked in the street.”

“It wasn’t a dream.”

“No. And fancy running after a thief like that. Don’t you know how dangerous those alleys are?”

A cool cloth was laid on her forehead and Beatrice sighed. “Nice,” she managed, closing her eyes.

“Does it help?”

“Yes. Head’s aching!”

“I’m not surprised! Those villains kicked you! Such people should be hanged!”

“They were probably hungry.” Beatrice tried to see who else was in the room, but gasped as her head throbbed in protest against even a slight movement.

Johanna patted her hand. “Never mind that! Just try to rest, Bea! The doctor said nothing is broken and you’ll be all right in a day or two.”

“Yes. I’d like to - rest.” There was a fire flickering in the grate and its cheerful flames were tugging at the corners of her eyes. She couldn’t keep them open. She could not ...

* * * *

It was light when she woke again and this time her maid was sitting beside her.

“How do you feel, Miss? You look a bit better now, I must say. Got a bit of pink in your cheeks again. You slept for most of the night, though you was a bit restless just before dawn.”

Beatrice’s head was still aching, but she could think more clearly, at least. She gasped as she started to remember what had happened and tried to persuade herself that it was just a dream that she had accused her rescuer of being a dandy - but somehow, her memories of that conversation seemed only too real. “Tilly!” she said, after a minute or two.

“Yes, Miss?”

She simply had to find out whether she had really spoken her thoughts aloud and been so rude to poor Mr Serle. “Did I - um, say anything - um, anything impolite to Mr Serle yesterday?”

Tilly giggled. “Well...”

“Tell me!”

“Well, Miss, Tom says you told Mr Serle he was a dandy an’ said that he only talked nonsense, an’ Tom says he wasn’t best pleased with that.”

“Oh dear!”

“Don’t you worry, Miss! He’ll soon forget it, Mr Serle will. He’s a kind gentleman and he knows you wasn’t yourself.”

Beatrice groaned. Out of her senses or not, she’d been extremely rude! How would she ever face Justin Serle again? What must he think of her? Especially as, dandy or not, he’d come to her rescue and driven away her attackers. She lay there for a minute or two, then tried to turn her head to look at Tilly, but the effort made her head throb again.

“Just you lie still, Miss. I’ll go an’ tell them you’re awake.”

Beatrice dozed off after that, until she became suddenly aware of a debate between Johanna and Tilly as to whether the doctor should be summoned again. “I’m all right,” she managed and opened her eyes. “I don’t need a doctor. Johanna!”

Her cousin leaned over her. “Is there anything you do need, love?”

“I’m thirsty.”

“Tilly, get your mistress a drink of that barley water the doctor ordered. Afterwards, we’ll sponge you down, Bea, so that you feel fresher.”

“Yes. Yes, I’d like that.”

She drank a whole glass of liquid, then allowed them to do as they would with her. Almost before they’d finished their ministrations, she could feel herself drifting into sleep again. “So tired,” she sighed.

* * * *

By the following day, apart from a slight residual headache, Beatrice felt well enough to be helped to a couch by the fire in her room.

Jennice came to visit her, but Beatrice couldn’t seem to concentrate for long on what her visitor said, for the loud, cheerful voice and lively conversation made her head throb. Johanna came in later and was a more comfortable companion, because she talked quietly and softly, not demanding answers.

Tilly was best of all, because she said very little and that in hushed tones, seeming to notice what her mistress needed without being told.

Justin Serle had sent a huge bunch of hothouse flowers, which gazed accusingly down at Beatrice from a wooden plant stand in the bay window. In the end, after trying in vain to ignore it, she told Tilly to take them away, pretending their perfume made her headache worse.

It was several days before she felt strong enough to resume her normal life again, days in which she worried about the fact that she had insulted Mr Serle and must definitely apologize to him as soon as she possibly could.

During that period of convalescence she was fussed over by every servant with a claim to attend her.  From the start of this visit, Johanna had watched with wry amusement as Beatrice gradually won over her servants and had them eating out of her hand, even Moreton, who was famous for being one of the most supercilious butlers in town. But he was not haughty with Miss Dencey. With her, he was fatherly and helpful, especially since her accident. For her, he would unbend amazingly and the two of them held long conversations about the manners of the ton nowadays and those in his youth, or the difficulties of maintaining standards during the recent war, with prices so high and food and goods so scarce.

While Miss Dencey was ill, there was distinct rivalry between the various servants as to who could do most for her, and it was noticeable that Moreton found several excuses to visit her upstairs, even carrying up the notes from well-wishers himself, a signal honour.

Tilly had now become very possessive of her temporary mistress and Johanna could see that there would be no chance of hiring a more experienced lady’s maid after this.

Even that man Tom had appeared at the kitchen door every day, begging for news of Miss Dencey.

* * * *

Once she had recovered, Beatrice resumed her social engagements, somewhat embarrassed by the notoriety she had acquired because of her adventure. Justin Serle, she found, was cast in the role of hero rescuing a poor foolish lady. People spoke of his bravery in the most extravagant terms, as if expecting her to swoon away at the mere thought of it.

No one seemed to give her any credit for trying to fight off her attackers, but rather, they hinted at how foolish she had been to try to follow the thief. She had to dig her fingers into her palms several times to prevent herself from answering sharply, but thanks to her years of training with the Dowager, no one suspected how angry she sometimes felt. Well, she hoped they didn’t.

Mr Serle came to call upon her as soon as he heard she was out and about again, and though she had been dreading this meeting, she couldn’t refuse to see him. When he sat down, Johanna, forewarned of her need to apologize, tactfully went into the next room, leaving them alone.

Beatrice took a deep breath and began the speech she had prepared. “I wish to tell you that I - I’m grateful, no, I mean extremely grateful to you, Mr Serle, for - for rescuing me from those men.” She knew the words had come out woodenly, so that she sounded insincere, but she couldn’t help that.

“I’m happy to have been of service to you, Miss Dencey.”

His voice was as stiff as hers, his expression cold and accusing. He must still be angry at what she had said. “I believe,” she said, head bent, fiddling with the fringe of her shawl, “that I owe you an apology as well.”

“What on earth for, Miss Dencey?”

She couldn’t now imagine this man holding her so carefully in his arms. The memory of the way she had nestled against him had made her blush several times, not to mention haunting her dreams. “I’m sorry for - for saying things. About you. Things I had no - no right to - to...”

“There is no need to...”

But she couldn’t leave it at that. She knew she had to make him understand. “I didn’t realize, you see, that it was real. I felt so distant. I thought I was dreaming.”

If that was how she dreamed, she must have a very low opinion of him. He tried to contain his anger. He couldn’t understand why he was still so annoyed with her. What did Miss Dencey’s opinion matter to him, after all? “Pray give it no more thought. Your wits were wandering after the blow. I do assure you that no one could possibly take offense at what you said while you were in that condition.”

“You still sound angry, though.” She looked at him uncertainly, her expression vulnerable. He felt his eyes soften as he looked at her. “I meant what I said. Pray give the matter no more thought. We shall blame it on the blow to your head. And you said nothing to which I could take offence.”

She knew this for a lie, but she couldn’t think what else to say, how to mend matters between them. In the end, she was relieved when Johanna rejoined them.

The conversation at once turned to the social inanities Beatrice so despised and thereafter she made little attempt to join in.

Justin responded automatically to his hostess’s remarks, but kept wishing he could say something to take the anxious expression from Miss Dencey’s face. But he couldn’t think of anything conciliatory to say to her. When he glanced sideways, he saw that Lady Ostdene was observing him closely, which made him feel even worse, for she knew him only too well, being like the aunt he had never had.

He made a greater effort to maintain a light tone and hoped he had succeeded, for if he behaved differently toward Miss Dencey from the way he behaved toward other young ladies, his hostess would notice at once and wonder why.

Just before he left, he remembered something which would please Beatrice - and why ever did he keep thinking of her by her first name when she was no connection of his, not even a friend? “I’ve seen Tom once or twice, Miss Dencey, and have kept an eye on him for you. He’s doing well with his pies, has found a better supplier and is becoming quite popular in certain streets.”

She beamed at him. “Oh, I’m so glad! Thank you for that information, Mr Serle!” Her voice was warm again, as if she had completely forgotten their differences.

He smiled back at her, delighted to have pleased her. “I was glad to help. He’s a decent sort of fellow and came to your aid without a thought of himself.”