A Lady in the Smoke (7 page)

“James, I've a question for you. And,” I added firmly, “you must tell me the whole truth, no matter how unpleasant.”

He took a sip of the tea, and his lip curled slightly. “Well, it's
hot
anyway.”

“James.”

He set the cup down in its saucer with a sigh, leaned back into his chair, and met my gaze. “All right, what is it?”

“When we were at the ball, people were gossiping about us—about my mother and me, I mean. About our fortunes.”

His expression became uncomfortable. “Well, I overheard something about it. But people certainly aren't going to gossip about you with
me
.”

“After the ball Mama admitted that we've suffered some losses recently, but when I asked her what they were, she simply wouldn't—or couldn't—give me a reasonable answer. She just became terribly angry.” I leaned over the table and lowered my voice. “Please, James. I feel stupid, not knowing the sources of our income. I assume that some of it is interest from investments, and some from rents. That's usual, isn't it? But I don't know any of the particulars.”

“Frankly, I don't know the particulars either. But your income from rents wouldn't diminish; and the interest on the funds is guaranteed at five percent, so the problem isn't with them.” He frowned. “I know that your grandfather and father both made significant investments in joint-stock companies, including shares in mining and railway ventures. My guess is that's where you could be losing money.”

“But how would anyone outside the family have any idea about that? The only person who
would
know is Mr. Turleigh. And he'd never say a word about our private affairs; you know that.”

Mr. Turleigh was our family solicitor and the most close-mouthed man I'd ever met—quite literally. His lips were thin, and they naturally came together in a line that made them almost invisible. In all the times he'd come to Kellham Park, I'd never even heard him mention another client by name.

James took a scone from the plate. “My guess is it's someone who's in the same boat you are. Maybe someone on one of the railway boards. Or maybe someone who purchased shares of mining stock when your father did.”

“But why would anyone want to disclose such unfortunate information about himself, let alone us? Why spread such damaging gossip?”

“I've no idea.”

I sighed. “Well, clearly, I'll have to write to Mr. Turleigh—”

“Write to Mr. Turleigh?” His voice was sharp, and the butter tongs he was using halted in mid-air.

“Well, yes.” I stirred sugar into my fresh tea. “Why shouldn't I write to him? He's the one who will know for certain.”

“Because you'd send the poor man into apoplexy, that's why.” He finished tonging butter onto his plate. “You know how old-fashioned he is. He'll never discuss a financial situation with a lady.” He raised an eyebrow. “And don't look at me like that, all outraged. Despite my conservative tendencies, you know that I don't necessarily agree with him.” He buttered a bite-sized section of his scone carefully. “I'll tell you as much as I can, and if you're still bent on knowing more, I can write to Mr. Turleigh and ask him.”

“Would you? Would you do it soon?”

“I'll do it tonight, when I'm back in London.”

I sat back with a sigh. “Thank you. I do feel as though I have a right to know about my own fortune.”

He finished swallowing the bite of scone and adopted the meticulous, pedantic air that I used to find so terribly annoying as a girl. “Well, there's certainly no reason you
shouldn't,
but strictly speaking, it's not your fortune, Elizabeth—”

“For god's sake, I know
that
much. The estate is entailed upon my second cousin Colin, and there's a special provision that says that my husband receives my dowry only so long as we remain within the British Empire because Great-Grandfather was a proper John Bull. English money for England, and all that.”

He picked up his knife and resumed buttering. “Well, I'm glad you know. You wouldn't believe how uneducated some young ladies are when it comes to matters of trusts and inheritances.”

“But at the ball, Lady Nestor said specifically that it was my ten thousand pounds per annum that were a thing of the past. Do you know if the estate and my dowry are funded separately?”

He rolled his eyes. “As if you can believe anything you'd hear from Lady Nestor!”

“I know, but—”

“Your father was a clever man, so I'm sure your dowry is diversified among stocks and the funds just like the estate”—he raised his eyebrows as I opened my mouth to protest that in fact he knew no such thing—“and in any case, there's nothing you can do about it, so you should take a page from my mother's book and don't go looking for trouble.” He waved his knife vaguely in the air. “I'm sure everything will be fine.”

“Fine?” I repeated sharply. “The way Mama made it sound, I'm going to end up a spinster, having no opportunities except to live at Kellham Park until she dies, at which time I will be thrown into the merciful arms of my relations—which means my aunt and your father.” I stifled a groan. “Maybe Mama is right. I should have disposed of myself last Season and gotten it over with.”

He looked disconcerted, and when at last he spoke, his voice was strained. “I do wish you wouldn't talk about yourself that way.”

I swallowed down my bitterness. It wasn't James's fault I was in this uncertain situation, and he had already agreed to do what he could to help me. I forced a smile. “I'm sorry, James. You didn't come here to listen to me moan. Besides which, I know I should be feeling grateful. I could have been badly hurt in that accident, or even killed. Plenty of people were.”

He touched my hand briefly where it rested on the table. “We are all very glad you're all right.”

I managed a genuine smile this time. “Thank you.”

He looked at me uncertainly, as if he were about to say something else, but thought better of it and took out his pocket watch. “I should be going. I've no idea when the next down train will come through. The accident has closed the Great Southeastern north of Hartfield, so the line to Bonwell is simply crammed with travelers. Everything's running behind.”

“I do appreciate you coming to check on us.”

“Of course.” He folded his napkin onto the table with a practical air. “Now, is there anything you need? Anything at all? I was planning to hire a carriage to take you home immediately, but—”

“That's kind of you, but Mama truly can't be moved just yet.”

“And you're all right to stay here with her?” he asked, rising from the table.

“Of course. Martin already brought a trunk of our things.” I smiled. “As for the awful tea, I'm just going to have to muddle through somehow.”

He grinned, shrugged into his coat, and bent down to give me another kiss on the cheek. “Give her my love, and don't worry about the rest of it. I'll write to Mr. Turleigh tonight, and I'll report back as soon as I hear from him, all right?”

“Thank you, James.” I paused. “Be careful on the train.”

“Oh, don't worry. Lightning won't strike the same place twice.”

It was only after he'd started walking away that I remembered what Mr. Wilcox's friend had said. If Tom was right, lightning might not only strike twice, but it would do so soon. I felt a moment of panic before reason reasserted itself. James was going south to London, not north toward Malverton, so whatever was happening there wouldn't affect him. But the thought of another accident made my heart jerk unsteadily, and I had to bite my lip to keep myself from calling him back.

I took a late nap that afternoon, and I woke to Jane's hand on my arm. The curtains were drawn, and the lamp in our room was turned to a dim light.

“Lady Elizabeth. You should go have dinner. The second seating is in fifteen minutes.”

I sat up and blinked a few times as I came awake. I glanced over at my mother, who looked to be asleep. “How is she?” I whispered.

“She's resting nicely,” Jane murmured.

I rose, went to the washstand to splash water on my face, and took up the hairbrush. I felt wonderfully refreshed and even hungry. Keeping my voice low, I asked Jane if she had eaten dinner herself.

“Yes, and I brought something for your mother.” She gestured to a covered tray on the table. “I'll wake her in a bit.”

Her voice was moderate as always, but there was some quality in it that made me turn to study her expression. I hadn't misheard the undertone; Jane was looking at me anxiously. I opened my mouth to ask what was wrong, but she shook her head and pointed toward the door. Hastily, I finished brushing my hair, bundling it into one of my nets. Then we went into the corridor.

“Jane, what is it?” I asked softly, as she shut the door behind us. “Are you all right?”

“Oh, I'm fine, Lady Elizabeth. But I need to ask you something.” Her brow was furrowed with concern. “At dinner, I heard people talking about a young unmarried woman who'd spent all of Friday night alone in the kitchen with the surgeon. At first I paid no attention because I was sure it was no concern of mine. But then I realized they were talking about
you
. Is what they said true?”

I felt the blood rise to my cheeks, and a note of annoyance crept into my voice. “We weren't
alone,
Jane. There were at least a dozen patients in there with us—all of whom desperately needed care!”

Her eyes widened. “My dear, what were you thinking?”

“He had no one to help him! He was trying to be a surgeon and a nurse all at once. And—and—there was a maid with us too. She was boiling the water on the stove.” I paused, and when she didn't reply, I added a bit impatiently, “Surely you, of all people, understand my wanting to help. Not that I'm a proper nurse, of course.”

Her expression altered. “Of course I understand, and it's a fine impulse. But it was still improper for you to be alone with an unmarried man—even given the extraordinary circumstances.”

I fidgeted with the sash at my waist.

“I haven't seen him myself,” she continued, “but people are saying that he's young and very handsome.”

“So if he'd been old and ugly it would've been all right?”

“Well, if you weren't a
lady,
it might've been all right.”

“Yes, far better for people to die than for a
lady
to do something improper,” I retorted.

She looked stricken, and I repented at once. “I'm sorry, Jane.” I touched her sleeve. “I'm not angry with
you
. I know you're trying to help. I just wish—I wish that in unusual circumstances, the usual rules could be broken without…” My voice dwindled.

“I've sometimes wished that myself,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “Well, I didn't want you to go downstairs unprepared.”

My heart sank. It was like the night of the ball all over again—only here, people wouldn't be able to hide their snide looks behind their fans. Maybe they'd use their napkins.

She gave my hand a squeeze. “Don't fret about it. As my aunt used to say, there are some tongues that must always be wagging about someone. And if you keep your distance from Mr. Wilcox and behave properly, the gossip will die down and there'll be no lasting harm—for either of you.”

Keep my distance from him.

My heart sank again, remembering how he had all but ignored me in the dining room that morning. In all likelihood, I wouldn't have to worry about keeping my distance from him; he wouldn't be anywhere near me to begin with.

I nodded unhappily. “I will.” And then I started down to the dining room. From the stairs, I could hear the noisy chatter and the clink of silver. I smelled mutton and onions, rosemary and bread. I had been hungry when I woke, but as I came close to the doorway, my stomach clenched with dread. I could not go in there, knowing that I had been the subject of their recent gossip. I could imagine, all too easily, what would happen. They would be startled when I appeared; they'd look at each other guiltily; and then some would turn their heads away to exchange knowing smirks. The kinder people would suddenly become intent upon their dinners.

I wanted no part of it.

Turning my back on the dining room, I went to the threshold of the sitting room and peered in. It was empty except for a low-burning fire, so I slipped into the chair I was beginning to think of as mine. I did not want to admit to myself how much I wished it were last night again, as I sat staring at the coals.

Stupid, small-minded gossips. I should see if I can wangle invitations for them to Lady Lorry's next party. They would be right at home.

“You're not taking dinner?”

My heart jumped. Mr. Wilcox was standing behind the other chair, his left hand resting along its back.

The blood rushed to my cheeks, as one thought after another embarrassed me: Did he think I'd come in here on purpose to meet him? Had he overheard the gossip in the dining room? Had he come to find me because he felt sorry for me?

I tried to keep my tone light. “No. I don't feel much like eating.” And then, before I realized how rude it would sound, I asked, “How did you know I was in here?”

If he was offended, he didn't show it. “I was coming down the back stairs and saw you. I was planning to check on your mother in a few minutes. Is she better tonight?”

His tone was so normal that I felt reassured. “She still hasn't spoken, but she's more at ease now that Jane is here—the nurse I told you about.” I touched the plaster on my head. “Jane agreed with everything you'd done for Mama—and she admired the stitching you did for me.”

“I'm glad to hear that.” He smiled. “I can see her now, if you like.”

I rose and moved toward the door, but he stayed where he was.

“Why don't you go ahead?” he asked. “I'll be along in a minute.”

He might as well have said outright that it wasn't a good idea for the two of us to be seen going upstairs together. So he
had
heard the gossip.

I felt the blood rush to my cheeks again, hotter than before. I nodded stiffly and headed for my room.

Jane had propped Mama up against some pillows and had helped her eat dinner. The bowl on the tray was nearly empty, and only a corner of toast remained on the plate. I breathed a sigh of relief; Mama certainly looked better. For the first time since the accident, she was awake and alert. But when her eyes met mine, she immediately looked away, her lips tightening.

My greeting remained unspoken; my feet stopped where they were; and I felt a pang of disappointment tinged with resentment. I wasn't expecting a sudden reversal of her feelings toward me. But we'd nearly died in that carriage—and even if she didn't remember I'd helped her, shouldn't she at least feel the kind of sympathy that stems from surviving a terrible ordeal together?

Or was it possible she didn't remember any of it?

Jane broke the silence, speaking with determined cheerfulness. “Your mother took almost all the soup tonight, Lady Elizabeth.”

I forced a smile. “I saw the doctor downstairs. He'll be up in a few minutes.”

Mama's face was still turned away, and now her fingers were plucking irritably at the blanket. Jane's hand went to her wrist, and a look of concern crossed her face.

I felt a sting of shame, prickly as a nettle.
What must Jane think?

“I should go,” I said quietly and picked up the tray. “I'll come back later, after she's asleep.”

“Let me help you.” Jane opened the door for me to pass through but then followed me into the hall, pulling the door closed behind us. Her expression was full of concern, and she opened her mouth, no doubt to say something to take the edge of my mother's coldness—but suddenly I couldn't bear it. I knew a single kind word would make me cry.

“Once she's settled, you should get some rest,” I said hurriedly. “Mrs. Mowbray has a bed prepared for you upstairs. Did she show you?”

“Lady Elizabeth—”

“I'll take this to the kitchen.” I turned away and headed down the hall.

The tray was bulky, and Mr. Wilcox and I passed each other awkwardly on the stairs. “You're not staying?” he asked, surprised.

“Jane's with her. They're waiting for you.”

My eyes on the steps, I continued to the kitchen to deliver the tray. Then, not knowing what else to do, I went to the front hallway to wait. Someone had placed two small chairs there, so at least I didn't have to stand sentinel.

I'd been seated for a quarter of an hour, wondering what Mr. Wilcox would say about my mother's condition, when the door flew open, and the boy Jeremy stepped inside, shutting the door with a bang that made me jump.

I glowered at him. Did he really not know how to enter quietly?

His black eyes met mine. “Where is 'e? Mr. Wilcox? I need to see 'im straightaway.”

“He's with my mother,” I said shortly. “What's the matter?”

“Hmph.” He stood before me, rocking back and forth. He—or his coat—reeked of ale and tobacco, and I wondered just how much time this boy spent in the unwholesome air of public houses. “ 'E's got to get over to t'other place right quick, or there's goin' to be trouble.”

I felt my pulse quicken. “The Polk Hotel?”

“Yah.” He sat down in the other chair and wiped his nose on his sleeve.

“Why?”

He glanced at me sideways. “Got one of them quacks in there with 'is patients, saying 'e done everything wrong.”

“What?” I stared.

“ 'Nd two of 'is patients' families is come to take 'em away. Mr. Wilcox ain't going to like it, not one bit.”

I heard footsteps on the stairs, and then Mr. Wilcox's voice: “What aren't I going to like, Jeremy?”

“There you are!” Jeremy burst out. “You got to get over to the Polk right away. That rich man, the one wot you saw this mornin', and the lady wot was bleeding from her leg, their doctors are both come and fixin' to take 'em back to London tomorro'. And that Mr. Galton's over there, saying you done things all wrong, and the railway servant's took worse. Started bleedin' from 'is gut. So 'e's getting out 'is leeches.”

Mr. Wilcox's eyes narrowed, and his lips pressed briefly into a thin line.

“A railway servant?” I asked. “What happened to him?”

“A wooden beam landed on him, broke three of his ribs,” Mr. Wilcox replied. “I'm afraid he's bleeding inwardly.”

“Can you do anything to stop it?”

“I can try.” He set his bag down and began buttoning up his coat.

“Do you need help?” The words slipped out of my mouth before I thought.

He shook his head. “Jeremy can help me if I need it.”

“Oh, nah!” Jeremy's eyes went wide, and he put his dirty palms up. “I ain't touching 'im! Niver! If'n 'e dies, I don't want no part of a dead man's soul crossing mine!”

Mr. Wilcox glared at him.

“Are you sure you don't want me to come?” I asked. “If I could help you, I'd like to. Truly.”

A faint pause, and then he drew out a scarf from the pocket and looked at Jeremy. “Would you go find a maid and ask her for a lantern?”

Jeremy's face screwed up in a grimace and he turned away, muttering, “Aw right. But I tell ye, I ain't doin' nowt wi' the bleedin' patients.”

The door opened just then to admit two men, boisterous and quite drunk, and Mr. Wilcox took my elbow and drew me out of their stumbling path into the sitting room. The fire had burnt out, and the only light came from outside, a muted glow from a window opposite. It was enough for me to see his face, for we were standing close; and he was looking at me with an expression that made me drop my gaze.

I had never before willingly kissed a man, or even embraced one. Oh, Anthony had once tried to kiss me when we were eleven or twelve, and during my first Season, drunk Lord Thompson had taught me what it was to have a man force my head back and exact his kisses like they were some sort of prize. In truth, the thought of what men did with women when they were alone frightened me.

But Mr. Wilcox? Just standing this close to him made my bones turn to wax.

He felt it too; I could tell without looking. He let go of my elbow, but his voice was low in my ear, barely above a whisper. “It wouldn't be proper. People here are already talking—”

At that, I looked up. “There's no one here I care about.”
Except you.

Perhaps he sensed what I'd left unsaid, for a faint smile lit his face, erasing the worry, and after a moment, he yielded. “Do you have shoes you can walk in? And a warm cloak?” I nodded. “Good. Come down the back stairs so no one will see you.”

I hurried up to my room. Behind me, I heard Mr. Wilcox thank Jeremy for the lantern.

At our door, I paused with my hand on the doorknob. Jane would never let me go anywhere with Mr. Wilcox, certainly not at this hour. But it was well after ten o'clock, and all I could hope was that she had taken my suggestion and gone to bed. I pushed the door open a tiny crack and breathed a sigh of relief. Jane was gone, and Mama was lying on her side, facing the wall, her sprained ankle propped on a pillow, snoring faintly. I slipped inside, nudged the door nearly closed, and, in the light that came through the crack, removed my shoes, slipped on my boots, and found my cloak; then I crept down the back stairs and stepped into the yard behind the hotel. It stank of garbage, and the only good light came from the lantern Jeremy carried.