A Reckless Promise (20 page)

Sadie looked to Darby, who only nodded. “Thank you, sir,” she said, dipping into a rather uncertain curtsy before she aimed herself at a small couch in the small room.

Once she was seated, Darby waited for the mine owner to lower himself into a high-backed leather chair that rather moaned under his weight, and then sat down beside her.

“The duke told me a most fascinating story of his travels in Lancashire, and his meeting with you. How well did he do in the mines? He said he thought he had the makings of a fine collier.”

“Is that so? Then we'll let it stand at that, won't we, since he's the duke now, and not just a happy soul out to see the world,” Jasper said with a broad wink. “Quite the good sport, though. Said he wanted to try everything before he croaked. Another day in the mines, and he might have seen that hope dashed.”

“Fortunately, His Grace and his duchess have survived to seek many adventures over the years.”

Jasper nodded. “I know. We exchange letters from time to time, him telling me about his travels. Sent me a bird once, said to try it in the mines to see if it was better than the canaries. Good man, good man. Saw him the other night at some damned musicale. Music? I've heard better tinkling in the privy. Sally made me go, you understand, and he invited me to some celebration he's planning, so that was all right. Hadn't seen him in dogs' years. Got the invitation right there, on the mantelpiece, where Sally said I was to put all my invitations so visitors could see them and gnash their teeth because they didn't have as many. I don't know. I still have only the one, and you're my first visitors. Only here at all to visit my grandkiddies. Sally isn't keen on that, but I figure I bought and paid for 'em, just like I did their papa, so I'll see 'em when I damn well want to, begging your pardon, miss.”

“Jas's daughter is Lady Sarah Woodley,” Darby told Sadie in explanation.

Sadie smiled. Apparently she was going to keep mum until she figured out just what was going on, although Darby was certain she already had some idea about the reason for this visit.

“Basil's note said you had some questions about a mine owner I might know. Know 'em all, I do. Mine owners, coal merchants. Just toss a name at me—I'm sure to catch it, and toss back the good and the bad about all of 'em.”

“Thank you. So that would mean you're familiar with a mine owner named Samuel Dobson?”

“Sam? One of the better ones. Always liked old Dobby. A hard man, but fair. What do you want to know?”

“Anything you might be able to tell us,” Darby said, since he wasn't quite sure, and a wise man learned all he could about his enemy.

Jasper leaned back and scratched at his ear. “Let's see. Came up about the way I did, going from nothing to something thanks to hard work. Back then you could do that, but not so much anymore. We'd meet from time to time in Liverpool, just us men, but his Alice took my Bessie in dislike, you could say, when she popped off Sally, and that was that. Nothing worse than a jealous woman, I say. Poor Sam. Don't think his life was ever the same.”

Darby felt a slight kick to his ankle. Clearly Sadie had questions. He'd attempt to ask them.

“Mrs. Dobson was unhappy about your daughter's marriage?”

“More like she was unhappy about my Bessie crowing about it all the time, like a rooster at sunrise. But that's women for you. About the same time we got Sally popped off, Sam's daughter run away with some fella, just as her mama was about to buy her a baronet, think it was. More ancient than that Bible guy, Methuselah, but that didn't bother Alice. She was fighting mad, and swore she'd get her Susie home and start over. I believe she went so far as to hire some of those robin redbreasts. You know, Bow Street Runners?”

“But she never found her?”

“No, but not for lack of trying. The way I heard it, Sam blamed Alice for the whole thing, his Susie taking off like that. Cursed himself for not putting his foot down. He soldiered on as it were, for a few years, but then he didn't seem to care anymore about the Dobson mines, and all but turned over the running of them to a nephew.”

Jasper sighed. “Just didn't care anymore, what with his only child lost to him. Alice turned in her ticket about two years ago, Lord rest her, I suppose, and Sam took himself off to Bath—no, wait, Brighton. Yes, that's it, Brighton. Where Prinney built that silly palace with the turrets?”

“Minarets,” Darby corrected.

“If you say so that's fine with me. I took a look at 'em, figuring once my Bessie was gone I could do a bit of adventuring myself, like Basil did. So that's Brighton? Then it wasn't Bath. Saw Sam there, being dunked in the sea, just as I was doing the same.”

He shook his head. “Never got much out of that dunking business, but it was good seeing Sam. He didn't say much, but I thought he was still looking for his Susie, wanting to make amends. I told him he'd best take himself back home and see how his nephew was making a mess of the mines, but he said no, he didn't care a spit and was staying right where he was, and the nephew could damn well have 'em when he was gone. Sad. You had to ask me about one of the sad ones...”

“I'm sorry, Jas,” Darby said, his mind racing. “I wonder what would happen if Sam was to find his Susie, now that Alice is gone.”

Jasper had pulled a huge white linen handkerchief from his pocket and had just lustily blown his nose. “Fall on her neck and beg her forgiveness? My Sally's happy enough, so that's all right with me, but to have your one child run from you because of how unhappy you made her? That's a weight not easily dropped, son, especially as we have more life behind us than we do ahead of us.”

Darby looked at Sadie. “Have you anything to say to Jas, Sadie Grace? It's your decision, and yours only.”

She nodded, wiping a tear from her eye.

Sadie Grace Hamilton was a good woman, beautiful inside and out. He knew what she was going to say before she said it.

“Sir? The man Susan eloped with was John Hamilton. My brother.”

“What?” Jasper leaned forward. “Now, wait—wait, wait, wait. Hamilton? Yes, that's it. Country doctor, poor as a church mouse. I remember now. Then you know where Sam's Susie is?”

“Unfortunately, sir, Susan and John are both deceased.”

Jasper fell back in his chair. “Oh, no. Can't tell Sam that.”

“He knows, sir, just as he knows Susan and John have a daughter, my niece, Marley. The viscount is now her guardian and she's here in London. Here secretly.”

“That's probably sufficient, Sadie,” Darby said quietly.

“I don't think it is. Mr. Hooper—Jas—my brother's dying wish was to keep Marley safe from the Dobsons. To that end, I followed his wishes to bring her to the viscount rather than obey a letter I received from Mr. Dobson's solicitor in Liverpool, demanding her return there. But you say Mr. Dobson resides in Brighton.”

“He does. Saw him only last year. Said he'd never go back up north.”

“Yes. Then I have a question for you, sir. A most important question, so I'd like you to consider well before answering it. Does my niece need to remain safe from Sam Dobson?”

Darby also felt certain he knew the answer to that question before the man spoke, knowing he wouldn't like it. Jasper Hooper might be rough about the edges, but he wasn't a stupid man.

“To see his grandbaby, look in her eyes, hear her call him Grandda? That's a sad man, Sam Dobson is. He'd give up his hope of heaven for that, miss, just as I would do for mine. The one you should be worrying your head about is Ellesmere.”

And there it was.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Ellesmere, missy. Ellesmere Odling, Sam's nephew. Nasty pieces of work, him and his sister both. Edythe, yes, that's the name. Edythe and Ellesmere. They're the ones who stand to inherit every last groat.” Jasper looked to Darby. “You look a bright boy, and this old man here didn't just fall from the sky yesterday, neither. This gel says the letter came from Liverpool, not Brighton. What would you do if you knew what Sam doesn't, and can't find the girl because she's been hidden?”

“I'd kill Sam Dobson before he can hear about his granddaughter, or see her. That is the answer you're looking for, correct?”

Jasper Cooper slapped his ham-like hands against his knees and got to his feet. “Damned right, you would. Sam and the grandbaby both, had I the chance. Glad to have met you two, but I expect you'll be leaving now. When you find Sam, bring him here to me. He'll like this place the way I do. Nice and snug, like the mines. We probably never should have left 'em.”

“Thank you, sir,” Sadie said as he escorted them to the stairs. “I look forward to seeing you at the duke's party.”

“Ah, the party. Ordered a new waistcoat and all. Basil says I need to meet someone. Do you two know a Minerva Townsend?”

Darby waited until they were back on the flagway and strolling in the direction of Grosvenor Square before giving voice to his mirth. “Jas and Minerva? Should we be warning Coop his mother is about to be courted by the king of coal?”

“That's quite amusing, and I'd probably be in stitches if it weren't for everything else. But first tell me how you knew Basil knew Mr. Hooper.”

“I didn't. That is, not Jas precisely, but I did know Basil once took himself down a coal mine, so I put a few questions to him last evening. The rest was the Travers luck, I suppose.”

“I think I prefer to call it fate, intervening on Marley's behalf.”

“Whatever it was, we can thank Basil for his wanderlust. Did you know he and Vivien once bathed,
starkers
—the word Basil used—in the Blue Grotto on the Isle of Capri, or that he slept in the catacombs beneath Rome one night on a dare? We really need to boost them back onto their trail of adventures. The poor man is beginning to repeat himself.”

“And to accomplish this, we've put our faith in Uncle Ralphie and a seven-year-old child?”

Darby smiled down at her. “It was your idea, as I recall.”

“I never said it was a
good
idea.”

“It's the only idea we have. Now, ask me the question you're burning to ask.”

“When do we leave for Brighton?”

“To scoop up Sam Dobson, if he's still aboveground?”

“Do we have another choice? He's Marley's grandfather, Darby. We at least need to speak with him.”

“I know, and your heart is already melting for the man you so lately, and wisely as it turns out, attempted to escape. We leave at first light, Sadie Grace. At first light...”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

S
ADIE
WAS
CERTAIN
their evening meal had been delicious, and only hoped the cook wasn't insulted that her plates had gone back to the kitchens nearly untouched.

Darby had noticed, of course, and had been sure to keep the conversation swirling around her, a feat easily accomplished just by asking the duke to tell everyone about the time he and the duchess had been very nearly shipwrecked, only to end up stopping at an island that had not been on their route.

As was always the case, His Grace was more than happy to launch into one of his stories.

While the ship was being repaired, he and Vivien had gone touring with one of the local chieftains, and eaten something he was fairly certain was snake cooked over an open fire, and Vivien protested it had been nothing of the kind. The friendly argument of snake versus frog had gone on until Clarice had informed them all that everyone knew you fried up a snake but boiled a frog, and if you were so silly as to toss a frog into a pot of boiling water it would hop right out again, but if you put it in a pot of cold water and then placed it over the fire, the silly things would just sit in there and let themselves be cooked.

Rigby had kissed her hand and said, “That's my Clary. She knows such interesting things.”

“There's a lesson to be learned there, however,” Darby had said, with Sadie grateful to hear about anything that wasn't a suicidal frog. “If tossed into something—for instance, a war—one does one's best to escape it. But if the supposed
reasons
for going to war are slowly fed to us, building one on the other, we may be just as prone to simply do nothing but sit idle until we're...well, until we're stewed.”

“Don't think I'd care much for stewed frog, boy,” the duke had said. “Now, prunes? Stewed prunes, they're just fine. In moderation.”

Somehow Sadie had managed to survive the remainder of the meal. But once the ladies had retired to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars, she had excused herself and run up two flights of stairs to the nursery floor, closing the door behind her and pressing her back against it in an attempt to recapture her breath. And perhaps her sanity.

“He's here?”

“He is, Miss Hamilton,” the governess said, her tone expressing her displeasure. “I do not approve of playacting, Miss Hamilton, nor of encouraging young minds to explore the fanciful.”

“The duchess herself has approved this evening's entertainment, Miss Potterdam. In fact, she's quite looking forward to it.”

The governess sniffed. “I'm not surprised. I am the daughter of a vicar who was the son of a vicar. I know the devil's work when I see it, and a most distasteful lack of propriety such as abounds in this strange household. You will have my notice in the morning.”

Sadie pulled herself up to her full height. How dare the woman insult her friends!

“Thank you, Miss Potterdam. You've relieved me of the necessity to ask for it. However, if you expect to depart this den of iniquity tomorrow with a letter of reference to be clutched to your sanctimonious bosom, I suggest you hold your opinions similarly tight to yourself. You may leave the room now, as your presence is neither required nor desired.”

Well, and wasn't that fun! I think I may have begun to know my new place.

Bridget, the young nursery maid assigned to Marley, made a sort of snorting noise from her spot in a corner of the room, and then quickly went about folding a blanket that had been draped over a chair back.

“Where are they, Bridget?” Sadie asked as the governess lifted two of her chins and scurried off to her quarters in the attic.

“Why, they'd be off in Miss Marley's bedchamber, Miss Sadie, sewing up a sheet I fetched the redhead from the cupboard. Hair as red as a flame, but he says he ain't from the auld sod. Told me to keep Miss Poutypuss clear and stay clear m'self, 'cause him and Miss Marley was practicin'.”

Odd. Bridget hadn't mentioned the black beard and mustache. What was the sense of mentioning the hair and not the mustache? Perhaps Marley had convinced him to shave it.

Sadie looked to the closed door. “Very well, then I won't disturb them, either. Stitching up a sheet, did you say?”

“Yes, miss. Ripped it clear in half and then whipped out needle and thread from the bag he carried with him. Said he was about makin' a costume for Miss Marley. You know what I'm thinkin', miss? I'm thinkin' he's about makin' her into a ghostie. Ain't that a treat?”

Not for the sheet, but I'm done worrying about sheets...

“It should all be jolly fun, yes. You know what to do when they're ready, don't you?”

“Oh, yes, miss. Sneak 'em down the back stairs and point 'em toward the street, so they can bang on the knocker.”

“Yes, well...yes, then I suppose we're ready, aren't we?” Sadie asked, casting one last nervous look at the closed door between her and her niece. “I need to return to the drawing room. Thank you, Bridget.”

She aimed an “all's ready” nod at Darby, who was standing behind a chair, one hand on its high back, the other holding a glass of wine. Clearly, this was where she was to sit for the...performance.

Although the drawing room was impressively large, the other occupants were all gathered around beneath the large, central chandelier. The duke and duchess holding hands as they sat side by side on one of the couches, Clarice tucked up on the floor beside Rigby, her pink silk skirts arranged around her, her cheek against her beloved's knee.

All that was missing from this scene of domestic bliss was Max, but as the spaniel couldn't be trusted not to immediately run to Marley and give the game away, he'd been locked up in the kitchens, probably enjoying the remainder of Sadie's loin chop.

The subject had changed in Sadie's absence, and they were now discussing the continuingly growing guest list for the upcoming celebration. Lord Alvanley had asked if he might bring along his good friend Beau Brummell, and the duchess had immediately accepted, since the Prince Regent had already declined his invitation via one of his secretaries.

“You sent off an invitation to Prinney, Vivien?” The duke shook his head. “Don't you remember me telling you he has no truck with Whigs since the king went all dotty again and the prince was made regent? I'm a Whig, or so my solicitor tells me I am, and so's Brummell. Not to say calling the prince fat didn't have a hand in their falling-out. So the Beau's coming, is he? We sent him a bird, you know, Gabe did, but he didn't take to it like the others.”

“Not everyone wishes to walk about Mayfair with a bird on his shoulder, Basil,” Darby said, stepping out from behind the chair. “With word of the man's increasing debts, we should probably be happy he didn't boil it for dinner. Now, I have a surprise for you, Your Grace.”

The duke sat forward on the couch and clapped his hands. “A surprise? Oh, good. What is it? I love surprises.”

Here we go
, Sadie told herself, surreptitiously crossing her fingers in her lap.

“I know,” Darby said kindly. “I thought to wait until your birthday celebration, but then I realized my small gift might be lost among so many wishing to honor you, and decided tonight is as good a time as any.”

“Yes, yes. Good idea there, Darby. Splendid. What is it? Give it over. Isn't this exciting, Vivien?”

“Yes, my love. Now sit still and let Darby speak.”

Sadie jumped in her seat as the sound of the knocker banging with the force of a giant hand, it would seem, reverberated through the drawing room. Had Norton ignored the knocker and taken a hammer to the door?

“Ah, that would be my surprise now. I've already left instructions downstairs that the person is to be escorted directly here.”

Everyone turned toward the wide doorway.

The duke's butler marched into the room, shoulders back, his expression blank, to announce the new arrival.

“Your Graces, m'lords, ladies,” he said, bowing. “Renowned on three continents, revered by kings and princes, feted from the steppes of Mother Russia to the vineyards of France, blessed with ancient secrets and the power to tell all, heal all, the most magnificent, resplendent, er...”

“Glorious.” The prompt had come from the hallway.

The butler shot a dangerous look over his shoulder.

“...
glorious
Madame Royale.” The butler rolled his eyes before ending flatly, “And Madame's assistant, Henry.”

Madame?
Sadie looked to Darby, who only shrugged.

“Oh, my, oh, my, oh, my!” the duke exclaimed, leaping to his feet to applaud as Madame Royale, swathed in what had to be a half dozen layers of skirts and colorful shawls swept into the room.

Oh, my, indeed.

He—she—had rings on her fingers and actual bells on her barefoot toes. Thin, colorful bracelets ran from each wrist to nearly her elbows. A belt made of golden coins hung at her waist and there were enough gold necklaces to completely cover her bare chest...and any chest hair that might be there.

But it was her hair that amazed Sadie. Red as a flame, yes, but released from its queue, to spring into a head completely covered in curls.

Her eyes were framed in blue, her cheeks and lips painted a rosy red.

She moved with grace, extending her hand to the duke, who bowed over it with the sincerity of an acolyte.

Oh, and Henry.
He
was dressed all in white, a gold braided sash about his waist, his head and face covered with a hood that exposed only his eyes. One of those eyes shot Sadie a wink. In his hands, Henry carried a square marble base with a glass ball the size of a melon perched on top of it.

Sadie watched as the duke escorted Madame to a chair, before bowing to her again and returning to his seat beside the duchess.

“The beard and mustache are gone,” she whispered to Darby.

“As I've heard it said,” he whispered back, “there's always a pony in there somewhere, if you look well enough through the pile of—disregard that, please, I believe I'm awestruck. Oh, and I hadn't thought of it until now, but men often took the part of ladies when performing in plays. I'm only wondering how he was able to find all he's wearing, especially in so short a time. I've often pondered what it could be that the man gets up to when I'm out.”

“Yes, yes. But look at Marley. She's nearly ready to burst. And what's Nor—Madame, doing now?”

“Reading Vivien's palm,” Darby said, straightening. “I fed Norton a few tidbits about everyone while I was dressing this evening, so this should go reasonably well.”

The duchess was seated on a padded stool Rigby had placed in front of Madame, and she was intently watching as the fortune-teller traced the lines on her palm with one be-ringed finger.

A finger with red paint on its long nail.

Sadie silently agreed. Darby really should have a talk with his valet.

“Your Grace, my lovely woman,” Madame was saying now in a high-pitched, singsonging voice. “You have led a most wonderful life, with much adventure still before you. I see health, and happiness, and deepest love. And camels.”

“Basil! Did you hear that? Camels! That's a sign, isn't it? I'm sure it's a sign!”

“Let me try,” Clarice said, raising her hand as if hopeful to be called on. “Let's hear what Madame sees for me.”

“Ah,” Madame said, holding Clarice's hand in both of hers, leaning close to squint at the lines in her palm. “I see a crossroads. No, a bridge. Yes, a bridge taking you from one life to another. Be not afraid, pretty one, but step boldly forward. You and your love will live to see your children's children look up in your faces.”

“Thank you, Madame,” Clarice said, her eyes bright with happy tears as she rejoined Rigby.

“I believe you're next, Sadie,” Darby prompted evilly.

With him having fed Norton information on what to say?

“I think not, thank you, as I'd rather be surprised. But I do wonder what Madame has to say about you, Your Grace. Aren't we all anxious to hear about His Grace's future?”

“I'm of two minds about that, what with the curse and all. Could be sticky,” Rigby whispered to Clarice, but being a man, his whisper carried farther than he'd supposed.

Madame gave a snap of her fingers and Henry took a step forward.

“A table for my ball,” Madame commanded. “Quickly.”

Rigby scrambled to do as Madame ordered, tossing a pair of porcelain statuettes to Clarice, one after the other and pocketing an oval candy dish, comfits and all, before carrying the denuded table over to plunk it down in front of Madame Royale.

Henry immediately placed the base and crystal ball at its very center.

“The words, Henry,” Madame said, her arms outstretched, her eyes already closed.

“To see the future the past must be known,” Marley said, her voice lowered, as she had done in imitation of her governess. “To Madame Royale, all mysteries are shown. Come shades of past deeds and tell your tale, so peace might find you and all will be wale.”

“Wale? Didn't she mean
well
? Wale doesn't mean anything.”

“Shh, Sadie Grace. It rhymes. Norton's a valet, not Will Shakespeare. Look at the duke and the others. They're entranced. Personally, I think he's doing very
wale
.”

“You're not amusing.” Then she smiled. “All right, I concede, Master Conniver. That was funny.”

Sadie decided she'd been plunked down in a happy madhouse, fast becoming one with her fellow inmates...and she couldn't be happier and...and Miss Poutypuss be damned!

Madame Royale dropped her chin to her chest, and then began rolling her head up onto her shoulder, then back, then continuing around to her chest again before repeating the movement, moaning softly. “Yes...yes... I hear you... I understand...”