How to Handle a Scandal (10 page)

The day after the brothel incident, Eliza threw herself into a frenzy of activity. The last thing she wanted was even one moment to think about what she’d done the night before, and how, before everything had gone terribly wrong, it had been one of the most amazing experiences of her life. She’d stumbled and been enticed back into her old, wild ways, but she wasn’t the needy young fool she’d once been, and she knew what the path of virtue looked like.

First thing, she took the girls on an hours-long march around the city, and forced herself to be frank and specific with them. After her night at the brothel, she knew that things were more complicated than she’d thought, but she felt now that at least she would be able to speak plainly.

She told them about Maria leaving the Bath school to take work as a prostitute, and said that Maria might very well make quite a bit of money as a prostitute. Her words brought gasps and startled looks from the girls, but Eliza pressed on.

“Perhaps you’ve heard that a high-class brothel is mostly parties and wealthy gentlemen, and very possibly you are right. Some of the gentlemen might even be handsome, and they might treat you quite well.”

She could tell from the shocked looks on the girls’ faces that they never would have dreamed a lady would say such things. “But have you also heard of the diseases the women who work there get? I’m sorry to say it, but they’re quite disgusting. Not to mention the risk of carrying a baby, and with no husband to help you. And what if you really cared for your gentleman? He could never accept you in his life.”

“Why are you telling us all this?” Franny said sourly.

“Because I want you to make an informed choice for a path that will serve you well in life. We’re trying to give you choices that will allow each of you to have a long, happy, and truly fulfilling life. So I would ask you to think very carefully about what you will be risking and sacrificing for the choices you make in life.” She pretended not to notice that Franny rolled her eyes.

When they got back to Truehart Manor, she had them write essays on the topic “How discipline and hard work can help me succeed.” Afterward, she reorganized the library until she was nearly dropping with fatigue, then rose early the next morning and attacked the dead flowers in the garden that the gardener hadn’t gotten to yet.

Once the girls were up, she pushed them through a day of grammar lessons, then sat with them at lunch, offering corrections to their table etiquette. Meg had planned to work with them on sums, but Eliza couldn’t bear the idea of time on her own, so she encouraged Meg to take the afternoon off and worked with the girls herself. After dinner she had them take turns reading aloud until bedtime, then turned her attention to the linen closet, refolding everything into perfect squares.

The next morning, Meg insisted that Eliza let the girls have a break. “You’ve had them so busy the last few days that they’re beginning to look glassy-eyed, and it’s not doing anything good for their dispositions. There was quite a lot of bickering early this morning.”

Eliza reluctantly agreed that the girls could have a few hours free, though she’d already planned out the day and the thought of unfilled time made her anxious.

She and Meg were in the library later that morning, going through the household accounts, when a maid appeared to announce that Lord Quimble, their next-door neighbor, had come to call.

Meg and Eliza stood, raising their brows at each other in surprise—they only knew the man in passing—and then Quimble entered. His face was red.

“My lord,” Eliza said, “how kind of you to favor us with a visit.”

“It’s not out of kindness I’ve come,” he said tightly. “It’s about those miscreants you have living with you.”

Eliza blinked. “Miscreants?”

“The girls,” he said impatiently. And then he went on to inform them that he’d been about to get into his coach earlier that day when a pair of girls who were hanging about Truehart Manor had approached him. One of the girls had mocked him, and when he’d tried to correct her behavior, the other one had kicked him in the shin. He’d had to depart immediately, or he would have come right away to report this behavior, he told Eliza and Meg. But now he wanted to see the girls punished.

Eliza and Meg looked at each other with dawning horror as he described Franny—the kicker—and Mary, who’d apparently mocked him. Knowing Franny, it was all too easy to imagine her kicking Quimble, though Eliza would have expected better from Mary. She sent a maid to fetch the girls so they could apologize.

“I’m not the only neighbor who’s had trouble with these miscreants you harbor,” Quimble continued. “We’ve all had enough.”

“They’re not miscreants, my lord,” Eliza said firmly. “They are merely children who’ve known a great deal of hardship, and they are deserving of our compassion. That’s why we’ve brought them here—to help prepare them to be productive members of society.”

“Clearly you’re failing.”

The maid returned then to say that the girls were gone.

“Gone?” Meg said.

“They left a note.”

Eliza scanned it, then pressed her lips unhappily and handed it to Meg, whose face paled as she read it.

“Well?” demanded Quimble. “Where are they?”

Eliza cleared her throat. “It seems they’re gone. They’ve taken employment as ladies’ maids in training, and they won’t be back.”

Quimble looked furious at being deprived of his chance for retribution. “You don’t even know what they’re up to,” he sneered. “Which just proves my point. Children like them do not belong in a fine neighborhood like Mayfair, and if you don’t abandon this preposterous enterprise, I’ll have the magistrate on you.”

Eliza sucked in a breath and felt Meg tense beside her. “That’s quite unfair.”

But he didn’t care, and he left.

Eliza and Meg both slumped onto the divan. “Oh dear,” Meg said.

“Yes.” Eliza’s hands were shaking.

“What I can’t understand,” Meg said after a minute, “is why the note mentioned not going in for prostitution. Why on earth would we think they’d gone to a brothel?”

“Er, it may have been something I said. I thought it would be better if they knew about Maria and what being a prostitute might truly be like so that they wouldn’t be tricked into thinking it’s an easy way to make money.”

Meg’s brows drifted up. “That must have been quite a conversation.”

Eliza sighed. “Much good it did. Now Franny and Mary have gone into service. How could they leave when we were offering them so much more?”

“Well, their note said they expected to get better food as part of Lady Tarnower’s household,” Meg said.

Eliza groaned. “I insisted Mary not have seconds at meals because she was growing so plump. But I just can’t understand making such a foolish choice.”

Meg stared at her for long seconds. “Maybe living here is too much of a change for some of these girls. They’re young, and they need to play and eat cake in addition to learning grammar. Maybe they feel as though they’ll never be good enough for the future we envision.”

“I don’t expect them to be perfect!” Eliza said, so frustrated. “I’m not perfect. But we have to strive.”

“Actually, Eliza, I don’t even want to strive to be perfect. And I just want our girls to know they’re loved.”

Eliza couldn’t understand how everything had gone so wrong when she’d tried so hard to make it right. “But that’s what I want, too—for them to feel happy and loved.”

“I believe you want that. I just don’t agree with how you’ve been going about it.”

They sat for several minutes in silence. “Maybe Truehart Manor isn’t the best place for these girls,” Eliza finally said in a small voice. “And now, with Quimble’s threats, I’m not sure we could carry on anyway, if any of the girls really want to stay.”

“Perhaps it would be a good idea, once we take Thomasina and Susie to Bath, to reconsider our approach.”

Eliza swallowed a lump of disappointment and had to agree.

* * *

Early one morning a few weeks after the night at Madame Persaud’s, Tommy was awoken from a dream featuring Eliza by a knocking on his bedchamber door. Even as he came to consciousness, he was plagued by visions of her, alternating between Victoria and a very prim governess, both apparitions making him hot. He hadn’t heard a thing from her since that night, and though he supposed this was a good sign, he wondered if he ought to contact her to be certain. The idea was not appealing.

“A visitor here to see you, sir,” announced Ringle, Louie’s butler, when Tommy opened his door. (He was staying at Gilden House.)

“Who is it?” Tommy asked.

“A Mr. Tippet, sir—a lawyer. And a boy.”

“A boy?” Tommy muttered as he got out of bed and began pulling on clothes. Why should a boy visit him? Or a lawyer, for that matter? Unease crept down Tommy’s spine as he hastily pulled on clothes. It couldn’t be possible…

But it was. Rex Thorpe was standing in Louie’s drawing room. And there could really be only one reason he was there.

“Rex,” Tommy said, forcing down an ignoble jolt of dismay at the sight of the boy, “it’s good to see you. Though I confess”—he managed a smile—“to being
surprised
to see you.”

Rex greeted him in the arrogant manner Tommy remembered from the few occasions he’d encountered him previously.

The boy had grown since Tommy had seen him last, at Oliver’s funeral in India. Tommy supposed Rex was about thirteen now, and he was beginning to grow into his height, his wiry legs like two billiard cues. His straight, white-blond hair was sticking out in places all over his head, and his mouth wore a dissatisfied expression. Clearly, Tommy thought, repressing a sigh, some things about Rex hadn’t changed.

Though Tommy had been good friends with Oliver, the company of his son had never been a pleasure. Oliver was a key adviser in the East India Company who worked nearly all the time, and he hadn’t known what to do when his wife abandoned the family to take ship for France and subsequently died on the way, leaving him with a boy of nine. Oliver had hired an ayah to look after the boy and gotten back to work. Tommy had suspected, as the years passed, that Oliver had found it easier to leave his son’s care entirely to servants.

Tommy exchanged greetings with the lawyer.

“Major Delancey felt the boy would be more comfortable in your care,” Mr. Tippet said.

“I had thought the Major meant to adopt Rex,” Tommy said. Tommy, Delancey, and Oliver’s sister Diana had all been named in Oliver’s will as possible guardians for Rex. Tommy had been quite relieved when Delancey had agreed to take Rex on, because no one had heard from Diana Thorpe for some time, so Tommy would have been next in line. As clearly he now was.

Rex snorted. “That old windbag? As if I would agree to be his son. Anyway, he needed to get rid of me because he got himself engaged, and the lady didn’t want anybody else in the household but them.”

Even though Rex was behaving as though it didn’t matter that Major Delancey had as good as discarded him, Tommy could guess that under his bravado, the boy felt passed around like a basket of dinner rolls. Tommy hoped Aunt Diana was a good sort, because surely it would be best for the boy to be among family again once they found her.

“Well, you are very welcome here, of course, though being a guest myself since I’m only in England for a brief stay, I haven’t exactly got a home in which to welcome you properly.”

Mr. Tippet gave Tommy a packet with information regarding the trust that Oliver had set up for his son. “And this,” he said, handing Tommy a slip of paper, “is the last address that could be found for his aunt. She’s the wardrobe mistress for a traveling theater company.”

A peculiar occupation, but at least there was an address at which to reach her.

Tommy gave directions for Rex’s trunk to be brought into Gilden House, and Tippet took his leave. Tommy knew his cousins wouldn’t mind if Rex stayed there, but clearly the best thing would be for the boy to be reunited with his only surviving family member as soon as possible. Tommy would send someone out in search of her immediately.

Rex, who’d been wandering around the room as Tommy examined the papers he’d been given, picked up a music box Tommy happened to know Ruby had brought back from a trip to Germany. He hoped the boy wasn’t going to damage it accidentally.

Tommy cleared his throat. “I’m sorry about this,” he said. “I imagine you would have preferred to stay in India.”

Rex just shrugged, but at least he put the box down.

“And I’m sorry about your father as well.”

“You said that already, at the funeral.” Hardly a polite response, but Tommy reminded himself of all the boy had been through in the past year. And even before then, having lost his mother. He resolved to be understanding with Rex. But what on earth was he supposed to do with him until his aunt could be found?

“Whose house is this?” Rex asked.

“It belongs to my cousin.”

Tommy’s life was all so temporary. True, he had just bought an estate in Kent, but his man of affairs was still seeing to the final details of the sale, and Tommy himself had yet to even visit the place. The estate was to be an investment, and eventually, in a decade or two, a place to call home when he finally returned to England. And apparently it was in need of much work before it would be quite habitable. So really, he was currently nearly as homeless as Rex. Which wasn’t good for the boy, he told himself. What Rex needed now was the sort of stable home Tommy couldn’t offer him.

“Would you like an ice? Shall we go to Gunter’s?”

The boy shrugged again, but Tommy decided they might as well go. They could hardly sit around making awkward conversation for hours.

Gunter’s was not a particular success. Rex consumed his ice in a matter of moments, then fidgeted while Tommy finished his. Several people Tommy knew stopped to greet him, and Rex replied sullenly to each introduction.

“Is this what you do all the time in England—eat ices and chat?” Rex asked as Tommy settled the bill.

“Sometimes,” Tommy said, making an effort not to clench his teeth.

“Seems dull.”

“I’m only here for a few months, and then I’m to return to India.”