It Happened One Midnight (PG8) (37 page)

His father levered himself gingerly back in his chair, as if he’d suddenly become brittle and feared he would shatter. He stared at Jonathan as if he’d never seen him before.

And in many ways, of course, he hadn’t.

Jonathan would warrant his father wouldn’t make
that
mistake again.

“One thing that
might
cheer you: Thomasina’s father is, in fact, a duke.”

And there was a flicker of something on Isaiah’s face then. Hope or surprise. More likely a reflexive response to the word “duke,” perhaps, knowing his father and his hunger for a title that the king forever dangled before the Redmonds and Everseas, and which still remained out of reach.

“You can’t tell anyone, however. She’s
quite
illegitimate.”

Jonathan was enjoying himself a bit too much.

“And I suppose I ought to tell you we already have children. A good hundred or so of them. Well, in a manner of speaking.”

His father slowly closed his eyes. His lips moved in what might have been a prayer.

“One final thing, Father. You may want to stay on my good side, because I’m running for parliament to dismantle the practice of child labor. And I have every intention of winning. I expect when you’ve time to recover and have had a good think, you’ll be proud of me. Apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, that sort of thing. And of course you’ll be able to turn it all to your benefit.”

Isaiah’s green eyes snapped open again. His hands remained flat on his desk, as if the earth was moving and he was attempting to hold it still.

Jonathan stood. “And oh . . . you may have realized this, but that isn’t the Diamonds of the First Water Deck. It’s a special edition. The only deck I’d ever consider drawing from.”

Jonathan winked at his father, slipped the Queen of Hearts back into his pocket. And then he slid back his chair and left the room.

Short, shocking, and to the point. Jonathan had honed that skill playing darts.

But, of course, he’d first learned it from his father.

I
SAIAH SAT STUNNED
for another moment, staring at the doorway.

And then he drew in a long breath and idly pulled the deck toward him. He was appalled to find his hands shaking.

He turned over the top card.

The Queen of Diamonds.

He peered: This particular monarch had green eyes, and tiny slanting black brows, and red hair, and a regal tilt to her head. She wore a proud secret smile.

An unmistakable face.

He cautiously, slowly, turned over another.

It was the Knave of Spades.

He held it in his now-shaking hands and inspected it. The knave was wearing pantaloons, but scandalously; it was clearly a woman. Red hair knotted at the nape, and an elegant profile, a large slanting green eye with extraordinarily long lashes.

He turned over another card.

And another.

And another.

Every single court card, every last one of them, featured an image of Thomasina de Ballesteros.

Chapter 30

L
ATER, THE BROADSHEETS WOULD
report it as “The Burlington Arcade Stampede.” The aftermath was still being dealt with the following day, when bits of ribbon and scraps of net—perhaps torn from bonnets or the sleeves of dresses—a glove, and even a slipper were swept up by the merchants’ assistants. One young lady turned her ankle and needed to be carried out. Another fainted, though that may have just been dramatics.

All anyone knew for certain was that a milling, restless, generally well-bred, brilliantly well-dressed crowd poured into the shops to snap up their Diamonds of the First Water decks, and claim the ones they ordered in advance, only to find that, much to everyone’s surprise, two different decks had been delivered.

The Diamonds of the First Water decks were torn open and rifled through, and shouts of glee and howls of protest went up. Fierce arguments and fits of weeping broke out, money changed hands as wagers were won or lost.

And in one appalling instance, a certain Lady Grace Worthington was rumored to have shouted something unrepeatable when she at first couldn’t find herself in the deck. It was whispered that the first word began with an “F” and the second was “Hell.”

And then she found herself in the deck and stared, appeased and captivated.

“But what about Redmond? Where’s Redmond?” the cry soon went up. For more wagers needed to be settled.

The merchant called for silence.

“From what I understand, Mr. Redmond is formally making his choice in a private ceremony at his home in Sussex. But you can find his choice in this
very
limited edition deck.”

The merchants gestured at the other deck held behind their counters, and soon those decks vanished, too.

Silence descended as they all rifled in confusion through the deck.

Then muttering ensued.

Then a hush, as realization sank into each of them.

“But she’s not even blond!” Lady Grace Worthington howled.

Or so it was rumored.

And then she succumbed to overstimulation, fainted prettily, and needed to be carried away by two bloods who had lost money in the wager and considered a look at Lady Grace’s ankles a consolation.

S
HE MUST HAVE
dozed off, because Tommy awoke with a start when she heard the knock.

A long knock, as it turned out. A fancy complicated one.

Her heart leaped like a bird sprung from a cage.

She scrambled out of bed, shoved her arms into her pelisse, and ran barefoot down the stairs, through the corridor, and then came to an abrupt halt.

A message—this one written on foolscap, folded neatly, and formally sealed with red wax—had been slipped under her door.

She stood on tiptoe and peeked out the peephole. Not a soul stood there. She opened it a few inches and peered out.

Nothing but a dim, none-too-sweet-smelling London alley. Not even a cat or a rat strolled by.

She closed and locked the door and turned around abruptly, pressing her back to it. Then she plucked up the message gingerly. She ran her thumb over the seal—something had been pressed into it, a signet of some sort—but she couldn’t read it in the dark.

Her heart pounding loud enough to drown out her footsteps, she slowly carried it up the creaking stairs, back down the corridor, into her rooms again. She crouched down next to the fire, and peered.

Into the red wax were pressed the letters:

JHR.

She traced it with trembling fingers. Might as well have been his heart.

Pity she needed to break it to read what was inside.

She slipped her finger beneath it tenderly, and snapped open a sheet of foolscap.

There was no letter. No preamble. It was simply what appeared to be a numbered list, written in a hand as tall, dark, and bold as JHR was.

1. Walk twenty paces and turn left at the building with the red door.

2. Go straight for forty paces and turn right.

3. Walk up the stairs to the second story, turn around three times, touch your nose, then go twenty paces forward.

And on and on it went.

And then she burst into laughter and bounced on her toes, her heart singing. The beast! What on earth was he
about?

She skipped to the bottom:

22. When you reach the carriage, board it and stay aboard until it stops. You’ll find a picnic repast inside to help you pass the time.

Unwrapping the gift inside will also pass the time.

Just as he’d said he’d never seen a woman undress so quickly when she’d flung herself off a bridge into the Ouse, he likely would have said he’d never seen a woman dress so quickly as she did this morning. But she dressed
carefully
. She hadn’t seen him in three weeks, a veritable eternity. She wanted to look spectacular.

She locked the door behind her, and gamely embarked on a labyrinthine journey very like the one she’d led him on the second midnight she’d met him.

Down narrow streets, up staircases, once doubling back to do it again.

She smiled like a looby the entire way.

“Greetings, Tommy!” Jasper called when she passed him the alley. He was leaning against the wall.

“Greetings, Jasper!”

She mulled how very Jonathan of him to effortlessly find his way to her when she needed him, labyrinth or no. Just as he’d effortlessly uncovered her secrets. But that was simply because he’d been born knowing the secret to her. He was hers and she was his. Just as there was one key for every lock.

At last, on Drury Lane, she found what appeared to be a brand new, quite spotless carriage pulled by four beautiful matched grays.

The driver was leaning against the side of it, arms crossed over his chest, beaming.

He helped her aboard.

“We’ll be traveling for just a few hours, madam. Please make yourself comfortable.”

It wasn’t difficult to do as the seats were well-sprung clouds; she nestled into them, sighing. Across from her was the basket mentioned in her message. She fished about, and inside were tea cakes, bread and cheese, a flask of tea. Ah! And there it was.

A little bundle wrapped in ribbon.

With trembling hands, she unwrapped it.

It was a key.

She stared at it for a moment, puzzled. Then she closed it tightly in her palm, holding onto it the way she’d once held onto her father’s medal.

A
N HOUR INTO
her journey, the roads began to look familiar, and she knew, just knew, where she was bound. And so though she wasn’t surprised when the low red brick of the Lancaster Mill came into view, her heart began to slam.

The mill was quiet now, closed for the evening, twilight hanging swaths of mauve and blue clouds behind it, as if the mill itself were festooned for a party.

The driver assisted her down.

And he nodded at her to go the rest of the distance alone.

It was so quiet she could hear the river moving behind the mill. Hear the wind stirring in the trees. Hear her own footsteps echoing on the path.

A sheet of foolscap was affixed to the door. On it was written:

USE THE KEY

Laughing, breathless, her hands trembling and a trifle awkward, she inserted the key into the lock and turned.

She gave the door a gentle push, and it swung open noiselessly. She approved of the well-oiled hinges.

The silence inside was resounding. She peered into the twilit cavern; not a living creature stirred. The immense machines were like a pride of slumbering beasts. All the children were in the dormitory for the evening. Bits of twilight pushed through the narrow rectangle windows.

And a row of lit lamps were arranged on the floor, forming a path of sorts toward the overlooker’s office.

Something rustled; she took a step backward. Below her feet another sheet of foolscap affixed to the floor. She crouched down and read:

Go left for twenty paces and open the door. Follow the lamps.

She measured off those paces as though she were walking a high wire. Dizzied, and shaking, and giddy, and hopeful, and exhilaratingly frightened.
Don’t look at your feet, Tommy,
she warned herself. The way to achieve the impossible is to simply do it as if it were the most possible thing in the world.

Twenty paces later she found herself staring at the door of the overlooker’s office.

She sucked in a shaking breath, closed her fingers around the knob, and pulled it slowly open. The room was dimly, warmly lit by a pair of lamps.

Jonathan was seated at the desk, his long legs crossed up on it. Arms folded behind his head. Very like he owned the place. Very relaxed indeed.

There ensued a moment during which they merely stared at each other. They never could speak to each other until that first wave of fierce joy and desire had washed each of them, and they had both caught their breath and gathered their wits again.

He caught his first.

“You made good time. In a hurry to see me, Tommy?”

A drawl, soft as a silk shawl drawn round her shoulders.

But she detected the slight tremble in it. And the tension in the arms that seemed oh-so-casually folded behind his head.

She knew then he hadn’t been certain she would come.

“Didn’t I just see you?” she said softly. Feigning boredom.

He didn’t smile. He stood, drawing his legs gracefully down from the desk, and slowly came to her. As if he, too, were walking a high wire.

He stood staring down at her.

“Here is what I have to say, then, Tommy.” His voice was still soft. What an untold pleasure it was to hear his voice again. The very sound of love. “You wanted choices, Tommy. I have two choices for you.”

He reached into the pocket of his coat, and came out with a folded sheet of foolscap. It rattled a bit in his hands. He drew in a breath, and exhaled. And then he held it out to her.

“This is a deed to this mill. It’s in your name. In short, this mill now belongs to you, if you want it.”