Passion Wears Pearls (16 page)

“He did! Mr. Reeves is swearing his room’s too drafty, but the man’s a bit absentminded and keeps leaving his windows open, so what’s to be done?” She brushed her hands across her apron and stood to leave their impromptu party. “He’s a professor of something or other, but I just agree with him and then close it when he’s not paying attention. He leaves on Tuesday, so there’s a relief! I only hope he didn’t leave his windows open at home in Glasgow all this time while he’s been in Town! Can you imagine? There’ll be a snowdrift in his bedroom!”

Eleanor was still enraptured with the two levels of
communication happening in front of her, as Tally and Mrs. Clay watched each other in perfect comprehension. “I’ve never seen such a thing. It’s so clever to use signals like that!”

“We’ve come up with a bit of a system, Tally and I. I read about it in a newspaper article and what a blessing! Mind, I don’t think we’re doing it the way those expensive deaf schools are doing it, but I just started when he was little, pointing out things and making up a little sign. We’d practice together and that’s when I knew my Tally had as keen a mind as any! And now when we find a need for a new word, why Tally is the one to invent how he thinks it should look and he teaches it to me! Isn’t he brilliant?” Mrs. Clay moved her hands as she spoke, including her adopted son in the conversation and in the praise.

Tally immediately blushed and retreated from the room.

“It’s truly remarkable, Mrs. Clay.”

“It’s nothing, at all. He’s my son and I simply can’t run the house without him. Although, I do worry. When he’s old enough, he’ll need a girl bright and patient who can run the inn with him and see to the customers, but that’s years off!”

“Years,” Eleanor echoed softly. “But what a future he’ll have!”

“He’s a keen eye for the business and can track a penny. Mr. Clay would have loved him for it! It’s not charity to leave things to Tally, I can tell you that! It’s good sense and a good guarantee that my little inn will outlast us all.” She brushed off her apron again, a habit that betrayed the leaving of one topic for another. “But, as I’m exiling you to your rooms for dinner, I’ll arrange for a bath to be brought up afterward.”

“Oh!” Eleanor trailed after her toward the door. “So much trouble! Just a bit of hot water in a basin will do for now, and I can—”

“A bath! A lady must have her bath and what’s the trouble? I love a good hot soak myself. Nothing banishes a chill or sets one right like a nice warm bath, don’t you think?”

“Well, yes! But—”

“All settled, then!” Mrs. Clay smiled, the matter decided. “Finish your tea, dear, and I’ll have dinner up in just a bit. Then we’ll see to the bath and leave you to your evening. Good night, Miss Beckett, and thank you so much for your hospitality.”

Eleanor laughed. “
My
hospitality!”

“Well, it’s as I see it. It’s so nice to have a bit of female companionship, and I’ll admit, I love the way you treat my Tally.” She smoothed out her apron once again. “So that’s that!”

“Mrs. Clay, you are a treasure and I have the distinct feeling that I should just yield to your judgment and stop arguing.”

Mrs. Clay began to let herself out, chuckling. “There! At last, you have the way of it, dear! Mr. Clay, rest his soul, used to say he could get the moon to do what he wanted easier than steering yours truly. So, you just have that soak, and I’ll see you in the morning!”

And with that, she was gone and Eleanor was left to wonder if any force of nature was as unstoppable as her kindhearted landlady.

Later, as the copper tub was brought up and filled with hot water from the kitchens, Eleanor had a little time to contemplate the new luxuries of her life. She’d had a lifetime of relative ease and never realized it, but months of hardship had provided a quick and brutal lesson on the costs of every common item she’d ever touched.

Eleanor picked up the pink bar of French-milled soap that the housemaid had brought up, turning it over on her palm.
There’s a few shillings spent for rose-scented vanity after months of hard lye soap.

Everything had its price. She sighed and set it back down in the little dish hanging off the side of the steaming bathtub. She began to disrobe quickly but still folded her things and set them aside carefully to avoid needing a pressing. Finally, she was able to step gingerly over the edge and settle slowly into the water until she was up to her chin in the indulgent sensation of silky heat.

As soon as the painting was finished, she would have money of her own, and the idea coalesced around her like the steam of her bath. The terrors of poverty could fade away and Eleanor would be able to celebrate the consolations that came with surviving with her honor intact.

Easy to pay Josiah back for coal and soap, but there’s more to it, isn’t there?

He sat at my feet and I was transformed somehow.

How do you pay a man back for that?

That evening, most of the Jaded had gathered once again at Rowan’s, each man finding his favorite chair or vantage point in the doctor’s first-floor study and taking comfort in the familiarity of West’s odd eclectic collections and artwork. The men had never known each other or even crossed paths in their different social spheres before they’d been thrown together by their experiences in an Indian dungeon. Surviving it and returning to London had strengthened the friendships between them, and now, the bond of brotherhood was unmistakable. Theirs was a circle that defied any enemy to break through.

“The advertisement for the front page of the
Times
is ready,” Ashe announced, raising his glass in a mock toast. “Though I still say the language is too subtle for my mood.”

Michael crossed his arms defensively. “Blackwell’s mood suggested simply calling him out as a weak-boned, cowardly, murderous bastard along with a few other choice phrases I’m fairly sure the
Times
won’t allow on the front page due to the decency laws.”

“God be damned if this villain has—”

Galen moved to put a gentle restraining hand on Ashe’s shoulder, interrupting him. “Ashe. Whoever it is, they’ll pay for what they’ve done. And no one belittles your fury or sees it as unwarranted. If it were Haley … I think I’d have parted ways with reason.”

“He did for a while,” Rowan teased, also doing his best to decrease the tension in the room. Ashe’s beloved bride had nearly lost her life, and while his rage was understandable, the game was too dangerous to allow any one of them to be blinded by emotion.

“How is Caroline faring, Ashe?” Galen asked.

“She insists that she is as hale and hearty as ever,” Ashe replied, the brittle anger in his ice blue eyes giving way to softer sentiments at the mention of his wife. “But she tires very easily and I—worry. She’s not herself.”

The doctor in their midst took note. “I’ll make it a point to stop by more often, Ashe. Gayle and she are thick as thieves, so I promise it will seem social enough to keep Caroline from suspecting that we are hovering.”

“Thank you, Rowan,” Ashe answered gratefully.

“Very well, then, let’s see to this weak-boned, cowardly, and murderous bastard, shall we?” Michael suggested, unfolding a paper from a leather holder in his pocket. “Here it is.”

Rowan took the paper and read it aloud:

“What do you think? Challenging but not too belligerent, without straying into outright libel, wouldn’t you say?” Rutherford asked them.

“It’s only libel if it isn’t true, Michael,” Ashe growled.

“The Jackal seems a catching nickname.” Rowan handed the paper back to Michael.

“Why not do this in one go? Issue a challenge with the place and time and be done with it,” Josiah asked. “Why give him two weeks to reply, if we’re not waiting anymore … ?”

Michael shook his head. “We need to make sure the fish is on the hook. I want this over with as much as the next man, but he’s gone to ground after his misstep against Blackwell. We could end up losing far more than our time—we could lose our chance to get answers, and more lives could be lost if we end up floundering about and lose the advantage.”

“Agreed.” Rowan nodded, pouring himself a small brandy. “There’s been no communication or sign of this Jackal since the poisoning. We want this on our terms, not his, and on our timetable. To hell with full moons and mystic signs!”

“The only detail left to decide is where we want to meet the villain after he responds.” Galen took the paper from Michael to read over it. “I’m assuming we’re staying within London for this.”

“Hell, let’s make it Hyde Park!” Ashe refilled his glass and found a seat near Josiah. “A public spectacle might make him think twice before pulling anything.”

Most of the men immediately began shaking their heads, but it was Michael who spoke first. “No. It’s too open with far too many places for an ambush—and in the weather we’ve been having this winter, there might not be much of a public strolling Hyde Park to witness anything—not that we necessarily want witnesses! No parks.”

“Fine.” Ashe sighed. “I’m not making any more suggestions since it’s clear none of you trust me not to bring a pistol to meet this murderer. And for the record, Michael has already threatened to make me empty my pockets, so you can all rest easier when the critical moment comes.”

“Hardly!” Josiah scoffed softly, a hand over his eyes as
if the glare from the lamps were bothering him. “What’s to keep you from just strangling him with your bare hands?”

“Good point.” Michael shifted back to lean against the wall of bookshelves. “Blackwell stays home.”

“Blackwell will do as he damn well pleases,” Ashe countered.

“Time enough to argue about that, gentlemen.” Galen cleared his throat. “So where will we demand the meeting take place?”

“There is an old gambling house near the Grove. I know the owner and we can reserve a private room on the first floor. It’s public enough, I think, without exposing us to an ambush, but still discreet enough so that we can have whatever conversation is required without worrying,” Michael explained.

“A gambling house.” Rowan repeated the words, as if mulling it over. “Let’s just be careful that our next message doesn’t read like an advertisement for treasure. It already sounds salacious enough to catch every casual reader’s attention. The last thing we need is an unexpected flock of curious pigeons showing up and muddling the plan.”

“Agreed.” Galen took a sip of his barley water. “Damn it, what is keeping Darius in Scotland?”

Ashe shrugged. “He won’t say. Something about a personal matter, which makes me wonder if there is a lady involved, but he did send word that one of his best contacts in the gem trade had heard talk of a ‘sacred treasure,’ but didn’t have more details yet. Hopefully, he can find out what the damn ‘sacred treasure’ is so that we’ll know what we’re dealing with.” Ashe held out the last letter from Thorne to Josiah, but Josiah waved it off.

“What does the scholar have to say?” Josiah asked.

Ashe unfolded the note and read it aloud:

“If there are answers there, Thorne is sure to find them.” Ashe spoke with confidence, his faith in his best friend unshaken. “He has the keenest intellect of any man I’ve ever known.”

None of them argued, but a few glances were exchanged as Galen’s protest had gone unanswered.
What personal matter would keep Darius away from London—especially now, when everything felt like it was coming to a head at last?

“We’ll wait to hear from him, and in the meantime, I’m taking our ad to the
Times
for placement. Gentlemen, things are in motion, but from this moment onward, we’ll be the ones with our hands on the helm,” Michael announced.

The informal meeting seemed to break up, as Ashe was determined to return to Caroline’s side. The men began to offer their farewells, but Michael caught Josiah before he could slip out.

“About Miss Beckett—I’m not sure if she mentioned it, but the lady has informed me that she doesn’t need a bodyguard, Hastings.”

Josiah smiled, shrugging on his coat. “So much for your subtle skills of observance.”