The Secret Life of Miss Anna Marsh (14 page)

H
arry awoke to the sounds of traffic and street vendors. He stayed still for several minutes, absorbing the noises. They seemed familiar, comfortable. How much time had he spent in London? The only thing to do was find out.

Once he'd washed and dressed, he knocked on Emma's parlor door where he was to meet her and her companion for breakfast.

Mrs. Wickham opened it. “Oh, my, good morning, Mr. Marsh. I do hope you slept well. I never sleep well in a new place and all the hustle and bustle here in London. I barely closed my eyes.”

Harry bowed. “Good morning, Mrs. Wickham. Is Miss Spencer-Jones not up yet?”

“Oh, heavens, yes. You cannot keep that young lady down. She went to the hotel office to have some letters posted and obtain directions to the modiste.”

Emma sailed into the room, followed by their breakfast. “Good morning.” She smiled at him. “I have directions to the most popular men's shops, in the event you needed them.” She handed him a slip of paper.

Harry returned her smile, hoping he'd recognize some of the names. “Schultz, Weston. Weston. I used to go there, I think. And Hoby for shoes. Thank you.”

She blushed slightly. “We'd better break our fast. There is so much to do today.”

After they'd finished, Harry asked, “Where will you go first?”

“To Madame Lisette's, the modiste. You?”

Harry shrugged. “It's a toss-up. I don't know which I need more, clothes or boots.”

“Why don't you choose the one closest? Here, I have a map.”

Emma took the City plan out of her pocket and spread it out. “Hoby is on the corner of Piccadilly and St. James Street, and Weston, at 27 Old Bond Street. They're both very close, but I think Weston has the edge. What do you think?”

Harry studied the map and glanced at her intent face. “I agree. Weston's it is. Where on this map do you go?”

“Right here.” She pointed to a place on Bruton Street. “Our way is a little farther. We've been advised to take a hackney. The hotel's arranging one that will stay with us until we've finished, as well as a footman. Would you like to meet us back here for luncheon?”

Harry grinned. “Will you be done by then?”

“One must eat after all.” Her eyes twinkled. “I can always go back out later, if I wish.”

Harry searched her face. “Be careful. You don't know that Reynolds may not be around.”

“Thank you,” she said quietly, then rallied. “You should be off. We can't go anywhere of import until you have the proper clothing.”

“Yes, you're right. I'll see you later.” Harry stood and took his leave.

Once downstairs, he strode out of the hotel and turned right. A few minutes later, he walked into Weston's and, seeing the clerk, prepared to wait patiently. However, when the salesman pointedly refused to even acknowledge Harry's presence, his indignation started to rise. “Good morning, I am in dire need of new clothing. I think you may have my measurements on file.”

The man looked Harry up and down before sniffing. “I hardly think Mr. Weston would have served
you
.”

That was more impertinence than Harry was willing to stand. In a cold voice, he said, “My name is Mr. Harry Marsh. Go check. No, better yet, bring Mr. Weston here.”

The clerk hurried away and came back with a shortish older man wearing a pair of spectacles. “May I help you . . . Mr. Marsh, is it really you?
But we'd heard you were dead
.”

“I had an accident,” Harry said, chagrined. “To tell you the truth, I don't remember everything. I knew how to get here though.”

“As well you should, sir. I've been dressing you since you came upon the Town. Freddy, what are you standing there for? Get me my measuring tape.” Weston turned back to Harry. “I apologize. When I heard you'd died, I didn't keep your sizes.”

The tailor eyed what Harry was wearing. “Dear me, yes. You are in need of new clothes. Leave it to me. I shall have at least evening wear ready for you today, so that you may dine at your club. Are you at Marsh House?”

“No, I'm at Grillon's for the time being. After I have new suits and shoes and alike, I'll be off to Kent.” He lowered his voice. “I did have a valet, didn't I?”

Mr. Weston nodded emphatically. “Of course, and he was very good. You don't remember him at all?”

Harry pulled a face and shook his head. “No, and I suppose after all this time, he's found a new position.”

Weston stared at Harry for a long time before answering. “He has. You need a hairstylist as well. I know of a very good man. I'll contact him. He might be available today.”

The whole time the tailor talked, he took Harry's measurements. “There. You will want to visit Mr. Hoby next. If you come back here afterward, I should have something ready for you to try.”

Harry thanked Weston before making his way over to Hoby's. He entered the shop to find two other gentlemen being fitted. One of the men stared at him for so long Harry started to feel uncomfortable. He raised a brow. “May I help you?”

“Harry, is that you?”

He narrowed his eyes as a piece of memory eluded him, then with great relief, said, “Huntley.”

Harry's throat tightened, and he had the unnerving feeling he was going to weep. “Huntley,” he repeated.

Gervais, Earl of Huntley, stood and clasped Harry's hand. “Where have you been, and why are you dressed like that?”

“It's a long story. I was shipwrecked and lost my memory. I-I've just recently begun to get it back. I was just over at Weston's. He said everyone thinks I'm dead.”

“Yes, the
Gazette
listed you as dying in Badajoz.”

Harry shook his head, trying to clear it. “If I was ever on the Peninsula, I don't remember it. Of course, I don't recall a whole lot yet.”

A clerk tried in vain to get their attention until another gentleman spoke up. “I am Featherton. If you're here to get boots, you need to let this man measure you.”

“Of course.” Harry expected to receive the same dubious looks from the clerk here and was surprised when he did not.

“Mr. Marsh, I don't know if you remember me, but you helped me get my apprenticeship here.”

Harry tried to recollect and couldn't. “I'm sorry.”

“No matter.” The man smiled. “I heard you tell Lord Huntley you'd lost your memory.” He looked at Harry's boots. “I take it you'll need everything?”

Harry was relieved. “Yes. Do you know what I usually wear?”

“Of course. I'll take your measurements and bring out a few styles of which you might approve.”

Harry waited while a drawing of his foot was made. A face flashed in his mind. The girl, his sister, again. He'd spent a good deal of time thinking about her. His friend would know if he was right as to who she is. “Huntley, I have a sister. Anna is her name, isn't it?”

Huntley raised his quizzing glass and peered at him. “You really did lose your memory. Yes. Her name is Anna. You and she were . . . are very close.” Huntley grinned. “When she was first out, you growled at anyone who tried to dance with her. Until she took you to task, that is. She was in Town until she went to Finley's wedding. You probably won't remember him. He was at school with us, but got sent off to the West Indies not long after he came down from Oxford.”

Huntley paused for a moment. “Do you remember Lady Phoebe Stanhope?” Harry shook his head. “Finley married her. Sad thing though, his older brother died just after the wedding. Finley is Evesham now. Lady Phoebe and Anna are great friends.”

“Is my sister—Anna—is she married?” Harry asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

“No, though Rutherford's making a push in that direction. You'll remember him. You and he were best of friends all your lives.” Huntley's eyes lit with mirth. “She'll lead him a pretty dance before she agrees to wed.”

Harry wished he did recall. Was Rutherford the one she loved? “Is he tall, as tall as me with darker hair?”

“That sounds like Rutherford.” Huntley paused before asking, “Who knows you're here?”

“No one. I only remembered my last name a few weeks ago. It took me a little longer to remember where I lived. I'm just here, in London, to replenish my wardrobe before I go to Kent.”

Huntley thought for a moment. “Let's say we go over to Marsh House. You may have something there to wear. I don't know who's left, but there should be a caretaker.”

The clerk came out with some shoe and boot styles for Harry's approval. He made his selections. As they walked out the door, he said to Huntley and Mr. Featherton, who was following along, “I have to go by Weston's. Do you mind?”

“No, not at all. Featherton, we're not doing anything this morning, are we?”

“Nothing at all,” he replied amiably. “Happy to help.”

“Here, Harry,” Huntley said. “See if you can find Marsh House. I'll set you straight if you can't.”

Harry grinned widely, happy to have at least one friend who he remembered. Whether he could find his house was another matter. “First Weston's.”

He retraced his way back to the tailor's shop with Huntley and Featherton. Harry's shoulders and heart lightened. Ever since he'd met Emma, his life had begun to take shape. Much of it was still out of reach, yet for the first time, he was convinced his memory would fully return.

Once he reached the tailor's, Harry was fitted and told to come back later that afternoon.

After a couple of false starts, he found his family's London town house on Green Street. He took a deep breath and walked up the stairs, thankful the knocker was still on the door. A tall, gaunt, elderly gentleman opened the door and gaped at Harry for several moments before tears flowed down his cheeks.

“Master Harry.” He turned toward the inside and called, “Mrs. Minton, come quick. You'll not believe who's here.”

A plump, middle-aged woman with crimped gray curls hurried to the door. “Mr. Minton, what is all this about? You yelling in a gentleman's establishment, of all things.” She glanced in the direction Minton pointed. Her eyes grew as wide as saucers, and she fell upon Harry.

“Oh, Master Harry. My dear, dear boy. You're not dead.”

Harry put his arms around her. “No, Minny, I'm not dead. May we come in?”

Mrs. Minton wiped her eyes on her apron and led them into a parlor. “We're just covering everything up. Your mama's just left to visit some friend.” Disapproval colored her tone. “Miss Anna's gone home already. You sit right here, and I'll bring tea. Cook just made scones. Oh, won't she be so happy to see you!”

Memories flooded back. Snatching freshly baked scones. Cook scolding, but never telling his mother. He frowned. Something wasn't right.

Huntley patted Harry's back. “Do you want us to leave you?”

He almost panicked. “No, you'll need to tell me what's still in fashion. I've been gone for a long time.”

“Can't leave him to the servants crying all over him,” Featherton said sagely. “Wouldn't be right. We'll do our duty and have tea, then take a look at his clothes. See what he can still use. Where're you staying, Marsh?”

“I'm at Grillon's.” Suddenly he needed to talk to Emma. “What time is it? I really must buy a watch, if I don't have one here.”

“Harry, calm down.” Huntley squeezed his shoulder. “It's only half past ten.”

“Yes, it's just so–so much. I have an appointment at one o'clock for luncheon.”

Minny came back with Cook, who promptly fainted.

“Well,” Minny said, as if she'd been insulted. “I am sure I have never seen her do
that
before. Mr. Minton, please fetch me some water.” She searched in her pocket and came out with a small box.

“What is that?” Harry asked.

“Smelling salts. Bring her right around.” Minny passed them under Cook's nose.

Her eyes opened, and she sat straight up. “Mrs. Minton, I saw a ghost.”

“No, no, Cook. It really is Mr. Harry.”

Cook, after gawking at him for some time, burst into tears.

“Grillon's it is,” Huntley said in Harry's ear.

Harry walked over, helped Cook up, and braced himself to be set upon. Cook wrapped her arms around him and cried on to his coat.

“It's all right. I'm here now.” He patted her back. “What's this I hear about scones?”

“Oh, yes, yes, scones. I'll get them straight away.”

The Mintons left as well and closed the door behind them. Harry laughed weakly. “At least I know I was well liked.”

“They're not going to want you staying at a hotel,” Huntley said seriously.

“I know, but I need time to sort this all out, and I can't do that when they're hovering over me. No matter how much I appreciate the sentiment.”

Minton entered with a tray. “Here you are, Mr. Harry. Will you be staying here?” he asked hopefully.

Harry's heart tightened. “Minton, I lost my memory, and it's just starting to come back. I didn't even remember my sister's name until just recently. I barely found my way here. I'd like nothing better than to stay.” He paused. “But I have to go home. I would dislike it immensely if word got there before I did. Please understand.”

Minton tapped the side of his nose. “You tell me what you need, and I'll try to keep Mrs. Minton and Cook out of the way.”