To Catch a Rake (15 page)

“Is staying out all night a usual habit for him?” Meta asked.

Mrs. Morris smiled. “When young, he spent the evenings out more often than at home, if I remember rightly. He’s become more serious in the last two years. Come this way then, Mrs. Russell,” the housekeeper said, leading her to the parlor and announcing her before taking her leave.

In the room’s rear, far from the bow window and the street, she found the senior Mr. Drexel drawing something that appeared to be a gear.

The older man must have difficulty with his eyes, because he held the paper close to his face as he worked. Upon her approach, he stood and greeted her warmly. “Good day, Mrs. Russell. What a delight it is to see you again. George is not at home but should return anytime. In the meantime, please take a seat and tell me all the news about your family. How is that remarkable brother of yours getting along down at the tunnel site? I saw him myself there two days ago, but I was in the company of other board members and therefore not able to have a word with him. Does he like his new job?”

“Yes, indeed, Fitzy spends his time at the tunnel, but when I do see him, he can speak of little else.”

Mr. Michael Drexel laughed, a gesture that made his wrinkles fade so he appeared more like George.

Meta enjoyed his company, because the older man always maintained a cheerful attitude. Unlike his son, she harbored no expectations that he might transform into a bear. Now sitting here enjoying a hearty laugh, he reminded her of his son’s more charming qualities.

“Fitzy told me he feels like he has fallen into heaven every time he descends into that pit.” She took a long step over an iron model of a wheel, then sat in a tub chair with a well-worn ivory seat. “He wakes each morning in delight, anticipating the wonders he will see that day. When he returns home in the evening, he cannot speak fast enough to convey every detail he observed. I doubt he gets more than a few hours’ sleep.”

Her companion laughed again heartily. “George was like that too when young. Sarah, my wife,” he glanced at the ceiling for a fleeting second, “was worried about George’s lack of sleep. I told her not to fuss. The boy was young and sleep is specific to an individual. If George needed sleep, he would have taken it.”

“I understand your wife has suffered a stroke. Please accept my sympathies. It must be unbearably difficult. My own father has lost his sense, and I deeply miss the man I grew up with. Every day I find something I would like to tell him or say to myself, ‘Wouldn’t Father enjoy hearing this?’ Perhaps on occasion I see a flicker of comprehension in his eyes, but it is always a false one. But a spouse is different somehow than a parent. Had my husband lost his mind, or remained unconscious, instead of dying within days after his accident, I cannot imagine how much harder it would have been for me. Again, you have my condolences and regard.”

He gave her a smile bigger than she expected. “You understand, thank you. Jane and I are not unhappy. Unlike your father, she retains full comprehension. She just lost the ability to speak clearly and walk without pain. Those are the facts of our life now, and we make the best of it. When she is sleeping, I tend to my affairs and help George when I can. But during the day, I read to her.” He blushed. “I know you will consider me a sentimental man, but we also hold hands. You would think after forty-one years of marriage, holding your spouse’s hand would be a commonplace occurrence—like a passing compliment, felt for a second, then lost. But when I hold her hand, she breathes easier, and I do too. Neither of us would rather do anything else. We must appear rather foolish in our old age.”

“No, not at all.” Meta nodded but could not say anything more.

He winked at her. “To what do we owe the honor of your visit today? Does it concern your lovely sister and that misunderstanding involving George’s field guide?”

“Yes, it does. But I don’t think your son will be too happy about my news. You see, even though he was hesitant, he did his utmost to explain the situation to my sister’s suitor. Yesterday, we were both delighted when James admitted that he regretted his mistake of calling off and would resume his addresses to Lily the next day. Only now Lily has decided against him.” She sighed deeply. “She is not normally a stubborn person, so her position is inexplicable to me. Tell me, has George experienced other problems from the publication of his field guide? Or are my sister’s difficulties an isolated incident?”

“You must forgive George on that score. His acerbic charm has given him more success with the fairer sex than a man of his age ought to have.” He sighed. “His stated motivation for publishing the field guide was money for an expensive model bridge he was building at the time. But his real reason was more a young man’s pride, a lark, a cock crowing, showing off his familiarity with females to his friends. In a word, he is spoiled by attentions form the fairer sex. I am glad—and quite surprised actually—that he exerted himself to consider the feelings of others, like your sister, not to mention set the situation to rights before it escalated out of proportion to reality and harmed his reputation irreversibly. I hope this can be resolved to everyone’s satisfaction and, in the end, teach him a valuable lesson.”

The drawing room door opened with a bang. A whoosh of people entered the room, including George Drexel followed by Mrs. Morris and a housemaid. George Drexel was soaking wet and covered in mud. His dark hair appeared matted on his head, dried muck streaked across his cheeks, and wet mud stained all of his clothes. He had no coat, his waistcoat was unbuttoned, and his shirt was rolled up to the elbows. He seemed in a trance, because he failed to register her presence. Instead, he careened by everyone and collapsed on the sofa, his arm flopping to the floor.

“A leak?” the older man asked, running forward to attend to his son.

The younger Mr. Drexel nodded. “Water started coming from two of the poling boards in number twelve. I thought the straw had contained the leak, but suddenly four boards shot out of the frame and a massive amount of water entered the tunnel. It was foul water too, full of London sewage, a veritable liquid privy. Several men cast up their breakfast at the smell. We’ve fought it for at least ten hours.” He turned his head to address his father. “Duff even went down in the diving bell to pull sandbags over the leak.”

“What about the new chain? Was there enough time to test it properly? I hope Mr. Duff has survived and is not left behind in a watery grave.”

“The chain was tested by lowering the bell once before Duff entered. I would have preferred a more thorough test, but under the circumstances, Duff being the only man on the barge at the time with experience going down in the bell, he decided not to wait. The straw and clay bags have finally stopped the water for the moment, so I returned home.” His head fell back on the sofa, and he breathed heavily. “I must return soon.”

Another housemaid entered the room, carrying a large tray full of towels and a bowl of hot water. Mrs. Morris attempted to remove his soiled, wet shirt by pulling his torso upward, but his eyes had closed, and he turned into a dead weight.

Meta quickly stepped forward in front of his father, grabbed him by the collar, and with the combined efforts of Mrs. Morris, pulled him up into a sitting position. “We must help you, sir. Your wet waistcoat and shirt must be removed, for your own health.” For a brief second, the stench from the Thames overwhelmed her, but she held her breath in intervals to make the odor more tolerable.

He opened his eyes; a flicker of recognition brightened them for an instant. “What in the devil are you doing here? Be off, madam. I have no time today for your tomfoolery.” He groaned as Mrs. Morris lifted his arm to remove his shirt.

Together the two women removed his soaking wet boots, shirt, and trousers. In unison, they grabbed wet towels and started to wash him. While Mrs. Morris gently brushed his face free of dirt, Meta lifted his left arm and began to wipe it clean. His forearms were a mixture of brown dirt mingled with a light covering of dark hair. Once the dirt was gone, for some reason, with each stroke of the cloth, she smoothed the hair into an orderly direction.

Frankly, his arm fascinated her, from the strength of the muscle underneath his hair to the bulge in his wrist where those large, active hands began. She marveled at the thought of these very hands holding back the mighty Thames for ten hours. She inhaled and started to clean his fingers. Her attention fixed on their strength and dexterity, delicate enough to create intricate detailed models, yet possessing the power to keep pressure on a poling board for hours.

She recognized her unnecessary admiration of his arm and hands, so much to her disappointment, heat stole across her cheeks. The room seemed unnecessarily warm. Thankfully, everyone focused on getting the mud removed, so they failed to notice her wavering attention. That is, until she discovered him staring at her.

Her admiring glances—oh, he noticed—understood them too.

“Right. Why are you here, madam?”

Of course he noticed. Her mind still swirling in a heated fog of sensuality, she began to babble. “I called to tell you—bad news, I’m afraid—not bad, but—well, disappointing—you see…” She stopped and stared, eyes wide, as he pulled on a new shirt. Her brief glimpse of a broad expanse of chest lightly covered with brown hair caused her to gulp loudly.

He caught her staring. “Stop wasting my time and your time. Do you understand my meaning?”

She looked down at her skirt and nodded, thoroughly chastened.

A housemaid entered with a tray piled with cheese and ham and placed it near him.

“Thank you,” he said, addressing his servants. “I don’t know what my family would do without you ladies.”

His father moved to the opposite seat next to the fire. “How long do you plan to stay?”

“I’ll be off in a minute. The next soil samples should be available within the hour, and I must inspect them. Hopefully we are still digging through the layer of blue clay.”

His father nodded.

“Leave? Again?” Meta failed to understand the urgency. All she recognized was the danger. “Is all this tunneling worth the exhaustion and possible illness from foul water?”

Both men stared at her as though she spoke in a foreign language.

“Madam,” George Drexel said, “I have done what you asked in regard to your sister. Now, if you please, take leave. Go embroider something, read someone else’s diary, or discuss
ribbons
with Miss Susanna.”

She must tell him about the picnic before she left, even though it meant poking a stick at the bear. “I must tell you that the Learned Ladies Society is interested in buying shares in the tunnel at the next issue. They plan to gather at the site next week for a picnic, so they can see the amazing tunnel for themselves. If all goes well, the ladies have significant connections that could benefit the tunnel in ways you cannot imagine. I came today to tell you about this. Although no promises of support can be guaranteed.”

He turned to his father. “Learned ladies are having a picnic. How exciting. What gentleman could possibly resist.”

“Now son, we all know you are clearly exhausted, but Mrs. Russell is only trying to help you.” The father addressed her, “Please, Mrs. Russell. When a leak happens, the entire tunnel project is at stake. He must return as soon as possible, because every hand is needed. Return another day, and I’m certain he’d be delighted to hear your news.”

Meta watched the bear inside him grow: his eyes narrowed, and his chest expanded.

“Right, Mrs. Morris, would you
kindly
show Mrs. Russell the door. I’m incapable at the moment. Good-bye, madam.”

“But—”

“I have important work to do. Shove off!”

“Of course,” she said and hurried out of the room.

Nine

Meta confronted her sister. “Admit it, you love James. Stop pretending you don’t wish to go to the picnic just because he will be there.”

Lily’s countenance grew mulish. “No, perhaps not love, but I do not hate him either. I question whether I’m ready to spend several hours with him staring at me, recrimination written across his face, without me being able to throw something at him.”

“Ah, maybe he agreed to join us at the picnic because he too wishes to see the tunnel, not stare at you. Everyone in London seems to be talking about the tunnel, and James has met Mr. Drexel, so he has reasons to be curious. Don’t worry. I won’t let him pester you during the picnic.
Promise
.” An easy promise to make. After James learned of Lily’s refusal to reconsider his suit, he left the room without saying a word. During the weeks that preceded the picnic, he made no move to contact her in any manner. Today would be the first time they would be in each other’s company for an extended length of time. She had no doubt that James would behave like a gentleman. Lily’s behavior, on the other hand, was more uncertain.

Meta glanced out of the salon’s tall windows. “It promises to be a wonderful day to spend across the river. The sun is out, and we’ll picnic in the gardens of St. Mary’s. It is only a few steps from there to the tunnel workings.”

Fitzy yelled, “James’s carriage is here.” He bounded out the front door.

Meta grabbed her straw bonnet and tied the cornflower blue ribbons under her chin. “Come on.” She snatched Lily’s bonnet and fixed it on her sister’s head, pulling the pink ribbons tight with a tug.

“You owe me a favor in return, Meta.”

“Indeed I do.” She bent to peek under her sister’s poke bonnet. “But what do you owe me if you enjoy yourself?”

Lily’s face broke into a feisty smile, the first one to appear naturally since her engagement ended. “You’re right. I’ll enjoy watching James closely so that I may put down his actions as a character in a novel one day—the wishy-washy lover.”

Meta sighed. “You will do no such thing. Cheer up, for Fitzy’s sake, if not mine.”

Lily tossed her head; the mulish expression on her face returned.

The family soon settled into the carriage for the short journey to Lady Sarah’s house in Royston Square. Once all the guests, their carriages, and the carriages carrying Lady Sarah and several members of the Learned Ladies Society were assembled, they all headed for the tunnel. An hour later, quite a number of bonnets poked out of the carriage windows as the ladies, and James, passed the tunnel site in Rotherhithe. They passed the inn, The Spread Eagle and Crown, and disembarked next to the gardens of St. Mary’s church. The grooms and footmen stayed behind to set up the picnic things, while their party walked the hundred or so feet to the tunnel location.