Cynthia Bailey Pratt Page 7

  “Skinny chap ‘o came in through a broken winder. Right ugly. ‘E got himself killed, I finks.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “Don’t know, sir. I ‘id my h’eyes. I finks the young laidy did somemat wid him.”

  “Thank you,” Simon said, putting his hand in his

  pocket. Something clinked. Mrs. Pierce dipped a curtsey. “Ever so good of you, sir.”

  Dismayed and confused, Julia hardly spoke as Simon encouraged her to climb back into the hansom. He said to Mrs. Pierce, “Will you be able to find your way home all right?”

  “Oh, bless you, yes! See the young laidy ‘ome, sir. Never you mind ‘bout me!”

  Greatly confused, Julia sat in the stuffy interior of the cab and studied the situation. Was it all a lightning-induced fantasy, as Simon Archer believed? Or had she discovered proof that time meant nothing to the soul, that the division of time into past, present, and future was only a tool made by man, meaningless to those who wander between this world and the next?

  Simon asked for her address. When she gave it to him, he called it up to the driver as he entered and the cab set off with a lurch. Simon sat next to her in the dimness. “Are you feeling better, Miss Hanson?”

  “Oh, I am never ill.” It was rather cozy in the cab, his shoulder touching hers, the skirt of his coat falling upon the stuff of her dress. As they rattled noisily over the cobbles, they bounced and swayed into one another.

  “Surely, however, you must feel some nervous exhaustion. Confronting a burglar, being out so late in this great city ...”

  “I do not suffer from any irritation of the nerves, Mr. Archer. As for London, though I have not been here myself, my father visits often. We are going to his town house. My baggage should have been transferred there this afternoon. I hope my butler won’t have gone to any trouble about supper. I wrote a note to tell him I might not return until late.”

  “Yes, locking oneself into a museum overnight would make one late for supper.”

  “Naturally. But as you did not seem eager to show me your exhibit after promising ... If I thought I had a suit, I should sue you for breach of promise.” Julia wondered if she wasn’t revealing too much with such a joke.

  “Breach of... ! Why?”

  “I have a letter in my trunk from you, promising faithfully to show me your exhibit the moment I arrive in London. You didn’t. Any jury worth its salt would give a wronged woman heavy damages.”

  Simon stared at her in puzzled wonder. Then, just as she was certain he had all the humor of a fish on a marble slab, he grinned. “I think I should have to vote with the jury.”

  “Certainly. Especially after I came all the way from Yorkshire. A most cruel disappointment; so I manuevered around you.”

  “By staying in the museum after closing. My word! You are a self-possessed female!”

  She blinked at him owlishly. “Of course. It was the only way to get what I wanted. I really don’t understand your attitude.”

  “My attitude?”

  “Toward women. You seem to feel that we are a useless lot.”

  “Most women are useless, outside their natural—forgive me. I lost my train of thought.”

  “Outside our natural functions, would you say?”

  He turned his head away to look out the window. The light was uncertain, but Julia thought he might be blushing. “Look,” he said, “I think you can see the Houses of Parliament.”

  “Kindly don’t change the subject. Besides, I saw the Thames as we were coming to find you. An-ket said it was beautiful but that she preferred the Nile.”

  “Quite,” he said, and Julia knew he was merely humoring her. She preferred it to his previous pomposity, but her favorite of his expressions was the charmingly boyish grin he’d shown her before. She wondered how to get it to shine out again.

  In the meantime, she found it strangely pleasant to be tooling through the night with him beside her. She felt comfortably tired and wondered if she dared drop her head onto his shoulder. The experiment appealed to her. She covered a yawn.

  “You’re tired,” he said at once.

  “I didn’t rest well last night and it has been a very long day for me.”

  “That’s right. You only arrived in London this morning. Well, I’m sorry you’ve had so poor an impression of the city.”

  “Poor? I think it’s marvelous!”

  “I meant... between my reception of you, and this thief. Was anything stolen or damaged?”

  Julia suddenly realized that, despite his natural concern for the artifacts, he’d asked about her health a long time before asking about the priceless objects. ‘The case that held the jewelry was smashed, I’m afraid, but he hadn’t time to steal anything before the lightning struck him. An-ket said that Hathor sent it to protect my virginity.”

  “Good God!”

  She laughed at him. “It did happen, you know,” she said, still smiling. “You may have a very poor impression of me, Mr. Archer, but I assure you I am sane, if eccentric.”

  “I don’t think you’re eccentric.”

  ‘Then you think me quite, quite mad. Well, let us not quibble. I am at least unusual.”

  “That I will grant you. I knew from your letters that you are that. For the rest, when you are older ...”

  “How old must I be to know my own mind, if twenty-seven is not old enough?” She reached out and touched his hand lightly where it rested on his knee. “I used to want only one thing. I wanted only to go to Egypt. Now there is something else I want.”

  He seemed to be holding his breath. “That is?”

  “I want to prove to you that I am neither mad nor dreaming. Something strange happened to me tonight. I’m not sure I believe all of it myself, but something happened.”

  Simon became aware that the cab had stopped. Instinctively he rose to exit first, to hand Julia out. Until she stood beside him on the pavement, he had not looked around. When he saw the house, he knew the responsibility he’d assumed for her was not over yet. He honestly could not tell if he was glad or sorry.

  “Why are the shutters up?”

  “Please take your hand from your pocket, Mr. Archer,” she said at the same moment. “I shall pay the driver.”

  “You won’t,” he stated, turning away from the house. “A lady never pays.”

  “What did you say? Oh, you’re right. The shutters are up. How queer.” Glancing up at the interested man on the box, she asked, “Will you wait? I may need you again.”

  “Yes, miss.” He flourished his whip in a salute.

  “Thank you.” She trotted lightly up the front steps without a moment’s hesitation. Certainly she did not glance at him to see what she must do. Simon felt he had no choice but to follow her. Really, she was the most intrepid female!

  She stared in surprise at the place where the door knocker ought to have been. “Dear me. Shutters up, knocker taken down, and there should not be all this dirt on the steps if anyone was here to sweep it away.”

  “In other words, your servants are not here.”

  “There’s only Simpkins living here just now. We hire extra help when my father is in town.”

  “It seems strange to keep a house when one only visits from time to time.”

  “Father can’t abide hotels. He finds them too interested in purely personal concerns.” She was feeling in the bag she had slung over her arm. “Fortunately, I thought to bring the key.”

  Simon took it from her hand as she advanced it toward the lock. “You won’t need it. You’ll come home with me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Please give me that.”

  “No. And I’m not being ridiculous. It’s absurd to think that a young woman can stay alone and unprotected in an empty house. I’d sooner leave a kitten alone in a kennel.”

  As though in an echo of his words, he heard a mew. Sitting on the step below them was a black cat. He was not at all superstitious; for an archaeologist to be afraid of the supernatural would be
like a doctor to be afraid of disease. Let other people worry about superstition; to him it was merely part of his work.

  For all that, there was something vaguely familiar about the cat. It wasn’t all black; one paw was white as though it had stepped up to the wrist in paint.

  “Is that your cat?”

  “What cat?”

  Simon looked again and the cat had gone down the stairs, trotting away under the belly of the cab. “Never mind the cat,” he said. “You can’t stay here alone.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it isn’t done, Miss Hanson. It simply isn’t done. You haven’t even a maid with you.”

  “No, I couldn’t bring her. Her mother is laid up with rheumatism.” She made a highly undignified grab for the key but he refused to tussle with her. He slipped it behind his back.

  “My spare bedroom is at your disposal.”

  “That is a far more shocking suggestion than that I should stay here alone.” He could tell she was laughing at him again.

  “You’ll have my mother and sisters to protect you from me.” He stared down at her, appalled at his own joke. The last thing he wanted was to establish a relationship based on their differing genders. If she hadn’t begun it—but, no. He would not fall into Adam’s excuse of blaming the woman.

  She followed, as always, her own train of thought. “That’s another thing. What would your mother say if you turned up in the middle of the night with a strange woman? She’d be perfectly justified in putting me out forthwith, which means I would just come here again. Why waste the time? If you’ll kindly give me my key, Mr. Archer?”

  “Very well.” He unlocked the door for her.

  “Thank you,” she said, and marched inside with her head held high. Then she hesitated on the doorstep. “Yes, well... the first order of business is some light, I think. The gas is undoubtedly off. It would be unlike Simpkins to leave it on. Candles ... ah, the pantry, of course.”

  She started off. A moment later, he heard a crash and a soft exclamation.

  “Table?” he asked.

  “Chair... I think.”

  A bang.

  “Wall?”

  “Yes. Ouch.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “My head is hard, but the doorframe is harder.” A moment’s more fumbling and she asked, “Have you any matches?”

  “Have you found a candle?”

  “No, but a match would give me some light. The kitchen will be very dark indeed, being at the back of the house.”

  Simon checked his pockets perfunctorily. “No matches, I’m sorry.”

  “Perhaps the driver would lend us a side lamp?”

  “I’ll ask.” He was back quickly. “The cab’s lanterns are bolted to the frame to keep thieves from making off with them.”

  “A pity. Do you smell something?”

  “Just mice.”

  There was another clatter. She made a sound of disgust.

  “You don’t like mice? Bats are worse, and they infest Egypt.”

  “It’s not the mice I mind. I just tripped and put my hand in the fireplace. I think the chimney wants sweeping.”

  “Miss Hanson, come out. You must see this is folly.”

  “I can’t see anything.”

  “Then how will you manage for even one night?”

  “You could go home and bring me some candles ... but I suppose you won’t.”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you are a difficult man, Mr. Archer?”

  “No, never. My mother praises my sweetness of temper.” He heard her mutter something and he could smile because she could not see him, either. “Come along, Miss Hanson. The later it grows the more likely you are to be right about my mother.”

  Would she be reasonable and give up this quixotic desire to be independent? He would not have trusted either of his sisters to find and light a candle in a pitch-black house and he was used to judging all young women by Lucy, Amanda and Jane. To be truthful, he couldn’t imagine any of them entering such a house of their own free will. The mere threat of mice would have been enough to send them screaming out of the place, even without the effects of imaginations brought up on “horrid” novels.

  Julia appeared in the tall rectangle of light thrown through the open door into the hall. Her eyes were dilated like a cat’s and he noticed for the first time that the way her hips swayed in her quick gliding walk was very appealing. She said, “I wonder where Simpkins is.”

  “On holiday, perhaps. Regardless, you must come home with me.”

  “No, I’ll return to the Bull and Bush. They were very kind to me today and no doubt my valise is there.”

  “If it’s not stolen by now.”

  “You do like to look on the bright side, don’t you, Mr. Archer? I trusted the landlord’s son to bring my valise here. When he saw no one was home, he undoubtedly took my belongings back to the inn. When I arrive there, I shall have all I require.”

  “People in London are more dishonest than you are used to, Miss Hanson.”

  Her proud chin went up. “I am not a ‘country cousin,’ you know. I realize that there is dishonesty everywhere.

  I can only say that I have never met with any. I expect the world to treat me well, and it does.”

  “Come along, Miss Hanson. We can discuss philosophies on the way to my home.”

  “I’m not going to your home. I want to go to the Bull and Bush.”

  When she’d shut and locked the door, she asked the driver to take her to that inn. Before Simon entered the cab, he told the driver his address. Hardly had the words left his lips than Julia had opened the window on her side and said, “Kindly take me to the inn first, driver.”

  “The gentleman’s ‘ouse is closer, miss.”

  “Yes, but I don’t care to go there. The inn first, please.”

  “Nonsense,” Simon said. “The address I gave you, jarvey, and then you won’t need to go to the Bull and Bush.”

  “Mr. Archer, if you please! I have no intention of burdening your mother with the arrival of an utter stranger.”

  Suddenly a window flew up in the house across the street- The owner poked his head, topped with a white nightcap like a meringue, out the window. “Will you stop that ghastly row? People are trying to sleep!”

  “Look, now,” said the driver reasonably. “You can’t expect me to drive me ‘orse all h’over creation fer you two. Gi’ me one place t’drive you an’ I’ll take you there quick as winking.”

  In the same breath, Simon and Julia repeated their divergent requests. The driver sighed and shook his head. The horse looked around inquiringly and blew out his breath in a long, contemptuous whiffle.

  On the other side of the street, another window opened. A female voice plaintively demanded to know why drunken louts always chose her windows to argue underneath. Her voice apparently pierced the sleep of another neighbor who called out, “Is it fire? Is it thieves?”

  Someone farther along the street, catching only one word, yelped, “Call for the police!”

  Summoned like a genie by the sounding of the magic word, a large blue form appeared, complete with truncheon; tall hat; and blue, double-breasted frock coat. Simon realized that his bad evening was about to become worse. He foresaw that he’d next be arrested for kidnapping a woman he didn’t even want.

  Then, like a miracle, he heard Julia say, “I’ve changed my mind, driver. Please take us to the address this gentleman has given you.”

  “Thanks be! Come up there, girl, get on.”

  Simon sat back in the cab, staring at her, hardly even aware that a spring was poking him. “What made you change your mind? The constable?”

  “Yes. I suddenly realized that if you were arrested I never should get what I want.”

  “And that is?”

  She hesitated, her eyes sliding away from his. She seemed on the point of making up her mind to tell him when the cab stopped again. The constable stood looking in
at them. “What’s all this, then?”

  To Simon’s alarm, Julia slid over to sit close to him. Her hair brushed his cheek, bringing with it the faintest hint of some kind of flower. Her body was soft and surprisingly full where she pressed against his arm. He was not attracted to her, he told himself, yet it seemed that his body was not listening. Almost without realizing it, he curved his arm about her waist, so slender in contrast with her round breasts and hips.

  She said in a warm, throaty tone he’d not heard before, “Just a little lover’s quarrel, officer.”

  Simon found he had to clear his throat before he spoke. “I’m sorry, officer. We had a slight difference of opinion.”

  “Try not to ‘ave it in the middle of the street next time.” The bluecoat stepped back. “All right, get on.”

  As the cab drove off, Constable Number 429 noticed what looked like a cat riding on the boot between the back wheels. He’d seen stranger things during his twenty years on the force. But what sent him off-duty with a headache was the impossible, unshakable idea that the cat smiled at him as it drove away.

  * * * *

  In Medford Square, Mrs. Pierce squared her shoulders and started off in the direction of home. A true Londoner, she could follow her nose through the streets and never make a wrong turning. But, Lor’, how she wished she didn’t have to walk it! But she could tell plain as plain that the gentleman, polite as he was, didn’t relish sharing that cab home. Besides which, she wouldn’t have liked it herself. She didn’t know what had gotten into her that had made her so familiar with Miss Hanson. For she was gentry, through and through, and Mrs. Pierce had always prided herself on knowing her place.

  As she walked, the jingle in her pocket where she’d stowed the gentleman’s present made a musical accompaniment to the thud of her boots. When she reached a part of the city lit with gas, she tugged out the coins.

  She gasped, then trembled so hard that she nearly dropped one of the golden coins. There were five of them—three months’ wages. Mrs. Pierce looked hastily around her, on the watch for thieves. She thought she saw a shadow move behind her. Quick as winking, she pushed the coins into her pocket again.

  Five pounds was a fortune to a charwoman keeping body and soul together on thirty shillings a month. She thought of what her daughters would say when she showed them the glittering hoard. Knowing them, they’d think of a hundred ways to spend it within the first five minutes. She could think of that many without half trying. But, being good girls despite temptation, they’d soon calm themselves.