A Matter of Magic (38 page)

“I thought your name was familiar,” Mr. Fulton said with some satisfaction.

“It is of no consequence,” Mrs. Lowe said hastily. “It was a . . . personal matter.”

“What, still?” Mr. Fulton looked from Mrs. Lowe to Mairelon and said apologetically, “I am very sorry if I have been indiscreet, but since my brother saw no harm in relating the story to me, I thought—”

“Tommy Fulton!” Mairelon said, snapping his fingers. “Last time I saw him was in that little French town where Old Hooky set up his, er, coin exchange. St. Jean de Luz, that was it. Good heavens, are you his brother? How is he?”

“He was badly wounded at Waterloo, and I fear his health has not been the same since,” Mr. Fulton replied. “Still, he does tolerably well.”

“I’m glad he made it through.” Mairelon’s face clouded. “Too many didn’t.”

Mrs. Lowe was frowning in a mixture of relief and mystification that Kim found puzzling. Didn’t she know or care what Mairelon had really been doing during those years when London Society thought he had run off with the Saltash Set?

“Tom speaks very highly of your . . . work,” Mr. Fulton said to Mairelon.

“No need to mince words,” Mairelon said. “Not now, anyway.” He smiled at the puzzled expressions of the two young ladies opposite him. “I met Tommy Fulton while I was on the Peninsula, spying on the French. He was one of the pickets who made it possible for me to cross back and forth across the lines when I needed to. Very solid.”

Mr. Fulton inclined his head. “He will be pleased to know you remember him so kindly.”

“Remember him? I could hardly forget him. Did he tell you about the incident with the chickens?”

Seeing that the conversation was about to degenerate into military reminiscence, Mrs. Lowe and Mrs. Hardcastle both hurried into speech.

“I am sure you have many fascinating tales, but—”

“Perhaps Richard can visit your brother some other—”

The two ladies both stopped short and waited politely for each other to continue. Since Mr. Fulton was also waiting for one of them to finish
her speech, this gave Letitia Tarnower the opportunity to reenter the conversation.

“I dislike chickens,” she announced. “They are stupid birds, and they have nothing whatever to do with who one knows, which is what we were discussing.”

“Yes, and I quite agree that it is pleasant to meet new people,” Mrs. Lowe said, though her tone was at odds with her words. She managed a stiff smile at Miss Tarnower, then turned to Mr. Fulton with a warmer expression. “It is, for instance, very pleasant to make your acquaintance at last, Mr. Fulton. We have heard so much about you.”

“I, too, have heard much about you, Miss Merrill,” Mr. Fulton said, and smiled. “I must say, it did not do you justice.”

Beside Mrs. Hardcastle, Mairelon frowned suddenly. Mrs. Lowe nudged Kim and gave her a pointed look. Annoyed, Kim raised her teacup and sipped again.
Old fusspot. It would serve her right if I
did
disgrace her in public.
Then she blinked and began to grin.
And I bet it’ll send Fulton to the rightabout in a hurry, too.

Mairelon was watching her, and his frown deepened. Before he could queer her pitch, she looked at Mr. Fulton and said very deliberately, “Don’t go pitching me no gammon. You ain’t heard near enough, acos I’ll lay you a monkey the gentry-mort ain’t told you I was on the sharping lay afore Mairelon took a fancy to adopt me.”

Mrs. Lowe’s breath hissed faintly between her teeth in anger; Mrs. Hardcastle looked shocked, and the two younger ladies, merely puzzled. Mr. Fulton seemed taken aback, but he rallied enough to say, “No, I don’t believe she did.”

“Well, I ain’t no mace cove, and I don’t hold with bubbling a flash cull, not when it comes to getting priest-linked, anyways.”

“Kim!” Mrs. Lowe had recovered from her surprise-induced paralysis; it was a tribute to her good breeding that she kept her voice low despite her anger and chagrin. “Hold your tongue, at once.”

Kim set her teacup on the table. Looking up, she met Mr. Fulton’s eyes. “And I’ll tell you straight, this ain’t been my lay, right from the beginning,” she continued, as if Mrs. Lowe had never interrupted. “I ain’t
never been no Madam Ran. So I ain’t going to get in a pucker if you was to shab off.”

“I . . . see,” Mr. Fulton said in a dazed voice.

“Well, I do not,” Letitia Tarnower said crossly.

“I should hope not!” Mrs. Hardcastle groped in her reticule and produced a bottle of smelling salts, which she at once made use of. “I have never heard anything so vulgar in my life! Not that I understood the half of it myself.”

“Really?” Miss Matthews’s wide eyes were fixed on Kim. “Was it so very bad?”

“It was certainly intended to be,” Mairelon said. His eyes, full of amusement, met Kim’s, and she felt lightheaded with relief. As long as he hadn’t taken her antics in bad part, she didn’t give a farthing for Mrs. Lowe.

Unexpectedly, Henry Fulton laughed. “Miss Merrill, I think we are both correct. I had not heard nearly enough about you, and what I did hear
certainly
did not do you justice.”

Kim blinked and said cautiously, “Well, that ain’t my lookout.”

“Kim!” Mrs. Lowe said. “Be
still
!”

“It is much too late for that,” Mrs. Hardcastle said acidly. “Really, Agatha, you might have told me.”

“Told you what?” Mairelon said. “That my ward was once a street thief? I didn’t think it was a secret.”

“A street thief?” Letitia wrinkled her nose and looked at Kim with disfavor. “How horrid.”

“I think it is the most romantic story I have ever heard,” Miss Matthews said with conviction.

Mr. Fulton gave her an approving look, which caused Miss Matthews to blush in confusion.

Kim shook her head. Abandoning cant language, she said soberly, “It may sound romantic, but living on the street isn’t very pleasant. Horrid describes it much better.”

“I do not believe that was what Miss Tarnower was referring to,” Mrs. Hardcastle said. She seemed even more upset by Kim’s reversion to standard English than she had been by the string of thieves’ cant.

Mrs. Lowe rose to her feet. “We must be going,” she said stiffly. “At once.”

“But you have only just arrived,” Letitia objected. “And I
particularly
wished to ask Mr. Merrill something, because he has been on the Continent.”

Kim had not thought it possible for Mrs. Lowe to get any stiffer, but she did. “Another time, perhaps.”

“Nonsense, Aunt,” Mairelon said, leaning back in his chair. “We can spare another few minutes to gratify the young lady’s curiosity.”

“Richard . . .”

“What was it you wanted to ask, Miss Tarnower?” Mairelon asked.

“Why, only if you had ever heard of a Prince Alexei Nicholaiovitch Durmontov,” Letitia said.

“Durmontov?” Mairelon said in a thoughtful tone. “No, I can’t say that I met anyone of that name while I was in France, though there were a number of respectable Russians there from time to time. Of course, most of the people I dealt with there were not respectable at all.”

“That appears to continue true.” Mrs. Hardcastle sniffed and looked pointedly in Kim’s direction.

“Well, it’s only to be expected,” Mairelon said consolingly. “London Society isn’t what it once was.”

Both Mr. Fulton and Miss Matthews experienced sudden fits of coughing. Kim found herself entirely in sympathy with them; she was having trouble choking back her own laughter at Mairelon’s deliberate outrageousness.

Mrs. Hardcastle, however, was neither amused nor misled. “I was speaking, sir, of your so-called ward.”

Mrs. Lowe bristled and began to say something, but Mairelon held up a restraining hand. “Were you, indeed?” he said in a deceptively gentle tone to Mrs. Hardcastle. “Then you will certainly not wish to attend her come-out ball. I must remember not to send you a card.”

Kim’s stomach did a sudden flip-flop.
Come-out ball? He’s got windmills in his head. Doesn’t he?

“Richard!” Mrs. Lowe gasped.

“Ah, yes, you wanted to be going,” Mairelon said, ignoring the reddening Mrs. Hardcastle. “I find that for once I am in agreement with you, Aunt.” He rose and nodded to Mr. Fulton. “Give my regards to your brother. If you’ll send me his direction, I shall stop in to see him. Your servant, ladies.” He made an elegant bow that managed to include Miss Matthews and Miss Tarnower while excluding Mrs. Hardcastle, and ushered Kim and his thunderstruck aunt from the room.

They were hardly out of Mrs. Hardcastle’s house before Mrs. Lowe turned to Mairelon. “Richard, I fear that your unfortunate impulses have landed you in difficulties once again.”

Mairelon raised an eyebrow. “I do hope that you are not referring to my ward. I thought I was finished with that subject for today.”

“Not at all,” Mrs. Lowe said with a look at Kim that spoke volumes, none of them pleasant. “But
that
I intend to discuss with you privately, at a later time.” She climbed into the carriage and waited for Kim and Mairelon to find their own seats. Then, as the carriage began to move, she said, “No, I was referring to your invention of a come-out ball for Kim. While I fully understand your desire to give Mrs. Hardcastle a set-down, I must tell you that it will certainly have precisely the opposite effect, once she realizes that no such party is being planned.”

“I’m sure she feels just as you do,” Mairelon murmured. “But think of her chagrin when she discovers that it will, in fact, be held.”

“Richard, your flights of fancy take you too far,” Mrs. Lowe said severely. “You can’t possibly introduce a girl of dubious antecedents into Polite Society.” She gave Kim another look. “Particularly a girl whose behavior cannot be depended upon.”

“That’s three,” Mairelon said with apparent interest.

“Three what?” Mrs. Lowe asked, clearly at a loss.

“Three mistakes in one speech. First, Kim’s, er, antecedents aren’t dubious, they’re completely unknown. That is, if you’re referring to her parents. Second, her behavior is entirely dependable and shows a great deal of good sense.”

“If you call using vulgar cant phrases in Mrs. Hardcastle’s drawing room
showing good sense
—”

“And third,” Mairelon went on implacably, “I am quite capable of introducing my ward to Polite Society—though judging by this afternoon, I’d say the adjective is extremely ill-chosen.”

Kim found her voice at last. “Mairelon—”

“Kim, I have told you a dozen times: Refer to your guardian as Mr. Merrill, if you please,” Mrs. Lowe snapped.

“I don’t please,” Kim said. “And I’m no good at wrapping it up in clean linen, so there’s no use my trying. Mairelon—”

“You are being deliberately impudent and unmannerly,” Mrs. Lowe said crossly. “I don’t know which of you is worse.”

“Yes, it’s why Kim and I deal so well together,” Mairelon said.

Before Mrs. Lowe could respond to this provoking remark, the carriage came to a halt and the footman sprang to open the door, putting a stop to further conversation. As they descended, a ragged boy of nine or ten materialized next to the front stoop, and stood staring up at Mairelon. Automatically, Kim moved her reticule to her far hand and backed off a step.

The boy ignored her. “You that Merrill cove?” he demanded of Mairelon. “The frogmaker?”

“I’m a magician, and my name is Merrill.”

“Got something for you to give to a chap named Kim,” the boy said. “A bob cull up by Threadneedle told me you’d give me a bender for delivering it.”

Mairelon studied the boy for a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a coin. “There’s your sixpence. What have you got?”

“Here you go, governor.” The boy dropped something into Mairelon’s outstretched palm, snatched the sixpence from his other hand, and ran off down the street.

“Fascinating,” Mairelon murmured, looking after him. “Now, who
do we know who would use such an . . . unusual method of communication? And what does it mean?”

Kim leaned over to see what Mairelon was holding. It was a cheap wooden button, scratched deeply from one side to the other. “It’s from Tom Correy,” she said. “He’s got a secondhand shop on Petticoat Lane, off Thread needle. This is how he always used to let me know he wanted to see me. How did he know to send it to you? I never told anyone where I was going.”

“I did,” Mairelon said, handing her the button. “In a general sort of way. I wonder what he wants? Somehow, I doubt that the timing is coincidental.”

“Tom didn’t have nothing to do with that filching cove last night!”

“Kim!” Mrs. Lowe said. “Mind your language.”

“ ‘
Anything
to do with,’ ” Mairelon said calmly. “And I didn’t claim he had. If he’s heard something about the business, though, that might account for his summons.” He frowned suddenly. “Or our mysterious burglar may be hoping to hire you to complete his work.”

“As if I would!”

“Yes, well, he doesn’t know that, does he?”

“
Need
we discuss this in the street?” Mrs. Lowe said with a significant look in the direction of the interested footmen.

“A reasonable enough point,” Mairelon said, and they proceeded into the house.

Inside, Mrs. Lowe looked at Mairelon and said, “I wish to speak further with you about all this, Richard. I will expect you in the drawing room. Immediately.” Without waiting for an answer, she swept up the stairs, leaving Mairelon and Kim standing just inside the door.

“I have a few questions, too,” Kim said.

“Aunt Agatha got in before you, I’m afraid,” Mairelon said. “You’ll have to wait. Unless you want to join us?”

“No,” Kim said hastily. “I’ll talk to you after.”

“In the library. You can study your orisons and invocations while you wait,” Mairelon said, and disappeared down the back hall before Kim could say anything more.

Fuming, Kim went up to the library and flopped into a chair.
Introduce
me to Polite Society! He’s dicked in the nob. And anyway, the last thing I want is to spend more time having tea with widgeons like that Tarnower gentry-mort.
She glared at the book of invocations, but didn’t bother picking it up. Even if she could calm down enough to puzzle out the letters, nothing she read while she was in this state would stick.
And what in thunder does Tom Correy want? He can’t have a job for me; if he knows about Mairelon, he knows I don’t need to go on the sharping lay any more. And how am I going to sneak down to Petticoat Lane in skirts?