House of Mirrors (28 page)

So he was making plans for after the season? Rafe stroked his mustache. Soon Rafe would board a ship for England. About a month and a half after that, the carnival season would end. And then…

He swore under his breath. Well, bloody damnation, why not? Why the devil not?

Chaucer must have noticed the astonishing idea that gripped him, mind and body, because the gelding turned and mumbled at Rafe’s shoulder with its lips.

He pushed Chaucer’s head away and patted the horse to show no hard feelings. “I’m a fool,” he said in a low voice. “But we can all change, eh, Geoff?” After one more pat on the horse’s neck, he strolled toward the group gathered by the weather-beaten patented medicine wagon.

He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid that after the season, Mr. Talbot will be busy.”

“Oh, yeah?” Parinsky leered. The man was intolerable.

Rafe spoke a little louder as he announced, “I’ve heard there is a resurgence of interest in Poe’s works in England. Talbot is just the man to take advantage of that.”

He’d heard no such thing, but he’d do his damnedest to make sure there would be a new interest in fifty-plus-years-dead Poe. He had about two months to drum up that enthusiasm in the English public. He was just the showman to do it. And assuming his mother and brother hadn’t managed to squander the family’s good name and money, he might as well take his turn at taking advantage of their fame and fortune. He hadn’t wanted to drag Jonah across the ocean to simply act as his pet, but this was dragging him toward real opportunity.

The three of them gawked at him. Jonah’s eyes softened. “Truly?”

“Would I lie to you?”

“Yeah, sure you would,” Mindy said. “And you’d be smooth as a greased pig as you did it. But it’s a damn fine idea. Knife-throwing would be just the act to go with it too. And some sharpshooting. Who do we have that’s good with a rifle? Thrills. Chills. Straight from the Americas. We’d have to get ourselves some Western gear.”

Rafe laughed out loud for the pure joy of it. “Of course,” he said. “Just the thing.”

* * *

The thought of leaving no longer burdened Rafe. He wasn’t eager to return home and face the ghosts and his mistakes, but he had the promise of his future to help him face the past. Jonah, he thought as he boarded the ship.

“Jonah,” he said as he lay awake in the cabin, listening to the noisy engines. The bunk was as small as the one in his wagon had been, but the amenities were far superior. The facilities—called a head on the ship—were positively well-appointed. Amazing how quickly one could grow used to luxuries.

He slept well and woke restless, wanting to get to work. The lazy life on shipboard didn’t suit the man he’d become. He took to running along the deck to burn the impatience that built inside.

The evening wear he’d purchased in New York felt more constricting than he’d recalled. As he made his way to the dining room, fiddling with the wing collar and the white tie, he spotted a blond head. His heart sped until he remembered, again, the impossibility of it.

It was absurd how often he saw Jonah in a crowd of his fellow passengers.

He made polite conversation with the ladies and gentlemen at the captain’s table. As he sipped wine, he considered how he had been a truly stupid man. Just imagine how awful the longing would have been if he’d tried to leave Jonah behind forever. He’d been a fool to think he could.

At night, as he lay in the ship’s bunk, far too awake, he wondered if Jonah thought of him. Jonah’s feelings for him had come on so quickly—an infatuation. Didn’t that type of affection burn out as quickly as it struck? What would happen if Jonah came to England and no longer cared for him?

He wrote letters to Jonah to remind him of his existence. He made sure to put in a quotation from Shakespeare in each note and hoped Jonah would laugh or roll his eyes.

He wrote about the people he met on board, about his hopes for the show—though he didn’t mention the other hopes he had. But he couldn’t resist remarking on the past, and some of the memories he had crept in. As the days passed, the letters became far too strong, too dangerous to be sent once they’d reached port. He’d write them then burn them to ashes. As he watched the smoke curl from those more lascivious letters, he reflected that this was a presage of what he’d have to do if Jonah changed his mind and didn’t come to England. Somehow he’d have to burn out the need for the man.

He supposed it was absurd to prepare himself for that danger, but the truth of the matter was he had never had so much at stake before.

He lay awake and wondered if Jonah’s mother had answered his letter and half hoped she wouldn’t. What if she coaxed him back to that small town in Ohio? But that was a self-interested desire on his part. It was hard to break from the family tradition of selfishness, he supposed, but he could pretend. So in his next letter he wrote that he hoped Jonah had made his peace with the family he loved. That was at least half true, after all.

Mr. North, the family solicitor, met Rafe outside the customs sheds on the London docks. The man hadn’t aged a day, though perhaps his hair was more salt than pepper now and his figure slightly bulkier.

After shaking Rafe’s hand fervently, he apologized for sending such a peculiar agent after him. “But Mr. Remnick came with excellent recommendations, and we’d lost track of you.” He eyed Rafe over his half glasses. “You neglected your duty too long, my lord.”

Rafe nodded. If he addressed the subject, he’d sound defensive, and Mr. North only spoke the truth.

Mr. North directed him toward his carriage.

Rafe climbed in, then said, “You might as well tell me the worst of it. Are the coffers empty and the tenants neglected?”

“No to the first, but most definitely to the second. I have some suspicions about the man acting as your steward.”

“Mr. Ledbetter? He’s been there for years.”

Mr. North blinked behind his spectacles. “Let me drive you to your club. After you clean up, will you join me for tea?”

* * *

That was the start of Rafe’s dull new life. He spent the next fortnight with work piled up to his weary eyeballs, learning to read accounts and reviewing them. He plowed through piles of complaining letters from tenants. Thank goodness Mr. North’s assistant had been keeping up with the bills.

Nights, he wrote more notes to Jonah. He even posted some, though he doubted they’d find their way to the traveling show. Days, he met with accountants and then with Mr. Ledbetter, hiring the first and firing the second.

“Her ladyship hired me years ago, when your brother was still a young lad. She will have something to say about this.” The steward had turned plump, yet he was still a man with pleasant features and an easy smile. His mother only hired good-looking people.

“I’m sure you’re right,” Rafe said. “I know you are a particular favorite of hers, but she will have little to say about the matter. I shall point out to her that you billed the family for materials to complete work that was never done. Even my mother would admit asking you to leave your post is actually a friendly gesture.”

Mr. Ledbetter lost all traces of his smile. He stared, obviously befuddled.

Rafe explained. “I shan’t call the police and have you arrested. Unless you hang about here too long, by which I mean past another minute.” He pulled out his pocket watch with a flourish and clicked it open. “Fifty-five seconds,” he began, but the showy gesture was lost on the man, who was already scurrying from the office. He wished Jonah was there to see his fine show. He’d appreciate the air of menace Rafe had demonstrated.

The steward he hired to replace Ledbetter was considerably less attractive but, one hoped, more honest. During his lessons with Mr. North, Rafe had learned how to make certain that was true. He’d keep careful watch over the estate matters from now on, as he promised Mr. North more than once.

Rafe thought his sessions with Mr. North unpleasant, but the meeting with his mother was worse.

He took the train to his family’s estate and was ushered into the dining room. The huge table had been pulled to a corner, the chairs removed and replaced by drawing room furniture. His mother, Lady Esme Darkwell, was propped on a sofa by the table, where she wound a gramophone in its elaborately carved rosewood case. It was bigger than the Edison phonograph he’d left in Mindy’s care.

As the music played, about a half dozen people in their twenties romped around the large room. He didn’t know the people cavorting through the room, but judging by the gentlemen’s tight trousers and the ladies’ low-cut gowns and shrieks of laughter, these were hardly the cream of society. His mother must have abandoned all pretense of respectability.

After his instinctive dismayed response—an echo of some ancient respectable ancestor, perhaps—he reflected that her vulgarity was something of a relief, considering his own plans.

The music ended, and in the silence she looked up and noticed him in the doorway. He walked in, wondering if he should embrace her, but her frown made it clear she had no interest in any such affectionate gesture.

“Mother,” he said and bowed.

“My lord,” she replied. “How nice of you to join us.” She didn’t bother to introduce him. Two young men near her gawked at Rafe but didn’t say anything. They were apparently used to her manners. Or perhaps they were merely drunk.

“I say, lovey,” one of them commanded her. “Play that tune about the Goo-Goo Man again.”

Rafe sat down next to her without invitation, and she ignored him as she selected the next cylinder.

The music blared from the horn, and he waited. Since she only had eight recordings, none longer than two minutes, eventually the young people lost interest. They collapsed on the floor, screaming with laughter.

Rafe invited her to take a stroll.

She stood and fussed with her skirts and some sort of overlayer ruffled trim thing. He didn’t know much about ladies’ fashion, but the gown she wore—which consisted of layers of lace over a pink rustling silk—seemed far more extravagant than the time of day or occasion warranted. Another sign of change.

She waited until they left the room to speak. “So you’ve come to take over, Rafe. I won’t have you interfering with my life.”

“I won’t,” he reassured her.

“North said you would. North said you’d never allow me to entertain myself the way I’m used to. I need to be happy.”

His clever, charismatic mother was acting like a petulant six-year-old. He wondered if he ought to tell her that the group of strangers they’d left behind in the dining room made no difference to him, though it occurred to him he’d have to pay the estate’s staff more for the extra work and to keep an eye on them.

“No, Mother,” he said gently. “I won’t interfere with your fun if you are safe and well.”

Her mouth dropped open, and then she shut it with an audible snap. “And who decides what safe and well means?”

“I expect we shall figure that out,” he said.

“You? You’re worse than your father. Such a stodgy oaf. A more blisteringly dull, moralizing man I’ve never met.”

Rafe felt as if she’d slapped him. Though she was contemptuous of his late father, she’d kept her disdain well hidden. She’d never been so outspoken in the past. Rafe again wondered if his mother was suffering from some brain lesion or some other form of illness of the brain or perhaps she was simply testing him.

What would Jonah say or do now, he wondered. That well-trained preacher’s son wouldn’t respond with the sharp anger or snide remarks that lingered in Rafe’s mouth. Just thinking about how kind and easy Jonah had been with the Sam’s peculiar, frightened family calmed Rafe’s crabbed anger with his own mother. Jonah would coax her into being an ally.

Rafe decided to tell her the truth. “I’m hardly so dull, Mother. Do you know what I’ve been doing for the past few years?” And he told her about the carnival.

Her unpleasant manner dissolved at once. She clapped her hands at his cleverness, and all the past sins were forgotten. His mother’s evident delight nauseated him somewhat, as if her approval made the show entirely tawdry. But he could hardly deny the truth. Her blood ran in his veins.

They strolled in the garden, which had hardly changed in ten years. She led him to a wrought-iron seat and insisted he sit next to her and tell her more about the acts in the carnival.

Though the vague queasiness he felt in her presence didn’t go away, he made some form of peace with his mother. She didn’t even raise a fuss when he insisted that he have final say on all expenditures. And when he explained his desire to open a music hall, she bounced in the seat with delight and agreed that she must cut her expenses to fund such a wonderful venture. The longer he spent in his mother’s company, the more he realized she might indeed be addled.

“Our old friends will be scandalized,” she said. “Pooh! Don’t look so worried. That’s all the more reason to do such a thing, my dear. They were just dreadful after that unpleasantness happened and you left.
Dreadful
.”

The death of Miss Thornton was reduced to “that unpleasantness.” He began to understand that his family had managed to avoid prison for Edward, but their old life had come to an end following the discovery of the body on their property.

As he bid his mother good-bye before returning to London—he had no interest in spending an extra second at the hall—he realized that neither of them had even mentioned Edward. He’d avoided the subject because the thought of that stupid, wasted life made him want to tear out his hair and run howling from the house. She had the remarkable ability to ignore anything that might cause her pain.

He refused a ride to the train station. It was a four-mile walk, but he felt he needed the exercise. As he strode along the narrow lane, he realized that he’d finally learned the secret to managing his mother. If she grew mulish or annoyed, he merely had to imagine what Jonah would say: “You ought to pay attention to the particulars of the person you’re talking to.”

Rafe learned that he could offer his mother something titillating to discuss and then give her a watered-down version of her demands.