Jack of Clubs (3 page)

Tomorrow would come soon enough, willy nilly. Today she could appreciate that the air was clearer in this neighborhood too, less thick and sooty. She still found London's atmosphere difficult to breathe, or else she truly was catching Harriet's cold. The sooner they reached their destination, the better. Surely Captain Endicott would let her stay the night, no matter how many nursemaids and tutors he already employed. One of the country's fine, brave officers, born to the nobility, could not be less than gracious.

“I bet he doesn't want me either.”

Allie did not pretend to misunderstand. The gentleman might not know of Harriet's very existence. He certainly could not know that she would be arriving on his doorstep, bags and baggage, or what had not been lost in the fire, at any rate. Even more certainly, Heavens be praised, he could not know what a headache Harriet was.

“Of course he will want you, his own good friend's daughter,” Allie said to bolster both of their confidences. In the confines of the carriage, she tried to tidy up her charge's appearance. “He is a gentleman of the first stare, and you must not embarrass him.”

There was nothing to be done about the bedraggled pinafore, the muddied shoes or the missing bonnet, the dripping nose, and torn gloves. Allie did manage to get her own comb through Harriet's snarled red hair and tied it with her own hair ribbon in a semblance of order, and used her own handkerchief to dab at a strawberry jam stain on Harriet's cheek from breakfast. She would worry about her own appearance next. It was Harriet who had to make the best first impression. The second impression was bound to be worse.

“And you absolutely must comport yourself like a lady,” she stated, looking Harriet in the eye to make sure she understood.

“I do not see why. He won't want me either.”

“He will if you are prettily behaved and show him what a bright, obedient child you are.” Allie almost choked on the falsehoods, but had to try. “Captain Endicott will come to love you.”

“Want to bet?”

Betting was abhorrent, of course, morally indefensible and more reprehensible when a child was involved. “How much?”

“You already owe me five thousand pounds. Double or nothing?”

Since they had been wagering imaginary sums for the entire journey, Allie agreed. Miss Semple might have palpitations at Miss Silver's method of discipline and sense of decorum, but the schoolmistress had not volunteered to accompany Harriet Hildebrand to her relatives. Allie was doing the best she could.

Unfortunately, she could not do much with her own travel-worn appearance, for the carriage stopped before she could repin her hair or retie her hat's bow under her chin. She crammed the bonnet back on her head, her hair stuffed underneath, and looked at their destination.

The house was not as imposing as some they had passed on their way through Mayfair, but it was substantial, well-kept, and welcoming. Allie's spirits lifted. “You see? A true gentleman's residence. Captain Endicott will do the right, honorable thing.”

Oddly, the house had two front doors, one red and one black. The coachman looked at Allie, as if asking where he should place their valises. “In the middle, I suppose,” she directed, finding a coin in her reticule to repay the man's efforts. He tipped his hat and went back to the carriage.

“Which door?” Allie asked as the hired coach pulled away. “You choose.”

Harriet studied the large house with its trimmed front hedges and gleaming windows. “No matter. We won't be staying.”

The afternoon light was fading. The night would be cold. They had nowhere else to go, and little funds to get there. “Do not bet on that, my girl. We are staying.”

Chapter Three

Allie chose the red door, to match Harriet's hair (and red nose).

A very large, very angry man answered Allie's knock. Harriet scurried behind her. “Can't any of you widgeons read?” the man yelled, pointing to a sign above the door before he shut it in their faces.

Guests
, it read.

“What an odd way to welcome company,” Allie said, studying the sign as if it could answer the questions in her aching head.

“I told you he didn't want me,” Harriet whispered. “I won.”

“Nonsense. That coarse fellow cannot be Captain Endicott,” Allie reassured her, hoping she spoke the truth. The man was weathered, whiskered, and rude, not the respectable young officer she had been picturing in her hopeful mind. Only a well-tailored, well-mannered gentleman ought to live in such a quietly elegant residence, according to Allie's sense of fitness. “Perhaps that was the butler.”

Not even an eight-year-old would believe that. Butlers were the starchiest creatures in the kingdom. They did not have wads of tobacco in their mouth or mustachios, and they did not open the door with their sleeves rolled up to show thick, hairy forearms, with tattoos.

“Maybe he's a pirate come to kidnap the captain and hold him for ransom. We ought to call for the Watch.”

Allie had to grab the back of Harriet's cloak to keep her from heading back to the street. Instead she led her across the well-tended yard to the other, black-painted door. That one had a sign that read
Interviews
.

“How peculiar. I would have thought the servants' entrance was around back.”

“We're not servants, are we?”

Well, Allie might be considered one. She was an employee, at any rate, or hoped to be. Lord Hildebrand's grandchild, however, was not applying for a menial's position, only a daughter's. Allie supposed Harriet might have to prove her identity before Captain Endicott accepted her as his ward, but an interview? Allie might be in dire straits, but she still had her pride…for Harriet's sake, of course. She raised her chin and tugged the girl back to the red door. Harriet scuffed her feet, leaving tracks in the manicured grass.

This time when the rough chap answered the door, Allie was ready. Before he could shout at them, she announced, “I am Miss Allison Silver and this is Miss Harriet Hildebrand. We are calling on Captain Endicott on a personal matter.” She pointed at the sign above his head. “Guests.”

He was staring at their bags and boxes, then at the ruined lawn, ready to loose a tirade, it seemed. Instead he loosed a stream of tobacco juice, missing Allie's feet by inches. “You got some brass, lady.”

Allie did not know whether to say thank you or be insulted. The doorkeeper had not stood aside for them to enter, so she chose icy hauteur. “The captain will not be happy you kept us waiting out in the dank air.”

“Cap'n 'll be less happy iffen I let you in.” He leaned forward until Allie could smell onions on his breath. She took a step back, despite her vow not to be intimidated. “It's the eyes,” he said. “And the hair.”

She had tried to tidy her hair, but her eyes? Allie took another step away from the demented doorman. “Perhaps we shall try the other door after all.”

“Won't do you no good,” the man told her, spitting another stream of foul brown liquid near Allie's shoes. “You ain't got blue eyes, and you ain't got blond hair. Nor red nor black hair, for that matter.” He switched his gaze to Harriet. “An' the cap'n keeps a decent house. He wouldn't hire any moppet, not even a redhead. Fact is, he'll be deuced furious you thought to bring her along.”

Bring her along? Where was Allie supposed to leave Harriet, with the solicitor?

The doorkeep was shaking his head. “Revolting, that's what it is. Now go on with you afore I get mad. Take your skinny chick and find some other nest to foul. We don't want your dirt here.”

Allie did not think he meant their shoes. “Come, Harriet, we shall try the other door. Perhaps they are more hospitable there.” She picked up one of her suitcases. “And we will inform Captain Endicott of his surly staff.”

Harriet was already hefting her bag and “accidentally” knocked the doorman in the shin with its brass corner. “At least I do not have to write my name on my arm in order to remember it,” she said, loudly enough for the man to hear.

Allie pulled her away. “I do not think the man's name is Snake, dear. And I do not think it wise to antagonize a member of one's own household.”

“I'm not staying. You'll see. Double or nothing.”

“You are staying,” Allie said firmly, knocking on the other door. It swung open at her rap.

Maybe Harriet would not be staying, after all.

This entry was a long, narrow room, with wooden benches along both sides. The benches seemed filled with…Well, Allie did not use such words, and perhaps young women in London dressed differently from those in the country, wearing lower necklines, tighter bodices, and face paint.

Allie did not think so. Neither did Harriet, whose mouth was hanging open. “They look like…”

Allie clapped her hand over the child's mouth. She took a deep breath, ignoring the smell of liberal amounts of inexpensive perfume and less amounts of soap and water. Under the unwelcome odors was the blessed scent of fresh paint. “…Applicants for housemaids,” she completed the girl's sentence. “The captain must have moved in recently and is renovating and hiring his staff.”

He must be a bachelor, for no agency would send such…colorful females to be interviewed for positions. Allie did not think any proper female's lips could be so red, although she was aware her own cheeks must be pink by now, and not just with the fever. Perhaps they all had a contagion. But there went her hopes of any Mrs. Captain Endicott keeping her on as governess. An unmarried man would send Harriet to some school, or to his family.

A desk was positioned at the far end of the room, with a gentleman sitting behind it. He had sandy-colored hair, a neatly tied neckcloth, and a pleasant, although tired looking expression on his face as he spoke to one of the women.

Allie sat Harriet down on an empty stretch of the bench near the door, as far from any of the other women as possible, their baggage around her. “Stay there while I announce us to the captain.”

She headed toward the opposite end of the room and the desk, not looking at the hard-faced women to either side of her. Then one of them called out, “Here now, where do you think you're goin', missy? You can wait in the queue like the rest of us.”

“There is a line?”

“That's right. First come, first served. You're after Darla, over there.” A dark-haired woman pointed to a plump redhead sitting near the entrance door, across from Harriet.

“I beg your pardon. You are all here to see Captain Endicott?”

“Cap'n Jack, that's right,” the black-haired woman said. “Iffen we get past the bloke at the desk. You'd think he was guarding the pearly gates the way he acts.”

Even as she spoke, a young woman with improbably yellow hair turned from the desk and trudged down the length of the room, her head lowered, her feet dragging.

“Too bad, ducks,” a different redhead called out to her, while the man at the desk sighed and said, “Next.”

Another fair-haired woman stepped up to the desk and he smiled at her.

“You mean that is not Captain Endicott?” Allie asked, disappointed, for the man looked kindly and polite.

“Nah, that's Mr. Downs, Jack's assistant. He does all the work while the cap'n plays.”

Allie glanced again at the women on the benches. “He…plays?”

The female with black hair poked her neighbor. “Her highness wants to know if Cap'n Jack plays.”

The neighbor grinned and said, “That's part of the interview, onct you get past Mr. Downs.”

Allie could not help her gasp. “He…dallies with the staff?”

Both women laughed out loud. The first one winked and said, “Only if you're lucky, luv. Only if you are lucky. But not blondes or brunettes, so you won't get to find out.”

The other woman looked at Harriet. “And your chit's got red hair, but she's far too young. Cap'n Jack don't play with dollies.”

Allie was not sure of the women's meaning. She was sure, however, that this was no proper place for Harriet. Or for her.

Gone was her dream of a considerate, sober gentleman who would accept his responsibilities and provide a loving household for an orphaned girl…and her governess. The officer must be a depraved rake, a London libertine, the worst sort of swine.

Oh, dear.

She walked back toward Harriet, who was carving her initials into the bench with a hatpin one of the women must have dropped.

“Do not do that!” Allie said, sitting down and wishing she could shut her eyes and have this nightmare fade away. She'd be back at Mrs. Semple's, correcting French conjugations and reminding her students to sit up straight. No, if she was going to have pleasant dreams, she would imagine herself back in Suffolk at Papa's side while he read a book to her. Instead, the scratch of the pin on the wood kept her right here, in purgatory with painted women.

“Stop, I said!”

“Why, we're not staying anyway. I heard the women. I'm too young and you're not pretty enough.”

“That was not what they said. And we—you—are staying. The captain is your legal guardian unless someone else steps forward. He has to make provision for you.” Allie hoped so, anyway.

The carrot-top from across the way came and sat next to Allie. She was pretty in a soft, rounded way, and had the first friendly smile Allie had seen in London. Allie ignored the expanse of bosom billowing over the other woman's gown and smiled back.

“How do, miss. I'm Darla Danforth. I used to be Dora Dawes, but Darla sounds a lot better, don't it?”

Allie bit her lip before she corrected the young woman's grammar out of habit. “I am, ah, pleased to meet you, Miss Dawes. Or Danforth. I am Miss Allison Silver, and this is my charge, Miss Harriet Hildebrand. Harriet, practice your curtsy.”

Harriet gave her a sullen look but stood and bobbed awkwardly before slumping back onto the bench. Her manners were lacking, her posture was atrocious but, Allie noted, her first
H
on the bench was perfectly formed. At least those months at Mrs. Semple's were not an entire waste.

Darla smiled. “How sweet. But you are new here, aren't you?”

How could she tell? Just because Allie was sitting next to a pile of suitcases, her traveling gown was stained and wrinkled, and her hair was trailing in witch's locks from under her bonnet's brim? Or because she was appalled to be in the room with so many fast women. “You might say so,” she admitted.

“Then let me give you a couple of hints, dearie. You'll need them, 'cause you're too old.”

Allie sat up straighter, wondering at the woman's mental state.

“And your hair is a mite dark for blond.”

It was almost brown, but had golden highlights when it was clean and shining.

“And your eyes ain't quite blue.”

They were gray, mostly, unless Allie wore her best gown, a light blue silk that had been lost in the fire.

“But you walk and talk like a lady, so you might get by Mr. Downs. You have to remember your brothers' names are Jonathan and Alexander.”

“I do not have any brothers.”

Darla clucked her tongue in frustration. “I'm trying to help you here, miss. That's what you've got to answer if you want to get in to talk with Cap'n Jack. You can't remember the name of your doll or your first pony.”

“I never had a pony.”

Darla went on as if Allie had not spoken: “And you barely recall your parents.”

Allie stiffened her spine, if possible. “My mother died when I was young but I recall my father perfectly. He was the most learned gentleman of my experience, headmaster of his own academy. I would never dishonor his memory by saying otherwise.”

Darla shook her head. “If you ain't going to try to pass for Lottie, then what are you doing here?”

“Lottie?”

Darla pointed to a painting on the wall, one Allie had barely noticed in her shocked survey of the room's occupants. A young lady—obviously a lady by the jewels at her neck, the fine mansion at her back, and the dignity of her pose—stared back at her from the gilded frame. She had hair so light it might have been a sunbeam, and eyes so blue they could have been painted from a summer sky. She was the most beautiful woman Allie had ever seen, and a total stranger.

“Now I know you ain't been in London long. Everyone knows about the captain's half-sister, what went missing fifteen years ago. They made the painting from her mother's portrait and her cousin's, ones that hang in the public rooms where everyone and his uncle can see them. The earl's family's been looking for her for all these years, and Cap'n Jack's offering a king's ransom to find her. That's what all the blondes are here for, claiming to be Lady Charlotte Endicott.”

Darla tipped her head to a newcomer, a true, pale-skinned blonde this time, who was dressed in fashionable black mourning, if not the finest quality fabrics. They could not see the young lady's eye-color under an exquisite wide-brimmed and veiled black bonnet, but they could see that she was nervous, clutching her reticule and biting her lip.

“Your turn is after Miss Silver here, miss,” Darla called out to her. “She won't be long, neither, so you might get in afore they shut down the line at five o'clock. The next interview day is next Tuesday.”

The younger woman nodded, but stood, staring at the picture that may or may not look like the missing heiress.

Allie nudged Harriet with her elbow, to stop her from defacing her guardian's furniture, and told Darla, “We know nothing about a missing girl, and need to speak to Captain Endicott on an entirely different matter.”