Mrs. McVinnie's London Season (29 page)

Jeannie drank the
brandy without a murmur this time. “Do you know, Will, Larinda
apologized to me tonight? Just before you knocked. ” She held the
glass out for more. “I don’t know when I have been more surprised.”
She swirled the contents of the glass, creating a miniature
whirlpool. “Although, truth to tell, I don’t know that anything
should surprise me anymore.” She suddenly clinked his glass with
hers. “Here’s to blue elephants, Wapta—Captain Will Summers, and
here’s to red roses.” She hiccupped and peered more closely at the
glass. “Dear me! It appears there is a hole in this glass. Do let
us trade.”

The captain filled his
glass again and obligingly handed it to her.

“
I
suppose this whole evening points to the sad fact that I will be
called upon to accompany you and Larinda to balls and routs, and
more plays than even Lope de Vega wrote.”

“
It
does, indeed, William,” Jeannie declared, and then winced and
pressed her hands to her ears. “I don’t mean to shout.”

“
You’re not shouting, Jeannie. I can barely hear you.” The
captain belched. “Hell’s bells, I seem to have no
manners.”

Jeannie rested her arms
on the table and started to giggle. “Did you see the cook’s face
when he presented you with that dum pluff—I mean, lum tuff?”

“
You
mean that pum luff,” said the captain helpfully.

Jeannie nodded. “That’s
it. Dear me, I thought I would disgrace myself for all time when he
set that before you.” She stared down into the little glass. “Come
to think of it, what am I doing here?”

“
Merely celebrating a little victory,” the captain replied
after some moments of contemplation. His voice was serious.
“Indeed, I have discovered through hard experience that there are
not many victories in life, and one should properly salute those
that come along.”

“
True
enough, sir,” she said, but did not hold out her glass again. “But,
Will, I fear that I am starting to list a bit.”

“
Not
noticeably,” he replied at once, and took another sip. “For a
female, you have remarkably good bottom.”

“
Thank
you, sir!” Jeannie rose to her feet with the air of one unfamiliar
with her body. “I say, sir, was this room built upon a slant? How
devilish difficult it must be to keep things on the
table.”

The captain laughed. At
least she saw that his mouth was open, but she heard not a sound.
There is something wrong with my ears, she thought, and shook her
head. The slight motion sent her tumbling back to her seat. She
giggled again, hoping that the captain would not notice how foolish
she was becoming.

But Captain Summers had
tipped the bottle up to his eye and was peering into it. “I wonder
where it has all gone,” he was saying to himself. “Trust George to
buy a bottle only half-full.”

Jeannie laughed again.
“No Scot he,” she attempted to say, but the words didn’t sound
right. She shook her head again to clear it and decided not to
pursue the matter.

The captain was on his
feet then. Jeannie rubbed her eyes. He seemed even taller than
usual, his head far away from his neck. And then he held out a
long, long hand to her. After a moment’s consideration, she took
it.

They supported each
other into the hallway and Jeannie gazed in disbelief at the
stairs, each tread two feet high and stretching into an infinity of
darkness at the top. “I really don’t think I can do it,” she said,
and sank down on the bottom stair. “Just leave me here,” she said,
and waved him on. “Save yourself.” She giggled.

The captain picked her
up and started up the stairs. With a sigh, she closed her eyes and
rested her head against his chest. She wanted to tell him that his
heart was pounding much too loud, and he would wake Wapping’s
inmates, but she couldn’t think of enough words.

The captain slammed
open her door with a bang loud enough to wake the dead, and then
she was sinking into her mattress. Someone undid the braid in her
hair, running long fingers through the plaits to straighten them
out. He tugged the covers up around her shoulders and rested his
hand on her arm.

The captain must have
been tired, too, because he knelt by the bed and leaned his lips on
her cheek for a long, long moment. Jeannie sighed again and pursed
her lips. The captain laughed and got to his feet.

“
Good
night, Jeannie,” his voice boomed from the doorway. “I trust you’ll
be none the worse for wear.”

She was asleep.

Morning came with a
velocity that would have astounded her, had she felt more like
thinking about it. Jeannie’s head drummed against the pillow as she
struggled to open her eyes. Something was screeching and carrying
on by the window, the racket more troubling than the noise of one
hundred Billingsgate fishwives. She clapped her hand over her ears
and tried to press herself into the pillow.

“
Mrs.
McVinnie, ’tis only wrens,” said a familiar voice.

It required vast
strength of purpose, but Jeannie managed to open one eye. Mary
stood before her, holding out a battered tin cup.

“
The
captain says you are to drink this.”

The captain? Merciful
heavens, what did I do last night? Jeannie closed her eye and
twitched the covers up higher upon her shoulders.

“
Go
away, Mary. Cannot you see that I am dying? I would prefer to go
about the business alone.”

Mary slammed the cup
down on the table and Jeannie winced. “Gently now,” she admonished,
and then raised herself up on one elbow to peer into the cup. It
was a vile brew, deep black in color. Jeannie shook her head. “I
wouldn’t drink that without vast coercion.”

Mary clucked her
tongue. “Well, then, I suppose that will follow.”

The door opened and in
a moment Clare bounced onto the bed. Jeannie groaned at the sudden
motion and then closed her eyes again as Clare snuggled next to
her, cuddling close in her arms. Jeannie wrapped her arms about the
child, resting her cheek upon the curls that flew about every which
way.

The door opened again.
I do not understand why my room must suddenly fill up like an
auctioneer’s hall, Jeannie thought. She groaned again as someone
sat on the bed and scooted Clare over.

“
Come,
come, Jeannie, handsomely now. There’s a good girl.”

The captain’s voice
grated upon her ears like fingers on slate. She shuddered and
reached for Clare again. “Go away,” she muttered. “I am dying and
I’d rather not have an audience, if you please.”

Captain Summers laughed
and she tried to push him off the bed. She opened her eyes at the
same time finally and stared at him until he swam into focus before
her eyes.

He smelled divinely of
bay rum, and he was shaved and trim and tidy, and she wanted to
throttle him. Instead, she pressed both hands tight against her
temples. “Did I really drink all that brandy last night?” she
asked.

He nodded. “Aye, and I
really should apologize.”

“
Heaven’s protection, sir, what was in that brandy?”

“
Brandy, I do believe,” he said helpfully, and held out the
brew to her again.

“
I
wouldn’t put anything in my mouth again that you recommended, sir,”
she said in what she thought were round tones, but which only
sounded pitiful to her ears. She tried to turn over and face the
wall. Clare bounced out of her way obligingly, and Jeannie wailed
as the bed rocked.

Captain Summers set
down the cup and pressed against her shoulder until she was facing
him again. “Now, my dear, I do recommend this brew,” he said, and
waved it under her nose again. “I fear that Mary did not present it
in the proper light.”

Wearily Jeannie dragged
herself up on one elbow and looked into the depths of the cup he
held out to her. “Tom warned me,” she began.

“
God
knows you should have listened to him. This will help, believe
me.”

She raised her eyes
slowly to his. “I suppose this is an old family recipe, handed down
from mizzled sire to castaway son?”

His lips twitched, but
he preserved his countenance in a remarkable manner. “Rather, I
think …” He paused and looked about him to Clare, who had tucked
herself in beside Jeannie again and regarded him with wide eyes.
“Actually, I think it came out of a whorehouse in Lisbon,” he
whispered. “But my dear, rest assured—”

“
Oh,
hand it here,” she said, reaching for the cup.

Rather than trust it to
her, the captain put his hand against her back and raised the cup
to her lips. “If you block off the back of your throat, then you
can’t smell it,” he advised. “That’s how we drink four-month-old
water. Ah, very good, very good. I guarantee that you will feel
more the thing in a short while.”

Jeannie glared at him.
“You really are unscrupulous.”

He only smiled and
raised his eyebrows in an inquiring fashion. Avoiding his glance,
Jeannie carefully sat upright in bed. She tugged the blankets up
discreetly, folded her hands in her lap, and waited for death to
overtake her.

It did not. In a
moment, her stomach had ceased to pitch and yaw, and the wrens
outside the window became wrens again. When Edward hurtled into her
room, she could almost regard him with equanimity.

He stared at her, his
eyes wide, and then cast his attention upon his uncle. “Uncle
Summers, doesn’t she know she is to accompany us to the Admiralty
House?”

“
Hush,
you vile young chub,” said the uncle with considerable spirit but
no rancor. “I have only just now rescued her from an untimely
death, or at least a deep decline, and you are raving on about an
expedition? Give the woman a decent interval to get her pins under
her again.”

Edward devoted his
attention to Jeannie, looking her up and down. “Uncle Summers told
me you were luffing a bit, but I think that is all a hum. You
look—”

“—
as
fine as five pence,” the captain concluded.

Jeannie glanced from
nephew to uncle. “I will not budge from this house today,” she
declared.

“
Oh,
you must,” Edward protested. He started to say more, but cast a
glance at his uncle, swallowed, and then continued. “Believe me,
Uncle, I do not complain about your company, sir, but have you
noticed how everything seems more fun when Mrs. McVinnie is
along?”

The captain nodded and
took the cup from Jeannie’s hand. “I have noticed that, too.”

Jeannie ignored them
both and toyed instead with Clare’s curls.

Edward tried again.
“Mrs. McVinnie, Clare told me that she wanted to come along. We
need you.”

It was Jeannie’s turn
to stare. “Clare told you?”

Edward nodded. “Didn’t
you, Clare?” he asked.

“
Yes,
I did,” Clare said emphatically.

The captain and Jeannie
stared at each other. Jeannie cuddled Clare closer. “Well, then, of
course I will accompany this expedition,” she replied. “Only give
me a moment to find my land legs again.”

“
That
won’t be necessary, Mrs. McVinnie,” the captain said as he stood up
and clapped his hands together. She winced and he grimaced. “My
apologies. We will go by the waterman’s route to the Admiralty
House. It is the only way, really, and Edward expects it of me,
even if I do get a touch of queasiness in very small boats.” He
looked from Edward to Jeannie. “Promise me that nothing will go
wrong.”

“
We
promise,” they said together, Clare chiming in as the
echo.

“
Why
is it that I do not believe you?” the captain asked.

There was no need of
reply. Larinda stood in the doorway, holding out the front of her
dress. As everyone watched, she pranced to the bed and dumped the
contents onto Jeannie’s lap.

Envelopes with seals on
them and cards of invitation rained down. Jeannie gasped.

“
Tell
me … Oh, surely it is not all for me.”

Larinda, her eyes
shining, rifled through the pile of mail and then laughed at the
expression on Jeannie’s face. “This is only the morning post,” she
exclaimed, holding up one envelope after another. “Lord and Lady
Fotheringham wish the pleasure of your presence at their masked
ball Tuesday next. Sir Edwin and Lady Lucas beg your attendance at
an evening at Marchmont. Mr. and Mrs. The Honorable Gervaise
Willing-Jarvis request your person at a small champagne supper this
evening.” She held the note for Jeannie to read. “Nothing
elaborate, only our closest friends.”

“
A
regiment,” stated the captain, “complete with camp followers,
sutlers, and cutpurses.”

Larinda plumped herself
down on the bed and Jeannie clutched at her stomach. “And this is
only the half of it! Mrs. McVinnie, our best sitting room is full
of red roses, and there are any number of modistes in the second
saloon, all of them straining to measure you for gowns and hats.”
She rolled her eyes. “Wapping is convinced they will come to blows
at any moment.”

“
I do
not understand,” said Jeannie. “What can they possibly want with
me?”

Larinda began to gather
up the invitations. “Don’t you see? I have only heard of such
things from others, but Aunt Agatha declares that modistes will
practically kill for the honor of dressing you.”

“
I
cannot afford such fal lals,” Jeannie protested.

“
But
you can! That is the beauty of it! All they require is that you
wear their clothes, and when someone begs to know who made your
dress, you merely drop the name. The next day, that modiste will
have more business than she can stare at.”