Sharon Sobel (8 page)

And the renewal of one old association, who was not disposed to be generous in his feelings towards her.

“Goodness! Could this be Mr. Queensman himself?” Janet cried. Lark opened her eyes. She knew to expect the beast, but must he insist on showing up at the very gate of hell? “He is very solicitous and kind to greet us. It could not be his official place to do so.”

“Perhaps he owns no official place, relying entirely on his association with others. What do we know of him, after all?”

Janet smiled, and Lark bristled to see her so cheerful.

“Nothing, I suppose. And yet I can report he is very handsome and I doubt he relies on any padding in his costume. I believe what we see is genuinely Mr. Queensman. Such honesty speaks well for his demeanor in other things. Which is more than I can say for you, my dear friend.”

Lark leaned forward, preparing a riposte. But when the carriage jolted to a stop, she knew she could ill afford the time to put her companion in her place. Instead, she slumped back against the cushions and closed her eyes, just as the coachman opened the latch upon the door.

“Mr. Queensman! What a lovely surprise!” Janet cried, and the carriage shifted to one side.

“Miss Tavish, is it you?” came a deep voice, all too familiar. “Welcome to Brighton! It is most kind of you to accompany your friend on this journey, for the presence of one so close to her can only be beneficial to her health. I trust you had an uneventful journey?”

Janet sighed. “The roads were good, and nothing impeded our progress. But I fear my friend suffered greatly at every bump and turn on the road. She sleeps now, though fitfully.”

“I see,” Mr. Queensman drawled. He seemed so close that Lark could feel the warmth of his body. Even through closed lids, she sensed he blocked the sun from the doorway of the carriage as he helped Janet down the wooden steps. “I have made certain that her room is prepared for her and a wheeled chair is available. Unfortunately, the one Knighton offered did not meet my qualifications, and so I am having another delivered for her.”

“I am sure it is no problem, sir,” Janet said agreeably. Lark wished herself closer so she could pinch her. “In town, Lady Larkspur grew quite accustomed to one of the servants carrying her about.”

“I am glad of it,” Mr. Queensman said briefly, and suddenly Lark felt arms gathering her up and lifting her from the seat. She did not have to open her eyes to know who presumed to carry her in so ignoble and presumptuous a fashion.

In a moment, the sun fell upon her face, and she could hear the voices of the grooms as they set upon her array of trunks and carpetbags. The scent of the sea was strong and invigorating, and, closer, she thought she detected sandalwood and pine. She turned her head, rubbed her nose against worsted cloth and felt something hard beneath it.

“She looks somewhat better since I saw her last, Miss Tavish. Has her diet improved?”

Janet stammered some response, even though Lark had already tutored her with all the answers. Damn the man for having such an effect on them all, she thought angrily. Did he intend to thwart her every move?

She sighed noisily and waited for him to notice her. But he would
not. He continued to talk to Janet and bark out orders to the servants as he propelled her into a building. Opening her eyes just a slit, she saw them enter a large, sunny room and proceed down a long corridor. Lowering her head, she also glanced upon the smooth, firm skin of Mr. Queensman’s jaw and a white starchy collar.

“Where am I?” she dared to ask.

Janet’s face suddenly blotted out all else.

“Why, you must remember, Lady Lark. We are in Brighton, at Mr. Knighton’s sanatorium. It is a very elegant place, by the look of it.”

“And is this one of the servants?” Lark asked nastily.

She heard his laughter rumble from deep within his chest.

“I am your servant, my lady,” Mr. Queensman said, “and one already known to you. You will be happy to know you might avail yourself of my services for all of your stay in Brighton.”

“Why, Mr… . oh dear. I cannot recall your name. You are Raeborn’s nephew or cousin or some other relation, are you not?”

“It does not signify. But as I am your servant, you may call me Ben. It is my name, and owns the advantage of being very easy to remember.”

He paused just then, and with surprising grace pushed open a door. Lark blinked and took in the stark but clean appearance of the room assigned as her prison cell over the next months.

“It is a very common name, certainly,” she said, and yawned. “If I should ever have the occasion to use it, which I firmly doubt, I shall endeavor to remember it.”

“See that you do, my lady,” said Ben Queensman under his breath, and dropped her unceremoniously onto the bed.

F
or a prison cell, the room proved fairly spacious. Mr. Knighton spared no expense in the furnishings and accoutrements and provided enough room for a battalion of visiting guests to be seated and entertained. While such a realization would never have occurred to Lark before her confinement in his sanatorium, she now recognized how several of her fellow inmates scarcely left their rooms, and preferred to welcome their family and friends into their private quarters.

Lark did not expect to receive many visitors, and if one or more of her sisters managed to make the journey to Brighton, she would be pleased to greet them in the large hall provided for such reunions.

But a spacious chamber, for her, held other advantages.

“I shall miss dancing, to be certain,” Lark said wistfully to Janet. She curtsied to an imaginary partner and hummed the tune of a Roger de Coverly as she took the first lively steps. Without such exercise, her muscles had already grown weak from inactivity and she was more likely to be restless when confined once again to her seat. “Please join me, Janet.”

“I do not know how to dance the part of the man,” Janet apologized as she stood.

“I know it very well,” Lark said playfully and bowed to her approaching partner. “Do you remember when we were all little girls and practiced our steps in the nursery? I was quite taller than the rest of you and always made to play a masculine role when we danced. On occasion, I still forget myself at an assembly and stand on the wrong side of the line.”

Janet laughed and turned the corner on an imaginary gentleman. “Your mistake might not be noticed, for you are still quite tall and must often look over your partner’s head.”

Lark smiled ruefully and seized the moment to do a little twisting
movement, which felt uncommonly gratifying. She sighed.

“You are right. It is always a pleasure for me to stand up with a gentleman of an uncompromising height.” She recalled, a little uncomfortably, how Hindley Moore’s small stature had proven prophetic. And how, on the evening of his defection, she reluctantly accepted another’s invitation and was momentarily rewarded with an excellent partner. Well, she did not expect to ever dance with Mr. Benedict Queensman again.

Lark stopped suddenly, and an unsuspecting Janet nearly sidestepped right into her.

“Are you tired?” Janet asked breathlessly.

Lark laughed. “You, of all people, know I can scarcely be tired when I have had so little occasion to exert myself. No, I am only concerned we might be overheard by someone walking down the hall, and my deception would be rudely uncovered.”

“And yet you must exercise, Lark. Your legs will be in a sorry state if—”

“Of course, Janet,” Lark interrupted her impatiently. “I know it only too well. But perhaps we ought to refrain from our improvised musical accompaniment. Or come up with a better scheme.”

Janet said nothing, and Lark knew she would not make a suggestion until Lark ventured forth herself. The invalid stretched her arms silently as she studied her friend’s bemused face, realizing again how grateful she ought to be for years of devotion and loyalty. She doubted anyone else would remain a party to her deception and agree to seclude herself so far from popular society. When this business concluded, and they could return to all they had abandoned, she ought to reward Janet handsomely for her sacrifice.

But for now, Lark turned her back on her companion and walked to the wide window overlooking the expansive Brighton beach and the azure sea. The day was glorious, another in a string of sunlit days gracing them since their arrival. As a result, they could expect to spend the afternoon on the wide veranda of the sanatorium, reading or playing cards with some of the other guests.

But the others would not awaken for several hours, and the beach and gardens looked nearly deserted.

“You are—you cannot be thinking of a walk upon the beach, dear Lark!” Janet said nervously and stepped up beside her.

“I am sorely tempted, to be sure,” Lark admitted. “But we cannot afford such luxuries. In any case, it is possible we will have access to the beach soon enough, for a bright caravan seems to have arrived.”

Janet peered over her shoulder. “What is it, Lark? I have never seen such things.”

“Nor have I,” Lark said thoughtfully. The little wooden sheds, large enough for one or two occupants, were lined up perfectly along the shore and were all adorned with red-and-white ballooned awnings. “But I am quite certain they are bathing machines, designed to take swimmers out into the waves and protect their modesty with those rather large hoods. Do you see the little tracks of wood laid out upon the sand? I believe they are needed to help the horses guide the machines over the sand pebbles. It is a very cunning invention, is it not?”

“Yes,” Janet said doubtfully. “But surely there is too much husbandry in their design. How little room we must have in a little box such as that to change into proper garments and store our discarded robes!”

“You are right. It looks very cramped. But then our reward must be our unfettered freedom upon the waves! Will it not be glorious?”

“Indeed,” Janet grumbled. “But how much more glorious it would be if you could play the part of the man, as you once did. Gentlemen are not so constrained and can swim wherever they wish.”

As if to punctuate her point, two men and a large dog suddenly appeared on the beach just beyond Mr. Knighton’s array of bathing machines. One of them glanced towards the building and, apparently satisfied they had no audience, started to pull off his shirt. The dog bounced excitedly into the waves, chasing a gull. In a moment, the two men followed, leaving behind a pile of clothing on the pebbly beach.

Janet squeezed the flesh of Lark’s arm, but said nothing. Nor did they turn away from the window, as propriety certainly demanded.

“Yes,” Lark breathed, a little unsteadily. “It would be glorious
to be a man, and to be allowed to follow the dictates of one’s own heart.”

From her wheeled chair on the wide veranda, Lark lazily watched the progress of the workmen as they completed the positioning of the bathing machines upon the beach. Each stood about twenty feet from another, on its own track. An open book lay on Lark’s lap, but she had abandoned its trite story at least an hour before in favor of studying all those who joined her in the sun and those who gathered along the waves. Janet, apparently finding her own book equally unsatisfying, asked permission to wander off and explore something of the town.

A cheer went up from the corner table, where several of Mr. Knighton’s patients played at whist. Lord Scafell and Herr Schwarzwald, brothers-in-law alike in disposition and ailment, made an uncompromising team, and were accustomed to defeating all opponents. In spite of their deserved reputation, they were nevertheless challenged every afternoon, on this day by Lady Crawford and the bright-eyed Miss Hathawae. Judging by the looks on the gentlemen’s faces, the challenge had been met.

Nearby, in a chair facing the building, Mrs. Wertham labored at her needlework. Lark had offered to help her on more than one occasion, for the lady’s fingers were twisted with disease and age, but the stubborn worker continued tenaciously, pausing only to change the color of her yarn and to complain about the noisy gulls.

Entertainment of a sort was provided by Colonel Wayland, a blustery gentleman who seemed to have little to do but to recount his exploits in America and remind anyone within earshot that he would not have been confined at Knighton’s but for the severe injuries he had sustained in his battles against the Indians. Usually such sentiments were followed by an invitation to examine his scars, though it was likely to be refused. Janet, however, believed Herr Schwarzwald already had a passing familiarity with the colonel’s scars, and she said as much to Lark.

Of the great man, Mr. Knighton, they heard nothing. The nurses and servants appeared to have their orders, and the daily lives of the sanatorium inmates moved along in an organized, peaceful manner. No one seemed to have any dire
needs, nor did anyone seem to improve in health. The arrival of the bathing machines, however, heralded some great changes in their situations, and everyone appeared to be very excited about testing the waves. For now, the water was reported to be cold enough to induce paralysis, but only days away from being stimulating.

One of the servants approached Colonel Wayland’s chair and bobbed very prettily as she handed him a card. Wayland, scarcely pausing in his speech, nodded, and the girl turned to wave in a gentleman from at the doorway.

Lark twisted coyly in her seat, eager for some diversion and nearly certain she would see Mr. Gabriel Siddons, a young man who visited his uncle almost daily. She was not disappointed, but turned back quickly, lest she appear too interested. While he always seemed to have important matters to discuss with the colonel, her vanity insisted he also enjoyed the moments he spent in a mild flirtation with her.

“Good afternoon, Lady Larkspur,” the soft voice purred. She thought she heard a hint of a foreign accent, but could not place it. “You look very pretty sitting in the sun, but do have a care for your nose. It is far too elegant to be spoiled by freckles.”

Lark smiled to herself, welcoming the flattery and attention. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Siddons. If I imagined I would ever be well enough to—”