The Runaway McBride (19 page)

She almost took offense, but something about the boy stirred her curiosity. She saw no malice in him, only mischief.

“Faith? ” James’s voice came from the foot of the stairs. “We’re ready to eat now.”

Then it came to her. Roderick liked nothing better than to get a rise out of his elder brother, and James sounded disgruntled. Roderick had used her to gain his object.

She patted him on the arm. “When you’re older, you’ll understand the appeal of an older man. Meanwhile, why don’t you try to make a friend of your brother? You might learn something from him.”

Roderick scowled, opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and went thundering up the stairs.

When Faith reached the bottom of the stairs, she was met by another glowering man: James.

“What did Roderick want? ” he asked abruptly.

She moved her shoulders in a careless manner. “What do young men usually want? Just a mild flirtation.” She slipped in front of him and entered the dining room.

 

 

Over the next few days, Faith grew restless. She began to feel
like a prisoner and that James was her jailer. She understood why he wanted to keep her out of the public eye. The police were no nearer to discovering who had waylaid them in Chalbourne, and James was trying to protect her. He’d hoped that his cousin Alex, whose finger seemed to be in many pies, would help them with the last two pages of the diary, but Alex was on some unspecified assignment, and no one at Whitehall knew when he would return. They’d come to an impasse. There was no moving forward and no going back.

Her frustration came to a head at breakfast one morning when Margaret asked her if she was up to a little outing. Margaret, it seemed, had an appointment with the celebrated dressmaker Madame Digby to collect the dress she was to wear at her cousin’s wedding, and she wanted to shop for other odds and ends. Madame Digby’s shop was in the Burlington Arcade, the most prestigious shopping area in Mayfair.

At the mention of shopping, Mr. Burnett opened that morning’s paper and hid behind it.

“I hope you’ll come with me, Faith,” Margaret said. “I’m not exactly conversant in the latest fashions, though Roderick has offered his services.”

Roderick was at the sideboard and made an elegant bow. “We aim to please,” he said gaily.

Margaret continued, “Of course, if you’re not up to it, I shall quite understand.”

This was a reference to the excuse that she and James had concocted to explain why she rarely set foot outside the door, that the trauma of the attack at Chalbourne had shaken her confidence. There was some truth to it, but that was days ago, and now she was champing at the bit.

“I should like that very much, Margaret,” she said.

She waited for James to try to scuttle the outing and had the words to slay him on the tip of her tongue when, after a considering silence, he said, “Why not? My shirtmaker’s shop is in the arcade. I’ll pay him a visit while you ladies are at the dressmaker’s.”

Roderick flashed Faith one of his boyishly charming smiles. “No one has ever accused my brother of being a connoisseur of ladies’ fashions, but I, in my small way, am considered quite knowledgeable. If you’re thinking of ordering your bride clothes, Faith, look no further than my humble self to help you with your selections.”

Damn the boy!
thought Faith. She was sure that he was the only member of James’s family who took her at her word when she said that she and James were not engaged, but he liked nothing better than to keep the fiction alive if only to needle his brother. If she were James, she’d laugh it off, make a joke of it.

She looked across the table at James. Sure enough, he was wearing one of his famous Burnett scowls. All the Burnetts on the male side had scowling down to a fine art. Annoyed because he was making it patently obvious that the thought of marriage to her had put him in a foul temper, she assayed a light laugh.

“Thank you, Roderick, I shall remember that, and if ever I decide to marry, I may take you up on your offer.”

She slanted another darting look at James. He had taken the hint and was trying to smile. A shark’s smile, she thought.

 

 

The Burlington Arcade stretched for one block, from Piccadilly
to the end of Burlington House. Margaret ooed and ahed at every shop window. Roderick loitered at the bootmaker’s, his eyes moving slowly from one pair of exquisitely made boots to the next. Harriet went very quiet when they came to the confectioner’s shop, and she mouthed a silent
Oh.

“We’re here,” Margaret said, touching Faith’s arm to get her attention.

Faith’s eyes had been feasting on a feathered bonnet in a milliner’s window. At Margaret’s words, she sighed and reluctantly allowed herself to be led away.

“Where is James? ” she asked Roderick.

“At the shirtmaker’s.”

She felt let down, which was stupid. What did she expect, a fond farewell every time he left her side?
Watch yourself, my girl,
she warned herself,
you’re becoming too attached to James and his family
.

She pinned a smile to her face. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s not forget that we’re ladies, but it’s every man for himself.”

Laughing, they pushed into Madame Digby’s salon.

James detested shopping, and all the more so when there were
females involved. He’d spent only fifteen minutes at his shirtmaker’s, but when he’d called in at the dressmaker’s, he’d discovered that the ladies had hardly begun to shop in earnest. They’d shooed him away and told him to come back in half an hour.

So here he was, idling his way from one boring shop to another. Unlike females, he never shopped unless he had something specific in mind. He kept looking at his watch, thinking it must have stopped, but no, the big hand moved, and at long last, his time was up.

As he approached the entrance to Madame Digby’s salon, Margaret and Harriet came out and joined Roderick and Faith, who were in conversation with a fair-haired young man who seemed vaguely familiar. A personable young man, James noted, with a ready smile and laugh, and well aware of his power to charm.

They all seemed to be having a jolly time. No one noticed him. The fair-haired man ruffled Harriet’s hair. “What a pretty child you have here,” he said. “Are you related, Faith? ”

Harriet’s brows came down, and that made James smile. She hated to be called a child, but worse than that was to have her hair ruffled as though she were a pet dog.

“Faith,” said Harriet in a carrying voice, “is going to marry my brother, James.”

At these words, the fair-haired Adonis froze as though he had turned to marble. Faith’s cheeks flamed with color.

Margaret said, “Harriet, you know you are not supposed to mention it.”

“Is it a secret? ” Harriet asked.

All eyes turned to Faith. She fumbled for words and finally got out, “Not exactly. It’s just that . . . well . . . my uncle in Ireland has to be informed. I wouldn’t marry anyone without his consent.”

Adonis caught sight of James first, and the sudden look of intense dislike jogged James’s memory. He was Robert Danvers, the man he’d met on Speech Day, the man who seemed to have a proprietary interest in Faith.

James came up to him and held out his hand. “Mr. Danvers, is it not? We met at Speech Day. James Burnett.”

Danvers took his hand and shook it. He seemed to have recovered his composure. “Allow me to congratulate you both.”

“That would be premature,” James responded, “until Faith’s uncle gives us his blessing.”

Roderick chose that moment to poke the fire. “Faith and my brother were once engaged to be married, oh, a long time ago. Not all engagements end happily ever after, you know.” He grinned at James. “This time around, we’re going to make sure my brother makes it to the altar.”

“Roderick!” cautioned his mother with an uncertain laugh. “You young people don’t know when to stop. Here, take my parcel. Make yourself useful.”

“Can we give you a lift home, Robert?” said Faith, her expression betraying only a natural pleasure in an old friend’s company.

“Which way are you going? ”

“To Berkeley Square,” Faith replied. “We’re staying at Mrs. Leyland’s house. You remember James’s aunt? She spoke at Speech Day.”

“Yes, I remember, but I’m going the other way.”

“Well, then, walk me to the carriage and tell me how your mother and father are doing.”

Danvers bowed to the company in general and walked with Faith toward the Piccadilly entrance.

Roderick edged closer to James. “There’s something about that fellow that I don’t like,” he said.

“For once, Roddy,” murmured James, “we agree on something.”

James was thoughtful. The fine hairs on the back of his neck were tingling. He smoothed them down as he watched Danvers smile into Faith’s eyes.

 

 

“Well,” said James, “you could have knocked me over with a
feather when you told Danvers that we were practically engaged. You never mentioned an uncle in Ireland to me.”

They were in a little yellow parlor in the Berkeley Square house, waiting for the gong to summon them to dinner. James was at the mantelpiece, propping himself against it with one arm. Faith was pacing.

Her voice was strained. “There is no uncle in Ireland. I didn’t know what to say. I was caught off guard.” She stopped pacing and glared at him. “And you were no help at all.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders, setting her teeth on edge. “I tried to be vague without contradicting you. What more could I say? ”

She had no answer to this, so he went on, “What did you and Danvers talk about when he walked you to the carriage? ”

She sighed. “I tried to make up for the shock my words had given him, so I told him that I hoped to call on his mother in the next few days and would be pleased to receive her if she cared to call on me.” She sank into a chair and looked up at him. “There’s no need to hide myself away now, is there? It’s four days since those villains waylaid me. They must know that I don’t know anything.”

He nodded. “It’s the diary they wanted, anyway, and they have no way of knowing that it’s in code. They must think you’ve read it through and found nothing of an incriminating nature in it.”

“Thank God for that.”

“That doesn’t mean you can lower your guard. Keep your pistol with you at all times, and be careful of Danvers.”

“Robert? ” she asked incredulously.

He hadn’t meant to put it so baldly. “Yes, Danvers. There’s something about him I cannot like. He has a proprietary interest in you.”

“He’s not sweet on me, if that’s what you mean.”

“Are you sure? ”

She made a small sound of derision. “I’m a woman. Of course I’m sure.”

“Mmm. Yet, when we stepped out of your classroom cupboard on Speech Day, if looks could kill, I would have died on the spot. What put that look on his face? ”

A becoming blush began to stain her cheeks. She was struggling to find words. “It would be better for both of us,” she said in a choked voice, “if you forgot about what happened in the cupboard.”

He leaned forward and trapped her eyes in his. “You might as well tell me to forget my own name. Can you forget?” When she did not answer, he said in a husky tone, “Let’s not deceive ourselves, Faith. Put us together in a locked room, and the electricity fairly crackles.”

She replied with asperity. “I wouldn’t depend too much on electricity, James. As I understand it, it’s a newfangled invention that causes more trouble than it’s worth. I prefer the tried and true.” She gazed pointedly at the gas lamp on the wall.

He grinned. “I’m putting my money on electricity, and I mean that literally.”

“You’ve invested in it? ”

“Naturally. It’s the coming thing.”

“James? ”

“Yes? ”

“To get back to my mother’s diary.”

Regretfully, the moment of intimacy had passed. “Go on.”

“Since it has not helped us so far, we have to rely on what my mother’s friends can tell us, and we’ll meet them on Saturday at the Egyptology Society lecture.”

“I was thinking along the same lines.”

“Then, it’s settled. We do a little sleuthing and see what we can find out? ”

He steepled his fingers and thought fleetingly of his dream.
Desert. Pyramids. A group photograph.
“Yes,” he said, “it’s definitely worth a try.”

“It’s very grand, isn’t it?” Faith held James’s hand as he
helped her alight from the hansom. They had just arrived at the Hugheses’ house for the meeting of the Egyptology Society.

“It would show to better effect,” James replied, “if this confounded fog would only lift.”

For the last week, Faith had heard those words constantly. The whole city had become shrouded in one of those frequent and infamous London fogs that forced people to remain inside or brave the elements with a cologne-scented handkerchief pressed to their mouths. It had rained on and off for most of the day, and though the fog had thinned considerably, it still settled in pockets close to the river, and Mr. and Mrs. Hughes’s house on the South Bank had extensive grounds sweeping down to the water.