The Viscount's Counterfeit Wife (28 page)

Catching a glimpse of
himself in a large mirror hanging in the hall, Reed stared at his
image for several stunned moments, then gave a shout of laughter. The
straggly, grey wig and thin moustache were what gave the disguise
authenticity. Plunking an old-fashioned country hat that had seen
better days on his head, he gave it a satisfied pat. The low-setting
hat, with a wide flat brim, hid his face sufficiently, guaranteeing
no one could identify him. Now he was part of the impoverished
gentry. Even his own mother wouldn’t recognize him.

Mother!
The blurred image of a woman, dark hair lightly streaked with grey,
coiffed in an elegant French roll, swam about in his head for brief
seconds before it vanished. In his vision, she wore jewels and looked
prosperous. If that was his mother, then his family was far from
destitute. That assumption didn’t surprise him in the least. It fit
with his inner image of himself.

But where was his
mother and why hadn’t she been to visit him?

It felt like he and
Talia and Foster were on a deserted Island in the middle of this busy
city. They had barely any contact with other members of humanity.

Of course, if he was
involved in murky business, that might explain it. Or if they were
hiding him! Was that why he wore so many disguises? Was he on the
wrong side of this story as the butler suspected? Not against Talia,
he hoped. How could a man be against a wife like his, so kind and
caring?

Or perhaps the reason
they were drugging him was to keep him prisoner. But for what
purpose?

As he descended the
back stairs, he took the foldable walking stick he’d found in his
bag and had tucked under his arm and, without thinking, pressed the
button that extended it into a longer stick, then he twisted off the
top and checked that the concealed knife was still secure. How
naturally he’d done that! At least part of his recall was intact.
That made him feel a little better.

Was that a good sign?

God,
he hoped so.

He may not have found
any identifying items among his personal effects, but, it was nice to
be up and about again, in spite of being in disguise. Maybe he was a
master of disguise and no one, not even his wife, knew the real him.
Hah! There went that crazy imagination of his again! One thing was
certain, if that were the case, he’d be in a hell of a mess without
his memory!

Continuing quietly down
the stairs, he told himself he didn’t have to be so careful. He
knew he was alone in the house because he’d watched them all leave.
Mrs. P and Joseph were off on their daily trip to the local market.
Foster had gone to run an errand and Talia, he’d been told, had
been collected by some relations to go shopping.

Letting himself out the
back way, he tucked the key that had been hanging off a hook in the
hallway under a flower pot, then instinctively affected a limp and
ambled at a moderate pace along the lane toward the street that
fronted the park. Those men from across the street didn’t appear to
be watching the back lane at all.

Careless of them.

Reaching the corner, he
shuffled across the street to enter the park and kept the same pace
as he strolled slowly along the path that cut through the middle,
avoiding the outer edge. No sense in giving the spy on duty a better
view of him.

He lifted his face to
the sun, enjoying the warmth on his skin. Ah, it was good to be
outside again and breathing in the crisp spring air. He sauntered for
awhile and worked at avoiding the few others sharing the park.
Eventually, tiring a little, he found a bench that was set far back,
under a tall elm tree. Behind it was a copse of well-furnished
mulberry bushes. He chose it because it protected his back while
affording him a distant but clear view of the front of the house.

It all felt so
familiar, he’d swear he must have sat here before. Even the house
looked familiar. He had a hard time believing he’d only seen it for
the first time recently.

“Ha Ha, we were
hiding from you.”

What the blazes! He
almost bolted, then saw two young children, a boy and a girl, with
blond curly hair, emerge from amid the bushes behind him to run
squealing past him.

What on earth had they
been doing in there?

He watched them run
over to a young lady, no doubt their nanny, and crow over
successfully hiding from her.

“So you did,” she
said. “Isn’t it a shame that because I was so careless as to lose
you this morning, you won’t get to come back to the park this
afternoon after your studies.”

Her young charges
groaned.

She was young but they
weren’t going to get the better of her. He grinned at her adept
handling of the situation then, abruptly sobered. He’d been so
immersed in studying the house, he hadn’t heard the children’s
approach from within the bushes. He must be losing his touch.

What
touch
?
His memory refused to supply an answer.

This wasn’t good.
Anybody could have sneaked up on him and hit him over the head from
behind.

He had to listen for
anyone approaching him so he’d have time to get up and leave. He
was not yet ready to engage in conversation with strangers. They
might expect him to know them and wish to converse, and what could he
say? ‘
I remember almost
nothing about myself, other than that I dislike rhubarb and I hope
I’m an actor or a disguise artist rather than a sharper out to dupe
innocent people.

Today’s excursion was
not in vain, though. It taught him a bit more about himself. He’d
learned that he relished the wind in his face and filling his lungs
with brisk, cool air. Somehow he knew he never went for long without
being outdoors. The fading bronzed color of his skin should have told
him that, had he been less dazed by the opium.

The young nanny
ushering the two recalcitrant children toward the exit, nodded
pleasantly as the trio passed by, but didn’t stop. Good. Although,
now that they were gone, he wondered if maybe he shouldn’t have
attempted talking to them? He was going to have to try talking to
someone soon.

He spent another
quarter of an hour or so sitting there, straining to remember things,
before his attention shifted back to the street. The two men who were
watching the house had come to the park to buy a pie from the vendor
there. Now, they were standing, eating and talking, near a large
plane tree that looked like it had been guarding the entrance to the
park for centuries.

Had they spotted him?
Was that why they’d come?

One was talking
animatedly, while the other mainly listened. Soon, the talkative one
left and the more reserved one strolled back to the house to begin
his solitary vigil.

There appeared to be
just the two of them. Must be bloody tedious... and tiring. He was
starting to know their habits. The loquacious one was always there in
the morning and then, this stern-looking man took the late afternoon
and night watch. He must have the devil of a time staying awake.

They didn’t seem to
be in the park because of him and he intended to keep it that way.
What if one of them was the one who had shot him?

Maybe they were waiting
for him to emerge, to finish the job!

And he had no idea why.
Was
he involved in
something dishonest? Perhaps he was accustomed to the criminal
lifestyle. That could be why, right from the start, he’d noticed
them watching.

Or was it something
else that had drawn his attention to the men?

Recognition?

“Good morning!” a
cheerful voice exclaimed, making him jump with surprise yet again.

A dapper older
gentleman dropped down onto the seat beside him. The man was tall and
had a face that smiled a lot but, if one were observant, they
couldn’t miss his determined chin.

Damn
it to hell!
Caught not paying attention again! The man had
come from his left while his attention was fully engrossed on the
meddlesome two from down the street. What should he do now? The man’s
expression had changed to a startled look. Did he recognize Reed?

“Good morning.”
Reed replied quietly, adopting a gruff tone to sound older. He judged
the man was of the
beau monde
by the top quality of his clothes and the unmistakable air of “
life
being his oyster,
” as Pistol said in
The
Merry Wives of Windsor
.

What a moment to be
recalling his Shakespeare!

He knew he should
probably stand up and go before awkward conversation commenced, but
he couldn’t help it, he wanted to test himself, see how he’d be
able to carry on a conversation with a stranger, when he had hardly
any idea who he himself was.

“Do you come here
often.”

“No, this is my first
time.” He didn’t really know, but imagined it must be true.

“Oh.” The man
seemed a little deflated at that response. “It’s my third time.
I’m hoping to catch a glimpse of my son.” He kept staring at Reed
with a doubtful air.

“Your son?” Asking
questions shouldn’t get him into too much trouble. He would let the
stranger do most of the talking. “I see.” Although he didn’t
really… see, that is. Odd that the man said he’d “heard” his
son was in Town. They must not be in contact. “Has he been gone for
a long time?” He carried on the conversation in a non-committal
fashion. The man seemed eager to talk. As long as Reed didn’t have
to contribute much, he’d stay. His initial panic was receding and
he wanted to see where this exchange would go. Sitting back, he
placed his arm around the back of the bench and breathed a little
freer. He’d better add ‘willing to take chances’ to his list.

“Yes, a long time.”

“Really?” He was
getting the hang of this trading-a-question-for-an-answer
conversation.

“I’m anxious to see
him.”

“I imagine so.”

The man gave him a
sharp look. Did he think Reed was mocking him? Really, it was almost
rude the way the man was peering at him. Reed felt like asking if he
had something wrong with his face. Only the fact that he had a
disguise on stopped him. He didn’t want anybody looking too closely
at him.

“Have you any
children?” the man asked.

Oh well, if there were
going to be questions, it was time to leave. “None that I know of.”
He surprised himself with his glib reply. It sounded like a pat
answer, one he’d delivered often in the past. He stood up,
preparing to leave. Mrs. P and Joseph would be back soon, and he’d
prefer no one knew of his little outing yet.

“You look familiar.”

He sat back down with a
thump. His heart began to race again. Dare he confide his problem to
this man? It was tempting but might also cause trouble. Whatever he
was involved in was serious enough to warrant being shot and,
possibly, being followed.

He opted for
discretion, merely lifting his eyebrow in a querying manner.

“When I first saw
you, I thought you looked a lot like my uncle, my father’s younger
brother,” the man offered. “But once you spoke, the resemblance
waned.”

Ah…
So no help there.
Disappointed, he again stood up and
pulled his watch from his vest, making a show of checking the time.
“Time to be on my way.” He gave a cordial little half-bow and
tipped his hat. “Good day.”

“Good day.” The
gentleman nodded. “Perhaps we will see each other here again.”

It sounded like the man
was planning on spending a lot of time in the park awaiting his son.
Reed turned back. “How long has it been since your son went away?”

“Too long.” Was the
terse reply. “Six years.”

Six years. A long time
not to see one’s son. “I hope you see him again soon then,” he
said before turning and walking away. He felt the man’s gaze
following him. He was careful to limp and shamble along. The man
appeared genuine, but he could have been sent by those who were out
to kill him.

Shuffling out of the
park, he kept a watchful eye on the spy, who was still standing
outside his house, trying to look busy. Reed waited for him to look
the other way, then crossed the street and rapidly turned into the
lane.

No point in taking
chances.

He was proud of
himself. He’d managed to talk to someone without revealing his
affliction. It made him feel less exposed, stronger. Slowly, almost
stealthily, he made his way down the lane, back to the house, back to
what was known… or starting to be.

Approaching the back
entrance, he was suddenly flooded with a powerful sense of
recognition. Rapid-fire, broken images of horses and men flashed
through his mind like one of those
novelty items that was so popular a few years back. A…
ka…kaleidoscope! Odd choice of name. Why would the man who’d
invented it — he couldn’t recall the name but thought he might be
Scottish and a man of science — give it such a difficult name?
Excitement stirred as he recalled more.

Brewster!
That was the man’s name! He was almost sure. Someone had brought
him one as a gift when he was living in… Egypt? Did he remember
that or was it because of his dream that he thought he did? Who had
given it to him? Argh! He was feeling so frustrated! The memories
were gone. They’d slipped away, as fleeting as all the others. He
tried to hold onto them, to come up with one, solid image. In vain.
The vaporous memories had vanished like wisps of cloud on a windy
day.

What puzzled him was
that he had strong reactions to this place, yet his wife told him
they’d rented this house a few weeks ago and he’d only just
arrived here for the first time.

He had the sense that
those nebulous images of men on horseback were of friends. The
question was why had none of them come to see him since his mishap?
What had he done that caused them to ignore him?