Virginia Henley (13 page)

At the next farm Tony found herself being eyed by the farmer’s daughters. Though both younger than she, they
were quick witted. Her heart sank. She had often spoken to Mary and Lizzie and given them her clothes when she grew out of them. As soon as she opened her mouth Antonia thought she would be discovered. Mary gave her a provocative glance as if the two of them shared a secret. Antonia thought,
She knows!
Then relief swept over her as the girl said, “I’ll wait for ye behind the cowshed tonight, if ye’ve a fancy, m’lord.”

Tony was stunned. The girl was inviting her to an assignation. Lizzie was just as informal. “Yer sister won’t be needin’ her fancy dresses no more. Can we have ’um?”

What an avaricious little beast,
thought Antonia. “Where’s your father?” she asked in a cool voice.

“In the cowshed … told us to keep out until cow’s calved.”

Tony dismounted. “Watch my horse,” she directed, then entered the low door of the cow byre.

“How do?” nodded Joe Bradley. “Can ye give me a hand, m’lord?”

Tony was startled, but knew she could not back off in horror at the sight of a cow calving.

“This un’s an owd bitch of a cow. Kicks like a bloody mule. If ye’ll just grab ’er hind leg and ’old it away.”

Tony stripped off her riding gloves and stuffed them in her pocket, then she took off her coat and approached the rear end of the cow. As she held the milk cow’s hind leg she saw with horror that cow manure was smeared across her riding breeches. She soon forgot about it, however as she watched the miracle of birth. The cow lowed, then a huge skin containing a calf was deposited into Joe’s hands. He quickly pulled the skin from the baby calf’s face and head so that it could breath, then rubbed down its wet, sticky skin with some hay.

Joe was grinning as he said, “Ye can put ‘er leg down now. Sorry ye got covered wi’ shit, sir.”

Tony glanced down at her breeches, bemused. “Shit’s supposed to be lucky isn’t it? We could use some, I think.”

“Aye, well, sorry fer yer trouble up at t’house.”

“I came to ask what was needed, but I can see for myself one of the walls is crumbling. I’ll see that it’s mended, Joe, and some new partitions put in. When was the last time this place was whitewashed?”

“I’ve ‘ad no whitewash fer two, three years.”

“I’ll get you some and some long-handled brushes.”

“Will ye help put it on t’walls?” Joe laughed.

“By God, I see where Lizzie gets her cheek. Don’t push your luck, Joe,” Tony said good naturedly.

On the ride back to the Hall she felt her spirits rising. For once she had accomplished something. It amazed her that everyone accepted her as Anthony. A casual attitude and a bit of coarse language, and all assumed she was a male.

On the way upstairs to change her riding breeches she encountered Mr. Burke. “I just helped deliver a calf,” she said proudly.

“Good for you, my lord.”

“Oh, by the way, do you know what James meant when he handed me a guinea and told me it was my winnings?”

“His father is a turf accountant. Anthony bet on the horses.”

“What a shocking waste of money!” Antonia declared.

“Spoken like a female,” chastized Mr. Burke.

“Oh! Well, in that case, give this guinea to James and tell him I want another that pays twenty to one.”

“That’s the ticket.” Mr. Burke winked, graciously ignoring the pungent odor she exuded.

As Tony pulled off her boots she wondered what Adam Savage’s reaction would be when Watson and Goldman presented him with the bills for the repairs to the farms. Then she shrugged. Worrying about every little thing was decidedly female. She would lose the habit, she decided firmly.

The very first appointment Adam Savage made was with Watson and Goldman, attorneys at law. His friend Russell Lamb had recommended them to him. When he met both partners he shrewdly assessed their capabilities and decided to become their client.

“The first order of business will be a bank deposit,” Savage said. “I’ve always used Lloyd’s for my overseas shipping transactions, but if you can get me a better rate at Barclay’s, I’ll leave it entirely to your discretion. But you’d better make an appointment after hours for me to deliver the chests of gold.”

Watson refrained from looking at Goldman. “Your gold is in sea chests?” he enquired.

“Yes, a dozen to be exact,” Savage replied.

“Approximately how much gold does each chest contain?” Watson asked politely.

“Approximately two lakhs.”

It took Watson a moment to calculate. It took Goldman less. A lakh was a hundred thousand. Indian Savage was worth two and a half million pounds in gold! The partners could not help looking at each other in awe. They bestowed a reverent moment of silence upon their most valued client before they resumed their business.

“I have a list here. Would you have your clerk provide me with some business addresses? I need a competent secretary, I need some sort of conveyance, and since people have done nothing but stare at me since I arrived, I believe I need a good tailor.”

Mr. Goldman took the list and had a private word with
his clerk, telling him to include only the finest establishments.

“I’ve had a house built at Gravesend by William Wyatt. I deposited funds he could draw upon, but I fully expect he’ll be overbudget by now. I’ll direct all the bills for your scrutiny. My most pressing need is a London town house. I need it today, but I’ll give you until tomorrow. In the meantime, gentlemen, I am at the Savoy.”

“Mr. Savage, I can see you are a plain-spoken, practical man,” Goldman said. “Purchasing a house today is nigh impossible. Perhaps we could rent one if given a few days.”

“My friend Russell Lamb assured me you gentlemen were most accommodating,” Savage pointed out.

Mr. Watson had been wanting to broach the subject of his guardianship of the Lamb twins and saw his opportunity. “The late Lord Lamb’s town house is on Curzon Street. Since you are in charge of the family’s affairs, why not take advantage of it? The house is furnished and fully staffed. It will give us the time necessary to purchase a town house for you in a similarly convenient location.”

“Your suggestion has merit. It is the expedient solution. I have not yet had the pleasure of my wards’ aquaintance.”

Mr. Watson spoke in confidence. “They are very young and, having lived in the country all their lives, are quite unsophisticated, unlike the young devils about town. Young men these days are a scandal, I can tell you. Since you were here last, mores and morals have undergone some drastic changes, but Lord Anthony Lamb will give you no problems. He is a likable, amenable young man.”

Adam Savage gave him a quizzical look. “Why do I have the feeling there is more to this than meets the eye?”

Mr. Watson cleared his throat. “Well, sir, it is Lady Antonia. She came to see us after her father died, demanding to know how much money she was entitled to. When I assured her that her dowry money was in trust, she wanted
to know if she could have it to live on. I informed her you were in control of her finances. She left in a bit of a huff, I’m afraid, and since then she’s fallen into the habit of buying whatever she fancies and having the bills sent here for you to deal with.”

“Let me see them,” Savage directed.

When they were produced he flipped through them, saw most of them were for dresses, petticoats, wrappers, and other feminine knicknacks that all told came to less than a hundred pounds. A couple of the expenses were for the tenant farms at Stoke.

“Settle these out of my account. Anthony receives his allowance quarterly, I believe? It’s so small, I don’t know how he manages. You had better double it. I’ll be visiting Stoke shortly when my most pressing business affairs allow me.” Savage stood. “Well, then, gentlemen, I’ll bid you good morning. You may reach me at the Curzon Street House.” Mr. Goldman handed him the list of addresses and firmly shook hands.

Since Temple Bar wasn’t far from the Savoy, he had walked. Now he contemplated taking a chair, but realized his long strides would get him about faster than any sedan chair on the crowded streets.

His thoughts dwelled for a moment on the Lamb twins. The girl sounded decidedly like her mother, and for that matter every others-female where money was concerned. The boy, however, sounded uncomplicated and likable. He hoped they could become friends.

As Savage strode along he became aware that he was receiving a great deal of attention, but as he began to notice the people on the London streets he did his own share of staring. By Satan, what had happened to men’s fashions? He was the only male on the streets who was not wearing a powdered wig. Most gentlemen seemed to be garbed in satin knee breeches, elaborately embroidered waistcoats, and high-necked shirts with flowing cravats. In Savage’s opinion they looked more suited to a ballroom
than a London thoroughfare. Whatever had happened to sober broadcloth?

He saw one or two men in red, high-heeled shoes and wondered why on earth they were affecting women’s fashions. London had always had its share of queer individuals and eccentrics, but, Christ, every other man he passed looked effeminate and utterly ridiculous. An amazing number of young men painted their faces, wore earrings, and carried fans. Had the world gone mad while he’d been away in the Indies?

Two beaus lounged indolently outside a chocolate shop. One had butterflies embroidered across his waistcoat, while the other was a study in gold lace and full-skirted coat with a nosegay on his breast. Savage looked at him with contempt, while the beau held up his quizzing glass and shuddered at the foreign-looking giant with the long black hair.

Savage eventually dragged his eyes from the men and assessed the women. Earlier there had been only poorer women in striped dimity, but at midday fashionable ladies began to appear in gowns dripping with Valenciennes lace and towering powdered wigs decorated with flowers and birds. Most had a footman or other servant to carry their packages. Women had always effected exaggerated fashions, so Savage didn’t raise an eyebrow at the enormous straw leghorns they carried or the black patches that drew attention to a woman’s eyes or lips. However, when he saw a lady of high fashion with a black boy in her wake, carrying a chained monkey, he felt a rage within himself that such practices were not forbidden in, a supposedly civilized country.

Back at the Savoy, Savage penned a note to Lord Lamb informing him that he was back in England and asking his permission to make use of the Mayfair town house until he could acquire his own. It was merely a polite formality; he would have moved in long before the letter would be delivered to Stoke. He concluded the note by informing
his ward that he would visit Lamb Hall the following week.

Fenton, the butler at Curzon Street, welcomed Mr. Savage with stiff formality, unbending a little when he realized he was a friend and neighbor of his mistress and late master from Ceylon. Fenton always asked himself how Mr. Burke would respond to any given circumstance and tried to act accordingly. The town house had a cook-housekeeper by the name of Mrs. Hogg and a young cockney maid called Dora. Both stationed themselves where they could view the odd trio from the Indies.

Dora whispered, “Coo, did ye see their fyces?”

Mrs. Hogg folded her lips in a distinct line of disapproval and muttered, “Heathens! I ’ate ’em!”

Dora, who was not unattractive in a rather cheeky way, stared her envy at the dusky girl in the exotic dress. Fenton showed Mr. Savage to the master bedchamber, but was at a loss regarding the other two. He noted the immaculate white and the turban with the ruby and thought perhaps John Bull was a visiting prince, and the lady his wife or concubine or whatever females were to Hindu princes. To be on the safe side, Fenton assigned them separate chambers and was relieved when Mr. Savage looked pleased and pressed a guinea into his hand.

“There will be trunks and luggage arriving from my ship later today. John Bull will take charge of it.” Adam decided to have a word in private with the servants to smooth the way for John Bull and Kirinda, whom he knew would be like fish out of water until they acclimatized. “I’ll come down and meet the staff.” He picked up Rupee’s cage and Fenton led the way downstairs.

Savage decided the best place for the mynah was in the entrance hall where the floor was sensibly tiled and could be easily cleaned up. Then he went into the kitchen and introduced himself.

“My people from Ceylon will no doubt seem strange to you. My man is used to directing a large staff and may
come across as high handed. I would ask all of you to do everything in your power to be accommodating, and if any difficulties arise, bring them directly to me without hesitation.”

Mrs. Hogg eyed him apprehensively. He looked formidable in the extreme. She knew a dominant man when she saw one, but it went against her grain to be subservient to foreigners.

“Difficulties, sir?” she questioned.

“Perhaps I am courting trouble where there will be none,” he said affably. “The only area where I can foresee difficulty will be with the food.”

Mrs. Hogg’s mouth formed a grim line. None had ever dared find fault with her cooking in the past.

“In Ceylon the food is highly spiced and we eat a lot of fruit and vegetables. When I lived in London years ago, the only vegetable I recall being offered for consumption was turnips, which I loathe. I would consider it a favor if you would take my man shopping for food supplies and allow him leeway in your kitchen to prepare his native dishes.”

Mrs. Hogg would have refused, if she had dared.

“I’ll be gone on business most of the day. Thank you for your cooperation.”

After he left there was an ominous silence, then all three started talking at once. Fenton, feeling rather foolish that the man he had thought a prince was nothing more than a valet, said, “Well, I for one shall leave everything to his own servants.”

Mrs. Hogg said, “I’ll not tolerate interference in my own kitchen. I ’ate foreigners!”

Dora, her imagination running riot, said, “Ees one ’o them nybobs. I bet she’s out of ’is ’arem!”

Mrs. Hogg who had purchased turnips only that morning, spent the next half hour banging about her pots and pans. Suddenly a voice screeched, “Sodom and Gomorrah!”
She ran to the hall to see who was uttering blasphemy.

“Wot’s that?” she demanded of Dora. “It’s their bird.”

“I ’ate birds. Well, it’s not stoppin’ ’ere with its shameful language. I’ll put it in the cellar!”

Dora was filled with curiosity about the new inhabitants. On pretense of dusting she went upstairs to listen at one of the doors and peep through the keyhole. John Bull chose that moment to open it. Seeing the girl upon her knees, he wondered at the custom. “Are you praying?” he asked.

“Prying?” she repeated in broad Cockney.

“I did not accuse you of prying, though I see clearly now that was your intent.”

“I wasn’t prying!” Dora denied.

“Now you add lying to the offense of prying. Why are you staring at my head?”

Dora sniffed and decided an offense was the best defense. “Why do ye wear that thing round yer ‘ead?”

John Bull drew himself up and wondered how to explain to this female who was obviously of the lower orders. “It is my uniform. I wear it for the same reason you wear that rag on your head!”

“Rag?” Dora exclaimed, very much offended. She was wearing next to her best cap. “My caps aren’t rags. This one is linen an’ I even ’ave lyce.”

“Lice?” John Bull looked horrified. “You have lice?” That explained why she covered her hair with the hideous cap!

“I do,” asserted Dora proudly.

“Do not come any closer. You are unclean.”

“Unclean!” she shrieked.

“You are dismissed. Shoo, shoo.”

“You can’t dismiss me … ye only came ‘ere todye!”

“I did not come to England to die, I came here to live!” He went down to the kitchen and encountered the well-rounded
cook. “Permit me to introduce myself. I am John Bull.”

“If you’re John Bull, I’m the Queen o’ Sheba,” she declared.

“Sheba? Then you are not the pig woman?” he asked, slightly confused.

Dora tittered as Mrs. Hogg turned purple. “Pig woman? Are you making fun of my name?” she demanded.

“No, no, madam. I assure you I am serious.”

“I’m Mrs. Hogg to you. I demand respect in my kitchen. I ’ate interference.”

“I have no intention of interfering with you, madam, or the female with the lice. I came for a piece of fruit for the master’s mynah, as it has not been fed today. Where is the bird?”

“I ’ate it!” Mrs. Hogg asserted.

John Bull went a little pale. “You ate it?” he asked in disbelief. “The master loved that bird.”

“Well, I ’ate it. Down it went and down it stays!”

“I am wordless,” he said solemnly.