Wicked Little Secrets (24 page)

Thirteen

Dashiell waited in the shadows at the back of the alley. Leaning against the cool brick wall, he had one ankle crossed over the other, his hat pulled low. He studied his pocket watch. When the long hand edged up to the ten, he snapped the lid shut. He glanced out onto the square. It was empty except for a coal delivery wagon and a black brougham stopped before the neighbor’s house. She wasn’t coming. Even though he preferred to speak to Katherine alone, disappointment weighted his heart. He slipped the watch into his coat pocket and waited a few more seconds before sauntering down the alley toward Cavendish Square.

“Wait. Don’t leave us!”

He spun around to see Vivienne running down the alley, a veiled bonnet and gloves clutched in one hand and Garth’s leash in the other. The hound, wearing a huge black bow, scurried along the edge of her gown, curled tongue hanging out.

“You’re late.” Dashiell tried to sound severe, even as his face lifted with a grin.

She halted, pressed her hand against her chest, and took several deep breaths. “The housekeeper gave my aunt some
Dr. Oliver’s
Elixir
for
Tranquil
Slumber
to help her sleep,” she sputtered, and then began shoving her fingers into her gloves. “If she wakes up before I get back, Miss Banks will tell Aunt Gertrude that I’m walking Garth around the square and then make her go through the linens and household accounts… away from the front windows.”

He removed her bonnet from where she held it pressed between her elbow and waist, brushed the curls off her face, and set the bonnet atop her head. Just touching her caused tiny explosions under his skin.

“Did you devise this little subterfuge?” he asked.

“Subterfuge?” She blinked, her eyes blank and lovely. “I don’t know what you are talking about. You use such
big
words,” she mocked in that sugary voice of hers.

“You frighten me.” He knotted the hat’s ribbons under her chin. “But you smell nice. Lavender?”

“That’s Garth. He had a bath.”

Dashiell gazed down at the disgruntled dog. “Sorry, old boy. I’ll see if I can find something foul and rotting for you to roll in.” Then he returned the conversation to its proper course. “Do you think Miss Banks knows anything about Gertrude’s past?”

“We were right. My aunt was forced to marry Uncle Jeremiah. But Miss Banks didn’t know the name of the other suitor. She
claims
she doesn’t listen to gossip.”

“Not listen to gossip? How has your aunt managed to employ the most incompetent help in all of England? Servants are supposed to know everything.”

“If that is the case, I’m surprised you haven’t scared off your poor help.” She flicked her fingers at Dashiell as if she were shooing pigeons. “Go on ahead. We shouldn’t look like we are walking together.”

“Protecting my reputation?” he asked.

“Yes, it’s been quite damaged by going to church. You need to straighten up and be a good rake again.”

He chuckled over his shoulder, catching that devilish gleam in her eyes that endeared her to him, and then she flipped the sheer veil over her face. He strode down the street, checking every few seconds to make sure Vivienne and Garth were still behind him.

Entering the round garden in the center of Cavendish Square, Dashiell waited under a low concealing tree branch for her to catch up.

“Which one is your cousin’s?” She lifted her veil and surveyed the houses.

“There.” He pointed past the staid brown brick domiciles protected behind iron fences, where the windows were bare of any decoration but for white window curtains, to a home that looked as if it were blooming. Pots, overflowing with ivy, were set just inside the iron gates. Katherine, not content to wait for summer, had fashioned red geraniums out of stiff fabric and stuck the gaudy things among the leaves. Stained-glass balls of aqua, pink, and purple hung from ribbons inside the windows.

As they approached, he could see his cousin had significantly added to her menagerie of plaster frogs and fish decorating the steps.

Garth sniffed Katherine’s gate, dug in his tiny paws, and refused to budge. Dashiell had to give the hound credit for possessing a profound sense of self-preservation.

Vivienne picked him up and offered him to Dashiell. “Here, you keep Garth,” she said. “I won’t be a minute.”

He held up his hands, refusing the dog. “Oh no, we’re doing this together.”

“That might give the wrong impression.”

“Pretty hard to do with old Katherine.”

“But what about Garth?”

Dashiell banged the brass knocker shaped like an inverted dragonfly with green beaded eyes. On the other side of the door, Katherine’s hounds started howling. “Take him with you, of course.”

A squawking female voice yelled, “You dogs get away from there.” Then his cousin’s housekeeper yanked opened the door. She was a wiry, squat woman with thin wrinkled lips, a bony nose, and chapped hands. A nervous straggly dog with a button muzzle and pointy ears like bat wings crawled from under her skirt and began leaping into the air.

“Now you behave,” she admonished the tiny thing. “Lord Dashiell’s come for a visit. You have to be all proper, see.” She performed a terse bob of a curtsy.

“Dashiell is here!” He heard his cousin exclaim from somewhere floors above. “Won’t Amelia be thrilled?”

Dashiell didn’t know Amelia or why she should be thrilled at his presence. Most women were, of course, just not the ones who hung about his cousin.

The housekeeper pulled the leaping dog away. Behind her were Katherine’s four other hounds. All too big for a row house. One looked like an Italian greyhound, and the rest were sad, mixed-breed mutts his cousin had collected off the streets. All female, of course.

Katherine hurried down the stairs. She wore her auburn hair in a towering bun with one of the red flowers from the pots outside attached to the top. She was a pudgy woman with a generous extra chin, fat arms, and tiny feet. She wore a ruffled lavender dress that was better suited for a young girl and not a lady in her late thirties. Despite her size, she moved with surprising grace, bouncing like an excited child down the stairs.

When she saw Vivienne, she stopped and clasped her hands atop her expansive bosom. “You!” she cried.

Vivienne raised a nervous brow at Dashiell.

“Good afternoon, Cousin Katherine,” he said and bowed. “May I present Miss Vivienne Taylor. She is Mrs. Bertis’s niece. Remember your old neighbor, Gertrude Collins?”

“Ah!” She clapped her hands. “That is why she looked so familiar. We attended a lecture together at the London Ladies’ Flower and Garden Society. I’ve been thinking about you since that moment.”

“Have you?” Vivienne asked and started to edge back to the door. Dashiell held her arm tight and flashed her a
don’t say I didn’t warn you
look.

“Why, yes,” her cousin said. “It’s quite vexing when you can’t place a face. Yet…” She squeezed her eyes and peered at Vivienne. Some thought formed on her lips, but vanished as her gaze drifted to Garth cradled in Vivienne’s arms. “What a lovely little baby! I just love babies. May I hold him?”

Vivienne’s eyes widened with alarm. Dashiell tried not to laugh. Slowly, she offered up the poor hound, who whimpered and wiggled in her arms, petrified.

Katherine crushed the poor shivering pug to her chest and rubbed the wrinkled skin between his ears. “You’re a cuddly thing, yes you are,” she cooed. “Why don’t you play with the girls? They just love company.” She set Garth on the floor and immediately the other hounds leaped at him. The pug, frightened out of his little dog wits, shot like a bullet down the hall with the other dogs bounding in pursuit.

“Now remember, girls, he’s your guest,” Katherine called after them.

The housekeeper scrambled after the pack. “Stay out of the garden, and don’t be upsetting my mint.”

Cousin Katherine studied Dashiell with bright eyes. “So what happened to your face? No doubt you became embroiled in a brutish fight with some other savage man.” She shifted her attention back to Vivienne. “Men are so tribal. Not as civilized as women.” She linked her arm around Vivienne’s elbow. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I… I guess that would depend upon your definition of civilized,” Vivienne stammered. “Do you mean merely refined manners or the general context of building and sustaining a culture and society?”

“Why, you’re just as clever as Amelia,” Katherine responded and then nodded her head toward Dashiell. “You don’t like him, do you?”

Vivienne’s cheeks flushed with color. “We are just…
acquaintances
.”

“Good. Dashiell’s horrible. Just horrible. I only tolerate him because he is sometimes mildly amusing. You’re not one of those silly ladies who is attracted to rakes, are you?”

“I hope not.”

“My friend Amelia Stone is visiting. A brilliant, brilliant writer and fellow member of the Society for Educated Ladies in the Fields of Literature, Science, and History. We meet here every Thursday. You should come.”

“I would love to,” Dashiell answered.

“Don’t you dare attend that meeting, Dashiell,” Katherine barked. “I invited Miss Taylor, who I can tell is excessively intelligent despite her association with you.” She patted Vivienne’s arm and began to lead her up the stairs. “Anyway, Amelia is writing an article about women who are attracted to terrible men, such as Dashiell. She believes women possess wild, dark natures that male-dominated society has sought to stifle. She says some women express these stunted desires upon rakish men.” She glanced over her shoulder at her cousin. “Well, don’t just loiter about down there, Dashiell.”

“Yes, do hurry up. We’re waiting on you,” Vivienne admonished in her sweet voice, pursing her lips to repress her laughter.
Saucy
minx.

“Are you going to express your stunted desires on me?” he asked.

“Miss Taylor is not amused by your sad attempts at flirtation,” his cousin retorted.

Vivienne wrinkled her nose at him.

They entered a parlor that was painted a dark magenta. The walls were filled with paintings of dogs. Over the fireplace hung a portrait of Katherine’s mother. She couldn’t have been more than thirty-five at the time of the sitting, but already her beautiful face looked harsh and tired.

A round table stood in the center of the room. On its surface were two stacks of books, a figurine of a frog on a lily pad, and a magnifying glass. A sofa and three chairs were scattered about; all bore the telltale marks of canine paws and teeth. The forest green upholstery was tattered, and the horsehair stuffing poked out in spots.

In the corner, behind a fire screen, a thin young lady with an ashen complexion rose from where she sat at a tiny writing desk. Her dark eyebrows looked like slashes rising up from the rims of her spectacles. Intense brown eyes burned behind the lenses.

“Look, Amelia,” Katherine said to the woman. “My cousin has come to visit.”

Dashiell bowed. The serious woman acknowledged him with a slight nod. He suspected a full curtsy might demonstrate some kind of symbolic surrender to male-dominated society.

“He has brought a lovely acquaintance named Miss Taylor,” Katherine said, bringing Vivienne forward.

The writer’s neck flushed a bright crimson. “H-hello,” she stammered and began to fiddle with the frame of her spectacles.

Good
God, is there anyone in the world who isn’t attracted to Vivienne?

Katherine chattered on. “As I said, Dashiell, Amelia is writing an article on the perverse attraction of rakes. I’ve run out of horrible things to say about you,” she said pleasantly, seeing no insult in her words. “Perhaps you can answer her questions.”

“Just make it up,” he said. “The ladies will only desire me more.” He winked at Vivienne.

She rolled her eyes heavenward and then smiled kindly at Amelia, innocent of her effect on the besotted lady. “I would love to read your article when you are finished.”

Amelia opened her mouth but couldn’t even speak. Just a high humming sound came out.

“Oh, we must have tea!” Katherine exclaimed. She scrambled to the servants’ bell by the door and yanked on the string. The clanking of the bell bellowed through the entire house. When the poor housekeeper didn’t bend the rules of nature and appear in two seconds, Katherine poked her head out into the corridor and hollered, “We need tea and tea cakes. My special cakes.”

She turned, reached up, and adjusted the flower in her hair which had started to slope to the left. “Miss Taylor, you may sit beside me on the sofa.”

Left to fend for himself, Dashiell pulled up the shredded, cushioned chair next to Amelia’s desk, but she gave him a scorching unwelcoming glare, so he chose the equally shredded chair closer to the door.

“So, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Katherine asked Vivienne.

Vivienne took a breath and ran her tongue over her upper lip. He could tell she was about to dive into one of her intricate lies. “Well, you see, I’m doing a survey on the history of Wickerly Square—”

“Did Cousin Nigel and your family have any connection with Lawrence James?” Dashiell said bluntly.

“Oh,” Katherine said. She became very still. “You want to know about Lawrence James?”

“Yes,” Vivienne answered.

His cousin turned crimson and began to tremble like an overheated steam engine.

“Is there something the matter?” Vivienne asked, giving Dashiell a worried look.

“Lawrence James,” Katherine repeated, then let out a high, agonizing cry. “I can’t,” she wailed, then burst into tears and fled the room.

Vivienne, Amelia, and Dashiell exchanged shocked glances. After several seconds, Amelia rose to go after her, but Katherine had returned and stood in the doorway. She blotted her wet face with a handkerchief embroidered with violets.

“I can carry this shameful secret no longer!” she cried, holding her head high, as if addressing an audience at Drury Lane. “I must tell the truth. Come, support me, sisters.” She held out her arms and Vivienne and Amelia rushed forward, each taking a hand. “That man, that destroyer of feminine goodness, the exploiter and violator of women is… is… my brother.”