An Unexpected Encounter ( Half Moon House, Novella 1) (2 page)

Lisbeth saw a porter give the woman a nod as
they passed at the bottom of the stairs. Climbing up, he took
Hestia’s place upon the landing. “Make way!” he called, with a
clang of a small bell. “Finish your tours and make way toward the
exits. The museum will close shortly!” He moved on and Lisbeth
heard him take up the cry further down the main passageway.

A quick glance showed the girl unmoved by the
call, but Lisbeth suffered a moment’s panic. What if they were
forced to leave before Hestia Wright returned? Where would the
child go? Lisbeth had no wish to follow her through the unknown
streets of London. A chill went down her spine. Worse, what if the
streets were the only place either of them had to spend the
night?

She crossed over to stand behind the child,
who had reached a hand through the rails to tentatively stroke a
giraffe’s patchy hide. The delicate little face bore a serious mien
and an intense focus better suited to someone well beyond her
years.

Lisbeth looked the worn specimens over, but
could find no good reason for such dedicated attention.
Nevertheless, she felt she had to make a connection. Breathing
deep, she plunged in. “These markings are wonderfully distinctive,
are they not?”

The child jerked her hand back, but after a
glance askance at Lisbeth, she poked it through the rail again.
“None of the other animals has them.”

That answer had a definitive ring to it.
“Have you checked them all? The ones the museum has on display, I
mean?”

The girl nodded, still solemn. “I’m not all
the way through the prints. Yet.”

Lisbeth recalled the densely packed books in
the Print Room and blinked. “Do you come here often, then?”

Her shrug was noncommittal. “I like the days
when no tour guide is required, like today.”

“I hadn’t realized they were ever required,”
Lisbeth confessed. “This is my first visit. There are so very many
interesting things to see.”

The child went back to her contemplation of
the animals. After a moment, Lisbeth tried again. “You must live
nearby, to come so often?”

“Not so far away,” the girl answered with a
shrug. She cast a single, lingering glance at Lisbeth’s portmanteau
and let the conversational ball drop once more.

Lisbeth rocked back on her heels and hoped
that Hestia Wright’s business would conclude quickly.
Surreptitiously, she watched the girl, her curiosity growing.

The child was a puzzle. Dress of a quality
wool, but in an unflatteringly pale grey, and in need of letting
out a good inch. Shoes sturdy, but scuffed. Long chestnut hair that
needed a good brushing. She spoke well and though her face was
thin, she did not display that peaked, pinched look that hunger so
heartbreakingly lent. Clearly there was a story here. But how to
learn it?

Lisbeth pursed her lips and looked up into
the glassy eyes of the nearest giraffe. “Do they have names, I
wonder?”

Relief coursed through her as the child
suddenly lit up.

“They do have names,” the girl answered, her
words colored prettily with an air of confession. “Not real ones, I
guess. At least, not
officially
real. But my mama gave them
names.” Her smile faded a bit.

Lisbeth found herself wanting to see it come
back. “Can you share them? Would your mama mind, do you think?”

The girl bit her lip. “This one is Stubb. She
pointed overhead. “Because of his stubby antlers. Do you see?”

Looking up, Lisbeth smiled. “I do see them,
now that you’ve pointed them out.”

“And that is Swivel.”

“Because of the position of his ears?”

The child nodded, pleased. “And this one,”
she reached out and touched the largest specimen. “This is
Stretch.”

“For obvious reasons,” laughed Lisbeth. “Your
mother has quite a talent for names.” She grimaced. “Unfortunately,
I’m terrible at it. It’s a terrible confession to make, but once,
when given a chance to christen the family cat, I chose to call him
Puss.”

No reaction.

Lisbeth valiantly continued. “But I admit,
I’m marvelous at guessing games—and I’ll wager your mother gave you
a lovely name as well.” She grinned. “Shall I try and guess
it?”

There it was, a spark of interest in the
child’s eyes. She worried her lip again, but nodded.

“Fine. Let me think a moment.” Lisbeth
frowned and stepped back. She made a show of narrowing her eyes and
searching the girl from head to toe. “Yes. I think I have it. You
look like your name must be . . . Ermengarde.” She announced it
triumphantly. There, I’ve guessed correctly, have I not?”

The girl’s eyes widened. “No.”

“Dash it—I should have gone with my first
instincts. They tell me that your name is . . . Hortense?”

She surprised a girlish giggle out of her
audience. “No!”

“Oh. I’ll get it this time. You simply must
be named . . . Theodora. That is it, isn’t it? You look just like a
Theodora.”

“No!” The child laughed outright. “That isn’t
right either!”

“Oh, fiddlesticks. I must be losing my touch.
Will you tell me your name, then?”

“My name’s Aurelia!”

Lisbeth basked in the sudden light shining
through the child’s whole countenance, and let it chase some of the
chill away from her heart. “I was right about one thing. Your
mother has a wonderful talent. That is the perfect name for you.”
She summoned up a mock frown. “But only the one name? How
unusual!”

“I’ve more than one,” Aurelia assured her.
“I’m Miss Aurelia Fredericka Tierney.” Belatedly, she gave a quick,
credible curtsy.

Lisbeth returned it. “Fredericka? That was
going to be my next guess—and I would have been partially right, at
least.” She heaved a sigh. “Alas, my own mother, who is fanciful in
nearly every other way, gave me quite the plainest name imaginable.
I am Miss Elisabeth Mills Moreton.” She leaned close. “But as I
count you a friend, you may call me Lisbeth.”

But a good deal of the brightness had faded
from Aurelia’s face. “Where is your mother?” she asked. And as the
question emerged on such a ginger note, Lisbeth knew to answer
carefully.

“She is at home, in Sussex.” Likely flitting
about the house like a deranged butterfly, berating her eldest
daughter for her duplicity and callous disregard of her own
feelings. Her sister Celia, on the other hand, would be stomping
about in a fury, throwing random objects and reducing the servants
to tears. And her stepfather? Lisbeth hoped the tempest had driven
him from the house. She wanted to picture him alone and miserable
in the barn, staring forlornly at his prized roan Shorthorn bull
and dreaming of calves that would never be.

She pushed that wickedly satisfying image
away, focused on Aurelia, and gentled her tone. “And where is your
mother?”

One of her little hands gripping the railing
tight, she turned back to the stuffed figures. “She went on a
trip.”

Lisbeth tensed, but kept a light note to her
response. “How nice! Has she traveled to visit family?”

“No, she traveled to see animals.”

“Animals?” Lisbeth frowned in confusion.

“She was very sad, you see, and sick too, for
a long time after my baby brother died. Papa said she needed sun on
her face and good air to breathe. She loved animals, dogs and cats,
horses and even mice, and we dearly loved to learn all about the
strange animals abroad. Papa said it would cheer her to see new
places, people and animals in person. They went on a boat. She was
going to see donkeys and camels and perhaps a monkey. I was to stay
at school this trip, but go along next time. Papa promised that
when it was my turn we would go far enough so that I could ride an
elephant.” She tilted her head. “Have you ever seen a picture of an
elephant?”

A picture was forming in Lisbeth’s mind, one
colored darker by Aurelia’s unconscious use of the past tense, but
she forced a smile. “I have seen them in the caricatures. Such
strange, large creatures they look to be. Did your mother see one
in person? Did she send you a picture?”

“No, I saw it in a little book we had at
home. She didn’t see an elephant, although she met a darling burro
named Willful, saw a hundred bright and colorful birds and rode
some beautiful and dainty horses, fast as the wind.”

“It sounds lovely.”

Aurelia’s fingers continued their caresses,
her gaze fixed firmly upon that one patch of stiff hide. “She died.
And Papa, too.”

Lisbeth had to bend close to hear her soft
words continue.

“A terrible sickness came on their boat. All
of the passengers and nearly all of the crew died of it.”

Lisbeth crouched down. She laid her hand over
Aurelia’s where she still gripped the rail. “I’m so sorry to hear
that, Aurelia.”

“She never saw a giraffe, or a camel.” She
stopped her rhythmic stroking. “Now she never will.”

How well she recognized that flat note of
despair. “I know it is hard to lose a parent. My own father passed
on, not so long ago. I cannot imagine losing both together.”

Frowning fiercely, Aurelia turned to her.
“How did he die, your Papa?”

“His heart gave out.” Lisbeth sighed. “He was
in the fields with his men, as he always was with the early
planting. They were fussing over some piece of broken equipment.
Sometimes it comforts me to think he was doing what he loved most.”
She squeezed the small hand still resting under hers. “I
am
sorry for your loss, Aurelia.”

The little face contorted as she began to
chew at her lip once more. “Can I ask something?”

“Of course.”

“How do you feel? When you think of him, I
mean.” She pulled her hand away from the railing and Lisbeth’s. “I
know you must miss him, of course.”

Understanding dawned. “Yes. Of course I do
miss him dreadfully. It hits me at odd times. In the early morning,
when we used to breakfast together, or when I hear his hounds out
on a run, it feels like a great weight on my chest. I’m sure you
know what I mean, just as I’m sure you miss your own parents.” She
leaned forward confidingly. “But do you know what? Sometimes I am
angry as well.”

“You are?” There was no mistaking the plea in
her tone.

In the distance she could hear the porter’s
bell again. All of the day’s troubles still lingered, unsolved, and
she still didn’t understand Aurelia’s circumstances, but nothing
was as important right now as easing this child’s burden. She
nodded. “It can’t be helped sometimes, especially when I think
about how much my life has changed because of his passing, and how
I’m forced to deal with the changes alone.”

Aurelia sucked in a breath.

“Sometimes it makes me so angry I want to
stomp my foot and have a regular tantrum. How could he do this to
me? I want to shout it at the sky and hope he hears me.”

Horror and fascination collided on the little
girl’s face. “Do you? Stomp your foot and yell?”

Lisbeth shook her head. “No.” But then she
grinned sheepishly. “Well, perhaps I’ve stomped my foot, a little.”
She breathed deep. “I thought myself a horrid daughter for even
thinking in such a way, but I had a long, comfortable coze with our
vicar and he assured me that it is normal to feel such things. It
is part of learning to let go, he says.”

Aurelia looked skeptical. “Do you believe
him?”

“I do.” Lisbeth smiled at her. “Do you know
why? Because even if I am angry sometimes, it doesn’t mean that I
don’t miss him. It doesn’t mean that I love him any less. I will
always love my father. I will always remember him and all that he
gave and taught to me, through all of my days.” She reached out and
took both of the girl’s hands. “Just as you will love and remember
your parents, always.”

The tightness in those thin shoulders had
eased a bit and her eyes shone bright. Lisbeth swallowed. Celia
always said that everything happened for a reason. Of course, she
usually said it in a snide tone while remarking how Lisbeth’s
unfeminine height and sturdy disposition made her the perfect fit
to take on the burdens of the estate, but the sentiment held.
Perhaps all of Lisbeth’s troubles had happened so that she would be
here today, able to bring this girl a measure of relief.

Aurelia’s gaze had strayed to her portmanteau
once more. “Miss Moreton, I wondered if perhaps . . .”

Her words trailed away as her gaze shifted
over Lisbeth’s shoulder. Suddenly her spine stiffened and her lips
pursed. Flat and dismal once more, she gave a nod to someone behind
Lisbeth. “Good afternoon, my lord.”

Chapter Two

Edmund Banke, Baron Cotwell, stormed up the
British Museum’s grand staircase for the third—or was it the
fourth?—time this month. Other visitors, those few stragglers left
this late in the day, fell aside, cringing their way out of his
path as if he were a bear set loose in their midst instead of a man
pulled from his work at a critical juncture.

They exasperated him, these small-minded,
narrow-visioned people who treated anyone who looked or thought
differently from them as a pariah—but his newly acquired ward
exasperated him more at the moment.

Ah, there she was, right on the top landing.
A no-doubt-well-meaning lady knelt before her, probably under the
impression that the child had been abandoned. His jaw clenched. He
made an effort to loosen it. He would take relief where he could
find it and be thankful he would not have to scrub through all the
natural history rooms to find her this time.

Aurelia caught sight of him as he stalked her
way. Her face tightened and she spoke in that frustratingly distant
tone, “Good afternoon, my lord.”

“Good afternoon, my lord?” he repeated. “Is
that all you have to say?”

He hated towering over her. She stared up at
him with that steady, unflinching regard and made him feel like an
ogre.

The lady she’d been speaking with cleared her
throat.