Edith Layton (7 page)

T
he Swallow, in Richmond, was a fine inn. The richness of the furnishings in the front room proclaimed it was for persons of quality. The furniture was from the old world, the floors were solid oak from the new, dappled with carpets from the east. It was quiet and elegant and, like all such establishments everywhere in the world, it did not give out information about its guests.

“I’m sorry,” the clerk at the desk told William without a trace of sorrow, “but it is against our policy.”

William took a coin from his pocket and laid it on the polished desk. The fellow just looked at it. William sighed and took out another—but didn’t put it down. Because he finally saw exactly how the fellow was looking at the first one. As though it had
thousands of little legs. William scooped up his coin. “Look you,” he said through clenched teeth, “all I want is to know something about this ‘Perkins’ who’s staying here. I mean no harm.”

“I never said you did, sir. But I cannot. If you’d wish to leave a note?” The clerk motioned toward another desk across the room.

“Yes!” William said eagerly, and headed for the desk. But he’d no sooner seated himself, pulled out a sheet of paper, picked up a pen and uncapped the inkwell, than the thought struck him. He laid down the pen, a snarl on his lips. He couldn’t address a note simply to “Perkins.” Was it “Mistress,” or “Mister”? Or, since it might be an Englishman, something with a title in front of it? He laid down the pen, defeated. But only for a moment.

If he could find the stableboy messenger Alfred had talked about—but he never took notice of bondsmen or servants. Alfred’s unhelpful description of “a likely lad, about yea high, with a ready smile” didn’t help. And who was to say the lad was still in Richmond? But William was determined. He vowed he’d find this “Perkins” Wycoff kept writing to, and in that way find more out about the man who was well on his way to seducing Lucy.

That was all it could be, William was sure. A seduction. Wycoff surely had little else in mind. Well, who wouldn’t want her? As a lover. But as a wife? Only a fellow like himself, who lived in the area and couldn’t travel far to seek elsewhere would take such as Lucy to wife. She had charm and allure,
to be sure. But she was a woman with a child and no money, and handsome as she was, not in the first blush of youth. Not a bride for a fellow with Wycoff’s funds. Certainly not one for a man of his obvious background. Which was education, breeding, money—and mist. A lack of information to hide what he really was. He obviously meant to be gone as soon as he got what he wanted. Which was what William wanted, but he was willing to offer his hand—
if
Wycoff didn’t get her body first.

William strode back to the desk. “Tell me,” he asked the clerk, “do you know a lad named Jed who regularly delivers messages to this Perkins? Now, that’s a thing you can spill, surely. Jed’s naught but a servant, after all.”

“So I would, sir,” the clerk said sweetly, “but I am not in the habit of conversing with servants, unless they work here, of course.”

“He also delivers messages to a magnificent-looking female who lives here,” William said through clenched teeth. “Surely you’d take note of such? Look,” he added as the clerk raised his chin and sniffed as though he scented a long-dead thing, “I’m not here to play games with you. I’ve got a golden boy ready to walk into your pocket for the information.” He saw the clerk’s eyes. “Aye, whatever you tell me isn’t worth a quarter of that, and we both know it, but I’m in a hurry.”

The clerk considered. “Now you mention the lady…I may know the fellow of whom you speak. And the lady. Would you care to wait until she
passes by? But I can’t say how long that might be. You see, I must ask her if she wishes to be made known to you.”

“Fine,” William said abruptly. He looked around the room, and finally settled for a chair near the hearth in plain sight of the desk. He sat, waited, and watched. It did nothing to improve his temper.

The guests that swanned in and out of the Swallow were obviously well off. Their luggage was the finest, their clothing, too; even their servants dressed in obvious style. William’s eyes narrowed. He had such money, and soon would have more, but his business was such that he couldn’t afford to leave it. He couldn’t travel and show off, and earn admiration for it. He grimaced. If Lucy could see him as he could be, they’d have been married and she’d have produced a swarm of sons for him before Wycoff ever set foot on their shore. But some day…

“Sir?” a voice intruded. The clerk stood before him. “The lady of whom you spoke says she’d be willing to speak with you. She finds herself curious about your errand.”

William looked around, but saw no beautiful female. “Where is she? Oh, aye. The money. Here. Now, where is she?”

The clerk gestured to the side. “The first private parlor, sir.”

“And her name?”

“That’s for her to give, sir. Go right in. She’s expecting you.”

But William didn’t expect the vision he saw
when he eased open the door after a throaty voice called “enter” to his tapping.

She
was
glorious. Hair the color of early dawn curled around her lovely face. She had white skin and huge blue eyes with lashes that cast shadows on her rosy cheeks. Her lips were full and very pink, and when she smiled, as she did when she saw him, her teeth were white. She had a deep bosom her low cut gown showed off as much as it could, considering the magnificent pearls that lay across that generous expanse. The scent of spring flowers was everywhere. William felt like the stableboy he’d been told about as he stood gawking at her.

His elation soon canceled out his awkwardness. He grinned. Now, this was worth every hard-earned bit of gold he’d paid to meet her. She was incredible. But obviously no lady. Because hair, skin, lips and eyelashes were all painted to perfection. No decent female used cosmetics with such a free hand. Now, why would such an obvious doxy be connected with Wycoff? William’s heart leapt up, and he sketched a bow.

“Madame,” he said suavely, “I believe you may have some information that could be important to me.”

She arched that swanlike neck. “Indeed,” she said haughtily, managing to look down at him from where she stayed seated. “Now how may that be? I was told it was
you
who might amuse
me
.”

Now he saw movement behind her, saw the dour maidservant standing in the shadow of her mistress, hands crossed at her waist, scowling at him.

His smile vanished. He swallowed hard. She looked like a tart, but spoke with an aristocratic English accent. Highborn English ladies could be eccentric. “Your pardon,” he said politely. “I may have misunderstood. My name is William Bellows. I’ve come to inquire about a person residing at this hotel. A person who has some connection with another I’ve met. I was told you were interested in this person, too…”

She didn’t speak. He felt perspiration under his arms, and hoped it didn’t show on his forehead.

“
Indeed
,” she finally said, “A great many persons involved, I perceive. May I hear some names? As well as the reason for your interest, of course.”

Either she would or she wouldn’t, no sense wasting more time. He said it fast. “I want information about a Perkins who regularly receives messages from a man named Wycoff.”

“Why?”

He wasn’t sure of his manners in front of quality. But he was a good man of business, and lady or not, it seemed to him they were discussing business now. “Because Mr. Wycoff is interested in the same young woman I’m interested in—very interested in. And we none of us know much about him.”

She smiled. “Lud! Mr. Bellows, it seems we’re interested in the same thing. ‘Mister’ Wycoff, is it? Is that how he styles himself now? Yes, well, we do have a lot in common, you and I…” She mused a moment, and then fixed him with a cold blue-eyed stare. “How much is it worth to you, Mr. Bellows?”

He frowned, unsure he understood.

“We share the same interests,” she said bluntly, “but where I come from, information is worth something.”

He smiled again, more broadly now that he realized he’d been right all along. “We come from the same place then. Money is something we can negotiate. I have deep pockets.”

“Good,” she said. “I don’t. But I do have something priceless. All the information you need. Have a seat, Mr. Bellows, and let’s do some trading.”

Spring was returning, twilight lingered now before turning into evenings enlivened by the shrill cries of the first peepers. There was a fresh, green scent in the air. But it was still too chilly to stroll after dinner. The guests at the Ames Hotel sat in the parlor, but no longer had to hug the hearth. Mrs. Ames and her husband, newly returned from Richmond, their old friend Geoff, and their other guests were smiling as they listened to the hotel proprietor’s daughters quizzing the elegant English guest.

“How awful!” Harmony cried eagerly. “You mean she sailed into the ball covered with feathers, like a painted Indian, because she couldn’t afford jewels?”

“No,” Wycoff said, smiling, “because they were the latest style.”

“How many plumes did she wear in her hair?” Bess asked.

“Don’t tell her,” her sister Jenny giggled, “or we won’t have a goose with a tailfeather left to its name.”

“
I’m
not such a goose as to wear poultry feathers in my hair,” Bess protested.

“But peacocks are poultry, strictly speaking, aren’t they, Mr. Wycoff?” Cousin Sally asked.

“Yes,” he said, smiling at them as they hung on his every word.

“But very expensive poultry,” Lucy warned them. “So before you start plaguing your mama to buy any for the yard, remember they don’t lay eggs you can use, they screech all through the night, louder than any roosters, and they’re so dim they make barnyard turkeys look bright.”

“Very true,” Wycoff laughed, “and the ladies seldom wear peacock feathers except for masquerades. They use dyed plumes from egrets and herons. One, or two, usually. This lady I was telling you about used five, dyed a shocking shade of pink. She caused such a stir she made everyone forget she didn’t own so much as a garnet. But I never said she looked well. If she’d worn fresh violets in her hair she’d have caused less of a sensation, but looked much better. That’s what clever young ladies do.”

“There,” Mrs. Ames said comfortably, nudging her husband. “What did Geoff and I tell you, Herbert? He’s right one, is our Mr. Wycoff. You listen to him, girls, and you won’t go wrong.”

Wycoff looked up, startled at the compliment.
He inclined his head in a semblance of a bow. “Thank you, Mrs. Ames, but I only spoke truth. Less is more when it comes to being a lady. Which is not to say that more can’t be delightful, if it’s done right. It’s all in the attitude…and a man’s tastes,” he added in an undervoice, for Lucy’s ear’s alone.

She smiled. He held court here in the parlor every night now. The girls, the guests, they all gathered ’round to hear him. It made her know that she wasn’t the only one entranced by him—only the only one leery of being so.

“Did you ever wear flowers or feathers in your hair, Mama?” Jamie asked, recalling her from her doubts.

“Yes,” she said, thinking back. “I used to wear flowers.” She touched a tiny rosebud on her pretty floral-printed muslin gown. “Real ones. Not because I had no jewels. Feathers were for older ladies. But I wore flowers sometimes. Violets, roses too. Once, I wore lilacs, I remember. They were so pretty and smelled wonderfully, it was like wearing my own bottle of perfume, the scent whirled around with me when I danced.” She grew a faraway expression, remembering. “The only thing that made me sad was when I undressed for the night and took them off. They were soft and wilted, dying. After that, I made sure never to wear the more fragile blossoms, like lilacs, or laburnum.”

“What’s laburnum?” Bess asked.

“It’s a brilliant yellow flower that grows down in a chain, like wisteria,” Lucy said. “They’re every
where at home this time of year, dripping from trellises and hanging over eaves.”

“
At home
?” Jamie asked quizzically.

She looked at him, dreams of the past and hopes for his future darkening her eyes to midnight blue. “Well, so it was to me, my love. I confess, nights like these, when it starts to smell of spring, I get a bit homesick because there’s nothing like springtime in England. You’ll see, one day.”

“Ho! There’s a bouncer. There’s nothing like springtime here!” Mr. Ames exclaimed in his booming voice. It was a big voice for a little man. He was a short, bald, plump, smiling fellow, the perfect sort to welcome guests and make them feel at home. Or so his wife had argued when they’d set up the hotel, and now he played the role.

“I beg to differ, Mr. Ames,” Wycoff said with a smile to take any criticism from his words. “I agree with Mistress Lucy.”

“But you always do!” Bess giggled.

“Because she’s always right,” he said blandly, making them all laugh. “A remarkable woman. But in this case, she’s right. I’ll cede autumn to you Yankee Doodles,” he said and glanced to see if he’d made Jamie laugh. He nodded, pleased at Jamie’s laughter, but was serious when he spoke again. “In truth, in all my travels, I’ve never seen such color as in your American forests in October. But springtime is English.”

He smiled at their expressions. “You see, every Englishman loves his garden and crams it full of
flowers. Every tavernyard, farmyard, every inch of every little townhouse plot in London is bedecked with blooms in spring. In the countryside the fields are filled with daisies and poppies, meadowsweet, more than I can name. Bluebells and daffodils everywhere, the hedgerows bloom with wild roses. Even the farmer’s fields are brilliant. Acres of rape-seed and mustard are spread like yellow blankets, so bright that even when it rains the earth looks drenched in sunlight.”

The company was silent. Wycoff seldom showed his emotions, but that was longing, pure and simple, on that elegant face. Lucy looked at him, their eyes met, and in that moment, it was clear they were thinking the same sad thing. And more. The girls’ eyes widened, and Mrs. Ames give her husband another elbow prod.