Jack of Clubs (11 page)

Mr. Burquist started trembling at the very idea of leaving Miss Harriet loose in his office for a minute. But now Jack was truly insulted. “Dash it, you had the finest room in the house, decent meals, Mrs. Crandall to help you.”

“It was still a gambling parlor, you thick-headed oaf!”

Mr. Burquist gasped, and Allie clapped her hand over her mouth.

Jack grinned, happy to get his own back after the slurs on his elegant enterprise. “Ah, the lady is not all politeness and propriety after all. Good for you, Miss Silver. Now maybe you can loosen your stays, let down your hair, and enjoy what life has offered.”

Allie turned three shades of pink. Mr. Burquist turned four.

“Do you see what your lack of foresight has subjected me to?” Allie demanded of the older man. “Loosen my stays, indeed. And what shall I say if a prospective employer asks where I have spent the last few nights in London? I shall blame you, sir, if I do not find a new position, and I shall camp on your doorstep until I do!”

Mr. Burquist drew out a clean sheet of paper and hurriedly scrawled the directions of three respectable placement agencies that he knew. Allie took the page, but she was still angry. “What could you have been thinking, sir?”

Jack leaned forward, curious himself. Hildebrand's will was tenuous at best, not mentioning any daughter. The family had to have a small holding somewhere Harriet could have lived in comfort, Miss Silver at her side. Burquist had not even tried to find another alternative. Jack could not blame Miss Silver for being angry. And he could not blame himself for noticing how charming she looked with the bright color in her cheeks.

“I…I thought this the easiest, quickest, entirely legal solution to the dilemma. And hopeless old romantic that I am, I was hoping that the pair of you might make a match. An earl's brother, a marquess's granddaughter, what could be more fitting?”

Now Allie wished she had loosened her stays, so she could breathe. She took a quick glance at the captain and saw that he was gasping like a landed fish too. But Mr. Burquist was not finished.

“With such a suitable connection, perhaps Lord Montford would relent and dower his daughter's only child. And then you, Captain Endicott, could retire from your unfortunate foray into trade.”

Except Burquist had not considered that Jack liked his trade. And that Allie would not have accepted a groat from her grandfather. Both were shaking their heads.

“You would have had a ready-made family in Miss Harriet,” the solicitor continued, although his voice lost some of its confidence as he debated whether Harriet was a boon or a black mark against any marriage. “And both of you are intelligent, educated and well born. You have a great deal in common.”

Jack had been raised in luxury, tempered in the army. Allie was a scholar's child grown into a poorer educator. He sought his sister and his pleasure. She longed for a secure position and a pension.

The only thing they had in common at this moment was an urge to strangle the solicitor.

Chapter Eleven

“Don't go!” Harriet wailed.

Or was that Jack? Lord, what was he going to do with the brat without Miss Silver? He had a club to run, not a nursery!

Mary Crandall had stayed behind at the solicitor's office to ask about investing her new pension. And the schoolmistress, the expert on little girls, was insisting on going to the employment agencies on Burquist's list.

A promised raise did not change her mind, nor did begging. The begging came from Harriet, of course.

“Fine, we will take you in my carriage.” Jack thought that was a reasonable offer, saving her the hackney fare and saving him from worrying about her being accosted on the streets.

“What, and will you and Harriet stand outside the agencies' doors so the proprietors can ask about the handsome gentleman waiting for me?”

She thought he was handsome? “We could wait around the corner.”

“But if I am sent on an interview, that might take hours, and I know you are anxious to reopen the club this afternoon. And Harriet, if you are going to pretend to cry, at least wipe your nose with a cloth, not your sleeve.”

Harriet was crying? “Downs can open the club.”

“Nonsense. I shall take a hackney and have the driver wait for me.” She bent to dab at Harriet's face with her own handkerchief. “Hush, silly.”

She thought he was silly? No, she was talking to the brat.

“I'll be back to get my bags if I am fortunate enough to secure a position. But you shall have your uncle Jack and the dog, and all the new friends you have made at Captain Endicott's house, Darla and Snake and Mr. Downs. Mrs. Crandall will look after you and you will hardly notice I am gone.”

Harriet's tears fell faster; her cries grew louder.

Jack grew desperate. “I'll bet you can't guess how tall a giraffe is, snippet. They have one at the Royal Menagerie.”

Suddenly there were no tears, no cries, just avarice. “How much if I guess right?”

So Jack and Harriet went to the zoo at the Tower. Allie went to the first agency on her list.

They only placed older women as governesses, she was told. Younger ladies were too flighty, too liable to run off with tutors or dancing masters. Their patrons could not be hiring new staff every other month. And no, they did not list academy positions. Daughters of the finest families were schooled at home until reaching a certain age,
n'est ce-pas
?

The second agency was a bit more encouraging about Allie's references and experience. Unfortunately, no one was looking for a governess at this moment. Nannies, wet nurses, and nursery maids were always in demand. Hired chaperones could name their price, but those had to be ladies of distinction with entree to the polite world. Miss Silver did not claim any noble connections, did she?

None that would claim her in return. Allie asked about schools.

This agency was not as elitist. One of the educational institutions they represented, however, was in need of an instructor in music, not Allie's forte. Another seminary required a teacher conversant with classical tongues. Allie was fluent in four languages, all still being spoken. Could she teach watercolors?

As well as she could teach Latin or Greek.

Ah, well. The proprietress of the agency was certain something would turn up soon for a well-read young woman of excellent diction and ladylike bearing. As soon as she had a new position listed she would send a message. Where did Miss Silver say she was staying here in London?

Allie would have to call again in a week.

The third agency had actual jobs.

Lord X needed a governess for his five daughters. The last one had jumped in the Thames just last week. The Duchess of Y required an ugly instructress, because her husband was wont to harass the pretty ones. A country squire was looking for an attractive governess, but the agency was not able to confirm that he had any daughters at all. Mr. Z of the East India Company wished an English lady to educate his daughters, in India, however. A widow sought a governess, if she could cook and sew and clean at the same time. A knight's twin daughters needed supervision, but the knight also needed to pay the previous employees their back wages. And on. The reason this agency had listings was that no sensible woman would accept any of the positions, or stay in them.

Schools? Oh, yes, there were academic vacancies in Yorkshire and Cornwall, with no guarantee of employment after traveling to either place for an interview. A charity institution was hiring a matron, but at near charity wages. A private lunatic asylum wished someone to read to the inmates. Calmer, the Bedlamites might not bludgeon another guard. And on.

The driver of Allie's hired hackney carriage knew of a nearby school for girls so they tried there next. The children appeared meek and mannered, their eyes on the floor. The two instructors Allie glimpsed kept glancing over their shoulders. The halls were spotless and silent. She was glad the choleric-looking schoolmaster declared that no openings were available.

The coach driver swore he knew of four more placement agencies, bonnified ones what did not lure innocent misses into prostitution with promises of legitimate work.

Gracious, Allie had not known such possibilities existed! She vowed to carry a weapon of some sort tomorrow, a kitchen knife if she could find nothing better. For now, though, the day was nearly over. Allie had waited in enough cold, bare reception rooms on hard wooden seats to last until morning. She was worried about Harriet, too. Actually, she was more worried about Captain Endicott and The Red and the Black than Harriet, so she gave the club's address.

“Are you sure, miss?” the driver asked, scratching his head. The young lady had spent the day seeking an honest piece of work, which that location was not about to offer.

“I know, I know,” Allie wearily replied. “But take me there anyway. I am too tired to go anywhere but home.”

Home? The Red and the Black? Was she really thinking of a gambling parlor as home? Goodness, Allie thought, taking her bonnet off her aching head for the first time since early morning, she better find a new position quickly.

Harriet gave her a warm, sticky welcome.

“But this does not mean I am staying, you know,” Allie reminded her. “I shall read all the newspapers tonight and answer any likely advertisements tomorrow.”

Harriet was too excited to have Allie back to worry about tomorrow, and she was too eager to tell about her wondrous day.

“We went to the menagerie and the giraffe was not as big as a house so I owe Uncle Jack a shilling. But the baboon threw my strawberry ice at Uncle Jack, so maybe I owe him more, for a new shirt and neckcloth. And the lion looked sad, so I gave him Uncle Jack's ice while he was wiping his hair, and then the guard made us leave. So we went to a jewelry shop, only it was for trading, not buying. Uncle Jack gave the man his pistols and the man gave him a pearl necklace. And now I know what a Bird of Paradise looks like!”

“That's nice, dear. Remember to add it to your list of—A Bird of Paradise?”

“It's ladies like Miss Poitier, that's what the man at the store said. With bright plumes and big—”

“That's enough, brat. Let Miss Silver enjoy her tea.”

Captain Endicott's welcome was warmer, in relief, if not quite as sticky, since he had already bathed. His hair was still wet but his neckcloth was tied in an elegant knot, and his dark blue coat hugged his broad shoulders. His white satin waistcoat had gold embroidered stripes of varied width, reflecting the golden glints in his brown eyes. He looked even more inviting to Allie than her cup of hot tea and plate of biscuits, except for the frown lines on his forehead.

Jack was worn to a nub, with an entire night of hosting his paying guests ahead of him, and half of the dawn hours, too. At least he did not have to go trace the governess's new employers and change their minds. For now, he was happy enough to give Harriet into Miss Silver's care, and go destroy every newspaper in London.

“You are back at last! No luck finding a position? Ah, that is too bad. Here is Harriet. Did you know she can hold her breath for an eternity? Isn't her new locket lovely? I am off to see about my own business. I have spent far too long away from the management of the club as is, doing your job.”

Allie set down her tea cup. “But it is not my job, Captain. We agreed I would stay on until more suitable arrangements could be made. I am trying to make those arrangements myself, since you seem reluctant to do so.”

Reluctant? After a day in Harriet's company Jack was ready to chain Miss Silver to the doorknob.

“But you will look after her tonight?” he asked, desperation tinging his voice, his hand disordering the freshly combed curls on his head.

“Unless you wish me to seek an inn? I supposed I could stay here until I found a new job, but if you'd rather…”

“No! That is, you must stay here as long as you need to. Save your coins and all that. Another day or two will not affect your reputation one whit more, as long as you stay out of the common rooms below stairs. Your supper will be served here, and anything you need. Please stay,” he added out of honesty. “There is no one else to look after the brat.”

“What about Mrs. Crandall? Was she no help to you?”

“Mr. Burquist suggested she look into running a boarding house, so they spent the afternoon looking at prospective properties. I thought that if she found a place, perhaps you and Harriet could—”

“No! You said I could live here with you, Papa Jack! Remember, so I wouldn't tell that nice man from the newspaper that Miss Silver was staying here too?”

“Papa Jack? The newspaper?”

“It was nothing,” Jack answered. “And now Mrs. Crandall is lying down with a cloth over her forehead, after Harriet threw a ta—That is, after taking the dear child to the park. Now I really have to be off. Yes, I think I hear the first customers arriving already. Good evening, Miss Silver. We will discuss the future in the morning. Or the afternoon.”

He was anxious to leave, to make sure everything was in order at the club. Harriet and Miss Silver did look comfortable in their sitting room, though, surrounded by books and pastries and his dog. A warm fire and a footstool were appealing after the day he'd had, but Jack had a business to run. And why should he be thinking of cozy evenings by the hearth? He liked his entrepreneurship, liked making a success out of his own efforts, and liked the convivial nights spent with other choice spirits. A Captain Sharp of a child and a bluestocking biddy were not Jack's idea of pleasant companions.

Still, he was seeing the club in a different light tonight, through the eyes of innocence. The women he had handpicked as dealers and waitresses suddenly looked tawdry. Their red hair and ebony locks appeared too flamboyant, their bounteous breasts too exposed. He would not want Harriet associating with his former playmates. Lud, he could imagine Miss Silver's outrage, and her blushes.

The gentlemen were not much better. Many of the players were friends or acquaintances of Jack's. He'd gone drinking and wenching with half of them, and won money from most of the others. Tonight he noticed the feral glints in their eyes, smelled the sweat of nerves, saw the wine-reddened veins in their faces, felt their rabid concentration on the turn of a card or the toss of the dice.

A night's gambling, win or lose, was worth more to them than time with their wives and children or tending to their estates. Most of them thought a governess was fair prey to their lustful pursuit. One or two were reputed to think little girls were, too.

Even the furnishings that he was so proud of displeased Jack tonight. The floor coverings were already showing stains from spilled drinks and burns from cigars. The crystal chandeliers held a film of grey from the air, and the portraits of Lizbeth and Lottie were barely visible through the blanket of smoke.

That was another thing that bothered Jack: the search for his step-sister was suffering from his lack of attention. The investigation was supposed to be the reason for the club's existence, to make people aware of the reward, to ferret out any information from the sporting class and the frail sisterhood. So far he had learned little. Worse, while he'd been having ices at Gunter's and measuring giraffes, the interview room had been overflowing with possible leads.

Downs was competent, but he had been left in charge of the club, the staff, and the prospects, with too much else to do. Besides, his mind was on Darla, not on a girl who might have been dead for over a decade. And when, for once, he had something interesting to report, Jack was not there to hear it.

A young woman had come this afternoon, it seemed, a particularly attractive one with blue eyes and pale, almost white hair. According to Darla, she had come to The Red and the Black once before, the day Harriet and Miss Silver had arrived, but had been turned away before speaking to anyone. Darla recalled the female because of her looks and her fashionable black attire. French, Darla thought, they were, or designed by a master.

This time Downs had spoken with her. She did not give her name and seemed more interested in asking about the missing girl than volunteering information. She was uncertain about her own parentage and thought she might make inquiries, was all she said.

Downs told Jack that he put the usual questions to her and she knew the brothers' names. Of course she did. Everyone with a Debrett's knew Jonathan and Alexander; every female who entered the long receiving room was clued by the others to say Jack and Alex, or Ace.

As usual, the young woman did not recall anything of an accident or an earl. Both were public knowledge she could have discovered if she was trying to win the reward and the inheritance. The most significant part of the interview, however, was Downs's query about her pony's name. Half the women pretending to be Charlotte said they could not remember. The other half guessed: Crumpet, Thumper, Strawberry. This dark-clad woman, this beautiful, fashionably gowned female, said she did not remember having a pony, not that she did not recall its name.