The Shadow and the Star (21 page)

Lady Catherine, however, just gave a sigh of relief. "Good. I'll only slip this pillow—"

"Kai!" her mother said warningly.

Leda saw Mr. Gerard and Lady Catherine exchange a look, the brief communication of two people who knew one another very well. "Perhaps you might bring me a book," he said.

"There isn't a book worth reading in this house," Lady Catherine declared, settling herself in a chair next to Leda. "Let's talk story."

"You humbug
wahine
, talk-talk story all time plenty," her brother said, strolling into the room and brushing her hair as he passed her. "Bumbye no got tongue left."

"Close you ear, you no like, you," she responded promptly.

"Mo' bettah mahke-die-dead you mout', blala."

"It isn't nice to speak pidgin when Miss Etoile won't understand it," Lady Catherine said righteously, and turned to Leda. "Did you know that Samuel once saved my life, Miss Etoile?"

"No, I didn't," Leda said politely.

"From a
shark, "
Lady Catherine said, with a theatrical lowering of her voice. "A great white shark, as long as from here to… that table."

"Talk-talk," her brother said, from the chair where he'd settled in with the newspaper.

"That's why we call him Mano," she continued, without a pause. " '
Mano'
is 'shark,' and '
kane'
is the word for 'man.' " She pronounced it "kah-nay."

"Mano Kane. Shark-man. The princess herself named him that. It was a very great honor—because he was only ten or eleven years old, and he held me up out of the water on his shoulders while the shark went right past, like this—" She leaned over and made a graceful, sinister curving motion with her hand, passing within an inch of Leda's arm, and then turned with a snap of her fingers all together that made Leda jump. "It was that close. It could have eaten us both. Chop-chop."

"Would that it had," Lord Robert's voice floated from behind his paper.

"Honestly, Robert!" Lady Catherine flounced back in her seat.

"Well, I've only heard you tell this story about a hundred thousand times. You'd think you'd fought the dratted fish off with your own bare hands."

"It's a good story!"

He bent a corner of his paper down and looked at them over the top of it. "Why not let Samuel tell it himself for once? Might get a whole new angle on the thing."

"Oh, yes!" Lady Catherine sat up and leaned over the arm of her chair toward Mr. Gerard. "Do tell it, Mano! Were you afraid? I was too little to even know what was happening, Miss Etoile, so I wasn't really afraid. But I do recollect the shark. It was huge, wasn't it?"

Mr. Gerard seemed to be more interested in his fist resting on the arm of his chair than in the size of the shark. "I don't remember," he said mildly.

Leda could see why it was Lady Catherine who usually did the story-telling honors.

"Well, it was huge. Wasn't it, Mother?"

Lady Ashland took a deep breath. "Hideous," she said briefly. "And huge."

"They never caught it," Mr. Gerard said.

It seemed a casual comment, but some undertone in his voice made Leda glance at him. He was still looking at his hand—until he slanted a glance of cool gray toward her. She had almost said, "What a shame," but she held her tongue when she met his eyes. He did not think it was a shame that the shark had never been caught. He was pleased.

How she knew that, she could not have said. But she knew it.

He seemed about to speak again, and for the first time Leda allowed herself to look directly at him for longer than the briefest of instants. Though he said little, he seemed to drain her attention so effectively that she had to labor just to make civil conversation. She actually had to strive against the temptation to sit and gaze at him like some ill-bred pumpkin, for Michelangelo's mastery could not have created a more superb tribute to the human form than Mr. Gerard presented in living reality.

He was truly, forcefully beautiful, in a way Leda had never before known a man could be, outside of paintings and idealized art. One had, on occasion, seen gentlemen one might term "handsome," or possibly even "fine-looking"; one did not as a rule see Apollo and Mars and Mercury fused into human shape and crowned like a ruined angel with hair of sunlight and eyes of hoarfrost… not, in any event, dressed in a smoking jacket and sitting with one leg propped up on pillows, quite in the manner of a tame man about the house.

A frown drifted into his expression while she held his look. Abruptly, as if she had disturbed him, his glance traveled back to Lady Catherine. It had seemed perfectly proper that Leda give him her whole attention, because he had appeared to be about to add something to the conversation, but the way he looked away so pointedly mortified her.

No doubt she had been staring. Most probably all sorts of vulgar people stared at him. He must be weary of it, and glad to be among those who had known him long enough to be accustomed to his appearance. The Ashlands did not give his flawless countenance the least notice. Even Lady Catherine, amid her solicitous attentions as she hopped up to take his supper tray from the maid and arrange it herself on a table beside him, only gave him a fond glance and a pat of her hand when she finished—just as if he had been a favorite uncle with the gout.

Leda was not overly familiar with the conduct of lovers in general, but the conduct of this pair seemed to her to be singular. His intent gaze followed Lady Catherine all the while she prattled on about the shark, and the tea party, and interrogated Leda on what was best to see in London. He clearly worshiped her. Leda could not imagine a man more obviously in love—or a girl with less notion of his regard. She treated him with wonderful devotion, and an utter lack of real attention, running ahead into the dining room to see that he had every variety of food from the cold buffet, never noticing that it was impossible for him to reach over and eat from the tray where she'd placed it without angling his leg in what must be quite a painful position.

Lord Robert was standing by the door—waiting for Leda to precede him to the dining room, she realized. Lady Catherine had already drawn her mother impatiently ahead; the girl's voice echoed in the hall, greeting her father, who had just come in from his own afternoon engagement. Lord Robert made a pleased exclamation and stepped out of the drawing room to join them.

Leda paused at the door and looked back at Mr. Gerard. She took a breath, walked over to his table, and set the tray in his lap, turning away without daring to look up into his face. She did not wish to make a bustle about it, but really, if the gentleman was too moonstruck to give his ladylove a small hint about his common comfort, then something must be done for him.

As she made for the door, he murmured his thanks, but she took a quick step into the marble-floored hall and pretended not to hear.

The same maid brought her another message the next morning with her tea. From Mr. Gerard. He wished her to attend him at nine o'clock in the conservatory, instead of the library.

Leda was aware that the rest of the family was leaving the house shortly before that time in order to join the Hawaiian party at the Alexandria Hotel, where Queen Kapiolani and the princess awaited their summons to a private audience with Her Majesty after she arrived in London. Leda wasn't quite certain whether Mr. Gerard would have been one of this party if he'd been able-bodied—she had yet to discern precisely in what relationship he stood to the family. He distinctly resembled Lord Ashland in his coloring, although there was no other particular likeness. Indeed, Lord Ashland was an exceedingly well-looking man, with a noble profile and a fine daredevil grin, but even in his youth he could not have equaled Mr. Gerard. Leda guessed that perhaps her employer was a cousin of some sort.

Whatever his affiliation, it was clear that he would not be attending any festivities in his present circumstance. Also obvious was that no one of respectable standing was going to be left in the house. Leda would be alone with him and the servants.

Given that to be the situation, she far preferred the conservatory, with its doors opening into rooms all along the house, to the secluded library for any meeting between herself and Mr. Gerard. But if she had been asked her opinion, she personally would have desired to have no private encounter at all with a bachelor under the present circumstances. Furthermore, in order to observe the proprieties, she was perfectly willing to put on her hat and gloves and join the crowds below in Park Lane waiting to see the Queen. She was aware that her opinion had not been solicited; nevertheless, she fully intended to offer it.

She sat down and wrote a short note to Mr. Gerard, cataloging her reasons why their conference should be set back until a more appropriate time. After sending it off with the maid, she received a prompt answer.

Who do you imagine is watching us
? it asked succinctly.

It wasn't even signed or sealed.

Leda reseated herself at the delicate French desk and pulled another piece of notepaper from the drawer.

The servants
, she wrote. She folded the paper into an envelope, sealed it with extreme care, and forwarded it by the housemaid to Mr. Gerard.

The reply came with alacrity.
I thought you a modern woman, Miss Etoile
.

Leda felt her temper begin to rise. Her handwriting suffered a little from extra emphasis at the end of each word.
I would not wish to embarrass my extremely kind hosts with indiscreet behavior
.

The answer to that was slightly longer in coming. This time it was sealed into an envelope as hers had been.

Do I understand you to mean that I must employ someone of my own sex in order to have ordinary business commerce with my secretary? Please give your answer the most earnest consideration.

I hope to see you at nine o 'clock, Miss Etoile.

Leda read this under the innocently averted eyes of the maid, who stood waiting with her hands clasped. Feeling rather unnerved, Leda glanced at the little porcelain clock on the desk. It was five minutes to the appointed hour.

"Where is Mr. Gerard at present?" she asked the maid.

"In the conservatory, miss. He took his breakfast there. It's the best place to watch from. All the staff, we've been given leave to collect there from nine o'clock until the Queen herself passes, so that we may overlook the street. The crowds is gatherin' something wonderful. You can hear it if you open the window."

Leda busied herself with the drawer in the desk in order to hide the scarlet heat that she felt mounting in her face. "There is no reply," she said quickly. "Please go on, so that you may see everything."

The maid dropped a curtsy. "Thank you, miss." She turned and shut the door.

Leda pressed her palms together against her lips. He had not intended a private meeting at all, of course. What an incredible fool she had made of herself now, and nearly sacrificed her place because of it. She could put no other construction upon that last line of his note but a pointed, and deserved, reminder of her situation. She was expected to act in every capacity as a gentleman would act in the position of secretary—as he had a perfect right to demand of her, after all, if she wished to occupy the post.

It was difficult to compose herself and go downstairs.

She had only a moment; under the particular circumstances, she did not wish to be an instant late. She was sure that her face was still fierily red as she stepped through the open French doors that led to the conservatory. The temptation to hide behind a pair of tweeny maids who were giggling between themselves and hanging back from Mr. Gerard's vicinity was extremely strong. But the butler Sheppard spoke sharply to the chortling young girls, calling them to order, and Leda was left with nothing to do but present herself to her employer.

He looked considerably more at ease this morning, sprawled in the corner of a wicker sofa that faced the open glass doors overlooking the street, with his splint stretched out the length of the plump cushions, his other foot on the floor and his arm resting along the back of the couch. A pair of crutches lay propped against the plant stand beside him. On either side of the doors opening onto the terrace, flag stands held the Union Jack and the second banner that decorated Morrow House, which Leda surmised was the flag of Hawaii.

He lifted his hand and propped his cheek against it as Leda stepped into full view. "Miss Etoile," he murmured. "I'm so glad you could see your way clear to join us."

"Good morning, Mr. Gerard," she said in a brisk voice that came out a shade too loudly. "What may I do to be of service?"

He regarded her for a long moment; long enough that Leda was certain the gathering staff must be taking notice of the way he seemed to assess her from the inside out.

"Sheppard," he said at last, and nodded at a chair placed at a sociable angle to his sofa. "Bring Miss Etoile the
Illustrated News
, and she can read to us about the occasion."

The butler bowed and vanished for a moment, returning with an ironed copy of
The Illustrated London News
. Leda felt painfully self-conscious, but she folded the paper, selected an article describing the observances to be expected, and began to read. By the time she had reached
the third paragraph, she was aware of a slow migration of the gathering nearer to her vicinity.

She went on reading, moving down the page to the next story, a preview of the gown to be worn by the Princess of Wales. At the end of that, she looked up, and found everyone in the conservatory watching her expectantly.

"Pardon me, miss," one of the tweenies said diffidently. "If you please, miss, might you read again the part about the dress?"

Leda complied. She found herself relaxing into her chair. This was not so very difficult; she had often read to the South Street ladies; she knew just what would be of interest. She skipped the political columns and searched for every item of news about the Jubilee, of which there were many.

A cup of tea appeared on the table next to her. She looked up with a glance of thanks at the parlor maid in her crisp white cap and flounced apron. While Leda had been reading, at the far end of the conservatory the kitchen staff had set a table with a festive array of light luncheon food, but everyone else was still gathered around her with intent faces. She grew daring, and concluded her reading with a droll advertisement for the Patented Patriotic Bustle, which was guaranteed to play "God Save the Queen" whenever the wearer sat down.