Bees in the Butterfly Garden (14 page)

Ian folded his hands behind his back, glaring as if he were some kind of schoolmaster and she an errant student. “Because she doesn’t want her visit limited. Is that it? No wish to follow the rules of mourning?”

She looked away, raising her chin and returning his glare. “You’ll thank me when I deliver the information you need.”

“That’s just it, Meg—I don’t need it! I’m working on something else anyway and couldn’t devote any time to whatever it is you think you can accomplish.”

“That’s fine. It’ll probably take some time for me to learn much in any case. I welcome not having the pressure of any immediate demands.” She moved away from them both. “Still, I ought to get to the Pembertons’ as quickly as I can. I’ll send a note telling them I’ll arrive in the morning. Would you mind fetching a messenger, Ian?”

“Find one yourself.” He retrieved his hat and put it on, leaving without another word.

14

Collusion for illegal gain is punishable by fine, imprisonment, or in some cases, death.

An Informal Look at the Penal Codes of London and New England

Ian shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, determined to walk off his anger. Nothing was going as it should. If John had known how much trouble his daughter was, he might have sent her to a school of an entirely different sort. One with bars on the windows and matrons who long ago would have crushed that obstinate spirit of hers.

Even as such thoughts crossed his mind, Ian knew neither he nor John would have wanted such a thing. Not for Meggie. She was Skipjack’s daughter, through and through.

Ian stopped short, nearly colliding with a suddenly immovable object in front of him. Keys.

Perhaps the day wasn’t a total loss. At least he might finalize their deal.

“Brewster’s waiting for you. In there.” Keys pointed with his chin to the tall carriage standing by across the street. Then he tipped his hat and started walking away.

“Aren’t you coming?”

“Can’t. Got a shift tonight.”

“Wait!” Ian took a step closer, lowered his voice. “Do we have a deal, then? What we discussed earlier?”

Keys eyed him, the slightest smile curving one corner of his marred mouth. “Sure.” He glanced at Brewster’s waiting carriage before studying Ian again. “Why not?”

Then he turned away, leaving Ian to approach Brewster on his own.

“Step in, won’t you?” Brewster greeted from behind the door, opened no doubt by Jamie. All Ian could see was the sleeve of one of his gaudy suit coats. This one was green with a stripe of orange.

When Ian was settled, Brewster sent him a friendly smile—effectively doubling Ian’s guard.

“Can we take you anywhere? Uptown? The Bowery, perhaps?”

“I’m staying in the Village for now. You can take me to Washington Square.” That was close enough. No need for Brewster to be able to find him too easily.

“Jamie,” Brewster said, “go up top and direct the driver.”

A moment later they rolled down the avenue, and Ian cast his gaze out the window despite knowing Brewster studied him closely. Ian let him do so for several minutes, not caring if the entire ride was shared in silence. Better, in fact, if it was.

“For as long as I’ve known you, boy, you’ve never been an idiot. Until now.”

Ian offered Brewster a halfhearted smile. “Because I refuse to partner with you?”

“Because you refuse to partner with her.”

Ian folded his arms. Discussing the possibility of working with Meg wasn’t something he cared to do, especially with Brewster.

“John wanted her to be happy,” Brewster went on. “I’ve known her only a week, and already I can tell she wasn’t happy in the life he wanted for her. In any case, she’d be no less happy than she is right now if she worked with us.”

The cocksure smile on Brewster’s face set off a spark of anger in Ian, but sitting at countless card tables had taught him control. “Us?”

“Your little rebellion won’t last, Maguire. What are you but a lost-and-found whelp? Meg wants to take risks, the same as her father. If she tells us how to access the Pemberton gold, there will be plenty for all of us.”

Ian turned his gaze from Brewster, doing his best to seem bored with the entire idea. If only it were true.

“Don’t get in the way of letting her do what she wants,” Brewster added softly. “I’ll see that you don’t, if it comes to it.”

“Sounds like a threat,” Ian said, careful to tinge his voice with amusement rather than intimidation—though he knew the kinds of tactics Brewster used to carry out his threats.

Brewster said nothing, offering neither admission nor denial, and they fell back into silence. Ian had no desire to change that until they reached Fourth and Eighth.

He pounded on the roof of the carriage. “You can stop here.”

As the carriage slowed and Ian moved forward, Brewster extended the handle of his cane until it reached Ian’s chest. “Think about it, Maguire. The only thing standing in the way is your own misguided attempt to fulfill something John himself might not have wanted. If he knew she desired to be her father’s daughter, he wouldn’t have thought himself unworthy.”

Ian opened the carriage door, and Brewster withdrew his cane. As Ian descended to the street, he heard Brewster bang on the side of the carriage to call his attention.

“Neither would you be unworthy of her anymore, Maguire.”

Ian didn’t look back. Those same words—ones he’d been forcing away for days now—echoed in his mind until that was all he heard.

15

It should be unnecessary to state that sincerity and honesty are required in all things, so long as your sincere honesty is in the best interests of others. If not, then by all means seek the virtue of silence.

Madame Marisse’s Handbook for Young Ladies

Fifth Avenue, New York City

Meg waited while the driver of her carriage mounted the stairs of the white marble home on the corner of Fifth Avenue and Thirty-Fourth Street to announce her arrival. Her luggage was in tow, but she would wait for a Pemberton servant to collect it rather than ask the driver of the hired cab to do more than he’d already done.

She dismissed any trace of embarrassment. Perhaps she should have accepted the offer Claire had made to send a Pemberton carriage, but she’d been hesitant about letting even a Pemberton liveryman know where she’d been living so recently. The only hired carriages that strolled Fifth Avenue were for gawkers, even now in the off-season. If Fifth Avenue knew the real reason she’d arrived, she would deserve such judgment—or worse. Instead, her heart pumped with excitement. It might be too late to prove her father wrong about being any value to him, but it wasn’t too late to prove it to herself.

A Pemberton manservant arrived at the side of the carriage, addressed her by name, then gave orders to another servant about her belongings. He then led Meg into a wide foyer lit only by sunlight filtering through high-set leaded and stained-glass windows. Passing a set of doors that were carved like fish scales, she was taken to a full yet uncluttered parlor, a room replete with elegant furniture and original artwork that somehow managed to be unpretentious in both design and display.

The butler did nothing more than announce her name before a familiarly graceful figure came forward with hands outstretched.

“Meg! How wonderful that you’ve come.” Claire Pemberton grabbed Meg’s hands and pulled her into a quick and unexpected embrace. Meg hid her surprise. If Claire wanted to pretend they’d been the best of friends, it suited Meg’s purposes to let her.

Claire called back the retreating manservant. “Please tell my brother to come down, won’t you, Mr. Dunlop? He’ll want to meet our houseguest.”

“It’s so good of you to take me in, Claire.” Meg looked around the drawing room, seeing beyond the Persian carpets, the mahogany and teak furniture, past the deep forest green upholsteries and golden accents to wonder if here, in this room, might be a hidden safe or a passageway where the famous Pemberton bricks were kept. Who knew! For all Meg could guess, she might be standing above the gold right now.

“The timing for your visit couldn’t be better. Nelson and I have decided to stay here in New York this summer, since Mother and Father are traveling. We wanted a quiet season, but no sooner had we agreed than I wondered if it might not seem too quiet. Having you here swept away every doubt that we chose correctly.”

Claire, as always, was a portrait of loveliness. But Meg had always thought her beauty cold, her blonde hair nearly white as snow, her skin flawless but stiff—like cream left out on a winter porch—and her eyes a shade of glacier blue.

“I’m happy to be here and to offer ideas about the garden, of course. It’s a garden here in the city, then?”

“Oh yes, a tiny space compared to the one at Newport. I’m afraid since our gardener retired, the courtyard here has become more like a slice of jungle than a garden. I’ll show it to you after tea. I’m sure you’re parched!”

Just ahead of a maid laden with a tea tray arrived a slender man Meg knew from more than one social occasion through school.

“Do you remember my brother, Nelson? Nelson, this is Meg Davenport, whom I told you about the other day.”

Nelson was the reverse of his sister, the antonym of her beauty. Meg always thought it odd how two so opposite visages could come from the same family, and yet there was a shadow of similarity. Nelson’s hair, though thin and lifeless, was as white as Claire’s. His eyes—small while Claire’s were large—were hazel but might shine blue, if the lighting were right. And his skin was a waxen pale in comparison to Claire’s pink-and-white luster, lending him a fragile look. But there were rumors at school about Nelson’s power in the courts and his reputation for justice that left little room to think him weak.

There was nothing weak about his smile. He exuded genuine welcome, echoing Claire. Relief over their glad reception allowed Meg no room for secret compunction about the reason behind her visit.

“I know we’ve met before,” Nelson said, “though you probably don’t remember me. As I recall, your dance card never had an empty spot at school functions.”

Claire laughed. “Yes, that’s true. Speaking of our school dances, look! I had our cook bake Madame’s cookies, to celebrate our little reunion.”

They chatted on so cordially that Meg wondered if she’d come to the right Fifth Avenue mansion. Surely this wasn’t
Claire
Pemberton, who spared barely a dozen words for Meg that last year of her residence at school? Both she and Nelson treated Meg as if she’d been adopted into the family—something she wouldn’t have guessed possible given the school’s treatment of Evie Pemberton. Surely neither one knew Madame had depended upon Meg as a reliable source to verify some of the trouble Evie caused, resulting in the youngest Pemberton’s expulsion.

“So your parents are traveling?”

Claire nodded. “Paris for the last of spring, Italy for the summer, then back to Paris before coming home for the fall season.”

“And did Evie go with them?”

Both Claire and Nelson erupted in laughter.

“Mama wouldn’t dream of subjecting passengers in an enclosed vessel to Evie!”

Nelson picked up his tea. “No, she’s here with us. Claire has been given strict authority over her. So far, she hasn’t been a whisper of trouble.”

“But then we have the entire summer ahead of us.” Claire’s perfect face took on a frown. “I’m afraid I have a confession to make; Nelson insisted I be perfectly frank. Of course he’s right; I value honesty above all things . . . only . . .”

Meg’s pulse quickened over the words, knowing an honest confession was something she could not offer, either. So when Claire averted her gaze, Meg did, too.

“Well, here’s the truth,” Claire continued. “One of the reasons I was so happy to have you hasn’t anything to do with Mother’s garden. It has everything to do with Evie. We’ve decided to skip the summer season because of her. You must remember what trouble she’s always been, and I didn’t want to risk having sole authority over her at Newport of all places. You knew her for more than a year at school and must have had more success than I’ve had reining her in.”

“But she was expelled!”

“Only after her
second
year. As one of the older students, nearly in charge, you lasted a full year with her and then some. I wasn’t there to see how you managed.”

“Evie never did confess what she’d done to get herself expelled,” Nelson said, “and Mother refused to tell us. What did the little terror do?”

Meg wasn’t sure how much to divulge, if she was to share the same roof with Evie. While she didn’t recall Evie being particularly gruesome with most of her mischief, the final straw had been leaving raw chicken parts atop wardrobes in the rooms of the two most popular girls. The stench had been as noxious as it had been mysterious.

Her dismissal had happened only a year ago, not so long past to hope that maturity had rid the girl of her mischievous ways . . . or squashed a wish for revenge against anyone who might have played the slightest role in her humiliating departure.

“Let’s just say her sense of humor and adventure didn’t endear her to the other girls.”

“Spoken like the social diplomat you were trained to become.” Claire was smiling now, her confession evidently having been good for her soul. “Far better than I ever learned, I admit.”

“But we do still hope you’ll redesign Mother’s garden,” Nelson said. He glanced toward one of the tall windows at the back of the room, through which Meg saw the edge of a yard full of greenery. “I’m eager to see what you can do with the area, here in the city. It has only a few hours of sunlight due to the high walls, so God will have to help. Our gardener retired last year, and Mother hasn’t hired anyone to take his place yet. But we do have Mr. Deekes, our butler. He’ll purchase whatever you recommend and follow your instructions for planting. Will you be needing anything else?”

“I’ve brought my books—sketches I’ve done through the years, full of possibilities. I thought I might show them to both of you for suggestions of what your mother might like.”

“We’ll be glad to help, of course,” Claire said, although her hesitant voice sounded anything but glad. She exchanged a glance with her brother, who gave a small, encouraging nod. “Only I must admit this idea isn’t entirely for Mother’s sake. It seems our new neighbor next door, Mrs. Mason, hinted about the garden not being up to Fifth Avenue standards. I’m not at all sure she meant it to be a slight, but that’s the way Mother received it. So having you here will solve not only the garden, but a rift between neighbors.”

“They’re new to New York and Fifth Avenue,” Nelson added, “which likely accounts for noticing things like standards. In any case, we’ve gone through a series of neighbors since the one that ended in heartache. We’d like to do what we can to maintain good relations with this new family.”

“There was heartache between neighbors?” Meg asked, intrigued but cautious. Had Evie’s mischief been so serious that it caused a family to move away?

“Nelson!” Claire chided. “How could you bring that up? And in front of our guest!”

“I assumed Meg knew all about it. Isn’t that what schoolmates do, share all of their secrets?”

Meg might have made a flippant remark to ease any hint of embarrassment, but she held back when she noticed the tremble in Claire’s hand as she set aside her tea. Evidently this secret was no trifling matter.

“Then I’m glad I’ve come, Claire.” Meg squashed any trace of conscience and added, “So we can get to know one another well enough to share all of our secrets.”

Was that gratitude in those once-frosty eyes?

Nelson stood. “I’ll leave you both to it, then. Forgive me if I’ve said anything I shouldn’t have, Clairy. And I’ll see you both at dinner.” He turned to Meg with a polite bow. “It’s a pleasure to have you here, Meg—do you mind me calling you that?” He exchanged a quick smile with his sister. “I’m afraid with our parents gone, we’ve relaxed many of the rules, so I hope you’ll allow me the liberty of treating you like a member of the family.”

He was gone then, and Meg found herself wishing he’d been able to stay. How lucky Claire was to have such a brother—one who might say the wrong thing but do it so charmingly.

When her gaze fell back on Claire, she found another reason to wish Nelson hadn’t left. Claire seemed to have closed up a little, becoming more like the quiet, standoffish girl Meg remembered from school.

“I’m surprised you didn’t travel with your parents to Europe, Claire. Did you not want to go?”

She gave a shrug, a decidedly un-Madame-Marisse-like gesture that was somehow still becoming on Claire. “I went to London and Paris last year with Mother, and the long voyage was just enough to make me appreciate our own country all the more.”

“What about Nelson?”

“Oh, he couldn’t possibly leave for an extended amount of time. He’s a lawyer, you know, and in spite of Fifth Avenue disapproval of all the time he spends working, many people—beyond Fifth Avenue—depend upon him.” She offered a grin that held a spark of the happiness she’d possessed when Meg first arrived. “Besides, Mother would never leave me here with Evie alone. One of us might not survive, although I’m not entirely certain which of us would be the victim.”

Meg looked around, wondering where the mischief maker was at the moment.

Claire looked toward the open door, beyond which the stairway was partially visible. “I suppose I should go and check on her, make sure she hasn’t disappeared the way she does sometimes. I’ll show you your room too. It’s our favorite guest room and overlooks the courtyard that you’ll be designing. We thought you might like it.”

“I’m sure I will.”

“I should tell you, too, that we gather the family and staff together every morning, and you’re more than welcome to join us if you like. We meet at the piano here in the parlor at nine thirty. If that’s too early, please don’t feel obligated. I only wanted to extend the invitation so you’ll know what’s happening should you hear any voices.”

No doubt a planning meeting about meals and the day’s engagements, something Meg need not attend since she only planned to tag along with Claire.

As they climbed the stairs, memories of Evie’s school pranks made Meg wonder if a quiet house was a good sign or bad.

Claire stopped in front of one of the upstairs doors. “Here we are.”

She opened the pristine white, six-paneled door and stepped aside for Meg to enter first.

Meg saw only a glimpse of a room decorated in pinks and greens before a huge gray shadow at the window captured her gaze. Instant fear stole her breath. Wings longer than the length of Meg’s arms flapped madly, contrasting with a tail apparently dipped in vibrant red. The large bird hopped precariously along one edge of a sturdy but tipping lampshade. Feathers floated to the table beneath, joining what looked like generous spots of feces.

Upon sight of them, the bird’s head lowered and its hefty body went rigid as it stared directly at Claire, eye level.

“Evelyn Annabel Pemberton! Evie, come here at once and take this dreadful creature to the aviary!”

Meg’s heart rate calmed once she knew the bird hadn’t flown in from the wild. Only then did she realize the window wasn’t even open. The bird evidently could not fly anyway, and thankfully its droppings seemed contained in a single area.

A moment later Evie appeared, her light-brown hair loosely braided, with various wisps having escaped a once-neat pattern. She’d grown at least an inch since Meg had seen her last, an appropriate height for a near-fifteen-year-old. But her green eyes shone bright with the same look of pleasure they’d had after any successful antic back at school.