Corey McFadden (19 page)

“I think there is something wrong. Come to think of it, you’ve been standoffish since I’ve returned. I hope you’re not turning out to be a Puritan on me, boy.”

“It’s none of my concern what you do, my lord.” He was stiff and cold and had yet to look at Radford.

“I am glad we agree on that much at least. It certainly is not your concern. What I do, where I go, and whom I see is my own business, boy, and the sooner you learn that, the better you will fit into my household, is that understood? Good God, if I felt the need of someone to answer to, I’d get myself a wife!” Radford was angry and realized too late that he had raised his voice. As indulgent as he had been with the boy, he would not tolerate untoward interference in his personal affairs.

“I understand. I—I’m sorry,” Mike said in a small voice.

Radford watched the boy with a frown. Perhaps he had been too harsh. It was hard to remember in the face of such quiet striving that Mike was not much more than a child. And this was his own fault, he could see it now. He had encouraged this familiarity, enjoying the boy’s company as well as his card tricks, and Mike had responded with warmth, like a parched flower receiving water.

There was no question of the lad’s devotion. It was amusing to watch him fuss and putter about Radford’s things, doing something over and over until it was done to perfection. In neatness and attention to detail, Mike could almost outdo Brooks, a formidable accomplishment. In a hundred different ways each day, the boy showed his loyalty and his concern. And then the object of his devotion had casually disappeared and taken his attention elsewhere. The boy was no Puritan; he was plain jealous. He had a full-blown case of hero worship, and the earl had carelessly allowed it to happen.

Radford felt uneasy, as if he were treading on uncertain ground. He would not hurt Mike’s feelings for the world. But while he encouraged and appreciated loyalty and even a certain fondness between himself and his retainers, it was inappropriate for him to inspire deeper feelings. He was not ready to be anyone’s papa—he might never be—and he could not start with a servant child picked out of a ditch, however endearing.

Again Radford wondered about Mike’s background. Where had he come from? What sort of love had he received? Or what sort of indifference? It seemed likely that there was more to his story than he had let on. His speech, for example, was far too refined for the usual servant class. Perhaps he came from the wrong side of the blanket, a by-blow of a serving wench and a randy master. It would explain the boy’s obvious misuse. Mike himself had said he’d been abused by his mistress. Radford knew from the rattling gossip in the
ton
how the gentle wives of gentlemen could abuse the offspring of their husbands’ mistresses, particularly if those unfortunate girls were servants in the household. Most gentlemen of means and sensitivity saw to it that the girls and their tiny bastards were removed to other households, or, where there was considerable wealth, set up in private establishments. Under these circumstances, the misbegotten children could be passed off as distant relatives and absorbed into the gentry. But for every child lucky enough to come sideways into his birthright, there were a dozen more who, neglected or ignored, slipped back into the squalor from which their mothers had tried to thrust them.

That Mike was starved for approval was obvious. He acknowledged every compliment with a grin of genuine pleasure and a redoubling of effort. It was as if he had never heard the words ‘well done’ before. And now he was hurt. Radford could see it in the hunch to his shoulders. The lad looked as if all the air had been let out of him.

“Look here, Mike, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have taken off at you the way I did.” Radford couldn’t bear the sag to the boy’s shoulders. “Lay that by and come here. I want to talk to you about something.” Perhaps if he got Mike started on the subject of card tricks, that dejected posture would go away.

Maude’s anger had been replaced by misery. Not only had she lost him to that woman, now she had destroyed what
esprit de corps
remained between them. She turned away from the re-folding of the several shirts that she thought had come back from the laundry not quite up to snuff, and came toward him, still unable to meet his eye. She knew she was red-faced, certainly miserable, and trying not to cry. She stood before his desk and waited, feeling like a fool who’d been shown her place. Oh, please don’t let him start on about that woman, she thought. I just won’t be able to bear it.

“I’ve got a problem at White’s,” Radford said. “This is complicated and I need your advice. Why don’t you pull that chair forward and sit down?”

White’s! The all-male gambling club. Nothing to do with that woman, thank heaven. But why on earth did he expect that his boy valet could advise him about a social situation at White’s? Maude pulled up the chair he had indicated and sat down.

“I will rely on your discretion, Mike. What I have to tell you is extraordinarily sensitive. Those involved are very prominent; one is quite powerful. If I am wrong and my remarks become known, I will face a challenge to the death. If I am right, there has been murder done, if indirectly, perhaps two, perhaps more.” He paused, uncertain as he heard himself express the gravity of the situation, that it was wise to involve this lad. Still, it was too late to turn back now.

“I will keep your counsel, my lord. You need not fear my discretion.”

Again, there was an educated turn of phrase, too well-spoken for the usual servant, except perhaps at the highest levels. Radford let it pass. In a steady voice, the earl began at the beginning, with his own experience at twenty-one, as excruciating as it was to tell of it. He realized as he watched the boy’s eyes grow large, that he had never told this tale before; he had been too humiliated to mention it to anyone. He stopped short of relating the “arrangement” the duke had come to with Brompton. The boy was only fourteen, after all. It was enough for him to know that the man had ruined several young men financially. Radford mentioned no names, until he came to that of Lord Carruthers.

Mike sat silent throughout the telling of the tale, but he looked thoughtful, obviously thinking it carefully through. “Lord Carruthers is your guardian angel, my lord,” the boy said finally. “If he had not stopped the game, you’d have been ruined, as the other young gentlemen were. This man you played with is a card cheat. I’d stake my life on it.”

“I think you are right, Mike. I’ve long had my suspicions, but not until you showed me your tricks could I be sure of what was happening. I have reason to be concerned all the more at present. There is a young gentleman of my acquaintance, Denys Beauchamp. He has just come into his inheritance with the death of his father, the old marquis, who passed away three weeks ago from the influenza epidemic. Denys was at dinner at Bella’s last night...” he did not notice Mike’s wince. “And he mentioned he was looking forward to getting back into society. It’s a bit soon if you ask me, but he didn’t ask. Anyway, he happened to remark that he would be at White’s tonight....”

“Ah, of course, the new heir, all that money burning a hole in his pocket. And you think your vulture friend will be there, with his trapped decks and sharp dealing.” Mike laughed and clapped his hands. “But now you know what to look for. I’ve shown you. And you can catch him at it and call him out...” He stopped; a look of horror crossed his face. “But you mustn’t call him out, my lord. He would kill you for the insult. You could be shot dead!”

“Yes, monkey, that’s what duels are all about. But I would not lose. I am a very good shot.” Radford laughed, relishing the thought. “And the world would be rid of an evil man. We would all be better off.”

The boy did not look convinced.

“But I am not sanguine about my abilities to spot the cheating, boy. Not as confident as you are, at any rate. Don’t forget, I will be in a dimly lit room, full of distractions, gentlemen milling about, servants with refreshments, that sort of thing. I will not have the luxury, such as you have afforded me, of laying my head down on the table and looking up at the dealing. It just isn’t done at White’s.”

The boy giggled. He did have a good sense of the absurd.

“What I have in mind is for you to come with me.” He paused, amused at the look of incredulity that crossed Mike’s face.

* * * *

“To White’s? Me? Whatever should I do there?” Maude nearly whispered. This masquerade was becoming a noose tightening around her neck. The gaming room was male only. No female had ever set foot in there, or so it was said. John went there, for the love of heaven, when he came to London. Now there was a thought to form ice in her heart.

“To watch for me, monkey, of course. What else? Be my expert eyes. Tell me I can be sure of his villainy, that I do not wrong an innocent man.”

“But how on earth would I get in? It is members only, is it not? Surely I should not be allowed in?” Maude looked at him, hoping she could convince him how impossible this would be.

“I’ve given it some thought. It is members only, but servants are allowed in where there is a need. Suppose I were to arrive with, say, a bad case of gout, my foot all wrapped up, walking painfully with a cane, needing you to support me, and to stay there to fetch and carry for me during the evening? Frankly, it’s done all the time for the older members.” Radford smiled, as if he thought himself very clever.

“I—I would feel so awkward, my lord. I should do something awful and disgrace you. I know I should.” She could feel the noose tightening. She was going to White’s. No doubt about it.

“Nonsense, boy. You are actually rather presentable when you are not being impertinent to me. I will trust you to keep your mouth shut while we are there. Have Mrs. Formby supply you with the more formal livery. I will tell her it’s just a touch of gout, so that she does not run for the doctor. I don’t think I could survive any more of his physicking. In fact, let’s tell her that I consulted with a doctor while at Bella’s.” Radford stared down at his boots. “Now which should it be, boy, left or right foot? Right, I think. Fetch me some bandages from Mrs. Formby, and tell her I’ll need to see her in half an hour.”

He sat back, obviously pleased with himself. It was clear to Maude that he regarded this as a little diversion, something fun to make up for the weeks of influenza-forced isolation. She slipped quietly out of the room to do his bidding.

* * * *

As was to be expected, Mrs. Formby was most concerned to hear about the gout attack. She gathered up the bandages from the storage closet and handed them to Maude.

“Now, you are quite certain his lordship does not wish Mr. Mathes to be sent for? This gout can be most painful, and must be properly tended to.” She looked doubtful.

“His lordship was most emphatic, Mrs. Formby. I rather think he never wants to see that doctor again. He has consulted a doctor at...”—she could not bring herself to say that woman’s name—“when he was away yesterday. It is apparently a mild case at present and he just needs to keep the weight off a bit. He wants me to bandage him up and attend him this evening at White’s.”

“You? At White’s? Oh, dear! I shall have to find you a suit of our formal livery at once. You cannot appear at White’s in the regular livery.”

For the life of her, Maude couldn’t see anything informal about the little tin soldier’s suit she wore. It was all brass buttons and starch, all the better to bind and hide her bosom.

“I suppose I can cut something down of Martin’s. Well, we have a few hours yet. Here, child, you tend to the bandaging and I shall be along as he wishes in half an hour.”

* * * *

The earl surveyed his young valet with a critical eye, but Maude was quite sure she would pass inspection. Mrs. Formby had decked her out in the Radford livery, all brass and braids and an impressive coat of arms embroidered in gold-and-red threads on the chest. She feared she might fall over if she took a step. A quick, rare glimpse in a mirror showed her that the freckles and reddish curls were at odds with the ceremonious attire.

“Not bad, monkey, not bad. You’ll do. I suppose Mrs. Formby put the fear of God into you about what you can do and say?”

“I understand I am to do and say absolutely nothing under any circumstances, unless directly bidden by your lordship.”

“Well, I suppose that’s close enough. Except what I bid you to do will be slightly more fun than she thinks. Help me to get this blasted thing tied properly and I’ll tell you what to expect.”

Maude stepped forward to the earl and reached up to drape his neckcloth. It was heady being this close. He smelled so good, like soap and leather. He disdained the heavy French perfumes that so many of the fops wore in favor of a light, woodsy scent.

She tied the neckcloth with some skill. She had gotten the hang of it over the last few days and was rather proud of the accomplishment. Of course Radford insisted on shaving himself, claiming the one thing he would not entrust to a beardless fourteen-year-old stableboy was a straight razor to his neck.

Maude fussed with imaginary specks on his shirt front, smoothing nonexistent creases, then stepped back to admire him. He was irresistibly handsome, no doubt about it, and he looked all the better half-dressed, without his waistcoat and jacket. His white cambric shirt was tucked neatly into tan-colored breeches. He turned from her to glance at himself in the mirror and Maude surveyed him from the rear. No other man of her acquaintance had a rear end and thighs so extraordinarily well-turned and amply muscled. It was a good thing, too, as it was downright distracting. If they all looked like that society would come to a standstill. He turned back, complimenting her on the drape of the neckcloth, and she reached for the waistcoat.

“What I propose, monkey, is that I be in far worse shape as far as my colleagues at White’s are concerned than I’ve led Mrs. Formby to believe. A bad turn of gout, very painful, possibly brought on by my recent fever. I shall be cranky with pain, but in no mood to stay home and nurse myself, after my long, enforced convalescence. I think I’ll carp at you a bit, be very demanding. “Oh, what on earth is your surname again? I’ve completely forgotten.”