Darke London (20 page)

“No, indeed,” he managed to choke out. “It was a difficult labour, but both mother and child are safe.” He paused to inhale deeply, perplexed at his lack of composure.

Elijah squeezed his arm. “Good, good. You are exhausted. As soon as I’m done, you must get yourself to bed.”

The loving concern in the old man’s face made Julian reach out and grasp Elijah’s hand. “May we talk? Now?”

Slowly Elijah set aside his cleaning swabs, his gaze never leaving Julian’s face. “But of course. Should we go into the library and make ourselves comfortable?”

Julian shook his head. “If I sit somewhere comfortable, I will fall asleep instantly.” He drew in another breath, striving for some self-control as Elijah drew up a chair opposite him. “It was a good thing the midwife sent for me. The labour was difficult, and the child was born with its cord wrapped around his neck. He was blue, no sign of breathing, but I blew several times into his mouth and massaged his chest, and suddenly he let out this thin wail.” He blinked at the memory.

“You did well.”

“He was such a tiny fellow, yet his cry filled the room. His father came rushing in at the sound, saw the babe, and burst into tears along with the mother. I’d never seen such prouder parents.”

Elijah smiled but said nothing, as if sensing that Julian needed the space to collect his thoughts.

“They’re not wealthy, but what they have to give their son is more precious than any gold.” Swallowing, he slid from the stool and bent down on one knee before Elijah. “I’ve been a colossal fool these past six months. I was seeking something when what I already had was infinitely priceless. I took your affection for granted. Can you ever forgive me?”

Elijah breathed in audibly. Seconds ticked by before he responded, an unfamiliar tremor in his voice. “There’s nothing to forgive. You were curious about where you came from. That’s only natural in a young man, and I should have been more understanding.”

“Confound it, Father. Why must you be so humble and benevolent?”

Elijah smiled faintly, an unfamiliar sheen in his eyes. “Would you prefer I harangue you?”

“You make me even more ashamed.” Reaching out, he touched his father’s hand. Elijah’s hands folded around his, rough, gnarled, gentle. Julian blinked fiercely at the treacherous moisture behind his eyes. Fumbling in the inner pocket of his jacket, he pulled out the delicate bee brooch. “Here, take it, Father. I have no more use for it.”

“No, ’tis yours, son.”

Julian shook his head. “It has brought me nothing but doubt and self-loathing. It reminds me only of my shortcomings. My mother loved me, I know this, but I don’t need proof of it. Not anymore.”

Slowly Elijah reached out for the bee brooch and twirled it between his fingers. Something dark and tormented flashed through his eyes, and when he spoke his voice was rough. “You shouldn’t be kneeling before me, son, for the truth of it is, you saved me as much as I saved you. You saved me from the life of selfish misery I’d sunk into when I lost my beloved family. Your mewling cry on the doorstep woke me from the depths of my apathy. You made me see that I was still needed, that my life could yet have meaning. When you began your quest, I feared slipping back into the darkness. I…I was afraid of losing you and myself.”

“Father.” Julian could scarcely see for the tears in his eyes. “That could never happen. You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life.”

A suspicion of moisture shone in the seams surrounding Elijah’s eyes. “This brooch is yours. You must do with it what you will.” He tucked the jewellery piece into the top pocket of Julian’s jacket and, gripping him by the upper arms, rose from his seat. “Come, you mustn’t kneel before me any longer. We are men. We must stand together, and if you continue looking at me like that you will quite unman me soon.” His voice quavered perilously.

“I would hate to do that.” Standing, head to head, Julian gazed into his father’s face.

Elijah cleared his throat loudly. “May I ask what brought on your epiphany? Was it the infant you saved this morning?”

“Not entirely.” Threading tired fingers through his hair, Julian attempted to order thoughts which had milled in his head throughout the long night. Expressing them to his father would help himself make sense of it all. “My injuries resulted from an adventure of sorts Nellie and I had last night, the details of which I’ll not divulge right now. Suffice to say that I saw both Sir Thaddeus and his son, Pip, and I realised that the sum of a man’s worth is made up of many parts and the lineage of a man is of far less importance than his conduct. The Ormonds’ treatment of Nellie has made me ashamed to share their blood.” His lips twisted into a rueful smile. “Isn’t that ironic, given how excited I was to discover the illustrious ownership of my brooch?”

Elijah nodded in sympathy. “Often the path to self-knowledge is littered with blind alleys.”

“In all honesty I cannot regret my circuitous path, for it brought Nellie into my life.” Julian drew in a deep breath. “Without her, I wouldn’t be standing here saying these things to you.” And without his dogged pursuit of Sir Thaddeus, she would be dead and forgotten. Their fates were as closely interwoven as the fibres of the carpet beneath his feet.

His father smiled. “Yes, we’re all the better for having Nellie in our lives.”

But for how much longer? He studied the faded Turkish rug. The edges of the carpet were frayed, the weft threads coming apart. Even hard-wearing, tightly knitted rugs could unravel. Nellie had grown stronger, more independent. She didn’t need him as much, perhaps not at all. And he? For months he’d been chasing the past, but now the future beckoned him, filled with hard work and possibilities, the most important of which was: would his future continue to lace with hers?

Chapter Twelve

From across the broad street, Julian watched Nellie as she rang the bell of the Ormond townhouse. The rich green wool of her riding habit suited her colouring and figure. He admired her straight, narrow back and trim shoulders, her head held high and proud. Her abundant chestnut curls glinted in the sunlight, unhampered by any veil or hat. On their journey to Mayfair, she’d attracted a few stares, and some street urchins had pointed at her and screwed up their faces, but Nellie had been unperturbed. She was done with all disguise.

Now, as a footman opened the door, he knew she would have no problem penetrating the inner sanctum of the Ormond residence. But once she saw Pip, what would happen then? Would her old feelings for him be revived? At Madame Olga’s apartment Pip had finally demonstrated a bit of gumption. He’d stood up to his father, although pulling a gun on him had not been quite worthy, but nevertheless he’d shown some mettle, and perhaps that would relight the spark for Nellie.

Disgruntled by his thoughts, Julian turned his attention to the horses and looped the reins over the iron railings bordering a garden square. He flexed his shoulders, which still twinged on occasion, and rubbed his jaw where the bruises were beginning to fade. It had been three days since Nellie had declared she must see her husband. They did not even know if Sir Thaddeus had survived the gunshot, though none of the newspapers they’d avidly scanned had announced his demise. When Nellie had decided this was the day to visit Mayfair, Julian, as stubborn as ever, had been too proud to ask her intentions, even though he’d insisted on accompanying her, so here he must wait for her return.

“Muffin, sir?”

Julian glanced round to see a muffin boy standing on the pavement, a huge tray on his head threatening to topple over. “Boy, why don’t you put that down before you drop it?”

The youth lowered his tray to the ground and rubbed his flattened hair. “Cor, that feels better.”

Several inches of scrawny arm protruded beyond the sleeves of his tattered coat. His boots seemed to be more holes than leather. He looked about ten, although it was hard to tell, street urchins invariably being undernourished. The boy unwrapped his tray to reveal a sorry collection of lumpy, burnt muffins.

“Three for a ha’penny, sir.” The boy eyed Julian warily, no doubt cautious of his bruised face.

From the quantity and condition of the muffins, it was clear the boy had not made many sales that day. “You should try plying your trade around Spitalfields, perhaps,” Julian said. “You’ll not sell many of those muffins around these parts.”

The urchin’s face fell. “T’ Chapel is where I usually go, but yesterdee two dollymops set ’pon me and stole me money. So I thought to try a safer area today.”

“Do you have a mother or father? Any family at all to take care of you?”

The boy shrugged. “Don’t need no taking care of. Bin on the streets long’s I can remember.”

Julian took in a slow breath. This ragamuffin could have been him, if Elijah hadn’t taken him in. Not just taken him in, but loved him, cared for him, and treated him like his own flesh and blood. He slipped his hand into the pocket of his jacket and fingered the bee brooch nestled there. The sharp end of the pin pricked his fingers. Ever since his and Elijah’s heartfelt exchange, the brooch had remained in his jacket pocket. He hadn’t yet decided what to do with it, but each day the bagatelle seemed to grow heavier in his pocket.

“Will ye buy a muffin or two?” the urchin wheedled.

Julian nodded. “I will, but on one condition. You are to eat as many muffins as you like, and I will pay for them.”

The boy’s mouth fell open, revealing a pitiful collection of rotting teeth. “But, sir, I only et the broken bits at t’ end o’ the day.”

And that was probably the only food he had all day. “You must eat as much as you can before my friend returns.” Julian waved at the tray. “Well, boy, what are you waiting for?”

The urchin stared at him a few more seconds, then fell on the muffins like a ravenous little stoat.

“Your poor, poor face. Oh, what an awful thing to happen!” Pip stretched out his hands tentatively towards Nellie. She thought he was going to touch her cheek, but at the last moment he pulled back. “How terrible,
terrible
.”

Did he really need to carry on so? Could he not see how his gushing sympathy only drew more attention to her injuries? And she did not much care for the way he’d shrunk from touching her.

“It’s not that bad,” Nellie said. “I don’t feel much pain in my face, and my new fingers work splendidly.”

He winced as she flexed her artificial fingers in front of him. “But those dreadful scars… You must consult the best doctors in London. At my expense, of course. I insist.”

“Thank you, but no. I am growing quite accustomed to my new look.”

“You are?” He goggled at her in disbelief. “Oh, Nellie, I’m so glad you’re alive and well…”

His voice trailed off. When he’d gotten over the shock of seeing her, he hadn’t embraced her, she’d noticed. Nor had he said he’d mourned her or behaved with any of the joy a husband might have felt for a wife he’d thought he’d buried. In truth, Pip did not seem overwhelmed with pleasure at discovering he was once more a married man.

She glanced around the drawing room where Pip had received her. The elegant room stunned the visitor with its dazzling plasterwork and intricately carved woodwork, its rich furnishings and soaring proportions. All this grandeur, but it had been paid for by Pip’s mother’s inheritance. The magnificence of the Ormonds was merely a wafer-thin facade. Once, it had awed her, but now it repelled her to realise how much human misery it had cost.

She narrowed her gaze at Pip. “How is your father?”

At her abrupt question, his cheeks flushed bright pink. “He’s met with an untimely accident a few days ago.” He toyed with the cuffs of his frock coat. “He, er, accidentally shot himself while handling his pistol. He is upstairs, gravely ill.”

“I see. And the prognosis?”

“Not good. The doctors tell me the bullet is lodged in his neck and cannot be removed. Even if he survives he will never be able to move or even speak.”

“An accident, you say.”

“Yes!” Pip pushed his hands into his pockets, pulled them out, raked his hair and looked thoroughly perturbed. “Yes, a complete accident.”

“Oh, Pip,” she murmured, shaking her head slowly. “I know it was you who shot him. I was there that night. Can’t you guess? I was Madame Dariya.”

He gaped at her as if she’d run him through with a lance. “You? Madame D-Dariya? You mean it was… it was all…”

“Yes, it was all a hoax. I’m sorry, Pip, for pulling a deception like that, but after my near death at the hands of your father’s henchman, I didn’t know whom to trust. I didn’t know if you were part of the plot. After all, you did disappear from our lodgings without a word. I thought you’d abandoned me and run back here to your father.”

“Oh God, Nellie, I’m so sorry!” he cried hoarsely. “I did come back here, but it was to beg him for a small loan. We were in such dire straits, and the thought of you working revolted me, so I came here. I petitioned my father, but he insisted I go out with him. He took me to several clubs and then the theatre. We had dinner, and he urged me to drink more than I am accustomed to. I went along, thinking to humour him, but then I must have passed out, because I woke up in my old bed here a day later, and when I rushed back to our lodgings, you’d gone and the landlady had sold off all our belongings.” He cast her an imploring look. “Oh, Nellie, you do believe me, don’t you?”