Dear Impostor (25 page)

          The servant gave Gabriel a quick appraising
glance and apparently decided he was acceptable. “Yes, sir, just as you say,
sir.”

          “My old friend Gabriel,” David said, looking
more cheerful as he threw one arm around Gabriel’s shoulders. “Got some scotch
for me to judge or was it brandy? Oh hell, I’ll try the scotch
and
the
brandy. I’ve a fine palate, you know.”

          “Yes indeed, we will go now.” Gabriel signaled
to the burly servants, who looked around at Barrett’s men. Two of the ruffians
had risen from their seats, and they seemed to be waiting for their employer to
give the word.

          But Barrett apparently knew a lost cause when
he saw one. Two of the bodyguards held thick canes and the third had the
unmistakable bulge of a pistol in his pocket. “So, you win tonight, Sinclair,”
he said. “But remember what I said; you still must live long enough to enjoy
your earnings.” His tone sent a wave of coldness down Gabriel’s back, but he
kept his expression even.

          “I plan to,” he said.

          With David walking unsteadily beside him, and
David’s men guarding their back, Gabriel left the gaming den and strode into
the darkness. But the night was past its nadir. Light touched the eastern sky,
a faint glow just visible beyond the low rough buildings that lined this narrow
street. In his relief, Gabriel thought that even the open sewer-laced ditches
stank less than usual.

          “David, give me your word you will not come to
this section of town again,” he told his younger friend.

          “Eh?” David stumbled over a loose rock, and
one of the men grabbed his elbow. David angrily shook it off. The next time he
stumbled, Gabriel put out his hand to stop the manservant. He watched David
tumble forward.

          “Let him fall in the mud,” Gabriel told the
servants, his tone calm. “It might teach him to think a little next time.”

          He reached over to pull the younger man back
to his feet; David had hit his nose when he landed, blood dripped upon his
muddy evening dress, and he smelled like a cistern.

          “Bloody hell,” David said, trying to wipe away
the drops and only smearing the muck even more.

          “Don’t drink so much, next time on the town,”
Gabriel told him. David shrugged off his words, but this time, he kept his
footing. Gabriel retained his own counsel. The lectures would have to wait till
David was sober again. Right now, they had to get out of this neighborhood before
Barrett called in the rest of his gang. So they hurried their steps and watched
the shadows.

          As David stumbled along, and the servants
murmured among themselves, Gabriel walked in silence, chilled to the bone by
the thought of how much he had wagered, and how close he had come to losing. Never
again; he was rapidly losing all taste for gaming, he thought. No, he just
wanted to claim his new estate and learn to manage it well. Show Barrett he was
the better man, certainly he would be a better landlord. Show Gabriel’s father
that his younger son was not the wastrel his father had proclaimed him to be,
prove to him what Gabriel was really made of.

          And maybe prove it to himself, as well.

          As they walked, the streets became gradually
wider and less littered with trash. Behind them, the pale light grew stronger
until at last the sun lifted its golden head over London’s East End. Just as in
Gabriel’s life, another day and another new beginning had dawned.

          He did not intend to waste it.

          After the near escape at the gaming hell,
Gabriel was reminded that he must stay inside as much as possible, out of sight
of Barrett and his gang. But since he was also trying to stay away from Psyche
and her family, he found himself so bored the next day that he wandered down to
the bookroom to chat with Green, the ineffective actor, who seemed more than
happy to put down his pen.

          “Terrible ’ard this is on the wrists, me
lord,” the little man said, pushing back his frayed and slightly grimy shirt
sleeves to rub his forearms. “Don’t know how these scribblers do this, day
after day.”

          “Take a break,” Gabriel suggested. He rang the
bell and when a footman appeared in the doorway, said, “Bring us two glasses of
wine, if you please.”

          Green brightened as the footman went away
again. “Thank’ee, me lord, eh, my lord.”

          Gabriel wasn’t surprised that the man had not
found success on the stage. “You must live your role,” he advised him. “Be a
secretary, think as a secretary thinks, every minute of the day.”

          The little man gazed at him. “You sound like a
man who knows, my lord. You acted a lot, you have?”

          “In a manner of speaking,” Gabriel agreed. He
sometimes felt as if he had been playing a role for years, playing the
scapegoat, the rogue, the scoundrel. Was that who he was? He wasn’t sure that
he knew. He’d been hardly more than a boy when he’d been sent away in disgrace,
and since then, his role-playing had been largely a matter of survival.

          The footman returned with two glasses of port
on a silver tray. Gabriel took the glass the servant offered and sipped it
while Green eagerly accepted the other glass, then the servant bowed and
departed, shutting the door behind him.

          “I never afore acted off the stage, so to
speak,” Green continued. “I suppose the lady has ’er reasons.”

          “And we would do well not to question them,”
Gabriel said firmly, nodding toward the fire on the hearth and the comfortable
chairs set before the narrow desk. He lifted his glass; the wine was excellent.
“There are advantages, after all, to this unusual venue.”

          “Of yes, indeed, my lord,” the little man
agreed.

          Gabriel put down his glass. “I will leave you
to your work.”

          “If you say so, my lord.” Green sighed and
stretched his fingers, then once more picked up his pen.

          It wouldn’t do to linger here; the actor was
too inclined to gossip. Gabriel left the room and hesitated in the hallway, not
sure where to go. Gabriel had tried to tell himself he was only interested in
sanctuary, in the long-denied luxuries of a vermin-free bed and a warm bath. But
since he had begun to voluntarily exclude himself, as far was reasonable, from
the family, he had realized he had been enjoying something much more valuable.

          The pleasure of Psyche’s company and the
constant beguilement of her charm, the open acceptance of a bright and unusual
child, even Sophie’s tart observations which made him chuckle–Gabriel had
allowed himself the illusion of being in the midst of family; it was a sweet
fantasy, and he had relished it too much.

          But he had seen the shock and revulsion in
Psyche’s eyes when she’d realized that he was not just an actor, that he had a
real sin in his past, one that he had hoped she would never have cause to know.
The disgust he had glimpsed in her candid blue eyes had chilled him, had–be
truthful–wounded him, he who by all rights should be impervious to further
scorn. After all, he had had enough of that for a lifetime. So he had withdrawn
from them and had tried to stay as aloof as possible. He would not worry his
lovely employer, nor bring that look of revulsion back to her face.

           But he missed them. He could spend the
evenings at a series of gaming clubs repairing his empty pockets, but the
days–when he must stay inside in order to escape detection by Barrett’s
gang–the days were very long.

          He wandered into the morning room, which
fronted the street, and glanced out the lace-draped window. The sunshine was
golden, and the street busy with carriages and the occasional tradesman’s cart.
A dandy with white-topped boots rode by on a elegant bay whose neck was just a
little too short; on his way to Hyde Park, likely, to impress the ladies with
his horsemanship.

          A man in a brown suit stood in front of the
house next door; he looked out of place, and Gabriel’s gaze focused on him. Why
did–

          He heard someone call his name. Gabriel looked
around toward the open door, but the doorway was empty. He realized that the
sound came from above. He crossed the room and into the hall, on to the
staircase and glanced up; two landings over his head, Circe leaned over the
mahogany railing.

          “Come up and talk to me,” she suggested.

          He was tempted, but he shook his head. “I am
conversing with my–um–secretary,” he told her.

          “Then I shall come down.”

          And expose her to two impostors? Even worse.

          “No,” Gabriel said. “I’ve completed my
instructions.” He took the stairs at a rapid pace, thinking that he would pay a
brief visit, only.

          On the nursery floor, he found Circe waiting. “Come
into the school room,” she said. “We can sit down.”

          Her precocious poise made him hide a smile,
but he did as she bade him, taking a seat at the battered round table.

          “Where is Tellman?” he asked, looking over his
shoulder for the governess.

          “She went down to make me a tisane. I told her
I had a headache,” Circe told him.

          Gabriel frowned. Psyche would not like that he
was having a private conversation with her sister. “Perhaps I–”

          ”No,” Circe said, taking her seat across from
him. “Don’t make an excuse; that’s why I sent her away. I wish to talk to you. I
don’t really have a headache.”

          “No?” Gabriel tried not to laugh. When it came
to plots and schemes, he would back Circe against any comer. “Then why the
deception?”

          “I wanted to know why you have been avoiding
me. Are you angry at me?” Her clear green eyes studied his face.

          Gabriel sighed. “Of course not.”

          “Then why haven’t you come to see me? I had
enjoyed our conversations.”

          “As did I,” he agreed. He would not lie about
that, no matter what Psyche allowed.

          “Then–”

          ”Your sister does not think I am a suitable
companion for you,” he said simply. “And she is right.”

          “Why?”

          Gabriel found this child’s straightforward
inquiry harder to answer than a magistrate’s, and he’d had some experience with
those august personages, too.

          “Because I have–I have experiences in my past
that make me less than perfect as an acquaintance.”

          “I know that,” Circe agreed calmly.

          He was startled enough to demand, “You do? How?”

          She reached forward to touch his face, her
touch light and impersonal. “Those lines around the eyes–the upstairs chamber
maid, Jane, has the same. And the way your mouth clenches when you are
disturbed–”

          “Lines come with age, my dear,” Gabriel
protested, trying to laugh. “It means Jane and I are older than you, that is
all.”

          Circe shook her head. “Not just age,” she
said. “Jane lost her husband to scarlet fever years ago. That’s why she went
into service, to support herself. She’s happy here, mostly, but she still
carries the sorrow with her. And I think you carry sad memories, as well. I
should like to draw you, some day.”

          Gabriel was speechless.

          “Lily, one of our laundry maids, is the same
age as Jane, but she has eight brothers and sisters, and both her parents are
still living.” Circe paused, looking wistful at Lily’s good fortune. “She
visits them on her days off. Her father is a baker, and she has jolly times and
brings me back fresh sweet rolls. And she’s happy in her job, even though her
fingers are always wrinkled from the laundry tub. She says she likes the smell
of clean laundry, and she doesn’t mind hard work–her arms are as well-corded as
yours.”

          Gabriel gazed at this extraordinary child, who
saw with her artist’s eyes so much more than anyone would expect. “A hundred
years ago, you would have been in serious danger, you know. Witches were often
thrown into the closest pond.”

          Circe flashed her wide smile. “But I have no
black cauldron nor book of spells,” she pointed out.

          Gabriel was spared having to answer by
Tellman’s return with a tea tray and the tisane for her charge. The governess
frowned when she saw Gabriel, but Circe cut off whatever rebuke the woman was
about to offer.

          “I shall drink it in just a moment, Tellman,
thank you.” Circe glanced back at Gabriel, who was silent, aware that he had
earned the governess’ frown. He should have avoided Circe, as he knew that
Psyche wished. But Circe seemed to be just as determined as her older sister.