The Pleasure Merchant (40 page)

“Don’t get me wrong, Miss Rasa… when you developed into such a bright, sensitive, amusing and—if I may—
most
attractive
young woman, it wasn’t as if I never questioned my resolve. But… a vow is a vow, and more than that, it was the right thing to do.”

I used every bit of the self-control he had taught me to keep any emotion but good humor from my voice.

“But what if that had turned out to be my heart’s desire?”

He looked at me evenly. “Well,” he said, equally blithe, “you know my rates, and you have money of your own—quite a bit of it now, thanks to that awful Tom Dawne.” He chuckled. “I admit, it’s amusing to imagine you using your father’s inheritance to purchase my services… but I can think of many more interesting ways to spend it.”

“We can discuss that after I return from the north,” I said, getting to my feet. The eastern windows of the sitting room looked a little brighter than they had; it was high time for me to be getting back. I needed to pack, and get Sabina roused and ready to go.

“Let me just tell Mrs. Knoyll I’m leaving,” he said. “It won’t take but a moment.”

“Stay with her.” I was surprised to find I no longer felt any resentment toward my master’s lover. I still loved Mr. Blythe, and indeed I always would… but now that I understood why he had never responded to my obvious affection for him, I found I could love him at a distance, without considering Mrs. Knoyll a rival.

Knowing more of Reed—his history, and his own misplaced affections—also helped me to let go… and to forgive myself, for all my various foolishnesses.

“Don’t be silly. Of course I’ll see you off.” He hesitated, then embraced me, kissing me on the cheek. “My dear girl. You have grown into
such
a woman! And it was all your own doing, you know. It’s impossible to teach anyone anything… you can only show them how to learn. I have been more than lucky to have such a pupil as you. You—you won’t stay away long… will you?”

“I’ll come home as soon as I can,” I promised.

And I did… but not before some very curious events took place during my absence.

It would be my pleasure to tell you what I know of them.

She had been late for their last meeting by fully half an hour, so it wasn’t until the clock struck four that Tom began to feel some anxiety over Tabula’s failure to appear at Button’s Coffee House. Up until the end of the final, sonorous
bong
he kept telling himself it was the coffee—that unused to drinking so much of it he had become jittery—but when the hour sounded he began to suspect he’d been stood up. When half four chimed, he knew it.

Tom’s temper flared. The utter fucking nerve of that chit—who did she think she was? How dare she fail to attend her benefactor! He, who had given her literally everything, up to and including her own identity! He, who had given her the means to escape her life of servitude and moral indignity!

Unable to remain seated, Tom stalked into the street, very nearly stepping in a great pile of horse turds in his rage. He was too busy turning over Miss Rasa’s betrayal in his mind to pay attention to his feet. Why had she allowed him to kiss her, to embrace her, caress her familiarly, like a lover—or at least one whom she would not object to having as a lover? It made her cold neglect of him today most unaccountable!

Tom stopped in his tracks, eliciting not a few muttered curses from passersby annoyed at being forced to suddenly stop and change course to avoid him. Though their acquaintance had been admittedly short, it seemed awfully unlike Miss Rasa to be so rude as to completely blow off an engagement.

But he wouldn’t put such behavior past Mangum Blythe.

Blythe had to be the rudest, most disgusting picaroon Tom had ever had the displeasure of meeting. The man had absolutely humiliated him last night, and in front of the girl of his dreams, no less. He’d taken obvious pleasure in it, too, which was even more despicable. Tom had come to 17 Sackville Street to have a nice meal with Tabula and meet the man whom she called master, only to be driven away like a dog by the impossible fellow.

The man’s behavior had clearly wounded her feelings; Tabula had wanted Tom to see that Blythe was no monster, but he’d seen the truth. She was employed by an unscrupulous knave and charlatan.

It seemed entirely possible that the hateful blackguard was keeping his ward away from Tom out of jealousy and spite; preventing her from coming, or even sending word to her savior. Yes—that must be it!

Poor Tabula! Yes, he ought to think of her, not his own wounded dignity. In fact, he ought do more than think of her—he ought to go to her, to rescue her, and to show her master that he was not a man to be toyed with, or denied.

The cab ride across town was quick enough, but every moment seemed an hour to Tom as he envisioned all sorts of scenarios, the most elaborate of which involved him bursting through the door, discovering Tabula tied to a chair, weeping as Mr. Blythe harangued her over her choice to bestow her affections to one so lowly as Tom Dawne. No, to
transfer
her affections, for Tom suspected that before her interest in him, she had been besotted with the devil—for devil Mangum Blythe surely was, as Mr. Bewit had alleged. Only a devil would take advantage of an invalid, as Mr. Blythe had done. Miss Rasa was a victim of circumstance—she would never have chosen to become what she was if not for her loss of memory. She was too good for what she did, and certainly too good for Mangum Blythe.

When the cab turned onto Sackville Street Tom leaped out before it had come to a full stop. He flung a handful of coins at the driver and came close to running up the steps to pound on the door.

“I must see Miss Rasa at once,” he demanded, when Mr. Blythe’s Negro manservant, or whatever he was, opened the door. “Tell her Tom Dawne is here, and will brook no attempts to prevent our rendezvous.”

“She’s…” Whatever the fellow was going to say, he decided against it. “Will you wait, Mr. Dawne?”

“No!” Tom knocked his new glass-topped walking stick several times against the tile floor, heedless of the flunky’s winces. “I
insist
on being shown to her, but if you will not, at least tell where she is currently, for she is not where she is supposed to be. Which is with me.”

“I see,” said the young man, so seriously Tom thought he must be mocking him. “Please… may I show you into the drawing room, Mr. Dawne? You will be much more comfortable there than in the foyer.”

“No need to show him anywhere.” Mangum Blythe had appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in an outrageous parrot-green banyan, a matching cap perched on his head. “I’ll speak with him right here.”

“Come down here, you scoundrel, and tell me where you’ve stashed Miss Rasa!”

“I’m not sure that the location of my apprentice is any business of yours, Mr. Dawne,” said Mr. Blythe evenly, as he indicated his lackey ought to scarper.

“It most certainly
is
my business!” Tom pointed to Mr. Blythe with the tip of his walking stick. “She was supposed to meet me today, to discuss some private business of significant interest to us both. She failed to come, nor did she send a servant with an excuse. I know Miss Rasa, and I know she would
never
do such a thing unless she was injured, ill, or prevented from doing so. Therefore I ask you, Mr. Blythe,
where is Tabula Rasa?”

“Stop your bellowing.” One hand on the rail, Mr. Blythe descended slowly. “She’s not here, so she won’t hear you carrying on like a heifer in labor, but the neighbors might, and that’s just embarrassing.”

“What would you know of embarrassment? You are a man to whom
shame
has never been formally introduced!”

“Good one,” said Mr. Blythe. “But really, Mr. Dawne, I must insist you cease this coming into my house and insulting me. It’s rude.”

He had a point, but Tom would not concede it, not to him. “If she’s not here, then where is she?”

“She was forced to leave town rather unexpectedly. I did not know of her meeting with you, or I would have sent word. You have my apologies.”

Tom was stunned. She had left town? “Miss Rasa didn’t tell you we were meeting?” Mr. Blythe’s apologetic smile confirmed Tom’s worst fears. “She… she forgot about me?”

“Don’t be too hard on her, she had rather a long night, and packing is always such a nightmare, you know, especially at the last minute.”

“I don’t believe you.” Tom’s reason reasserted itself. “The business she and I were to have discussed was too important to have slipped her mind.”

“Was it about Hallux Dryden? She already took care of that by herself. Went to see him last night, actually, after you departed.”

“What?!”

“Did I stutter? I’m sorry.”

It occurred to Tom that Mr. Blythe might be lying. “I heard you! I just can’t believe it!”

“Why? You don’t think a protégé of mine would need an introduction to a gentleman? Especially one whom she can call cousin? She simply went over to 12 Bloomsbury Square and spoke with him. They had quite the tête-à-tête, to hear her report.” Mr. Blythe produced a snuff-box, and took a pinch before continuing. “Alas, I don’t believe she’ll be going back. Mr. Dryden, despite being family, proved… not quite to her taste. She said he seemed a bit of a blowhard—one who preferred hearing his own voice than having a conversation.” Mr. Blythe sneezed; tucked away the snuff-box. “As it turns out, in some cases, apparently you
can
pick your family.”

Tom didn’t think Mr. Blythe was lying to him—but that didn’t answer his most pressing questions:
why
had she done it? Tabula had completely dashed his dreams of supporting her, sitting beside her as she learned the whole of her history. He had given her back to herself, but only partially; if she had allowed him to escort her, her enlightenment would have been all his doing!

The depth of Tabula’s treachery was staggering; her treatment of him, deplorable. Tom was forced to conclude that she had been acting a part the previous night; that the girl had used him in order to get what she wanted—her money, and the information only he possessed. Now that she had her inheritance and her life’s story, she would likely never think of him again! And after all he had done for her! What injustice—what ingratitude! She and her master were a real pair, yes they were.

“Surely you can understand how anxious she was to get the whole affair sorted.” Mr. Blythe canted his head to the left. “I say! You seem upset! Why on earth would it matter if she went with you?”

He wasn’t smiling, but Tom sensed the man was laughing at him.

“I’m glad you think it’s so funny,” he snapped. “It was
supposed
to be a gift.”

“Why, Mr. Dawne, you did give her a gift! You told her how to find out about her past. It was very precious, and I can say without a bit of doubt that she appreciated it. I’m sure when she returns she’ll find you and thank you, it was just that she had to—”

“But she had no right to go on her own!” The words exploded out of him. Some part of him was aware how petulant he sounded, but he didn’t care.

“What strange notions the young will cherish!” Mr. Blythe shook his head. “I’ve never heard such a thing in my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… after I give someone something, I don’t believe I have the right to tell them how to use it. A gift is for the person I give it to, not for me.” He smiled. “Was this gift given to Miss Rasa, or to yourself, Mr. Dawne?”

“How dare you!” To be smirked at by this insufferable man, this corrupter of innocents and ruiner of lives! He was so damn smug, it was as if he had…

“You—you told her to go, didn’t you?”

Mr. Blythe shook his head. “No. I simply suggested that if she wished to, she could handle such a delicate matter on her own.”

“But you’re her master! Surely you knew she would do whatever
you
thought best.”

Mr. Blythe laughed. “If only—but she brought you home, even after I expressed disbelief that any disinterested man would hand over a fortune to a girl he barely knew.”