Chapter 12
Caroline was quiet that afternoon. She sat in her corner, stroking Romulus’s fur and gazing out of the carriage window.
She had an abstracted air, as though she did not really see the scenery whipping past. Gervaise found himself stepping into the fray with Canon Petrie, giving a helpful prompt whenever the old man’s ramblings happened to dwindle and nodding and murmuring encouragement as he held forth on various subjects.
The whole time though, his eyes sought out Caroline’s averted profile.
She had rather a nice profile, now he came to think about it.
Her expression was a little grave perhaps, stern even.
Rather like a governess who was too attractive for her own good.
One that fathers chased after and mothers worried about.
She was frowning now, displaying her nice dark brows to advantage.
No doubt she was worrying about what she was going to do when they reached London on the morrow.
He frowned. He would have to mention Uncle George and his need for organization, but when?
That was the question. He shot a surreptitious look in Canon Petrie’s direction.
It was damnably awkward with the old boy present.
Was it his imagination or was his snowy head nodding?
His faltering conversation had dwindled out sometime in the last five minutes, and his eyelids drooped.
Remus stretched out, spreading his little paws, and Gervaise sent him a warning look not to sink his pin-like claws into the sleepy clergyman.
At this moment, Romulus sprang up onto the seat beside him and the crisis was averted, for Remus instantly rounded on him and they collapsed together in a tangle of limbs.
Canon Petrie let out a muffled snore, his chin sinking to his chest.
Gervaise turned his head. “I’ve been thinking,” he began without preamble. “How are you at organizing things?”
“Things?” She turned to look at him with surprise.
“Menus, libraries…personal engagements, diaries, that sort of thing.”
“Well, I have some experience,” she answered cautiously. “I used to do some of those tasks for Mama. Why do you ask?”
“I am thinking of my uncle George. He is in dire need of some kind of secretary.”
“You think he might employ me in the role?” she asked, eyes widening.
“I could perhaps persuade him to give you a trial period.”
“Do you really think so?” She clasped her hands together. She did that sometimes, he had noticed. He rather thought it denoted hopefulness.
“I do. My uncle and I have been…estranged let us say, for some ten months now. He seeks rapprochement. I am not averse to the idea. He wants to introduce me to his new bride, no doubt for us to present a reconciled family front to polite society. I want him to employ you as a secretary. It’s a fair trade-off. ”
“Is it?” she asked, looking a little doubtful.
“Of course. He forgives me for not marrying Miss Blessing, and I forgive him for plotting to oust me as his heir.”
“Families are complicated things,” she murmured. “What is he like? Oh, not that I am in any position to refuse him as an employer,” she said hastily. “I was just curious. Is he like you?”
Gervaise’s eyebrows shot up. “He is not,” he answered dryly.
“Uncle enjoys his meals, he employs the finest of French chefs, he relishes his clarets and his burgundies. He does not enjoy his bouts of gout. He likes to sally forth to soirées with duchesses and reminisce about the good old days. He likes to stroll along to his club and lament the fact the country has gone to the dogs. Do you get the general impression?”
“I do.”
“Not exactly scintillating society but he is tolerable in the main.”
“And he would not think a man better suited for the role of his secretary?” Caroline asked, looking faintly anxious.
“He probably would but he is also quite lazy and hates putting himself out in any way. Your turning up would be quite providential and I’m sure you will soon set about making yourself quietly indispensable.”
Again, she looked doubtful, though she nodded all the same. “And just how would you introduce me to this uncle of yours?” she asked hesitantly.
Gervaise shrugged. “I would say you are a close, personal friend of Viscountess Faris and a neighbor of hers in the country. Uncle is quite a snob. He likes to collect titles among his acquaintance.”
“He can’t be that much of a snob if one of his closest friends is a purveyor of bottled fruits,” Caroline pointed out.
He smirked. “Ah, but money trumps all. Surely you know that, my dear Caroline.”
Her expression turned immediately somber. “Yes, sadly. I’ve been wondering how I am to find lodgings once I reach London. I have no money, you know.”
“Yes, I am aware. I think it might be best if I take you along with me to Melbury Square as soon as we reach London.”
“Melbury Square?”
“My uncle’s house.”
She brightened. “You mean to secure the position for me up front?”
“I think that might be best. Then we can set about finding you an inexpensive hotel for a few nights until we have everything set in place.”
“You would really do that for me, my lord?” she asked gratefully.
“I would.” Even he sounded mildly surprised about the fact.
They reached Reading around seven o’clock and shortly after were set down at The Royal Oak, where they were shown up to their rooms. Gervaise descended again shortly after to set the kittens down in the garden and smoke while they went about their business.
He would have to contact Carstairs as soon as they reached London.
He knew the building had nearly been completed for their new business venture but the last letter he had received from him had been practically indecipherable.
It seemed they had acquired a third business partner Gervaise did not know about, to help with the escalating costs.
Presumably someone with deep pockets, Gervaise surmised. He just hoped to God it was someone at least fairly steady. The honorable Ralph Carstairs might be the fourth son of Baron Fenby, but he had some damn rackety friends and picked up all sorts of acquaintance about town.
Dismissing Ralph from his thoughts, he retrieved the kittens and made his way back into The Royal Oak.
No sooner had he sought out the parlor and greeted Caroline than Canon Petrie was ushered in to join them.
Gervaise frowned while the elderly clergyman looked rather startled at the sight of them both.
“Oh, er, I had not realized…that is, I thought…” He turned rather helplessly to the landlord.
“Are you not all dining together?” that stout individual asked. “Only I thought you were.”
“That is fine,” Gervaise said, relenting when he caught sight of the pleading look in Caroline’s eye. “We are all old friends by this point.” In truth, he could have wished the old man to the devil, but he was harmless enough, just damnably in the way.
“Are you sure this is not a terrible imposition?” the older man asked anxiously as the landlord set down a bottle of wine and some glasses on the table.
“No, no,” Gervaise replied. “We will be very merry together; I have no doubt.” If there was a trace of dryness in his voice, the canon did not appear to hear it, though he noticed Caroline avoided meeting his eye.
They were served first with boiled cod accompanied with egg sauce and parsnips. The kittens received a good deal of the plain fish from all three diners as fortunately the sauce was on the side. This was followed by roast lamb with cauliflower and broad beans.
The food was edible but not as good as the previous evening, in Gervaise’s estimation. A dessert of bread-and-butter pudding somewhat made up for this, though he noticed Caroline ate very little of it. Canon Petrie talked earnestly about his travels in France in his younger days.
When questioned, Gervaise admitted he had visited that country before now.
Given little choice, he ended up talking politely about the charm of its rustic villages and medieval towns while the canon lamented the rise of factories and industrialization, which he appeared to believe constituted a modern blight on the land.
“France is surely no worse than Britain or Germany in that respect,” Gervaise opined.
“If anything, I would say it is considerably behind us when it comes to modernization and change.” To his disappointment, Caroline had disengaged from the conversation altogether by this point and seemed content playing with the cats.
He suspected she had never so much as left England, so he supposed he could not blame her.
Before the canon could respond, she rose from her seat. “I hope you gentlemen will excuse me, I find myself rather tired and in need of a good night’s rest before the final leg of our journey tomorrow.”
“No, don’t take them,” Gervaise said swiftly when she stooped to pick up the kittens. “I’ll have them in with me tonight.”
She looked surprised. “Oh, but—”
“They will need taking out in the early hours,” he reminded her. “And I don’t want you stumbling around in the dark in your nightgown.” His words seemed to pull her up short and her lips formed a soundless oh of comprehension.
“Very well, in that case, I will wish you both a good night.”
“Good night,” he and the canon duly echoed.
He tipped his head to watch her as she exited the room, though there was really nothing to draw his eye in her sensible traveling gown, nor in the practical way she had secured her hair at her nape.
Nothing at all. He gave his head a shake.
“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked, reaching for his cigarette case.