Chapter 20
twenty
Aweek had passed since the incident, and Effie hadn’t seen Tristan once, even though she’d visited Rowan regularly.
He’d been busy with his company after the financial disaster caused by the bombing.
For reasons she didn’t understand, the incident had caused him to lose money, aside from the material damage caused to the locomotive.
He’d been either out of the house or locked in his study with Mr. Fleet and other investors.
She hoped to see him that day when she visited Rowan so she could talk to him.
The footman helped her don her coat in the hallway as Jane made sure the carrier with Kettle was properly shut.
“Thank you for coming, Jane.”
Jane petted Pepper. “Don’t mention it. I’m always happy to see your pets, and Turi loves them, too.”
The Pomeranian showed his short but pointed teeth at Pepper and growled at the carrier where Kettle was hissing.
“Kettle doesn’t like being locked up.” Jane jumped when Kettle let out a long, high-pitched meow.
“It’s for a short trip. I’m sure Turi, Pepper, and Kettle will cheer Rowan up.”
“Are you going to see Montcrest again?” Papa walked into the hallway. “I need my coat,” he said to the footman who nodded.
“Not this again. Rowan desperately needs some company. He’s rather blue after a week in bed, and his leg bothers him.”
“As long as you don’t spend time with Montcrest.” He put his hat on. “And don’t go around without letting me know where you are.”
“I’m not a child,” she said dryly.
Right then, Kettle let out an ear-piercing wail that made everyone jump.
Papa shook his head. “Kettle agrees with me. Please, Effie. Anarchists keep bombing London.”
That was true. She kissed his cheek. “I won’t be late, and I won’t go anywhere else.”
The drive in the carriage was short but uncomfortable. Kettle meowed, Pepper wiggled his tail like a windmill, and Turi scowled at everyone like an old matron annoyed by rambunctious young people.
They drew a collective breath when they climbed out of the carriage. Kettle was the only one still complaining, howling like a trapped banshee.
“Nearly there, Kettle.” She cooed, but the cat was beyond comfort.
They didn’t need to ring the bell. Kettle informed the household of their presence.
Harris opened the door, his surprise clear as he looked at the cat carrier that was making such racket. “What is this, my lady?”
“It’s Kettle.” She forced a smile. “A surprise for Lord Rowan.”
“I’m afraid the surprise has been spoilt.” Harris led them to the drawing room. “Lord Rowan is here.” He winced when Kettle increased the volume of his lamentation.
“Lady Effie. Lady Vaughan.” Rowan stood up from the armchair, using a crutch.
“We brought you company,” Jane said over Kettle’s wailing.
Turi wriggled out of her arms and ran about the room, scoffing.
“Don’t stand up for me.” She put the carrier with Kettle on the floor.
Pepper tried to sniff Turi, but the Pomeranian barked in annoyance.
Rowan’s eyes brightened. “Thank you. What a treat.”
“I hope so,” she said under her breath.
The moment she opened the carrier, Kettle stopped crying, which was an improvement, but he didn’t dash out as she’d expected.
Rowan offered his hands to the dogs. Turi licked it immediately, but Pepper didn’t come near him.
“Pepper is quite shy.” She stroked his head.
“He’s beautiful.” He used his crutch to walk to Pepper and stretched out his arm.
Pepper sniffed his hand, twirling his tail. Kettle didn’t leave the carrier yet, but the hard glint in his eyes promised retribution. Instead, Turi seemed to be in a race, running around the sofa.
“Turi,” Jane called him. “Be quiet. I don’t understand his behaviour. He’s usually very calm.”
Wasted breath. Turi was too excited to listen, and his enthusiasm was contagious.
As Pepper walked around the room, trying to imitate Turi, Rowan observed him. “He limps.”
Effie scolded herself inwardly. How couldn’t she have thought about that? “Pepper was born with a lame leg. But as you can see, it doesn’t bother him. He won’t be a hunter, but he’s my friend like Kettle, and he’s sweet and loving.”
The smile vanished from Rowan’s face as he used his crutch to follow Pepper. “We have something in common.”
Jane snatched Turi from the floor, stopping his wild race, and exchanged a glance with Effie.
“I’m sorry, Rowan. I didn’t think Pepper might upset you.”
“Oh, no. I’m not upset. I understand him. He makes me think.”
“About what?”
“He doesn’t complain, does he?” Rowan lowered his gaze. “He does his best. I’ve been quite upset in the past few days.”
“Understandably so,” Jane said.
He scrubbed the back of his neck. “I wasn’t very nice to the people around me.”
Effie could only imagine what Rowan was going through. “I’m sure your brother and your servants understand. They all love you.”
He nodded and caressed Pepper again. “There’s a lot to learn from animals.”
The setter repaid the attention enthusiastically, licking Rowan’s hand. Turi wanted to be part of the party and joined them, licking Rowan’s hand as well.
Rowan giggled. “They tickle me.”
She laughed. “You’re already friends.”
“That was easy, and what about—Hey! He’s gone.” Rowan tilted his head towards the carrier. “Kettle isn’t there.”
They turned towards the carrier.
“What? I didn’t see him leaving it.” She searched around, a thousand thoughts going through her head. “Kettle? Come here.”
Jane huffed. “I think it was Turi. He distracted us. Kettle could be anywhere.”
Effie searched under the sofa, behind the curtains, and on the shelves, but there was no trace of the black cat. Worry set in her stomach. What if he ran in the street? Or if he got stuck somewhere? He was so upset that he might have gone anywhere to feel safe.
She put a hand on her chest.
“Lady Effie, don’t worry. We should split up to look for him,” Rowan said. “Lady Vaughan and I will search the next room.”
“Won’t you get tired?” she asked.
“I’ll use both crutches, and the physician told me I need to move.” He hopped to the other crutch and employed both of them. “My foot won’t touch the floor.”
“You may want to search the corridor and the stairs while we search the ground floor,” Jane said.
“Yes, I’ll do that.”
As Rowan and Jane headed to the next room, she found Harris in the corridor.
“Do you need anything, my lady?” he asked.
“I lost my cat. Have you seen him?”
Harris looked alarmed. “A cat? Roaming freely? I thought he would stay in the carrier.”
“I couldn’t leave him there for long. The plan has always been to let him out once here, but he vanished.”
Harris dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. “I’ll go downstairs and ask the servants to help.”
“I’ll go upstairs.” As she went up the austere dark stairs, a black tail flickered through her field of vision. “Kettle!”
She followed the tail. The scoundrel sped up and rounded a corner as if to say, ‘serves you right.’
“Come here, Kettle. I’m sorry I kept you in the carrier.” She chased him down a corridor until he disappeared into a room.
“Kettle. You naughty—” She came to a grinding halt as she bumped against a hard wall of muscles.
“Effie,” Tristan said at the same time as she said, “Ouch!”
He took her elbows to steady her. “What’s happening?”
Kettle slipped through their legs like an eel and vanished again in the blink of an eye.
“Is that your cat?” Tristan gazed around.
“Kettle! Come here.” She clenched a fist. “I don’t know why I bother calling him. He never comes. One could spend hours trying to find the perfect name for a cat. All wasted.”
He smiled. “Good morning, by the way.”
She smiled back. “My apologies for the intrusion. I thought my pets would cheer Rowan up. The situation was perfectly under control a moment ago.”
“I think he’s gone to the library. Come.”
“Perfect,” she said, faking a calm she didn’t feel.
Her feeble optimism took a vicious blow when she entered the library. The room had a high ceiling, tall shelves, and dark nooks as far as the eye could see. Searching for Kettle would be like searching for the proverbial needle.
“It’ll take ages to find him.” She slouched her shoulders.
“Where’s your optimism? At least he won’t escape from here.” Tristan closed the door behind them. “Kettle, come here.”
She glanced at him. “Never underestimate what a cat can do. Cats are superior creatures, I tell you.”
“It’s worth a try.”
They walked down the aisle between two shelves offering dozens of great places for a cat to hide, climb, and observe without being seen.
“The bruise is almost gone.” He searched a half-empty shelf. “I’m glad.”
“My cheek is still tender.”
“I hate seeing that bruise on you,” he said in all seriousness.
“It was nothing. Your cut was worse. Did Dr. O’Neil check it?”
“No need. It’s fine.” He searched over a shelf, closing the conversation.
If he didn’t want to be pestered about the cut. Fine. She wouldn’t insist. She crouched to check the floor. “Kettle! Please.”
Not even a hiss could be heard.
She walked on, stopping every time a shadow flickered. At the end of the aisle, they turned to the next one.
“You’ve been busy.” She checked the space behind a vase.
“Repairing the locomotive proved to be a longer and more expensive affair than I’d thought.” He tilted his head up towards the top shelves. “Thank you for keeping Rowan company. He isn’t in a good mood, is he?”
“I don’t blame him. He can’t walk without crutches and seems rather lonely.” She paused in the middle of the section on botany. “If I may say something.”
“You don’t need my permission.”
“Can’t you find the time to be with him? He needs you.”
“I tried, and he asked me to leave. But I’ll try again. You’re right. I spend the evenings with him, but I guess it’s not enough, and to be honest, he doesn’t speak much when I’m with him.”
“Why?”
He gave a little shrug, but she wasn’t fooled. The way he lowered his eyelashes belied his pretended nonchalance. “He’s intimidated by me.”
“I can’t imagine why.”
A corner of his mouth quirked up before he turned serious. “I think that’s Kettle. Over there!” He made a dash for the other end of the aisle.
She caught the view of a furry ball darting away. “Kettle!”
They both skidded to a stop on the polished floor at the end of the aisle. She gazed around. Pots of rhododendrons, marble busts of ancient philosophers, and a couple of armchairs crammed that corner. No black cat.
“He was there.” He turned around, an incredulous expression on his face. “He vanished.”
“Welcome into my world.”
He exhaled, hands on his hips. “That’s why I prefer horses. Obedient and easy to train.”
“No need to be harsh on cats. It’s not a cat-astrophe.” She laughed, but he didn’t crack a smile. “Oh, come on. It was a silly joke, but you could smile. You really work too much.”
“Sorry if I’m not feline happy today.”
She stared at him with her mouth open. “My goodness. Have you just made a joke?”
“I do work too much.”
They both laughed. To her surprise, that was the first time she’d heard him laugh with abandon. His face transformed from cold to warm in a moment. He looked more handsome when the worry lines on his brow smoothed.
“Two adults beaten by a cat.” He kept searching. “He can’t be far.”
“I’m sorry about your locomotive.” She followed him down another aisle, this one on husbandry. “I hope they find the thug who put the bomb at the station.”
He didn’t say anything, but his mood changed again.
“May I ask you something personal?” she asked. “Very personal and intimate.”
“Yes, although I’m surprised you’re interested in my personal, intimate life.”
“I am since your proposal.”
He cast her a glance before checking under the shelf. “Ask away.”
“I heard gossip of you meeting your mistress in a flat close to Chelsea.”
He flashed a crooked smile. “A mistress. Interesting. Gossip is only that—hearing something you like about someone you don’t like.”
She waited for him to add something else, but he didn’t. So which part of the gossip was fabricated? The mistress, the flat in Chelsea, or everything?
“I do like you,” she said.
He spun towards her with such speed she feared he might have pulled a muscle. “Do you now?”
“Yes, but let’s get back to the question. What do you mean?” she said.
“That you shouldn’t listen to gossip. It never gets anything right. I don’t have a mistress.”
That was a relief and yet another proof of how unreliable gossip was. She’d scolded Jane for listening to gossip, but she’d done the same.
“Please don’t believe everything you hear about me.” He opened and closed his fist. The skin on the knuckles was cracked, and a joint was swollen.
“What happened to your hand?”
“Boxing.”
“Don’t you use gloves?”
He pointed at a corner. “He’s over there,” he whispered. “He isn’t moving. I think he’s run out of steam.”
She followed his gaze. Kettle was perched over a copy of The Nine Lives of a Cat: A Tale of Wonder by Charles Bennett.
They both laughed.