Chapter 16
“I blame myself,” Effie declared as she rummaged through the steamer trunk that sat on a bench at the end of her carved four-poster bed. “Come to London, I said. Go to the theater and the symphony. Visit the dressmaker. Kiss a handsome fellow.”
Nell was perched on the edge of Effie’s mattress, her cane lying on the embroidered coverlet next to her.
She well recalled the advice Effie had issued several months ago.
She’d urged Nell to see a little of the world, to experience something of life, before committing herself to the Academy for the remainder of her days.
“It wasn’t that,” Nell began.
“But Mr. Quincey of all men!” Effie uttered.
Nell winced. It was proving a greater challenge to assuage her friend’s outrage than she’d anticipated.
Effie had been fuming since they’d entered the vast upstairs bedchamber.
Her own, judging by her scattered luggage and the perfume bottles and plated hairbrush that sat on the dainty little silk-skirted dressing table.
But not hers alone. There was evidence of her husband’s presence in the shaving implements on the washstand and the pocket watch and pair of onyx cuff links that lay atop the low mahogany bureau.
They shared a bedroom, Nell realized. Yet more proof of the closeness Effie enjoyed with her new husband. Was it any wonder she looked askance at Nell’s marriage to Mr. Quincey?
“Effie, really,” Nell said. “Mr. Quincey isn’t that bad.”
“Oh no. Only stern, disapproving, and completely lacking in sentiment. And he dislikes dogs, did I mention?”
Franc raised his head from the tufted satin pillow where he lay curled up on the bed.
Nell gave the poodle a reassuring pet. “I’m sure he doesn’t,” she said. “Just because he’s fond of cats—”
“Obsessed with cats, more like. And with his paper. And with his own consequence.” Having located the item she was searching for (a flat green velvet box), Effie slammed shut the lid of her trunk. “He’s a thoroughly unpleasant gentleman.”
Nell understood why Effie might think so.
During her pursuit of Lord Compton, Effie had called on Miles at the Courant with Franc in tow, unaware that there would be cats present in his office.
And Franc didn’t care for cats. The result had been pure pandemonium.
Add to that, the fact that Effie had been lying about her identity, misrepresenting her intentions, and generally creating chaos wherever she went, and it was no mystery why she and Miles hadn’t got on.
Effie didn’t value order and method. While Miles had too much respect for them to ever appreciate chaos as a strategy. And if one didn’t appreciate chaos, one couldn’t wholly appreciate Effie.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nell said. “Mr. Quincey has many redeeming qualities.”
Effie came around the edge of the bed to join Nell, the velvet box in her hands. “Very well,” she said. “If that’s true, then name his best one.”
Nell could think of half a dozen of Miles’s good qualities at once. His loyalty. His sense of honor. His kindness to animals.
The way he kissed.
But that wouldn’t serve. Not as a defense to Effie’s ill opinion of him.
And it wasn’t his best quality in any case. That was something else. Something unique to him—as vexing as it was impressive.
“Regrettably,” she said, “his best quality is also his worst one.”
Effie elevated her brows in question.
Nell grimaced. “He pays attention.”
Effie studied Nell for a moment in silence. “I see.”
Heat rose in Nell’s cheeks.
Effie smiled. “Is that a blush, Miss Trewlove?”
“It is not,” Nell said.
Effie sank down beside her. The mattress dipped beneath her weight. “There’s much to be said for a man who pays attention.”
Nell met her friend’s eyes with a flash of rueful humor. “There were three separate bouquets of gardenias in my new bedroom when I arrived.”
“So,” Effie mused, “the dour Mr. Quincey isn’t, after all, lacking in sentiment.”
“No,” Nell said. “Which is nothing to the point. Ours is a marriage of convenience.”
“In truth?”
“Of course. What else could it be?”
Effie searched Nell’s face. “And your wedding night…?”
The heat in Nell’s cheeks deepened. “Was spent alone. Or rather, with one of Mr. Quincey’s cats.”
“Good heavens,” Effie said. “You poor dear.”
“Not at all,” Nell replied, a trifle defensive. “I slept extraordinarily well.”
“You do know that you’re welcome to stay here?”
“That’s very generous of you but—”
“I would insist upon it if I thought you would heed me. But you won’t, will you? You’ll honor this marriage out of some foolish sense of duty to the Academy, when all the while your heart is breaking.”
“It isn’t breaking.”
“Nell—”
“I won’t say I haven’t shed any tears, because I have. I didn’t wish to leave my position. The Academy is my home. It’s where I still long to be.” Nell huffed a sad little laugh at how pathetic she must sound. “I’m afraid I’ve not entirely come to terms with being cut adrift.”
Effie rested a consoling hand on hers. “Miss Corvus should never have asked you to go. She should have stood by you, come what may. Even if—”
“Even if her loyalty to me damaged the prospects of every other girl at the Academy? If it affected the teachers? If it ruined the school? No.” Nell shook her head. “You understand as well as I do why Miss Corvus acted as she did. We’d have done no differently in her place.”
“Perhaps not,” Effie admitted grudgingly. “That doesn’t mean I have to be happy about it.”
“If it helps, she’s indicated that I might eventually be permitted to return.”
“When?”
“Someday. When enough time has passed and the gossip has died down. She says I might teach again. Possibly even live there.”
Effie considered the prospect with a frown. “And Mr. Quincey doesn’t object.”
“No,” Nell said.
It wasn’t exactly true. She’d only asked Miles about the first part. The teaching part. She’d said nothing to him about returning to the Academy to live.
“Then all that’s left is to wait,” Effie said. “While you do…” She passed Nell the velvet box. “Perhaps this might cheer you.”
Nell opened the hinged lid. Inside, two gilded hairpins lay on a bed of green velvet. They were made in the shape of delicate golden butterflies. She caught her breath. “Oh, goodness.”
“I bought them for you at the same shop that made my dragonfly hairpins,” Effie said. “And look—” She removed one from the box, pressing a fingertip to the sturdy metal wires to illustrate their strength. “They’re perfect for lock-picking.”
“They are perfect,” Nell said. “Simply perfect.” She embraced Effie. “Thank you, my dear. You are too good.”
“Nonsense. It’s you who’s the good one. And with these, you shall be even better.” Effie squeezed her tight before releasing her. “No door will ever be locked to you again.”
“I shall wear them always,” Nell vowed.
“You can begin now.” Effie placed them in Nell’s hair for her, securing them in the roll at her nape. “Lady Belwood notices outward appearances. If we’re to call on her, yours must be comme il faut.”
“I wasn’t aware you were still in contact with her ladyship,” Nell remarked.
Effie drew back after securing the final pin in Nell’s tresses.
“I don’t claim she likes me very much, but…
I do make a point of nurturing the connection.
She knows everyone worth knowing in London, and since many people still believe I was something like her ward, I’ve seen no useful reason to dispel the fiction. ”
“Does Miss Corvus know?”
“Should she?”
Nell gave her friend a speaking look. Effie was notorious for not following the rules.
But Miss Corvus made those rules for a reason.
It didn’t matter if those reasons were sometimes a mystery.
“She was the one who provided the introduction. She might not have intended the acquaintance to last any longer than our business lasted with Lord Compton.”
“If you’re worried that Lady Belwood will speak out of turn, you needn’t be,” Effie said. “She can’t even bring herself to mention Miss Corvus’s name.”
“Which should be sufficient to warn you,” Nell replied. “Miss Corvus often has plans within plans, the purpose of which only she can discern. By ignoring her commands, you could very well be disturbing a hornet’s nest.”
“Lady Belwood? A hornet?” Effie scoffed. “Come now. She’s a manageable creature. It can surely do no harm to keep in contact with her.”
“Effie…”
“Besides,” Effie added, undaunted, “her ladyship and I still occasionally travel in the same circles. I can hardly pretend I don’t know her, can I?”
Nell privately acknowledged her point. “Will she help us?”
“Reluctantly, but yes. Whatever power Miss Corvus holds over her hasn’t diminished. Lady Belwood is still wary of anything to do with the Academy. She’ll oblige us, if only to get us out the door the sooner.” Effie stood. “Shall we go?”
“By all means.” Nell rose, retrieving her cane.
Effie cast it a glance. She was unable to disguise the flash of guilt in her eyes.
Nell didn’t give her a chance to indulge it.
She’d wasted enough time on her injury in this life.
All those months recovering under the care of questionable physicians, and all the regret-filled years that followed.
It was in the past now, and they were here, firmly in the present, with far more important things to occupy their minds.
“Do you mind if we stop at the post office first?” Nell asked. “I’ve a sampler to send to Miss Corvus.”
“If you like.” Effie collected her black silk parasol. It was as stylish as it was lethal, boasting a tip constructed of razor-sharp steel. “Is it about Miss Brent?”
“It is.”
“You said she was special?”
“Unusually intelligent, the matron at the workhouse tells me. As well as being a talented mimic.” Nell followed Effie to the bedroom door. “The matron claims Miss Brent can duplicate any accent she hears to flawless effect.”
“Intriguing.”