Chapter Fifteen
After Allan, his lady, and his brothers and sisters had planned their assault on ton events and demolished the refreshments, they consulted Moriarty’s lead bodyguard about their departure. He was of the same mind as Melody. The main street would be safest, because it was full of constables.
The man sent teams of bodyguards to inspect and accompany the four carriages from the stables behind the house to the front door, and to remain for the excursion to Hyde Park.
The family left the house without incident, and drove to the park, only a few streets away. There, they elected to walk together across the grounds while the carriages proceeded around the carriage way to meet them at the other end.
It was the last hour before sunset, with only a few clouds in the sky—even the ubiquitous smoke was clearer here in the park.
As Verity had predicted when she suggested this excursion, the upper sort were out in force, though there were plenty of common people too, all taking advantage of the break in the weather.
Word must have traveled swiftly through the park about the presence of the Sheppard brothers and their wives, for soon onlookers crowded around them—or at least as close around them as the bodyguards would allow.
They only let people inside their perimeter if one of the wives—or, more rarely, one of the brothers—recognized someone and gave them an invitation.
With one exception. A girl who dove under the arms of two of the bodyguards, shouting, “Mama!”
Melody caught her in her arms. “Harriet! Darling!”
Allan nodded to the bodyguards and in doing so, saw who was beyond the barrier they formed with their bodies.
“Damnation.” The secret of his daughter’s continued existence had just been exploded.
Lydia was gazing at him with longing, and there, too, was Phineas, arm in arm with a pretty woman who looked like a pale copy of Melody.
She had a boy by the hand, and was dissuading him from following the child Harriet. Benjie, Allan supposed.
They must have come after Harriet in haste. Phineas was holding an easel under one arm. Lydia had a drawing board and the boy was wearing an unbuckled satchel over one shoulder.
And four fit-looking people—two men and two women—who had that alert and slightly dangerous air of a Moriarty guard shadowed their steps, and were nodding at the brothers’ guards.
With a beckoning motion, Allan indicated that the little group should approach. His family and Mel’s entered the protected space, and those he supposed to be the bodyguards assigned to them spread out to join the defensive perimeter.
“I thought you were supposed to be in hiding,” Allan said to Phineas even as he hugged his daughter with one arm while shaking Phineas’s hand in greeting with the other.
It was unfair of him to make the accusation. After all, Phineas must have expected to be anonymous in the park. It was only Allan’s own presence that had led to the encounter—or, to be more accurate—Melody’s presence.
“Melody,” he said to that lady, who was gently scolding her daughter for her impetuous action without letting her escape a loving embrace. “May I make known to you my brother-in-law and dear friend Phineas, and my daughter Lydia.”
“Allow me to introduce my sister Harmony, my daughter Harriet, and my nephew Benjamin.”
Of course, all the brothers wanted to meet their niece, too, and Cornelius’s son, Elias, was charmed to meet Benjamin.
“I’m sorry, Melody, Lord Kemble,” said Harmony. “I was distracted. I did not realize that Harriet had run off until she called out to you.”
“Benjie had just completed a drawing of the swans,” said Phineas, “and we were helping him put away his drawing things.”
Lydia was still clutching the board, and now she showed it to him. “Uncle Phineas says that Benjie is exceptionally talented,” she said.
Allan could only agree as he looked at the sketch of seven graceful swans, swimming across the Serpentine, the water—and the bank and trees on the other side—indicated in a few simple lines.
The artist, though, was not satisfied. “It would be better if that one is there,” he said, pointing to another spot. His frown deepened. “And some of the necks are wrong.”
Not to Allan’s eye. The boy had caught the elegance and beauty of the bad-tempered birds, and even a hint—around the eyes—of their propensity for violence. Looking toward the Serpentine, he could see the originals, gliding in the direction of the reed beds where they nested.
“It is nearly sunset,” said Thomasina. “We should be getting the children home into the warmth.”
Melody nodded. “We have accomplished our goal, I think. And while I know your daughter’s presence was not planned, Allan, I think we can count on it provoking the marquess still further. Harmony and Phineas—may I call you Phineas?—Allan and I have much to tell you.”
“Go with them now,” said Clara. “Take my carriage. Baldwin and I shall ride with Winifred and Frank. You are taking Cornelius and Thomasina, too, are you not? Everyone, remember we are attending the Dellborough New Year’s Eve Ball tonight.
We shall see you there. Then we shall meet in the afternoon at mine and Baldwin’s house tomorrow, and two nights later is the Sutton Ball. ”
At both balls, they were to describe their situation to those Clara had selected as both highly influential and likely to be sympathetic to their plight. Allan was content to leave the Society maneuvering to the experts, and Clara and Verity seemed to know what they were doing.
They were almost at their transport. Allan assisted Melody and his daughter into the carriage, while Phineas did the same for Harmony and Harriet.
Then Benjie climbed aboard, followed by Allan and Phineas.
The seven bodyguards assured Allan that they’d manage to fit on the roof along with Clara’s coachman and a groom.
“Very well,” said Harmony, as soon as they were inside and the door was shut. “What is going on, Mel? Is Lord Kemble part of the job you couldn’t tell me about? The one where you had to live in?”
“Yes,” Phineas agreed. “I should like to know, too. But perhaps not in front of small pitchers.”
“‘Small pitchers have big ears’,” Lydia quoted. “He means us, Harriet.”
Harriet sighed. “I know. Auntie Harmony says the same thing. I’m not sure why, though. Pitchers don’t have ears. Why don’t they just say ‘people’?”
“Well, small pitcher,” said Allan, “I see no reason not to tell you that Papa and the uncles are not hiding anymore. That means the marquess will be very, very angry. I want all three of you children to promise you will stay close to your grownups.”
Melody nodded her agreement. “That means no running off to see someone or something. Do not trust anyone, children, except the adults here in this carriage. If someone comes with a message from one of us, it could be a trick. Go straight away to one of your own grownups and let them know about the message. Especially if the people with the message say to tell no one.”
“Are the color men our grownups?” Benjie asked.
A questioning look to Phineas elicited an explanation. “The guards you sent. They call themselves Green, Grey, Brown, Red—those are the ones with us today—and also, Black and Blue, who will be on duty later tonight.”
“You were not even meant to know the guards were there,” Melody complained.
Phineas shrugged. “We figured out we were being watched. I was worried the marquess had found us. Harmony asked them who employed them and invited them in for dinner.”
His hand over Harmony’s and the warm smile he gave her said more clearly than words how he felt about the widow. “She tries to look after everyone,” he said.
“Well?” asked Lydia, returning to the point. “If we cannot find Uncle Phineas and Auntie Harmony, should we stay close to the color men?”
“Yes,” Allan replied, and Melody added, “As long as it is one of the color men you know.”
Once they were at home in Jasmine Close, the children were sent with the maid to change their outer clothing, leaving without complaint once Allan and Melody had promised to come and see Benjie’s cage of pet mice, and the rag dolls that Harmony had made for Harriet and Lydia.
Once the door closed behind the children, Allan gave both adults a fuller explanation of their current situation and their intentions.
“So, you are staking yourselves out as bait,” Phineas growled. “I do not like it, Allan.”
“We are taking every precaution,” said Melody, soothingly. “We have the guard from Moriarty Protection. We are eliciting the sympathies of the ton. We are being careful.”
“I knew something was up when I saw the guard,” grumbled Phineas.
“The marquess can be beaten,” Allan pointed out. “We’ve beaten him before. You, your brother, and I rescued Lydia. Cornelius and Thomasina fooled him with a fake suicide. We have been leaving the tower where he thought he had us imprisoned for years, and he has only recently become suspicious.”
“All of those were defensive actions,” Melody said.
“He still made mistakes, mainly because he thinks he is all-seeing, all-knowing, and all-powerful, so he does not see the gaps in his own thinking. Now we are on the offensive, we shall push him into reacting without thought. We shall defeat him for once and for all, and all of you shall be free.”
“Well then. I hope you are right,” Phineas said.
*
At the ball that night, they met so many people that Mel’s head spun.
They finished the evening with promises of a sympathetic audience from a glittering array of peers and their wives, and outright offers of support from the Earl of Nottwick, older brother to Phineas and to Allan’s dead wife, and the Duchess of Kempbury, who had once been in the same line of work as Mel.