Chapter Thirteen #2
“No one ever comes in here,” Cecilia informed her visitor. “Mama wants it redecorated. It was the old duchess’s favorite room so of course Mama doesn’t like it. I come in here whenever I don’t wish to be disturbed. It works like a dream. Not even the servants poke their noses in.”
It was a beautiful room, although a little devoid of furniture as though some of it had been purloined and taken off to be used in other rooms. The walls were a pale green which set off well the few portraits that remained on the walls.
The one above the fireplace was of a beautiful woman in a rather old-fashioned cream gown.
The waist was much lower than Phoebe was used to seeing, the sleeves were long, and she had a silk shawl crossed over it and presumably tied behind her back.
Her hair, which might of course have been a wig as Phoebe knew they’d once been the fashion for men and women alike, was abundant, curly and powdered, and on top of it she wore a flamboyant decorated hat.
“The previous duchess,” Cecilia said. “Ambrose and Gabriel’s mother.
I always think she has such a kind face, and from what Gabriel’s told me, it matched her personality.
My papa misses her still, I know, and it irks my mother terribly, but there’s nothing she can do.
I believe he only remarried to get himself more children.
I don’t think he likes my mother much. I can only assume he didn’t consider two sons enough to secure the dukedom.
” She pulled a skeptical face. “My mother is quite convinced that by eating a particular diet and doing all sorts of other very odd things she can make sure this new baby will be a boy. I shall laugh like a…like a…” She hesitated, probably scanning her brain for something that laughed a lot.
“Aha. Just like one of those monkeys at the Exeter ’change.
” Her expression became wary. “Only please never tell Mama I’ve been there.
She would be furious. Gabriel took me, of course.
Honoria is so jealous, but she’s only eleven and too young to gad about Town. ”
Phoebe, discovering herself to have an inner prudish streak, was of the opinion that gadding about town without her mother’s knowledge was not a good thing for a fifteen-year-old. Gabriel seemed to be a bad influence on his sister, what with taking her places without her mother’s knowledge.
“Gabriel’s mother was very lovely,” Phoebe said, feeling a little awkward and suddenly very old.
Cecilia, who’d clearly now forgotten the portrait, skipped over to the window. “This parlor’s also useful as it overlooks the gardens.”
Phoebe followed her over. The sky was gray still, but was that the hint of winter sunshine trying to break through? At least it wasn’t raining. But that was probably all that could be said about the day.
“We have to wait here for a short while,” Cecilia said.
“Then we shall let ourselves into the garden and examine the camelias again, as a ruse. I love practicing subterfuge, don’t you?
It’s a shame there aren’t any other flowers out, apart, of course, from the rather common daffodils, but at least the bushes beside the servants’ path are large, if mainly leafless.
I believe the old duchess was very fond of the garden, which I suspect is why Mama never goes into it.
She’ll be lying down now though, with her feet up.
She’s not very far along with this baby, my sister Charlotte’s nursemaid told me, but she has dreadfully swollen ankles already.
” She paused. “I do find the servants such a good source of gossip. No doubt our servants will be putting your maid to the inquisition while we’re away.
A good thing she doesn’t know what we’re up to. ”
“Atkins is very trustworthy and doesn’t like to gossip.” Hopefully she wouldn’t bow under pressure. Not that she knew anything she could give away.
Cecilia pouted. “As if any servant is totally trustworthy. Gossip is their currency. I know my brother Ambrose swears that the latest news is always known in the servants’ halls of every house in London before it gets to the parlors.”
Phoebe could only bow her head, not wanting to speak badly of Atkins or any other of Aunt Fanny’s servants.
All of whom she’d so far deemed trustworthy.
Cecilia seemed the sort of girl who spoke her mind before she stopped to think.
Papa would have approved, but not Aunt Fanny, who deplored outspokenness.
She bit her lip. Perhaps she should inquire about Cecilia’s own visit to St Giles.
“Might I ask how long ago you went with your brother into the…the rookery?”
Cecilia kept her gaze on the gardens. “Last autumn. I made him tell me everything, you see. I know exactly what he’s up to there. I always know if he’s not telling the truth.”
“You do?” Did that extend to knowing he wasn’t really her brother? Best to err on the side of caution with that. “What exactly do you know, then? You could enlighten me as I find I know very little.”
Cecilia turned, eyes narrowed. Perhaps she too was wondering how much Phoebe knew. “I know about his orphanage.”
Phoebe nodded. “So do I. He took me there.” No harm in admitting this.
Cecilia tilted her head to one side, as dogs do sometimes when curious. “He did? So you met Mrs. Thorogood and her rather odd daughter. The one with the gammy leg.”
She needed to tread warily. “I did.” In all probability Cecilia didn’t know about the cricket bat incident.
She might not even know about his other identity as the Mayfair Highwayman.
She found her heartbeat had begun to accelerate.
Might she have to lie for him? Another thing Aunt Fanny would deplore.
Cecilia turned back to the window again. “I myself am of the opinion that poor Eliza is in love with Gabriel. The way she looks at him gives her away. I feel sorry for her, I really do. He’ll have to marry a pretty heiress—like you. Not a girl from the backstreets. With a gammy leg.”
Now that Cecilia had put it like that, Phoebe had to admit that she’d been wrong in disliking poor Eliza when really she should be pitying her.
Although probably the young woman wouldn’t want anyone’s pity.
It was all very difficult. Did Gabriel in any way return Eliza’s feelings?
Most likely not. As far as she could tell on her brief acquaintance with the staff in Denmark Street, he treated her in the same way as Bessie and Violet.
Which must be so hard for a young woman in the throes of love.
Phoebe knew something of that sensation herself.
Did it put her on the same footing as Eliza?
Probably. Only surely she had more chance than Eliza did?
She swallowed, trying to find something to which she could change the subject.
“What was St Giles like?” She didn’t ask if it would be safe for her because it was too late now, and besides which, she didn’t want to know.
The decision had been made and she wouldn’t have gone back on it even if she could have.
A little part of her, a part that had been dormant since Papa died, was waking up.
A hot little ball of excitement coiled about her insides, a feeling of anticipation, of being alive again at last. And of not following convention.
And she liked it. Especially as she would be doing it with Gabriel.
“Oh, I don’t think I could do it justice by trying to describe it,” Cecilia said, a little too airily for Phoebe’s liking.
“You’ll see soon enough. And now I think we should go down.
” She gave a dismissive shrug. “At any rate, I’ve had my fill of waiting.
Mama says I have no patience at all, and I fear she’s correct.
Come on. We’ll sneak down and nobody will see us. ”
Getting out of a large house in the heart of Mayfair without anyone seeing them wasn’t quite as easy as Cecilia had deemed it.
One or two hurried duckings into doorways were involved, and some rushing on tiptoes past bits of the house where the servants were working.
But it was a huge house and the servants seemed few and far between.
Within a few minutes they were making their way along an overgrown pathway at the side of the garden.
At this time of the year the naked vines and mainly leafless bushes weren’t the best of cover, but in summer no one at all would have been able to see them.
At the end of the garden the green-painted door Phoebe had seen at the party opened into an alleyway, at the end of which they emerged into the busy Three Kings Yard.
From the number of buildings and people to be seen, this must have been the Mews for all the surrounding houses, not just the duke and duchess’s.
However, everyone was busy and no one spared them a glance as they hurried to the left, through a door beside a carriage house and up a creaky flight of bare wooden stairs.
Cecilia pushed open the door at the top and Phoebe followed her into a small, slope-ceilinged attic room which held only a table and two chairs and a large wooden chest. A roughly dressed man was sitting on one of the chairs, leaning back with his long legs outstretched.
Phoebe stared. For a moment she didn’t realize it was Gabriel, his appearance was so changed.
He got to his feet with a lazy swagger, wiped his nose on his sleeve, and thrust his hands deep into the pockets of a voluminous, tatty coat that must have been at least as old as he was. What magic was this? How was it he looked so unlike himself?
The gentleman she knew had vanished. Before her stood a man of the streets, just like the ones she’d seen from her window.
Instead of standing upright and tall, like a gentleman, he’d acquired a stance and bearing that had bestowed on him the over-confident, and slightly belligerent air of someone who might well be prepared to fight with anyone who opposed him.