Let Me Be The One

Let Me Be The One

The Compass Club Series

Book One

by

Jo Goodman

USA Today Bestselling Author

Reviews & Accolades

"Goodman has a real flair... Witty dialogue, first-rate narrative prose, and clever plotting."

~Publishers Weekly

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ISBN: 978-1-61417-792-0

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Copyright © 2002, 2015 by Joanne Dobrzanski All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

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Dedication

For the real Compass Club—Butz, Buddy, Johnny, and Karl. No, guys, I'm not giving you a cut, but thanks for letting me glimpse your secret, twisted minds!

North. South. East. West.

Friends for life, we have confessed.

All other truths, we'll deny.

For we are soldier, sailor, tinker, spy.

—Compass Club Charter

Hambrick Hall

Prologue

April 1796

"I should very much like to see your quim."

Madame Fortuna, née Bess Bowles, stared over the curved horizon of the crystal ball she held between her hands. Her dark eyes narrowed only fractionally, but it was sufficient to pin her young patron back in his chair. His thin face flushed and Bess felt her own palms grow warm, just as if she held his cheeks in the cup of her hands instead of the cooler crystal. It surprised her, this connection. She practiced her craft as a seer of fortunes and futures with a certain theatrical flair but without any real talent. Her mother and grandmother had had the second sight and she had seen—without benefit of crystals and cards—what heartache it had visited upon them.

Bess Bowles contented herself with being a charlatan, taking the coin of men and women who ought to know better and didn't. She was an amusement, escorted into great country homes and London salons to entertain the guests with her readings. Tea leaves. Tarot. Palms. And, of course, the crystal. She had a repertoire of fortunes and dire warnings she had not begun to exhaust, and she was well into her thirtieth year of exploiting the human desire to know one's fate.

Yet this young ruffian had not asked what his future held. He simply wanted to see her quim.

Bess pushed the crystal ball aside. She noticed the boy's gaze didn't shift to follow the movement. He held her own unwavering stare, though she considered this was done with some difficulty.
Brave little soldier.

The vision of him as a young man handsomely turned out in regimental dress came to her so clearly that Bess had to cough to cover her choked surprise. Perhaps she deserved the moniker and reputation of Madame Fortuna after all. That unsettled Bess Bowles enough to dissolve the vision in her mind's eye. Better to show the rapscallion her quim.

A small round table separated Bess from her patron. Her hands fell away from the crystal ball. She drew her palms along the scarred surface of the table until they were directly in front of her, and then she laced her fingers together. Her knuckles, swollen slightly with rheumatism that was particularly plaguing today, showed white.

She looked the boy up and down again. His fair skin flushed under her scrutiny, but he didn't flinch in his seat. He was a towhead. His thatch of white-blond hair covered his scalp in several directions, including straight up. He looked as if he wanted to run a hand through it now. To keep from smiling Bess reminded herself of the bold request he had put to her. She really should box his ears.

In a voice that was a raspy, reedy version of her own husky one, she demanded, "How old are you?"

He blinked, genuinely surprised. "Don't you know?"

She
would
box his ears. "Don't be impudent."

He flushed more deeply."I most humbly beg your pardon, Madame." He squared his shoulders and drew himself up in the chair so that his height might be seen to its full advantage. The effect was opposite of what he wished, making his shoulders seem thinner against the broad back rails of the chair and actually lifting his feet so they dangled an inch off the floor. Still, he responded with dignity. "On my next birthday I will be—"

"Ten," Bess said, cutting him off.

"I'm ten now."

"That's what I said, isn't it?"

"I will
be
eleven."

"Will you?" she asked darkly. "A lot can happen to a boy before his eleventh birthday." She watched him swallow hard; his small Adam's apple bobbed visibly and his collar looked as if it had tightened uncomfortably. This was better than boxing his ears. "Very well, my young earl."