Mrs. McVinnie's London Season (7 page)

The maid’s eyes were
wide with surprise. “Lord love us, I never saw her do that
before!”

Jeannie smiled and
tucked Clare in beside her. “Clare and I do not stand much on
ceremony. Yes, I would like some tea, and perhaps you could bring
some tea with milk for my guest.”

The maid curtsied again
and turned away with a smile.

Clare settled herself
in, closed her eyes, and promptly returned to sleep.

“
You’re a little dickens,” Jeannie scolded softly. “And now you
sleep when the rest of us must wake. Your late-night tears are a
vexation. I know I could cure them in only a few days. And
then ….”

Then what? she thought
as she scooted down in the bed again and rested her head on her
arm. At most, you have another hour in this house, and thank God
for that. She reached out and touched Clare’s curls. “Well, your
hair is curly like his.” Jeannie giggled. “Although there is more
of it.”

The maid returned with
tea and Jeannie sipped hers thoughtfully as she watched Clare
struggle awake and rub her eyes. She accepted her cambric tea and
drank it carefully, her brown eyes fixed on Jeannie’s face.

The maid watched them
both. “I don’t remember when Clare has taken to someone like you
before, Mrs. McVinnie. She was standing outside the door—quietlike,
the way she does—when I came up here with the hot water, which,
I’ll wager is not getting any warmer.”

“
I
suppose I must get up,” Jeannie said ruefully. “Is anyone else
about yet?”

“
Oh,
Lord, Mrs. McVinnie! Larinda won’t wake up until afternoon, more
like, and Lady Smeath never rises before noon.”

“
The
captain?”

The maid opened her
eyes wider in wonderment. “I don’t think he ever sleeps. At least,
not like a Christian, although the beadle warned me once that
sailors are only a step removed from Satan’s imps.”

“
My
dear,” Jeannie admonished lightly.

“
And
doesn’t Pringle tell me that the captain gets up every four hours
and looks around, almost like he was still on his ship.”

“
Old
habits die hard,” Jeannie reminded. She handed her cup to the maid.
“But do tell me your name, and have I you to thank for the warming
pan last night?”

The maid bobbed another
curtsy. “Mary Bow, ma’am, and yes, I know what it feels like to
come into a house and stay cold all evening, indeed I do.”

“
Mary
Bow,” Jeannie repeated. “Bow. What a singular name.”

“ ’
Tis me own alone,” Mary said. “The beadle at the workhouse
said since I was found on the steps of St. Mary le Bow, that would
be my name. And who’s to say it’s not a better name than what my
real name would be? Who’s to say?”

“
Who,
indeed? Mary, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. Now, if you
and Clare will leave me, I’ll try out that hot water.”

Mary bobbed up and down
again and held out her hand to Clare, who crawled to the end of the
bed and let herself down. “You should be dressed too,” Mary said to
the little girl. “Although I don’t wonder that your nursemaid has
other things on her mind.” Mary leaned closer to the bed. “I think
she sneaks out at night.”

Jeannie dangled her
legs over the edge of the bed. “And I would be the last to doubt
you.”

Mary took Clare by the
hand. She looked at Mrs. McVinnie as if she wanted to say
something.

“
Speak
away, Mary,” Jeannie said.

The maid blushed. “It’s
a foolish thing. I’ve never heard anyone talk like you do. Does
everyone in Scotland sound like you?”

Jeannie laughed. “No.
Some sound worse. Oh, dear, I fear I will be a nine day’s wonder in
London.” She looked down at her legs. “How fortunate for my
consequence that I will not be here that long.”

Mary frowned. “As to
that, mum, didn’t Pringle say something this morning belowstairs
about replacing this bedspread and draperies with a more cheerful
color?”

“
You
must be mistaken,” Jeannie said firmly. “Unless you are expecting
other company.”

Mary looked doubtful.
“People don’t generally visit this house, Mrs. McVinnie. And didn’t
Pringle say something about ‘orders’?”

“
It is
a mystery to me.”

Jeannie stood up, shook
down her nightgown, and the maid closed the door quietly.

Her travel dress was
still sadly wrinkled. Jeannie eyed it with disfavor and put on a
simple wool morning dress instead, telling herself that she could
probably cajole the housekeeper into taking it belowstairs for a
quick sponging and a press. There would be ample time for such a
simple matter. She turned back to the mirror and debated whether to
wear her knit lace collar or a locket to break up the severity of
her navy-blue dress. She held one in each hand and decided on the
collar.

Jeannie locked it in
place quickly and took another look in the mirror. “Mrs. McVinnie,”
she told herself, “you have simply got to make some new dresses.
You look a positive dowd.”

There was no remedy for
it but to sigh and turn away and settle her best lace cap on her
hair. For no accountable reason, she was tired of mourning colors.
With vast qualms she had parted from her black weeds only last
month, but even the blues and gray seemed almost too much to bear
now.

It must be because
spring is coming, she reasoned. The thought did not cheer her. It
meant another year of half-mourning, another season of drab
clothes.

She went to the window
again and leaned her forehead against it. I do not mean to be
disloyal, Tom, she thought, but, oh, to wear something bright
again!

When Mary returned to
her room, Jeannie handed over her traveling dress and asked
directions to the breakfast parlor.

She located it by the
wonderful smell of coffee. Jeannie was not a coffee drinker, but
the fragrance of it reminded her of Tom and Galen, who would have
sat for hours in the kitchen over a cup or two if she had not
stirred them into motion.

Captain Summers stood
at the window, his back to her, sipping his morning cup and reading
the paper. He turned around when she entered; he folded the paper
under his arm and inclined his head in her direction.

“
I am
sure you did not sleep well, what with one thing or another.” He
shrugged. “I am amazed that I still listen at all odd hours of the
night for the water lapping, and do you know that rigging sings
when the wind is right?”

She allowed him to seat
her at the table. “Then Kirkcudbright is rather more quiet than
your ship, Captain, if one discounts a few sheep and neighbors who
will enter into heated discussions upon the price of mutton under
one’s window.”

He only smiled.

“
And
we do become used to what suits us,” she added, looking at the
table.

He followed her glance
and then tugged on the bellpull. “I can tell that you are mystified
by my ship’s biscuit. Let me ring for something else.”

She picked up a
biscuit. “It is so hard, sir. I wonder you have a tooth in your
head. ” She put down the biscuit and felt a fiery blush cover her
face. “Oh, that was rude of me.”

He inclined his head
again. “I have all my teeth, Mrs. McVinnie. How else could I take
great nips out of midshipmen?”

The entrance of Wapping
spared her from further comment. The butler came bearing tea and
toast. The captain sat down at the table and reached for another
biscuit.

“
Wapping, these are truly excellent,” he said, indicating the
biscuit in his hand. “Only think how much better they will be in
six months’ time when I have to bang them on the table to scare out
the weevils.”

Jeannie choked over her
tea.

Wapping turned quite
noticeably green under his London pallor, but to his credit, he did
not flinch. After a moment of silent reflection and considerable
exercise of restraint, he addressed the captain.

“
Very
good, sir. Now, is there anything else?”

“
Nothing. Send Pringle to me in ten minutes.”

“
Very
good, sir.”

Captain Summers dipped
his biscuit in his coffee. “I do so love to torment Wapping,” he
said, almost to himself. “Notice how well he holds up? A butler is
the triumph of science over nature. I should like one for my
own.”

Jeannie laughed in
spite of herself.

Captain Summers
finished his biscuit and thoughtfully brushed the crumbs from his
coat. He poured himself another cup of coffee, and as he did so,
Jeannie took the moment to observe him.

He was as neat as wax,
sitting there impeccable in his morning coat. He was not in
uniform, but no one, not even the downiest slow-top, could ever
have mistaken Captain Summers for other than a military man. There
was an air of pride about him, a superiority that reminded Jeannie
forcefully of Tom, even as she told herself that they looked
nothing alike. She would have continued her scrutiny and her idle
speculation on what was the certain something that gave a man such
an air of command, but he was looking at her now with his own
intensity.

Jeannie waited for him
to speak, but he only watched her. She did not think to be upset by
his acute observation. She had only just that moment given up
watching him, so could scarcely cry foul. There was nothing
insolent in his manner. He regarded her carefully, as he would have
an opponent.

Finally Summers leaned
back slightly. He sipped his coffee and eyed her over the rim of
the cup. “Pringle tells me your husband was with the Fifteenth
Dumfries Rifles.”

“
He
was, and so was my father-in-law.”

“
I
remember the lads. Didn’t the Rifles make up the rearguard in the
retreat to La Coruña?”

“
They
did. That was where my husband sustained his fatal
injuries.”

Captain Summers nodded.
There was nothing in his face of sympathy; there was something
better. Jeannie saw an understanding of the harshness of war, a
matter-of-factness that was bracing but infinitely superior to
sensibility, no matter how well-meaning.

“
We
did everything we could from the sea,” he said simply. “I threw so
much lead at the Spaniards behind them that I am surprised the land
did not sink.” He looked down at his hands. “Swear to God my ears
rang for days.”

There was a brief pause
while Captain Summers took another sip of his coffee and then set
the cup down. “General Moore commended the Dumfries before he
died,” he said. “We came in as close as we dared, and took off as
many soldiers as we could. I remember the Dumfries pipers on the
headland, when every other man was running and dodging. God, I
shall never forget the sound.”

“
It is
a regiment well-known for bravery,” she whispered, and the thought
stung her. She turned away so he would not see the desolation in
her eyes.

He pushed himself away
from the table and stalked to the window, as if the memory was too
big for the breakfast parlor.

Jeannie drank her tea
in silence, curiously warmed by his words. Galen McVinnie had never
told her anything of the beach at La Coruña. Probably he remembered
nothing of it himself. The whole terror came into focus for the
first time as she sat at a breakfast table in Mayfair, and she
discovered that she could look at it with equanimity. Thank you,
Captain Summers, she thought suddenly.

He turned back to her.
“And now, Mrs. McVinnie, can I persuade you to change your mind and
remain here in our house?”

Jeannie blinked and
gulped the tea in her mouth.

“
You
cannot be serious, not after the deception I practiced.”

“
Are
you not Jeannie McVinnie?” he asked in vast surprise.

“
Oh,
you know what I mean,” she said with asperity. “I am the wrong
Jeannie McVinnie, as you
well
know, and I will not
do.”

“
Granted you are much too young, scarcely more than a
baby.”

“
Sir,
I am twenty-four,” she declared, stung to admission by his
observation.

“
Good
God, Mrs. McVinnie, on the day you were born I was probably
climbing a rigging in a high wind.”

She stared at him and
opened and closed her mouth.

The captain knelt by
her chair. “Silly girl, I ran away to sea when I was twelve. And,
by God, you do have brown eyes.” He stood up and began to pace the
room, his hands behind his back.

Jeannie watched him,
fascinated, forgetting to be offended by his curious manners.

“
We
have already granted that you are too young, and you know nothing
of London, but by God, if you don’t have that McVinnie spirit!” He
rubbed his hands together with an expression close to glee on his
face.

“
The
answer is still no,” Jeannie said as she rose from the chair. “And
now I should see if Mary has returned with my traveling dress. I
must be off, Captain Summers. It remains only for me to apologize
again for my foolishness and return to Scotland.”

“
But I
need you here,” the captain insisted. “And I have already said that
you will do.”

Jeannie looked him
straight in the eye. “Captain, I was looking all of you over last
night myself. This is a most unhappy household and I refuse to be
part of it.”

“
All
the more reason you should stay, Mrs. McVinnie,” Captain Summers
said. The note of command was creeping into his voice.

The door to the
breakfast parlor opened and the captain turned away in disgust,
muttering something about “damned intrusions.” Jeannie hoped that
her face was not as red as she feared. She would have turned away,
too, but it was Edward who stood before her, dressed neatly for the
day and bearing a large, leather-bound red book with the title
A
Young Gentleman’s Guide to London
stamped on the cover in gilt
letters.