Too Dangerous For a Lady (23 page)

H
ermione tried to act normally for Edgar's sake, but by the next morning she felt caged. Her night had been troubled by wild notions of all the dangers Thayne might be in even now. She could never forget the brute who'd abducted her. He was dead, but he had a brother. Thayne was much stronger than she was, but she wasn't convinced he could win in a fight against such a man.

She longed for a word, a glimpse, to reassure her that Thayne was at least alive. The address in Peel Street begged to be used.

She couldn't bear to do nothing, so she went out with Nolly for a brisk walk. It would be the wildest chance to see Thayne, but she looked anyway. She had no success there, but she did see a few more people wearing the suspicious colors. The sightings confused her rather than clarifying her thoughts. The man cleaning gas lamps had a surly look to him, but the young mother carrying a toddler didn't, nor did the ballad singer selling the words and music of a patriotic song about Princess Charlotte's coming baby as a new hope for Britain.

Perhaps she'd let her imagination run wild and the colors were a fashion, but one restricted to the lower class. In that case Thayne was a common thief who'd stolen money from someone angry enough to pursue him over it. She couldn't believe he enjoyed that way of life, so as soon as she inherited Edgar's money, all would be well.

No, that didn't help. She wanted Edgar to live for decades.

“Oooh, milady. Look at those blue boots!”

They were outside a shoemaker's shop where the window displayed a pair of half boots in a dashing sky-blue cloth with cream silk ribbons. A sign offered to make the same in a day in a lady's choice of color.

“They wouldn't be suited to wet days,” Hermione said.

“But grand for dry ones.”

“I don't have a gown to suit them,”

“Perhaps it's time you had new gowns, milady.”

“I don't have the money for them, Nolly.”

“Mr. Peake's your great-uncle, milady. Surely one day you'll have what's his.”

“I hope that will be a long time away.”

“But he wouldn't begrudge you new boots. They're very pretty.”

They were, but she wouldn't be tempted. She still didn't know how much money Edgar had, but regardless, it was his money and not to be spent on indulgences for herself, or in providing for a rascally husband.

Or even a noble one, serving his country in the most dangerous way.

She walked on, having to accept that the latter was more likely. She couldn't truly say she knew Thayne's nature from evidence except that he'd once been an enthusiastic and idealistic military officer, but her sense of him was so powerful that it made base thievery impossible.

Money wouldn't turn him from such a cause, but in that vulnerable moment she passed a shop where lottery tickets were sold. She had three shillings in her purse that were her own. She went in and purchased a share of a ticket. People won large sums in the lottery and surely with money of her own she could do something. However, she left feeling ashamed of the waste of the shillings and weighed down by lack of hope.

Perhaps they would find Dr. Grammaticus, and perhaps his cure would work, but Thayne would still be in danger and out of reach. Grammaticus would probably turn out to be exactly the sort of quack they suspected and Edgar could be dead within months. Which would mean . . .

Horrified by the direction of her thoughts, Hermione hurried back to the inn, doubly determined to do everything possible to make him well. As if to emphasize her wickedness, it started to rain. Her hat and shoulders were soaked and her hem was muddy by the time she dashed in. She had to change before going to Edgar.

“I was hoping to take you around London, but the rain's spoiled that plan.” She noticed that he'd put the newspapers aside. “Shall I read to you?”

“No. No news from the Green Man?”

“Not yet.”

He hunched down. “I've a headache from all this racket. Go away.”

It was particularly noisy at the moment, and his room showed nothing but the wall opposite. Very well, that was something she could do. She sat in the parlor to consult her guide to London. Nolly sat nearby stitching a shift. Rain splattered against the window and clouds had gathered to such an extent that they both needed candles. Alas, the inn didn't have the ingenious reflector Hermione had used in Riverview House.

The book was little use. It listed all the principal hotels and inns but with no indication of their nature. Was she going to have to inspect them all? Moreover, she still hadn't done anything about selling the coach and had no idea how to go about it. She felt a headache of her own coming on and could easily become as blue-deviled as Edgar.

Someone knocked at the door and Nolly hurried to open it.

“A gentleman for Lady Hermione,” a maid said, and handed a card.

Nolly brought it over.

The Honorable Nicholas Delaney.
The name seemed slightly familiar, but Hermione couldn't pin down the connection. She turned the card, and on the back was written,
The Curious Creatures
.

Thank heavens. Something was turning out right.

“Send him up,” she told the inn servant, and went to the mirror to be sure she was neat. Prepared, she turned to greet the visitor and had a moment of surprise. This was no eccentric natural philosopher. Of course not. He was an honorable. He must be the son of an aristocratic family. But he wasn't typical of that sort, either. There was an easy, relaxed grace to him, and his jacket, breeches, and boots looked comfortably well-worn. His blond hair was a little long and his complexion accustomed to the outdoors. With a pang, she realized he reminded her a little of Ned Granger. But he'd come about the Curious Creatures.

“Mr. Delaney, thank you for coming. Won't you be seated?” She took her chair near the fire and he sat in the one opposite.

“I could hardly resist,” he said with a smile. “Being a curious creature.”

His manner unsettled her. It seemed overly familiar. She wasn't accustomed to being nervous in men's company, but she was glad Nolly was present as chaperone. “You're a member, sir?” she asked.

“Founding member. I happened to be in Town, so Tenby of the Green Man sent to me to deal with what he saw as a troubling enquiry.”

“Troubling?”

“We do have women in the Curious Creatures, but not many, so he thinks of it as a gentlemen's club. An enquiry from a lady—in both meanings of the word—alarmed him. No matter. How may I help you?”

He seemed to have settled to a more normal manner, so she relaxed. “I read a reference to a meeting of the Curious
Creatures, sir, where a Dr. Grammaticus spoke on the subject of antimony in the treatment of a disease called kala-azar.”

His brows rose a little. “Intriguing. What's kala-azar?”

“You don't know?”

“I must have missed that meeting.”

“It's a tropical disease caused by miasma, but it's not malaria, so doesn't respond to the bark. A relative of mine is afflicted.”

“When did Grammaticus address the Curious Creatures?”

“January 1815.”

“I wasn't in Town then, but we do keep records, if that's what you seek.”

“I seek Dr. Grammaticus himself, sir. He claimed to have made the antimonial treatment more effective by addition of a fungus, but he refused to reveal which one.”

“I see. Have you enquired at Newbery's for it?”

“You know of them?”

“They're quite famous.”

“So if it existed, they'd have it?”

“Yes.”

The directness of it made her sigh. “You hold out no hope?”

He smiled. “There's always hope. Grammaticus might not have made his cure available for purchase, but he could have set up a hospital to provide the treatment at a high price. Whoever you spoke to at Newbery's might not have known that, or might even have been unwilling to share the information.”

“Rivalry. The clerk there had a very low opinion of the Curious Creatures.”

“There you are, then.”

Hermione considered his suggestion. “I doubt he's set up a hospital in Britain. The disease is contracted in the tropics
and sufferers don't generally live long enough to travel home.”

“Ah. Then I suspect he hoped to interest the government for use in India. If he's set up a hospital, it will be there.”

“India! A letter would take months. That will be too late. I think my great-uncle has only been kept alive this long by taking antimony alone.”

Delaney lit with sparkling curiosity. “Intriguing. Perhaps you'd allow me to make enquiries for you—being a Curious Creature of some expertise. If Grammaticus has interested the government, someone at the Foreign Office might know more. Or someone with the East India Company.”

His light manner made her uncertain, but she needed help, especially from one who knew London. “Thank you, sir. That's very generous.”

“On the contrary, it's obligatory. You don't recognize my name, do you?”

Clearly she should. Hampshire? Yorkshire? “My apologies, sir . . .”

“I was at school with your brother Roger.”

“Oh. That was some time ago, and Roger is dead.”

“Yes, I know. I wrote to your parents, though it was delayed, as I was abroad in 1810.”

He remembered the date. “You were good friends? I was five years younger than he, so I don't know much about his school days.”

“We were good friends,” he agreed. “We were part of a group who called themselves the Company of Rogues.”

“I remember that,” she said, spun back to a moment in the past. “We were in the garden and Roger was talking about some jape ‘the Rogues' had been involved in and Mother said he was keeping disreputable company. He fell into a tiff, declaring the Company of Rogues the best of good fellows, and wouldn't stand down from that. He and our parents were at odds for days.” Tears escaped at the memory and she pulled out a handkerchief to dab at them.

“That sounds like Roger,” Delaney said with a wry smile. “Once he embraced a cause, it was his . . .” She knew he'd been about to say “to the death,” but had collected himself in time. “The Rogues still exist,” he continued, “though down from twelve to ten, and we assist one another as necessary. You've inherited Roger's right to aid, which is why I said my assistance is obligatory.”

“Not on me, I hope,” she said, suddenly prickly. She remembered all those condolence letters that had seemed inappropriately phrased, coming as they did from strangers. All from “Rogues”?

“No obligation to receive,” he said equably, “but if your need is as serious and urgent as you claim, you'd be unwise to refuse assistance. Despite the dire predictions of our masters at Harrow, who often said we'd all end on the gallows, today the Rogues command a wide range of expertise and considerable social power.”

Hermione felt as if she'd been swept up into something without any say, but she must remember Edgar. If there was any chance of a cure, he must have it.

“Very well, Mr. Delaney. I'm happy to accept your assistance. And I thank you for it.”

He rose. “Excellent. I'm about to go even further beyond the line, but—are you quite satisfied by this location for an invalid?”

She'd risen, too. “I'll accept help there gladly. I do want to move, but I don't know where will be best.”

“I'll see to it.” He bowed. “Good day, Lady Hermione. I'm pleased to have made your acquaintance.”

He left, and Hermione sat down feeling surprisingly shaky.

“Are you all right, milady?” Nolly asked.

“Yes, but it's unsettling to discover that a stranger feels he has the right to intervene.”

“Intervene to good purpose, milady. Seems just the type to get things done.”

Whether I want them done or not,
Hermione thought, rankled by that “I'll see to it,” as if he would pick the place and move them, willy-nilly. She kept such ungracious thoughts to herself and went to tell Edgar the good news, omitting the speculation that Grammaticus might have traveled to India.

He did brighten, but then said, “Should have brought this Delaney in to talk to me.”

“I thought you had a headache.”

“It's gone. Would have enjoyed talking to a gentleman. You probably chattered nonsense to him.”

Hermione left before her temper escaped and ate lunch on her own, brooding on men and the way they treated women. Oddly, despite Thayne's overturning of her life and occasional attempts to order her around, he never treated her as a feeble idiot. He'd been annoyed with her decisions, but he'd listened to reason. No other man had ever done that. But would she ever see him again?

He could be dead and she'd not know it.

The rain had stopped. Before she fell into a complete fit of the blue devils, she'd go out to buy one of the day's newspapers. The air was still cool and damp, and she had to be careful of puddles, but fresh air did raise her spirits. She purchased the newspaper; then on the way back to the Cross Keys she came across a lad tempting purchasers on a street corner to buy one of the broadsheets draped over his arm.

“Family poisoned in Shoreditch! Honest damsel snatched off the streets! Gentleman found murdered in the Thames!”

Nolly said, “Oooh!” which made Hermione think Edgar might be amused by such lurid tales, so she bought a copy of the roughly printed paper. There was even an illustration
on the front, presumably of the honest damsel being snatched, already half out of her clothes.

Hermione entered the Cross Keys looking forward to sharing the treat with Edgar, but she heard the innkeeper say, “Ah, here's Lady Hermione now, my lady.”

A woman turned to her. She was only a little older than herself and quite plainly dressed, but Hermione recognized the finest quality from the curl of the brim of her black bonnet to her gleaming kid half boots. The quality was underlined by the liveried footman attending her. She had even features and fine eyes that Hermione thought suggested a good brain, but people probably described her as handsome rather than beautiful.