Anne Barbour (10 page)

“Oh, Tally,” breathed Cat. “Didn’t I say you have potential? Wasn’t I right?”

Tally was unable to tear her eyes from the mirror. “I do look--nice, don’t I?” she whispered.

She laughed aloud suddenly and turned to hug her friend. “Oh, Cat, how can I thank you? I can’t believe it’s really me!”

Her gaze returned to the mirror, and she executed a shaky pirouette. She was not a beauty, of course. An image of Clea’s face floated before her. Tally knew she could not hope to compare to such flawless perfection, but at least she could face the world now in the knowledge that she was not quite the plain provincial she had always considered herself.

“Our guest will be arriving soon, Tally.” Cat drew her friend gently from her daydream. “We must go downstairs.”

Tally’s breath quickened. Their guest Jonathan! What would his reaction be to the new Lady Talitha? Suddenly, the fluttering feeling was back in her stomach, and she twisted her little ring nervously as she followed Cat from the room.

To her vast disappointment, however, Jonathan’s expression on greeting her, beyond a certain puzzlement as he kissed her hand, indicated nothing more than a courteous pleasure at seeing her once more.

Conversation during dinner was amicable and easy. Tally was surprised to learn of Jonathan’s familiarity with the workings of the Foreign Office. Apparently, Lord Whittaker, Richard’s supervisor, considered the viscount an invaluable player in the game of diplomacy that was waged on a daily basis by his office.

Richard chuckled. “He’s still talking of the splendid job you did in convincing Count Weidenback to weigh in on our side in his recent discussions with Metternich,”

“Ah yes,” replied Jonathan solemnly. “The result of my keen wit, my superb diplomatic skills, and the fact that the count is my uncle—a distant uncle, but a relative nonetheless.”

“A very handy thing, having a relative, however distant, who’s an intimate of Metternich. We need all the help we can get in convincing that wily old fox to come to side with Britain against Napoleon.”

“Well, I don’t know how influential I was with the old trout,” sighed Jonathan, “but one does one’s humble best. By the by, how is your new aide working out?”

Richard sighed. “Oh, Shipworth’s doing all right, but it will be some time before he acquires the knowledge and experience that made Ridgeway so invaluable.”

“Ridgeway?” echoed Cat. “Isn’t he the young man who—?” She stopped short, glancing at Jonathan in confusion.

“Yes,” replied Richard smoothly. The young man who hanged himself last year.”

“Oh!” Tally breathed the word.

“Yes.”

It was Jonathan who spoke, his voice a little strained. “He had been going through a consuming infatuation for Clea, and it was assumed that was his reason for ending his life. Clea was devastated—though I have told her over and over that the tragedy was not her fault. She never gave the cub the slightest encouragement.”

Cat made a noncommittal sound, and Richard dropped his eyes.

Talk turned to other matters then, and it was not until dinner was over and Richard and Jonathan had joined Tally and Cat in the little salon on the first floor that Jonathan stood before the fireplace to face his host and hostess directly.

“I understand,” he began hesitantly, “that Lady Tally rather surprised you with her reason for visiting London at this time.”

Richard and Cat glanced at each other before Cat raised her eyes to Jonathan’s in a limpid stare.

“Why, no, my lord,” she replied. “We have been begging her for this age to visit us here. We were delighted when she finally tired of the fastness of Cambridgeshire and decided to come to us. We hope her stay will be a long one.”

Jonathan laughed, his even teeth a white blaze against his bronzed skin. He turned to Tally.

“You were right, “Miss Burnside.” Your friends are apparently the soul of discretion.” He addressed himself once more to Richard and Cat.

“No, I was referring to the lady’s embarkation on a career as a caricaturist.”

Had Jonathan disappeared before their eyes in a puff of smoke, Richard and Cat could not have looked more astonished. They whirled in unison to face Tally, who could not suppress a chuckle.

“It’s all right, my dears. Jonathan — that is, Lord Chelmsford, is privy to my dark secret.”

“But- but....” sputtered Cat, while Richard still sat in bemused silence.

Jonathan drew a deep breath and continued in a more serious vein. “I have a secret of my own to impart to you. It is not one which I ever intended to share, and I hope you will not think me presumptuous if I ask you to promise that you will not reveal it.”

He turned to Richard and smiled.

“Please do not think I am asking you to conceal anything illegal—or even immoral. It is important only to me.”

Tally rose to seat herself next to Jonathan on the small confidante. “And to me,” she said simply.

Richard gave Cat’s hand a squeeze and lifted his own in a gesture of promise.

“Do you recall,” asked Tally, “that I told you that the author of
Town Bronze
is a peer who wishes to remain anonymous?”

Richard and Cat nodded blankly, but as Tally paused, astonished comprehension gradually crept over their faces.

Richard’s gaze swiveled to Jonathan.

“You don’t mean...?”

Cat chimed in immediately with, “You’re not—you can’t be...?”

Jonathan said nothing but ran a finger around the inside of his collar, as though it had suddenly become too tight. He nodded awkwardly, and Tally stared at him in wonder. Never had she thought to see Lord Chelmsford, the epitome to her of all that was self-possessed, so ill at ease. Why, she wondered for the umpteenth time was Jonathan so fearful of exposure as the author of
Town Bronze
? Was he concerned about the controversy? Surely, his consequence was more than sufficient to face down the handful of persons who might be outraged at having been pilloried in a piece of trivia. What was his concern?

Richard and Cat were assuring Jonathan of their undying silence and support.

“Of course, old man,” Richard was saying. “You’re more than welcome here at any time. I often work at home, so you may feel free to visit at almost any time of day without rousing suspicion.”

“Yes,” Cat chimed in. “We can fit up that little room next to your study, Richard. Tally and Jonathan can work in there.”

She turned to Tally. “There is a door between the two rooms. Lord Chelmsford can go into Richard’s study, as though to confer with him, and can easily slip unseen into your studio.”

She beamed at the small group around her, pleased at her arrangements.

“Dear lady”— Jonathan laughed—“what an admirable conspirator you make. If I were you, Thurston, I’d hire her on at your department.”

“What a splendid idea,” responded Richard, sweeping his wife into the curve of his arm. “Perhaps we should put her in charge of Plots and Schemes, junior division, of course. But,” he continued, “do you suppose we could be Cat and Richard to you from now on? I have a feeling, my lord, that we are likely to find ourselves on a somewhat familiar footing in the days to come.”

“Another splendid idea—Richard, if in return you will drop that infernal ‘my lord.’ ” My friends call me Jonathan, you know.”

The rest of the evening was spent in pleasant conversation, and it was late when Jonathan took his leave. At the doorway Tally laid a tentative hand on his sleeve.

“My I— Jonathan, I read the chapters you sent.”

“And... ?” he queried, the corners of his mouth lifting.

She shook a finger at him in mock severity.

“I have no intention of pandering to your already swollen consequence, my lord, so I shall simply say that your work is ...” she capitulated with a shy smile. “It’s the best satire I’ve ever seen.”

Jonathan’s response was not the pseudo-modest disclaimer she expected. Instead, his eyes lit with pleasure.

“I think it’s pretty good, myself,” he replied, with a grin, “but it’s always nice to hear one’s good opinion of one’s work confirmed. I’m glad you like it,” he added, suddenly serious. “Your opinion matters to me, Tally.”

Tally felt the blood rush to her cheeks and hastened to change the subject. I do have one small problem, and I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for your assistance.”

“Ask away; I’m at my collaborator’s beck and call.”

Tally described her difficulty with the locales described in Town Bronze, and Jonathan promised to visit the Thurston home on the next day.

Having provided herself with a plentiful supply of candles, Tally worked far into the night to prepare several sketches for Jonathan’s perusal on the morrow.

When she finally laid down her pencil, she stretched cramped fingers and leaned back in her chair, idly riffling the vellum sheets of Jonathan’s book.

I tell you, Cliffie, sometimes I think London is not a geographical location, but the product of someone’s fevered imagination
.

The words fairly leapt from the page with the familiarity of an old friend. How had she missed that phrase on first reading? And why was it so familiar?

She turned another page, and frowned thoughtfully as she reread the words that had so moved her the night before.

Children are born without love
....

Surely, she had seen these words before as well. She straightened suddenly and moved to a small secretary in which she kept the small collection of favorite books she had brought from home. She selected one and returned to her chair.

The book was entitled
Back Streets of Shame
, by one Christopher Welles. It contained a number of searing essays on the wretched conditions in which so many of London’s citizens were forced to live. She ran her fingers over pages soft with use, and her breath quickened. Yes, there it was! Her lips moved as she read the same phrase again, word for word. Suddenly cold, she dropped the book into her lap. Quickly she searched out another volume, this one a collection of political commentaries culled from the columns of one of London’s most prestigious newspapers, and signed simply “Clement,” Here again, she recognized the words and phrases which bore an unmistakable relationship to the prose in Town Bronze. Tally felt a horrible suspicion confirmed.

No—no, it couldn’t be! Lord Chelmsford was nothing but a cheat—a plagiarist, no less! And a careless one at that. Both Welles and Clement were pseudonyms of respected men of letters. She and her father had spent many pleasant hours discussing their works. How could Chelmsford have hoped to copy them without discovery?

Sickened, Tally climbed into her nightdress and crawled between her bedcovers. It was all ruined—her dreams of a new life turned to ashes, for of course she could not continue her collaboration with Jonathan, knowing him to be a thief of other men’s talents. No wonder he was so careful to cloak his identity!

Not, she told herself despairingly, that she was surprised. She had already known that beneath his handsome exterior, beyond the apparent warmth and charm, lay a different sort of person altogether. If the man she had chatted with so easily in the Park seemed incapable of such a deception, she could well imagine it in the character of the arrogant brute who had laughed at her humiliation four years ago.

She almost cried as she recalled the anticipation with which she had looked forward to tomorrow’s meeting with Jonathan. Now, the thought of it filled her with a mixture of anger, grief, and dread.

Chapter Nine

Jonathan hesitated for a moment before mounting the stairs to the Thurston home. It was rather too early for paying calls, and he stood in the morning sunshine musing on the unaccustomed eagerness with which he looked forward to his first working session with Tally.

Of course, this was not a social visit, but more on the order of a business appointment. His relationship with Tally was, naturally, to be purely professional. On the other hand, last evening had been one of the most pleasant he had spent in a long time. He rarely found himself in a relaxed, family atmosphere, for he spent most of his time with Clea. He ignored the tug in his mind caused by the implications of that last and hastily changed the direction of his thoughts.

He had hardly recognized Tally when she entered the room the night before. He had been aware that the girl was badly clothed, but the lovely young woman who greeted him in her gown of apricot silk had astonished him, and had stirred something within him—something simple and clear in his nature that he had all but forgotten. He had delighted in her sincere and open appreciation of his work.

He smiled now and tapped on the door. A warm greeting formed on his lips as he was ushered into Richard’s study, but it froze there, unspoken, as he beheld Tally standing at the workroom entrance. Her expression was that of a particularly annoyed avenging goddess, and he cautiously closed the door behind them.

“Good morning, my lord,” she said distantly.

Jonathan was bewildered by this sudden about-face, and somewhat affronted. He bowed slightly.

“And good morning to you, Lady Talitha.” He raised a quizzical eyebrow. “What have I done to deserve a return to the status of ‘my lord’ ?”

He made as though to hand Tally the envelope he had brought with him, containing another installment of
Town Bronze
, but she pushed his hand away furiously.

“What in God’s name       “ began Jonathan, but Tally interrupted him.

“I’m afraid I must inform you, my lord, that I will be unable to assist you in your—your little project.”

“What?” His voice was a blend of astonishment, disbelief, and anger.

“I would have you know, my lord, that I am an avid reader.”

This apparent nonsequitur caused Jonathan to frown in blank puzzlement.

Two of my favorite authors,” Tally continued in a rapid monotone, “are gentlemen who write under the names of Christopher Welles and Clement.”

Jonathan stiffened, and his features assumed a rigidity that matched Tally’s own. “I am familiar with their works,” he said warily.

“That perhaps explains,” finished Tally, whose throat was now so tight that she feared she might not get the words out, “why the prose of those men bears such a marked similarity to your own.”