“I plan to see Miss Ellen settled with a good husband, Mrs. Kirby. And I am hoping you will help. Let me tell you what I need.”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. If Mrs. Kirby would agree, they would have accommodation and an appearance of authenticity. It would be enough. Kat wouldmakeit enough.
London
Jake had takenone evening for himself. Just one evening in which he did not have to feel like a nanny to a particularly obstreperous toddler! And now Captain Harraway faced potential disaster and wouldn’t listen to any of Jake’s suggestions for getting out of it.
“We could take ship for the Caribbean, captain,” he said, as he handed the man a towel and began tidying up the shaving gear. He had already suggested sending a polite note of withdrawal. Other options were to not send such a note, but immediately retreat to the thus-far ignored country estate, or go to visit the captain’s sister in Yorkshire.
“No, Jake,” said the captain. “I gave my word.”
“But Captain…” Jake trailed off as his master held up a hand. He finished the sentence in his own thoughts.A man shouldn’t be held to a promise given when he is falling-down drunk.Especially when he’d been plied with drink to inveigle him into making the promise. Jake had seen it happened to others and had, on several occasions, intervened to protect the captain.
The proprietor of the Lyon’s Den had a reputation as a matchmaker for unmarriageable females, and some of the methods she used to find grooms for the women could not bear close scrutiny.
“I honestly thought I would lose,” said the captain. “I mean, how often do I win, after all?”
“If you can call itwinning,” Jake muttered. The three men still standing at the end of twelve rounds of drinking were to be inspected this morning by a prospective wife.
The captain must have heard him but chose to ignore his comment. “Maybe it is for the best I was one of the three winners. By allI’ve heard, Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s matches all work out well for the couple. Perhaps a wife is what I need.”
Perhaps a kick in his pants is what the silly duffer needs.
“Your waistcoat, sir,” Jake said.
A wife would change everything. Looking on the positive side, the lady in question might give Captain Harraway something to do apart from drinking and gambling. She might even persuade him to open the country house.
On the negative side, Jake didn’t give much for the chance that she’d let her husband keep a manservant like him, whose origins were scandalous, education patchy, morals fluid, and manners lacking.
Perhaps it was the shove he needed, he reflected, as he followed Captain Harraway to the district of Whitehall, where the captain was meeting the matchmaker and his prospective bride. If the captain married, Jake could leave him to try to find Kat Fivepence. Easy enough if she was still at the Millers’. And perhaps, even if she had left, someone there might be able to give him a direction.
She was probably married. Jake couldn’t imagine that a girl like Kat had had no admirers since he’d left. Indeed, he knew part of the reason he had not gone to look for her was that he feared she had forgotten him, or had—at the very least—relegated him to a fond memory. Some part of him thought it was better to be ignorant about what had become of her than to find she didn’t want him.
In the early afternoon, the Lyon’s Den was quiet in a busy sort of way. No hum of voices filling the atmosphere, punctuated by loud shouts of triumph or groans of despair. No soft music from the musicians’ gallery. No slap of cards or rattle of dice.
Instead, maids ran around with mops and buckets, dusters, brooms, and polishing cloths. Menservants hurried past Jake and the captain with bottles, boxes of cigars, packs of cards, and other, more mysterious burdens. A couple of women were replenishing vases, removing spent blooms and replacing them withflowers from overflowing baskets.
Jake and the captain followed the footman who was their guide up two flights of stairs and down a passage to a closed door. The man knocked, but when the door was opened and Jake went to follow Captain Harraway inside, he was stopped.
“Just the candidates,” the footman said.
“I am his man,” said Jake, but the man shook his head and the captain waved Jake away.
“I’ll show you where you can wait, mate,” the footman offered, “and someone will come to get you when Captain Harraway is leaving.”
So, Jake followed the footman along another passage until they came to a small balcony that looked out over the gaming room. “Can I get you a drink, Flynn?” the man offered. “They might be a while.”
How does he know my name?Jake took a second look at the man. Light brown hair, brown eyes, medium height.I know that face, but where from?The army, probably. He had that lean and dangerous look seen in so many old soldiers.
The footman seemed to read his thoughts and held out his hand. “Arthur Skipton from the seventy-second.”
“Skippy!” Jake remembered. “We played cards the night before Salamanca. I’m sorry. I couldn’t place you for a moment.”
“No problem,” Skippy grinned. “I’ve had weeks to figure out who you were, though when I heard Captain Harraway’s name, it fell into place quickly enough. You’re still with him, then?”
Jake shrugged. “No place else to be. Though that could change if he takes himself a wife.”
“About that drink,” Skippy prompted. “An ale? Or something stronger?”
