“Any household would be privileged to hire you.”
With a shrug, Jonesy put the coins in his pocket. “Don’t care what they say about you, Mr. Bex. You’re good. Will miss you something terrible.”
Arthur watched the boy leave and it kicked what was left of his gut. London didn’t have time for people like Jonesy. That feeling that he should stay and fight washed over him again, but it was best to go and gain some needed distance, where lilac and sketchbooks didn’t make him feel so empty.
Before he could close the door, Phineas popped inside. “Bex, can I have a moment of your time. You haven’t been keeping to your old haunts. I figured you and the wife needed your privacy.”
“Phineas, I have plenty of privacy. My wife’s still staying with her family.”
The reporter took off his hat and fanned his sweating face. “The advertisement didn’t work. Bex, I’m sorry.”
Phineas pushed his hat atop his head with a swish. “Maybe we can write another article. And if you get your mother-in-law to participate, that would—”
“No.” Arthur flailed his hands, out and in, out and in. “I don’t want the Croomes bothered.”
Phineas hung his head for a moment. “Well, I followed up with the doctor for you. Mr. Croome is still not himself. He’s walking a little, but he’s not out of the woods. The physicians think it’s sheer force of will keeping him moving.”
It was good to hear that Croome was mending, but that feeling of leaving Ester and Mrs. Croome unprotected should things become dire knifed his insides. Ester may have rejected him, but he hadn’t rejected them. As stubborn as his wife was, she’d still need someone.
Getting tangled in his own logic, he picked up the box and pushed it to Phineas. “Take this to Nineteen Fournier. Today if you can. It’s my wife’s birthday.”
“Yes, Bex,” the reporter said, as he took the box and stuffed it under his arm and gripped the handle of Ester’s bag. “Oh, I did some checking. The warehouse recently had gas lighting installed. Seems the housings were too thin, and the fittings leaked. With all the dust associated with the wool and cotton in the place, it was like gunpowder for a flintlock.”
“The gas lighting was at fault?” Bex thought about the gas lighting business of the Jordan family. “Make sure you tell my wife about the lighting when you give her the present. That way she’ll know her father wasn’t at fault. You might get a story you can investigate out of it.”
Phineas nodded. “If you change your mind about leaving town today, I know where you’re needed. Wilberforce is going to attend a meeting at the White Horse Cellar to talk about abolition. The rally was a setback. He requested that you be there.”
“Wilberforce requested that I come?” He held out his scandal-riddled hands. “Me? The talk of the town?”
“He truly thinks the fight for abolition is a young man’s game. No one is more qualified to speak of the fight and its costs. The White Horse Cellar at nine. See you there. AnotherZhondacould happen if slavery isn’t abolished. Think about it, Bex.”
Phineas tipped his hat and left with every trace of Arthur’s wife but the scars on his heart.
He closed the door, dropping his head against it. He’d run all his life since his uncle’s conviction. Maybe it was time to stop running. He’d lost Ester, but he hadn’t lost the fight. The defenseless still needed defending. It didn’t matter if he went to war with a broken spirit. He still could stop another tragedy and save another brother, so that no one ever knew the cruelty of theZhondaagain.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Performance of a Lifetime
Ester heard the musicians playing downstairs. The tunes they practiced sounded lively, perfect for a birthday celebration. It was her twenty-first, and the party would begin in an hour. Unlike all her other special days, she was miserable.
Breakfast had been done with a smile. Like always, the food tasted delicious, with the fluffiest biscuits she’d ever had and a splurge on beefsteaks, but she’d only taken a few bites. She found it hard to act happy when she’d never been more miserable. Yet, she’d become quite good at acting, even pretending to herself that she didn’t miss Bex at all.
Liar.
When had she become a coward and a purveyor of falsehoods? Instead of answering Bex’s advertisement or simply going to his residence, she’d stayed at Nineteen Fournier, hoping for her heartache to go away. Where was the bravery to love and be loved? Where was her faith?
“Miss Ester? You have a visitor downstairs in your father’s study,” Clancy said, his voice carrying to the third floor.
Her heart beat hard. Maybe Bex was trying one more time. She checked her hair, the position of her bonnet, the sash of her indigo-colored dress. She should put on something prettier, not last year’s gown, for Bex.
Oh, what did it matter? Bex was here. In a flash, she was out of the room, down two flights of stairs, almost sliding in her new ivory slippers past the servants lighting the chandelier.
Trying to appear calm and aloof, not love-starved, she lifted her chin and knocked on Papa’s door.
“Come…in.” Father’s words slurred, but his voice still had the masculine force that it always had.
Holding her breath, she entered, then released a disappointed huff. “Mr. Phineas, what are you doing here?”
