Patrick was up early about his own affairs the next morning. He took a lease on a small but smart establishment in Half-Moon Street
and sent a note around to the employment agency setting out his requirements for a lady's maid, informing them he would be around the next day to make his selection. He kept the appointment promptly and made his choice from the three women they had lined up for him.
"Mrs. Harris, the lady you will be looking after is rather young and your duties will be quite light. Naturally, I have a daily to do the heavy work and I think I'll get you a cook too. Here's the address. Can you start tomorrow?"
"Yes, sir. Is there just you and your wife, sir? Are there any children?"
He smiled and said, "The lady is not my wife, Mrs. Harris. I won't be residing there, I'll only be a visitor."
She grasped the situation immediately. "I see. So it's simply a matter of looking after the lady's wardrobe and attending to her toilet and hair and accompanying her shopping, and of course keeping an eye on her as regards other gentlemen callers?"
“Precisely, Mrs. Harris. I think we understand each other perfectly."
Patrick had asked Jeffrey to call at two o'clock and was pleased to see the butler usher him into the library at precisely that hour. Julia was in a fit of pique because when she had hinted to her father about a house in London for a wedding present, he had told her flatly they could live at Cadogen Square
; he had been adamant about not wanting the expense of another household in London. Patrick poured them both a glass of Scotch and water, sat behind the library desk and indicated a seat for his future brother-in-law.
"Jeff, I hope you won't take me wrong, but I feel I have to speak. I would hate to see you set off on the wrong foot with Julia."
Jeffrey held himself stiffly, not knowing what to expect. Patrick drank half his glassful in one swallow and continued, "You should start out as you mean to carry on, and that's to take the upper hand."
Jeffrey was surprised at the words.
"Julia is used to dealing with two very strong-willed men, and yet she is able to get her own way most of the time. If she were to come up against anything softer than an iron will, she would walk all over you; worse, she would devour you," Patrick emphasized.
Jeffrey said carefully, "It would be nice to be master in my house, but it will not be my own house, will it? Julia will control the purse strings."
"Wrong! Father will control the purse strings and you can only avoid that in the way I myself did; make yourself financially independent of him."
Jeff opened his mouth to speak.
"Ah, don't object before you hear me out. I realize England’s ruling classes haven't soiled their hands with trade in the past. The Regency saw to that, but we are coming into a new era now that Victoria is on the throne. England owes its strength to manufacturing."
Jeffrey said quietly, "I wasn't going to object. I would jump at the opportunity to prove myself, in spite of my family's objections."
"Excellent! Now, I've been giving some thought to you and I believe that the one occupation that wouldn't put you beyond the pale is that of wine merchant. You have the entree to society and you could introduce and promote new brands of wine, especially champagne. I am about to acquire part interest in such it company, Stowils of Chelsea. Your help will be invaluable. What do you say?"
"I should be honored to join you in any endeavor you have in mind. I'd be a fool to refuse; you are always such a resounding success."
"Thanks for your confidence. I abhor snobbery. It's like cutting off your nose to spite your face. I remember at Oxford I was the best damned oarsman they'd ever had, but I was barred from entering the Royal Henley Regatta because I'd worked with my hands. I had the satisfaction of seeing my school defeated because they dispensed with my services."
Jeffrey thought, I wouldn't want Patrick O'Reilly for my enemy. "So let's shake on it, and I'll be in touch with you. Don't forget my advice concerning Julia," he said with a wink.
Chapter 6
Jonathan O'Reilly was expecting a shipment of wine and liquor from the distillery to replenish his stock.
When it arrived he looked over the invoices, signed the receipt and told the two delivery men to put the cases in the cellar.
An angry Kitty had been sent down for coal. She vowed that she would never do this degrading chore again, promising herself she would appeal to Patrick if there were any repercussions. The men stacked the cases of wine at the top of the cellar steps and as Kitty hauled the heavy coal scuttle through the door she collided with the wine and sent eight cases crashing to the floor. The girl was rooted to the spot with horror. "How many's broken?" she finally whispered.
"All of 'urn! Eight dozen, that's ninety-six bottles, you clumsy bitch!"
She stood in a wine-red pool with shards of glass stretching clear across the kitchen floor.
"Oh, my God, whatever shall I do?" she asked piteously, and the tears ran down her cheeks and dripped into the pool.
Patrick, followed by most of the servants, came to investigate the crash. "What in Christ's name’s going on here?"
The men spoke up together, "It was her fault, gov'nor.
She crashed into the wine with that bleedin' coal scuttle. Who's going' to pay for this breakage that's what I'd like to know."
Kitty dared not look up at Patrick. She trembled with the overwhelming knowledge of the havoc she had wrought.
Patrick's voice had a cutting edge that brooked no disobedience.
"Clean it up instantly. Replace the order and bill me. Kitty, come!" He ushered her from the kitchen and up the broad staircase to his bedroom. The tears were still coming as she climbed each stair with trepidation in her heart. Her mind was going over the alternatives rapidly. Would it be best to deny that she had done it, or disclaim responsibility because the cases were stacked improperly, or would it simply be best to throw herself on Patrick's mercy and hope he wouldn't deduct the cost of the wine from her year's wages? He closed the door quietly and stood looking down at her. He took a large white handkerchief from his pocket, put a finger under her chin to lift her face and then very gently wiped away her tears.
She eyed him warily.
"Kitty, I can't bear to see you a servant. Let me take you away from all this." For one glorious moment she thought he was going to ask her to marry him, until a little voice of reason told her it wouldn't be that easy.
"What do you mean?" she whispered.
"First of all, Kitty, tell me what you want to do," he urged.
She knew he was not referring to the wine, but to life. She took a deep breath. "Everything! I want to see, smell, taste, touch everything. I want to do everything, go everywhere, experience it all," she said with passion.
"Then we are alike," he smiled. "I have a little house in Half-Moon Street
. Would you like to go and live there? Learn how to be a lady, wear pretty clothes and have servants of your own?"
"Are you sure it would be all right for me to do that?" "Oh, yes, it's done all the time, I assure you."
"When can we leave?" she asked quickly.
He laughed and said, "Now, if you like."
She thought happily, He does want to marry me, but first I have to learn to be a lady.
She dashed upstairs to the attic for her cloak. She slipped her tarot cards into her reticule, retrieved her bracelet from under the mattress and didn't even pause to look around the room. Her heart was singing. She wanted to slide down the banister, but when she saw Patrick waiting at the bottom for her, she quickly decided that it would be unladylike.
She leaned back against the velvet squabs of Patrick's well-sprung carriage and closed her eyes for a second to control her excitement.
He kept glancing at her and smiling, while keeping an eye on his drive.
"Where are we going?" she ventured.
"I'm going to take you to Madame Martine's in Bond Street
. A very chic Paris dressmaker. Probably the only
time she saw France was from Dover on a clear day, but her clothes are unsurpassed."
Kitty laughed and asked, "Is she very expensive?"
"You will be delighted to know her prices are shameful. It will very likely cost me an arm and a leg before I get out of there, but don't let that stop you from picking anything you desire."
She threw him a mischievous glance from under those long black lashes and said with a laugh, "I won't disappoint you!"
He held her eyes for a moment and said, "I'll hold you to that promise," but she quickly lowered her eyes and fingered the tiny bells on her bracelet. His eyes clouded momentarily. "Kitty, where did you get that?" he asked.
"I can't tell you," she said prettily.
"Damn it, Kitty, I won't have you accepting presents from other men. I wasn't even aware you knew any men except
Father and me. Father! That's who bought your little trinket, isn't it?" he demanded.
"Well, I suppose you could say that," she answered carefully.
He looked at her sharply, the rake of his jaw thrust out angrily. She felt frightened of him when he was angry. "What did you do in return for the bracelet?" He almost sneered.
She cast down her eyes and whispered, "I stole it when we visited the Silver Vaults."
The crack of his laughter startled her. Relieved that his dark mood had passed, she laughed with him. His lips brushed her forehead and he said, "You're incorrigible!"
She was disturbed by his closeness. It was pleasant but instinctively she knew his behavior was a little too familiar. She looked down at her lap and fingered the plain material of her dress. Suddenly she burst out, "I hate brown!"
"So do I," he agreed.
"Then I'll never wear it again," she vowed.
Madame Martine welcomed Patrick effusively. She remembered him very well, as only a few days ago he had brought his sister in and spent a good deal, promising he would soon return with his younger sister. She whisked Kitty away to a tiny fitting room, leaving Patrick to sip sherry as he relaxed on a blue satin, Louis XIV love seat. She dressed Kitty in a child's pink organdy dress with frilled white pantaloons showing beneath and swept her before Patrick. “Ta soeur!”
Patrick's eyes met Kitty's and they both went off into peals of laughter. "You look delicious, my sweet, like icing on a cake. Madame. I assure you this is not my sister." He smiled charmingly. "May I suggest something a little more sophisticated? She will need everything-underwear, dresses, negligees." Madame Martine realized her faux pas instantly. She had taken them for brother and sister because they had the same vivid, dark beauty.
Kitty spoke up, "I look much younger than I really am, madame. and I should like some grown-up gowns with plunging necklines. I'm almost sixteen." Patrick had the decency to flush as Madame Martine's eyebrows rose. In her business one couldn't afford scruples, but she felt morally justified in her decision to charge him double for everything. She started with day dresses in exquisitely sprigged muslin, then gowns for evening wear that had been made up for other customers. "Mademoiselle is so petite I will have to get the girl to pin it tighter."
As soon as she left, Kitty, who was standing on a raised platform in front of Patrick, lifted her skirts to show off her legs. "Look, Patrick-silk stockings, just like I've always longed for!"
His loins went taut and he began to stiffen. She had only intended to show him her ankles, but elevated as she was he saw the shapely calves and caught a glimpse of her bare thigh, that very exciting area above the garters where the stockings left off and the most intimate part of the female began. He was acutely aware of the savage pulsing of blood into his shaft.
"They come in all kinds of shades. May I have some pink ones and some flesh-colored ones?"
"And black," he said huskily, as he shifted position to ease the tightness of the cloth of his trousers. Kitty only had eyes for the pretty shoes with bows across the toes and tiny high heels. They made her feel different as she strutted about in them. Most of the dresses would have to be delivered when they were finished, but many of the articles of lace underwear, shoes, stockings, etc., were boxed up and ready to be taken with them. Madame Martine came out of the dressing room to have a private word with Patrick. She carried three or four transparent nightgowns in delicate shades over her arm, which she indicated. "She absolutely refuses to try any of these on, monsieur."
"Why?" asked Patrick, puzzled.
"She simply refuses to believe a lady would wear such a thing to bed. She says nightgowns have to be made of flannel to keep you warm."
Patrick laughed. "Wrap them up; we'll take them."
When they left the shop Kitty was wearing a yellow silk organza, which fell in ruffles down the back over a crinoline. Her hair was gathered up at one side with a bunch of silk primroses and she carried a parasol to match her dress. She insisted on wearing two pairs of frilled gloves at the same time. "See how pretty the double rows of frills are?" she asked Patrick.
"Like your eyelashes," he murmured.
She loved the compliments he had suddenly begun to pay her, but his voice was so intimate that it made her blush. She couldn't escape the feeling that he knew something she didn't. She was anticipating what would come next and could sense his anticipation, but vaguely she felt they were not anticipating the same things. Suddenly her attention was drawn to a man beating his horse in the street. Without a moment's hesitation she wrested the whip from him and laid it about his back with a sweeping stroke.
"Now you know what it feels like!" she said passionately, her eyes blazing.
Patrick was momentarily stunned at her actions, but gallantly backed her up in condemning the carter's treatment of the poor beast. Out of his past came a picture of his pretty Irish mother taking a whip to some fellow for his insolence.
"What a difference your new clothes make. Suddenly you have the confidence of a duchess. Lady Jane Tut to the very life!" he teased. He helped her into the carriage and gave instructions to his driver. He sat opposite her so that he could view her to advantage. "You saw yourself in a mirror at Madame Martine's so you must realize how very beautiful you are."
"Yes, I do look beautiful, don't I?" she asked ingenuously.
"As a matter of fact, you are a very showy female. In Lancashire we have an expression, 'You pay well for dressing.' Now wherever I take you, all the men will be staring at you, and I'll hate every moment of it." The glint in his eyes belied his words.
"You're teasing me!" said Kitty with a laugh.
"On the contrary, my dear, it is you who are teasing me," he said softly.
His eyes lingered on her lips until she said breathlessly, "Why do you keep looking at me like that?"
"Like what, Kitty?"
"Well . . . like I look at food when I'm very hungry sort of longingly."
He took her hand and put the tips of her fingers to his lips.
"I would love to eat you," he said suggestively. "Just one taste would satisfy me."
She looked at him very seriously and said, "Patrick, you know that's a lie; nothing would satisfy you but the whole."
He was startled for a moment and wondered if she realized she had just made a very racy pun. It was hard to tell with Kitty. One moment she was all little girl; the next she could do or say something so sexually provocative, he became hard instantly.
The carriage went downriver past the Tower of London.
"Oh, let's go to the Tower, please, Patrick."
"How can I refuse you anything when you ask so prettily?
However, first I think we are in need of sustenance."
The carriage stopped at Wapping Wall outside the Prospect of Whitby. "Oh, isn't this a public house?" she asked doubtfully as he helped her down.
"Yes, it's a pub, the best on the Thames. It has been here since 1509."
"Well, do you think it quite proper for me to go into a place like this?"
"Well, some ladies would refuse, but this morning you were the girl who wanted to go everywhere and experience eve
rything, weren't you?"
She tucked her arm in his and smiled up invitingly. "What are we waiting for?"
He led her upstairs on the riverside. It was high tide and the Prospect stood on tall timbers, out in the river's waters. Kitty received many admiring glances and she noticed that she was the only woman in the room. Patrick ordered for them both. They had pate, whitebait and trout broiled in heavy butter. "In the last century, thieves and smugglers frequented this place. The hangman too-the public execution area is just across the street."
She shuddered. "The atmosphere is strange here."
"Wait until you go up in the Tower," he promised. Instead of white wine to go with the fish, he ordered her mead and mulled wine for himself. "Do you like it?"
"It's delicious," she said dreamily. "I feel like Queen Guinevere, sipping mead."
"Much more beautiful," he assured her.
He took her to the Tower as he had promised and guided her toward the Jewel House.
"There are three floors of armor, but you must be prepared to climb to each floor, and then coming down there's over a hundred winding tower stairs to the exit, so please, sweetheart, can we skip the armor today?"
"Oh look, there's one of the ravens. You must bow to him, Patrick."
He laughed, "I'm Irish too, or have you forgotten?"
"I can feel the sadness here, can you?" she asked wistfully.