Page 10 of The Wallflower Manifesto
Alas, the chime of a bell broke her concentration before any blood could be spilled, pulling her attention abruptly back to the opera itself and the call of her seat. She looked over her shoulder to find her mistress, whose coterie of admirers had begun to scatter at the signal that intermission was ending.
And while her attention was diverted elsewhere, Abe slipped away, so that by the time she turned back, there was nothing to find but the empty space where he’d once stood.
CHAPTER 4
The dowager slept through breakfast.
In fairness, she had announced en route home from the opera that she would be doing exactly that, and so Millie hadn’t bothered dressing or coming down for breakfast either. Instead, she had spent the morning indulging in the extreme luxury of taking breakfast in her new bedroom in the rented townhouse. She had the tray delivered to her desk and spent an hour recalling the previous night in her journal between slices of fresh peach, crumbles of aged white cheese, and warm, seasoned lamb so tender, it had made her sigh and close her eyes each time she’d taken a bite.
They had only been back in London for a day, officially. Her life as a lady’s companion had barely even begun, and already Millie thought herself much changed. The world felt entirely new just now, with the perfect silence of a private, tree-lined courtyard opposite her window and the gentle fragrances of such an indulgent breakfast at her fingertips while she recounted her night at the opera in bold indigo ink on fresh parchment.
She hadn’t much talent for artwork, but in the corner of the top of the page she’d drawn a rough approximation of the dowager’s fan, once collapsed and once spread wide with a motif of constellations climbing along the latticed edges.
She leaned back in the desk chair and lifted her teacup to her lips as the image of Abraham Murphy swam up in her mind, his hand mimicking Lady Bentley’s motions with her fan as he watched her from across the mezzanine lobby last night, ladylike as you please.
She had been using fan signals, yes, but her messages had been completely harmless. Simply an invitation for conversation, an openness to new acquaintances. Why should that merit observation? Why was it of note at all?
Hunting a jewel thief indeed,she thought with a snort and a roll of her eyes. Why in the world had that sounded even half plausible in the moment when he’d said it?
Of all the acquaintances, near and estranged, that she might have guessed she could run into at the opera house, he would have been the very, very last. She had only met him once before, at Dot’s wedding, but the man hadn’t seemed very genteel at the time. And what little she knew of him certainly didn’t lend itself to a gentleman’s image.
He was always carefully unkempt, she thought, with his sandy hair in artful disarray and his hazel eyes sparkling with things he knew that others did not. He was irritatingly handsome, long and lanky and so languid with his motions that a girl could not help but find her eye drawn to him.
She imagined he very well knew how attractive he was and used the knowledge to his advantage with many, many ladies.
Even though she’d been furious with him the last time they’d met, she could never have forgotten that face.
In fact, she had been shocked that he’d known whoshewas so quickly. Millie didn’t fancy herself someone who left much of an impression, especially after one short meeting.
She wondered how many of his former colleagues at Bow Street frequented the opera. Perhaps that was why he’d left the Runners’ service, she thought with a mutinous bit of amusement. They had doubtless discovered his love of the finer things and drummed him out.
A jewel thief. How perfectly ridiculous!
At the very least, he would never know she had believed him, even for a moment. But she knew, and now she had to endlessly ponder as to why. In the moment, she had believed every word he’d said for some absurd reason.
He had seemed so earnest, somehow. Like the type of rogue who never lied, even if only for his own amusement.
It drove her to distraction as she stood, picking through her selection of new dresses in the wardrobe. She’d never had such fine things in her life, and she should be stroking the fabrics with tender affection and giving them her full attention, rather than turning over Abraham Murphy’s stupid ruses in her mind.
“Irene,” she said, spinning around so suddenly, it startled the maid who had come to collect her breakfast tray. “Were you in service here in London last Season?”
The girl blinked, steadying the tilted teacup on its saucer, and nodded. “Yes, miss,” she answered warily. “Last Season, thishouse was let out to the Everstead family from Norwich. Four girls, all but one debuted.”
“And did you hear tell of anything about a jewel thief terrorizing thetonlast year? From the family or the other staff?” Millie pressed. “I’m afraid I only became aware of such a rumor last night, and I am not sure if I was being teased or if it is true.”
“Oh, it is true,” the maid confirmed, releasing the tray and batting at a stray curl that had escaped her bonnet. “As far as I know, only a few thefts occurred, but at important balls and from important folk, including a duchess, so there was quite a stir about it. One of the pieces that went missing was a very old, very important ruby ring, in fact. That was printed in the circulars, I was told. I don’t gossip much, miss, if I can avoid it, but this talk was impossible to avoid between five ladies in the house.”
“Of course not,” Millie agreed quickly. “Such news is not gossip anyhow, but important information for the safety of us all, especially women, in dangerous times. You should not trouble yourself over sharing it or hearing it in the first place.”
This seemed to reassure the girl, whose brow smoothed and shoulders slumped. “Oh,” she replied, thoughtful and perhaps a bit stunned. “I suppose sometimes it is hard to know gossip from news, isn’t it?”
“Any news for or about women is said to be gossip,” Millie tutted, waving her hand with annoyance. “The word is altogether meaningless, if you ask me.”
“Well, miss,” said Irene, her brow furrowed in thought, “perhaps more folks ought to ask you.”
Millie hid her smile. Dot had always told her that she was a ravenous little beast for gossip, and she very well knew it was true. She preferred word of mouth to the circulars, however, which was likely why she’d been ignorant to this jewel-thief business.
Still, it wouldn’t do to say that to the maid and distress her over what actually was simple information, and quite pertinent to their current lives besides. Even if it was still, technically, gossip.
