Page 3 of A Lesson in Scandal (Tales from The Burnished Jade #1)

Chapter Three

The letter Sofia had been dreading arrived on a dreary April morning, three weeks into her employment at Mr Gentry’s practice. She knew her stepmother’s handwriting. It betrayed Judith’s humble beginnings, and her impatience was evident in the ink smudges on the first line of the address.

Sofia tore open the missive, her heart stuttering as she peeled back the folds and read the only words that mattered.

The Merricks would return home in four days.

Four days!

Lord have mercy!

The news sucked the air from her lungs. It forced her to question her actions and the foolish plan to escape. What made her think she could hide from the Merricks in London? A wise woman would take what little money she’d saved, board the stagecoach to Southampton, then buy a ticket to sail … anywhere.

It wasn’t too late.

She could leave London tonight.

But an inner tug of resistance said escape was impossible. Mr Gentry was in trouble. Call it a woman’s intuition, but the truth lived in the dark circles beneath his eyes and the curt tone that was so unlike him. He disappeared for hours, leaving Mr Turner to tend to his patients. He missed an important dinner with his friends, causing them to call at the practice, fearing something was dreadfully wrong.

It shouldn’t matter to her.

Mr Gentry was merely her employer, yet he’d helped her when no one else had. He paid for a hackney to collect her from the corner of Dean Street every morning. He bought furniture for her room above the practice: a chest of drawers, a French armoire and a carved wooden bed.

A friend is moving abroad and needs to empty his house.

Mr Gentry implied someone had given him the furniture, yet she had seen an invoice from Ingrams stating the items were new.

Then there was the locked room, which he insisted was out of bounds. If Sofia had the skill to pick the lock, she might discover his secret. Something sinister kept him working long into the night.

And so, she had four days to help Mr Gentry before she boarded a boat from Southampton and sailed far from England’s shores.

Sofia studied the letter in her hand.

Judith had compiled a list of jobs for the housekeeper, Mrs Pugh, in preparation for a soiree to celebrate the couple’s nuptials. Cook was to organise a feast and order cases of burgundy from Rudd’s wine merchant. Unbeknownst to Sofia, invitations were sent weeks ago, though there was no mention of the names on the guest list.

Anger surfaced.

This was no longer her beloved family home. Her father’s favourite chair had disappeared one night, along with his portrait, clothes and the trinkets in his study, every cherished memory eradicated like footprints washed away by the tide.

Judith had moved Mr Merrick into the house mere weeks into her widowhood, making excuses for his presence.

“Your father left us penniless,” Judith had complained. “I’ve no choice but to take a lodger. And Mr Merrick is handy around the house.”

A week later, the couple were sleeping in the same chamber. Mr Merrick wasn’t so handy because Judith’s bed developed a persistent creak.

Upon hearing the patter of approaching footsteps, Sofia slipped her hand beneath the folds of her skirt and shoved the letter into the concealed pocket.

“Was that the postman?” Mrs Pugh entered the hall, red-eyed and ruddy-cheeked, swaying like she was aboard The Mayweather during a violent storm. “I heard you talking to someone.”

“No. I stubbed my toe on the chair leg and muttered a curse,” Sofia lied. When Mrs Pugh learned of the Merricks’ impending return, she would demand Sofia stay at home to help tidy the house.

The housekeeper ambled closer. The smell of gin clung to her like a second skin. “Happen you’re spending too much time trudging around museums and libraries,” she slurred. The foul woman burped and almost knocked Sofia out with the toxic fumes. “That’ll all change when your mother comes home.”

Judith is not my mother , Sofia silently screamed.

“She’ll have you entertaining gents here.” Mrs Pugh cackled like a hag. “There’ll be no more flitting about town like a restless sparrow.” She flapped her hands as if they were a fledgling’s fragile wings.

“And you’ll have to wear clean clothes and rise with the larks,” Sofia countered before reminding the housekeeper of their pact. “Just like you won’t mention my outings, I won’t mention your complete disregard for the rules.”

Mrs Pugh’s bloodshot eyes narrowed. “Best you don’t go out today. I have a nasty feeling the mistress will arrive without notice. You’ll help me straighten the house. We agreed that’s the price for your gallivanting.”

Sofia pasted a smile, yet her pulse fluttered in her throat. “I’ll rise at dawn tomorrow and assist you then. I promised the Countess of Berridge I would help plan for next month’s recital.” Before Mrs Pugh could protest, she added, “And you’re hardly in a fit state to work at present.”

Mrs Pugh went to brace her hands on her bony hips, but her arms slipped, and she stumbled forward. “You’ll start now. I need you to fetch?—”

“I’ll begin in the morning.” Sofia was late to meet the hackney cab, though Mr Gentry always paid the jarvey to wait. “We’ll compile a list of jobs when I return this evening.”

She would not return this evening.

She would never come home again.

The thought tightened her throat as she snatched her pelisse off the coat stand in the hall. There was no time to race upstairs to fetch a bonnet and the last of her belongings.

Amid Mrs Pugh’s drunken protests, Sofia darted from the house, slamming the door shut and leaving the past behind. Tears blurred her eyes as she hurried along Dean Street, wearing her sad memories like a heavy shroud.

How could her father have been so foolish?

How had Judith persuaded him to leave Sofia out of his will? She could find no documents, nothing in writing that expressed her father’s dying wishes. The ten solicitors she had visited were no help. All refused to check their records, insisting their clients’ names were confidential.

Relief washed over her when she saw the parked hackney and the usual jarvey waiting patiently atop the box.

He tipped his hat. “Morning, miss.”

“Good morning, Mr Peters. Sorry I’m late.”

“I’ve instructions to wait an hour before informing Mr Gentry.”

A subtle warmth settled in Sofia’s chest. Mr Gentry’s quiet presence made her feel oddly comforted. What would he do if she failed to show? That posed an interesting question.

She had barely settled inside the cab when it lurched forward and picked up speed. The clopping of the horse’s hooves sounded like the rapid ticking of a clock. Time stood still for no one. Change was the only certainty in life, yet she feared it most. She didn’t need strength to start anew and do the job she loved. She needed strength to sever the ties to the past.

“Empty-handed today?” Mr Hickman glanced up from his ledger as if expecting to carry her valise upstairs.

“I was running a little late.”

Half an hour late, to be precise. There had been no time to wear extra layers or sneak ribbons and stockings into her concealed pockets.

Mr Hickman’s warning gaze shifted briefly to the door. “Mr Gentry is inspecting the new dispensary. He asked to see you when you arrived. Best hurry, as he’s leaving for Guy’s Hospital in half an hour.”

The mere mention of the doctor had butterflies dancing in her stomach. She had not expected to see Mr Gentry today. Perhaps fate had granted her a boon, aware she had but a few days to help him.

Sofia found Mr Gentry examining the labels on a row of brown bottles. He took one, removed the stopper and inhaled the contents.

Her gaze moved over him. His dark blue waistcoat clung to his torso like a second skin. His broad shoulders narrowed to a lean waist, a striking testament to strength and grace. In his shirt sleeves, he looked relaxed and utterly masculine. The cut on his knuckle was new.

Sofia cleared her throat. “You wished to see me, sir.”

Her heart lurched when he turned to face her. This little infatuation she had developed sent heat spreading through her body like wildfire.

Mr Gentry’s swift observation of her caused him to frown. “You’re wearing your hair in a different style, and we agreed you would start work at nine. There are rules for a reason, Miss Moorland.”

His voice carried an air of cool detachment, yet he seemed distracted by the soft wisp of hair stroking her cheek.

She straightened her shoulders. “A letter arrived. The letter I’ve been dreading for weeks. Forgive my tardiness, but the news sent me into a panic.”

“A letter from the Merricks?” He returned the bottle to the shelf before giving her his full attention. “I presume they’re due home soon.”

Sofia nodded, afraid to speak in case he heard the thread of fear in her voice.

He closed the gap between them. “Do you intend to move into the room upstairs when they do?”

“I had hoped to stay here tonight.” Her throat tightened at the thought of sleeping in an empty house alone, one with a human skull on a shelf and eyeballs floating in glass jars, but reminded herself the situation was temporary. “I cannot let the Merricks find me, not until I decide if it’s safer to leave England.”

“Leave England?” His voice rose a notch. “Where the devil would you go? Are you unhappy here?” He gestured to the rows of medicines and tinctures lining the shelves, to the polished distilling apparatus and the baskets of dried herbs on the oak table. “You’ve achieved miracles in three weeks. Imagine what you could achieve in months.”

A wave of sadness washed over her.

While Judith was hundreds of miles away in Scotland, Sofia had allowed herself to dream. But the chilling reality of her situation sank in.

Tell him!

Tell him what they plan to do to you!

Tell him what’s at stake!

How could she? Mr Gentry had his own demons. If she was to help him, she couldn’t add to his burdens.

“I have a few days to decide,” she said, praying Judith wouldn’t find her and Mrs Pugh had been too drunk to remember anything useful. “I love my work here. Mr Turner taught me how to tie a ligature to stem a bleeding wound. He said I can sew minor cuts as I’m skilled with a needle and thread.”

Mr Gentry smiled, the sight like a blessing from heaven. “Sewing flesh is not like sewing muslin.”

Sofia managed a smile, too. “Yes, it’s not like I can work on a sample piece. Not unless you have a mummified cadaver hidden in that room upstairs.”

The light in his eyes died. That’s when she knew his odd behaviour had something to do with what he kept in his inner sanctum.

“As a woman with no medical training, they’ll not permit me to work at Guy’s Hospital,” she added to avoid an awkward silence.

“Leave me to consider the matter.” Faint creases appeared between his brows as if his thoughts lingered miles away. “I have a patient or two who won’t mind that you’re a woman.”

Is everything all right? she wanted to say.

She suspected a walk in the park would not lift his spirits. Mr Gentry was a complex case, but not because of any mental disorder. The weight of his problem was taking its toll.

“Thank you.” Her heart brimmed with gratitude. “I pray I won’t be a disappointment.”

His gaze flicked over her body. “I’m sure you’ll rise to the challenge. Just like you have here.”

A sudden spark in the air made her stomach flip.

“Is there a reason you wanted to see me, sir?”

He blinked like he had forgotten. “You’re never late. You refuse to discuss your fears, and I wondered if they were the reason for your tardiness.” He muttered under his breath. “I need to know you’re well.”

“I’m quite well.”

Knowing it was a lie, he gave a solemn nod. “If you need help, Miss Moorland, all you need do is ask.”

“You once said talking could ease a troubled mind. I hope you’ve followed your own advice, sir, and discussed your worries with someone.”

He stared at her for the longest time.

She thought she glimpsed the prisoner behind the bars, but he quickly closed the cell door. “Medical men never practise what they preach. I assumed you knew that.”

“And ladies often find themselves in hot water as they scramble to break free of their shackles. Perhaps we both need help, but fear confiding in someone will only add to the problem.”

“Perhaps I’m prepared to risk my life but draw the line at hurting someone else,” he agreed. “The less you know about me, the better.”

She didn’t demand an explanation, but whatever he did on the Barking Road had nothing to do with healing the sick. Yet Mr Gentry was a gentleman, not a criminal. Perhaps he was being blackmailed.

“I shall leave you to your work,” he said, desperate to retreat. “Draw all the bolts tonight. A rowdy bunch often gathers outside the King’s Arms, and men visit the East India House round the clock.”

“If I can’t sleep, I can come to the dispensary and grind herbs.” She could read or take a bath. However, bathing without Mrs Pugh’s help would be an arduous task. “In the absence of servants to lug the water, may I bring the hip bath to the dispensary?” It was another item Mr Gentry had been kind enough to purchase. “I can ask Mr Turner to carry it down from upstairs.”

Talk of tending to her ablutions seemed to unsettle him. The reason became apparent when he said, “Ensure you keep the door locked, including the one to the yard. I may have cause to return to collect some papers and wouldn’t want to cause any embarrassment.”

Sofia bit back a smile. “There’s no reason why anyone should be embarrassed. If I’ve drawn the bolts, you cannot enter.”

“True.” He pursed his lips while considering the dilemma. “If you decide to stay, I shall hire a housekeeper. Then we can move freely, without restriction.” The chime of the hall clock had him excusing himself. “I’ll fetch the hip bath before I leave for Guy’s. Avoid having this discussion with Turner. He might find it hard to concentrate on his patients.”

“And you won’t?” she teased.

His eyes brightened for the first time in days. “As you said, we’re unlikely to form a romantic attachment.”

He left her to begin work, returning with the hip bath minutes later—his tense muscles straining against the fine lawn of his shirt as he positioned it near the fire—then he bid her a good day.

With a list of tasks longer than Oxford Street, there was no time to consider the letter hidden inside her pocket. No time to dread her first night in a strange house all alone.

Mr Turner visited the dispensary at seven o’clock to see if she needed anything before he left for the evening. “Perhaps you’d like to catch a bite of supper at the King’s Arms.”

“Thank you, but I bought a steak pie from Martin’s Bakery and plan to eat supper while I work.” Sofia glanced at the list on the table. “Mr Hickman asked for a batch of digestive remedies, and the peppermint from the apothecary only just arrived.”

As the herb needed weeks to seep, time was of the essence.

Mr Turner lingered in the doorway. “Will you be all right here alone?”

She pasted a smile. “Of course.”

He stared for a moment before remembering he held a folio of papers in his hand. “The coroner delivered a report for Mr Gentry, but the study is locked. Might I leave it with you?” His cheeks reddened. “I often misplace things, and I know Mr Gentry will want to examine the report tomorrow.”

“I shall keep it safe in the drawer.”

Sofia took the folio, wondering if it would give her an insight into Mr Gentry’s problems. She followed Mr Turner into the hall, bid him good evening and secured the door behind him.

The sudden silence sent a prickle of awareness chasing up her spine. The next four or five hours would pass slowly. She prayed Mrs Pugh was sotted and didn’t notice her absence until morning.

Sofia returned to the dispensary, placed the report on her wooden workbench and gathered the ingredients to make the digestive remedies. Though she crushed the dry peppermint with her pestle, her gaze kept flitting to the documents in the folio.

Would it hurt to scan a page or two?

Mr Gentry knew she had a curious mind, and a feeling deep in her gut said the notes were part of his pressing problem.

She tipped the crushed leaves into a large brown bottle along with ginger and cardamon, then added ethanol. As soon as she pushed the cork stopper into the neck, she set the bottle aside and took the coroner’s notes.

The coroner was adamant Mrs Beckman’s heart had given out, and it accounted for her fall. There was a sketch of the woman’s injuries: a broken wrist, numerous bruises, and a wound to the left temple where she hit the newel post with blunt force.

Absorbed by the information, Sofia continued reading until she stumbled on the comments that sent her heart thundering.

I can find nothing to link the deaths you mentioned, nothing to suggest foul play. It may be that Mrs Beckman stumbled on a burglar, but I spoke with the sergeant, and nothing was taken. I’ll reiterate: you’re not to blame for the series of explainable deaths.

Sofia reread the last line.

So, that was the cause of Mr Gentry’s disquiet. He believed he was responsible for this lady’s ill fate. Surely all doctors felt a moral duty to their patients. Preventable things like falls must be harder to bear.

Sofia glanced at the ceiling. So what did he keep locked away upstairs? He’d mentioned patients’ records and must be searching for clues. Who better to help him than a woman with an inquisitive mind?

Gathering the folio and the lit oil lamp, she hurried upstairs to Mr Gentry’s concealed chamber. A quick peer through the keyhole revealed nothing but darkness. It was pointless trying to pick the lock. Hairpins bent too easily. Three snapped yesterday when her attempt to force the mechanism failed. If only she had the proper implements.

The sudden bang on the front door made her jump.

Sofia hurried to the window, a relieved sigh escaping her when she saw Lady Berridge’s elegant equipage. However, it soon became clear the countess wanted to question her, not offer assistance.

“Mr Gentry said you were sleeping here tonight.” Joanna swept into the hall, her golden hair framing a look of concern, the jaunty pillbox hat hinting at her unconventional spirit. “Has something happened at home? Has Judith returned? If you needed help, you should have come to The Jade.”

“So you’ve seen Mr Gentry this evening?” Sofia said, keen to learn of his current whereabouts.

Joanna frowned. “Yes, he called to cancel next week’s lecture and wants you to speak on his behalf. He said you’re more than capable.”

Mr Gentry had chosen her to act in his stead?

The burst of pride was short-lived. It was a ploy to stop her leaving London—a dangling carrot of hope for someone who craved a better life.

“He suggested I offer you a room at The Jade,” Joanna continued, “but I explained that’s the first place Judith will look.” She moved farther into the gloomy hall, her gaze scanning the corridor like it was a passageway to hell. “Mr Gentry dislikes the idea of you staying here alone at night, and I quite agree. It feels like the troubled spirits of the sick lurk in the shadows.”

“There’s no need for concern,” Sofia assured the countess before mentioning her plan to move abroad. “I appreciate you calling, but I’m a little busy with work at present.”

Joanna was undeterred. “When did you decide to move abroad? What’s happened? I’m not leaving until you tell me.” She called to her husband, who stood outside, leaning against the parked carriage with his arms folded across his chest.

The gentleman entered the house. No matter how often Sofia spoke to Mr Chance—now the Earl of Berridge—his presence proved unnerving.

“Close the door,” Joanna said, touching his muscular arm. “Miss Moorland is about to explain why she feels it necessary to leave London.”

The man fixed Sofia with his intense stare. “Allow me to save you the trouble, Miss Moorland. Your stepmother is due home and wants rid of you. The Merricks need money—more money than you could earn working as a herbalist. Word is, there’s to be an auction. I don’t need to explain the one thing you have that’s of any value.”

Tears pricked the backs of Sofia’s eyes. So it was true. “I found a letter suggesting as much, though have no notion which men will attend.”

“I have a list.” He reached into his pocket, removed a slip of paper and handed it to her. “It’s remarkable what you can learn when a man owes you a debt and you hold his proverbials in a vice.”

Nausea roiled in her stomach as she scanned the names, noting Mr Harrop topped the list of degenerates. Many of the others were unknown to her.

“I’m so afraid,” she confessed, allowing the tears to fall. “Judith is cunning. It was foolish of me to think I could hide here.”

“I’ll not mince words,” the handsome lord said. “Hell is a better prospect than marrying any of those men. I’m willing to help you, but I advise you to marry a man of your own choosing and do so quickly.”

A strained snort escaped her. “I’m not exactly inundated with offers, not from anyone decent.” And where would she find someone kind who supported her work? “My only hope of evading Judith is to leave town.”

The thought dragged another sob from her throat. She loved working in the dispensary. It was the first time she had felt true joy since her father passed a year ago.

Joanna reached for Sofia’s hand and clasped it tightly. “I’m surprised you’re still here. If you need money for your fare, I will give it to you. But I think you should stay and fight.”

An image of Mr Gentry formed in her mind. He was the reason she had not fled. Her mild infatuation for him would pass, yet she would never forget his generosity or the soft caress of his fingers in her hair.

“I’m here because I’m worried about Mr Gentry.”

“Worried?” Joanna seemed unsurprised and shared a knowing look with her husband. “Do you have a reason to be anxious about his welfare?”

Not wanting to break a confidence or admit she had read the coroner’s letter, she said, “He’s troubled and barely sleeps. I hoped to help him before Judith returns but I don’t know where to begin. I know he lives in Mayfair with his grandfather but stays out most nights.”

“I know where you can find him,” Lord Berridge said, drawing his pocket watch and inspecting the time. “I had him followed when he left The Burnished Jade earlier. We can take you there if you’re serious about helping him. Perhaps you might help each other.”

Sofia didn’t need to give the matter any consideration. “Let me fetch my coat and gloves.” Heaven knows what she would say when she got there. Maybe the time had finally come for them to share their secrets. “Where is he, my lord?”

She held her breath, praying she didn’t have to storm the bathhouse.

“You’ll call me Mr Chance, Miss Moorland. It’s my preferred form of address. As for Gentry, you can find him at the Hare and Hounds coaching inn on the Barking Road, playing at being a highway robber.”