Page 3 of Crimes, Conspiracies, and Courtship (Paddy’s Peelers Mystery #1)

CHAPTER 2

Hanover Square, London

“M atilda Bancroft, are you listening to me?” Her mother’s voice rose with irritation.

“Yes, Mama,” Lady Matilda’s eyes focused on the old man across the street with a bag slung over his shoulder. Was he collecting or selling something? It was the second time she’d seen him, and it was always when her brother was away on business. The first time, if she was correct it was the same man, had been in the dead of night behind the house. She hadn’t been able to sleep and got up to look out the window. She’d seen him walking past the mews. “I should go out more. Put the books away and socialize with people my own age,” she answered her mother.

“What are you looking at?” Lady Darby demanded.

“Nothing,” Mattie lied, turning back to her mother. “I promise I will make an effort.” But her thoughts remained on the old man.

He was an odd fellow—looking older than her mother yet toting a bag that looked heavy. She remembered the old worn coat because it had a rip near the collar. Or it at least appeared to from a distance. It could be a dismal attempt at darning. What was he doing in this neighborhood? Today, she thought their eyes had met, sending a shiver down her spine. Excitement or foreboding?

Now you’re just being melodramatic.

“The Carstons are having a musicale this week. Perhaps we’ll attend.”

“Yes, Mama,” Mattie murmured, moving away from the window and settling in front of the library hearth. It was a large room with dark paneling and overstuffed chairs clustered for groups of guests. An intricately embroidered chaise longue sat near the window, heavy drapes pulled back to let in the sunlight. The Axminster carpet was thick and plush beneath her slippers.

She waited to open a book, considering her mother’s recent warning. “I heard there will be a violinist. It sounds lovely.”

Her mother frowned at the unexpected compliance, then let out a breath. The expression on Lady Darby’s face went from subtle annoyance to satisfaction. “Very well. Your brother sent word he shall be home by the week’s end.”

Mattie already knew that, but she wouldn’t hurt her mother’s feelings by telling her Nicholas had written to her. Even if the woman did harangue her about the upcoming Season. Mattie watched her leave, the perfectly tailored skirts swishing out the door, the flawless coiffure disappearing down the hall.

And then there was silence. Beautiful, serene, soul-healing silence.

She took in a deep breath and laid her head back against the velvet-covered chair. The musicale would be another humiliating afternoon of being introduced to eligible men, of stuttering responses or falling silent too soon, and ultimately disappointing her mother.

Well, it could not be helped. Mattie was fortunate to have Nicholas as her older brother. He had made it clear to her that she could choose her husband—or not choose one at all—and he would deal with their mother.

“You only need to find the right man,” Nicholas said, running a hand through his thick blonde hair. “Then the conversation will happen without force. You will know when you meet him.”

“How does the interminable bachelor know such things?” she asked with a grin.

“Widower,” he reminded her, his smile fading. “I know because you are the loveliest, cleverest, kindest woman in this miserable society. Any man who can’t see that is an imbecile. And I won’t have my sister shackled to an imbecile for the rest of her life.”

“What if I don’t find love, Nicky?” Yes, she was painfully shy, but once she came to know someone, the insecurity fled. But no one seemed to find her interesting enough to spend the time to find out.

“Then you’ll be stuck with me for eternity.” He kissed the top of her head, the same color as his, and snipped her nose. “He’s out there. You are destined for love, my sweet sister. At nineteen, you have plenty of time to find him.”

Well, in the meantime, she would try to please Lady Darby. It was the least she could do as a loving daughter. Who knows? Love might leap from behind a potted plant at Almack’s and hit her over the head.

Mattie strolled along the shelves, looking for a good novel. With all these thoughts of romance, she might as well read one. Her eyes strayed to the window, and she saw the old peddler was gone. She decided to ask their driver about him. Mr. Jones seemed to know everyone and their business.

* * *

The next day, Mattie waited at the portico for Mr. Jones to come around with the curricle. It was a lovely day, and she wanted to sketch. She wore her favorite pale-blue day dress that Nicholas said matched her eyes. A simple fine muslin with puffed sleeves and a square neck, it had tiny deep-blue birds embroidered along the sleeves and hem. A row of the same, but in white, had been sewn into the center of the midnight-blue satin ribbon around the high waist. She finished the outfit with a swooping, light-blue bonnet adorned with indigo lace and matching ribbons tied beneath her chin.

As the conveyance stopped in front of her, the driver hopped down and helped her up. Her maid, Franny Tilbot, came running out to join them.

“Your parasol, my lady,” the maid said with a scolding look. “You mustn’t burn your ivory skin.”

Mattie rolled her eyes but took the parasol. Franny accepted the driver’s help and joined her mistress, careful not to step on the leather bag stored on the floorboard with sketching materials. “I can hear the Lady Darby now, berating me for letting you come home with pink cheeks.”

A touch of regret rolled through Mattie, realizing her maid may have received a tongue lashing because of her thoughtlessness. “I didn’t think of it. I’m so glad I have you to keep track of all Mama’s rules and worries. I would never subject you to one of her tirades if I could help it.”

“Of course not,” said the older woman, holding her cap on her auburn hair as the curricle lurched forward.

“Where to, m’lady?” Mr. Jones asked, tipping his black hat to reveal thick brown curls. His brow glinted with a slight sheen over the hazel eyes. “Hyde Park?”

She shook her head. “It’s too late in the day. Too many people Mother knows will be there. Let’s go to St. James’s. I’ll sketch the swans.”

As Mr. Jones expertly weaved the curricle through the traffic, they passed St. George’s and left Hanover Square. The traffic grew more congested the closer they came to St. James’s. Mattie watched the passersby on the street as she twirled her parasol above her head. The curricle turned onto Cocksure Lane and soon Farrance’s pastry shop came into view.

“Oh, Mr. Jones. Could we stop for an ice?” she asked, dabbing a handkerchief around her neck. It was abnormally warm for September.

“Yes, m’lady. It’s a hot one for sure.” He clicked to the horses and guided them to the side of the street, then helped both women down and across the street. “I’ll wait here and guard the horses and the parasol,” he said with a wink at the maid before settling his lean form against the stone wall of the sweet shop and pulling his hat low over his eyes against the bright sun.

Inside, customers sat at tables, eating dainty cakes and candied fruits, or spooning cold ices onto their tongue.

She and Franny took a seat at an empty table and a waiter soon came to take their order. “We’d like some ices to take to the park with us,” she told him. “We’ll be sure to return the dishes and spoons.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the young man said with a smile. “We have a special flavor today, our coffee ice.”

“Ooh, I’ll take one of those”—she turned to Franny—“for Mr. Jones, he loves his coffee. And I would like pistachio.” She turned back to her maid with an arched brow.

“Oh, cherry, please, if you don’t mind. But it’s not necessary, Lady Matilda.”

“Pishposh. The sun is just as hot on your head as it is on mine.”

“If you’d like, I can bring this to you at the park,” the young man said, obviously hoping for a tip.

“That would be lovely.” She gave the man enough coin for four instead of three ices, which he accepted with a grateful smile and low bow. “We shall wait for you at The Mall entrance.”

They went outside, and Mr. Jones escorted them along Spring Garden toward The Mall. Once he found the ladies a shaded spot, he left the satchel with Lady Matilda’s sketching materials and returned to the carriage to check the horses.

St. James’s was busy this afternoon. Couples strolled the mall lane, nannies chased their wards, and the swans and geese strutted with their families waddling behind. Mattie loved the mute swans. As a child, her father had brought her and Nicholas here several times to see the foot-guard parade. There was always a full band accompanying the changing of the guards, and she and her brother always enjoyed the show.

“Here he comes,” said Franny as the waiter from Farrance’s approached with a tray and three glass dishes with silver spoons. Right behind him trotted Mr. Jones.

The threesome strolled along a shaded lane and savored the icy sweet. Mr. Jones and Franny followed just behind Mattie, making pleased noises over their mistress’s treat. When they finished, Mr. Jones made sure they were settled near enough to the lake and Duck Island for Lady Matilda to sketch the swans, then he returned the dishes to Farrance’s.

“Oh, miss, it’s a lovely day. Thank goodness for the breeze.”

Mattie nodded. “If I enjoyed swimming, I’d be tempted to dip into the lake—except I don’t think the swans would appreciate the intrusion.”

“No, miss,” agreed the maid with a chuckle. “My brother was bit by one when we were younger. Right in the nose. It swelled up like a loaf of bread on the rise.”

“Oh, my. Did it hurt much?”

Franny nodded. “For a week or so. My mother said he was lucky it was his nose and not his eye.”

The next hour, Mattie sketched a pair of white mute swans and their three cygnets, smiling at the little ones waddling behind their parents. She looked down at her drawing, considering the colors she would use when she painted it.

A scream pierced the quiet afternoon. Mattie and Franny looked about but only saw a toddler on their right. He wobbled toward the lake as fast as his short chubby legs could carry him, yelling “Wanny, wanny!” His goal seemed to be the baby swans, his arms held wide and a huge smile on his face.

“He’s headed for the water,” cried Mattie, looking about to see if Mr. Jones was watching. But the driver was a good distance away, talking with another man.

She didn’t know how to swim, so Mattie knew she had to intercept the boy before he reached the lake. As she pushed the sketchbook from her lap, a blur of white and dark blue streamed past her on the left, heading in the same direction as the redheaded toddler. The man dropped his black coat as he ran pell-mell for the pending disaster.

One of the adult swans stepped in front of the cygnets with a loud snort and moved toward the child, its wings half spread, its neck curved back in an aggressive stance. An attack by such a large creature upon the much smaller one could create serious injury. With lightning speed, the swan jabbed its beak at the boy just as the man swooped between them.

He grabbed the child as he fell onto the ground and rolled, tucking the boy against his chest. Another streak, this time a jonquil day dress and the same red hair, flew across the lawn and snatched the toddler from the man as he rose from the ground. She began thanking the dark-haired gentleman, when both adult swans rushed toward the trio, hissing ferociously. The mother backed away, then ran, the babe’s wail drowned out by the raspy honks of the swans. The poor hero backed away from the angry parents, hands out to protect himself, as one of the birds began making an atrocious hoarse, trumpet-like sound.

The swans continued their berating as the man grew closer and closer to the lake. Mattie put a hand over her mouth and looked at Franny. Both women’s eyes were wide. “He doesn’t understand they are growing angrier because he’s moving in the wrong direction.”

“He needs to move away from the water and the cygnets,” agreed the maid.

Mattie jumped into action. She grabbed her parasol and ran toward the lake. “Come toward me,” she yelled at the reluctant hero.

The gentleman looked up at her just when a swan reached out with its bill and caught his hand. As the man shook his hand away from the bird, he lost his balance, arms flailing wide, and fell into the water.

Mattie made it to the shore as the adult birds were about to pursue their quarry into the pond. She chased them back with her parasol, opening it as she shooed them. It gave their victim enough time to rise from the pond, water sluicing off him. By this time, the cygnets had swam farther down the shore, and the parents turned and followed their brood into the water.

“Oh dear,” Mattie began, then assessed the man coming toward her. He was handsome, medium height and strongly built, the wet linen shirt clinging to the muscles of his arms. “Oh dear,” she sputtered again.