Page 31 of Rules for Ruin (The Crinoline Academy #1)

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Some ninety minutes later, Effie emerged from Lady Bartlett’s house alongside Miss Compton and Mrs.Naismith. Together, they descended the front steps to the busy street below.

Miss Compton’s fair brow was furrowed deeply. Despite her initial protestations, she had listened intently as Lady Bartlett related the damning testimonials her committee had compiled from ladies who had suffered under the current property laws. Women of every class whose fortunes, both large and small, had been squandered or stolen by the men they had married. The same men whom the law believed were better custodians of a wife’s earnings and inheritances than the wife herself.

And that hadn’t been the worst of it.

After Lady Bartlett had finished her sobering report, she’d introduced Miss Wolstenholme, a prominent teacher from Manchester, who spoke on the evils of the current system of educating girls. She’d laid out in plain terms how girls were purposely kept in ignorance, dissuaded from engaging in politics or public affairs, and discouraged from having strong opinions else they be labeled unfeminine. Like the current laws, it was all predicated on the flawed idea that the more serious aspects of a female’s life—finances, property, even intimate relations—were better left to be managed by men.

“Well,” Effie said frankly, “I found that very enlightening.”

“Oh, but it was!” Mrs.Naismith agreed. Like Miss Compton, she had been riveted by the lecture, seeming to be as fascinated by the topics discussed as she was at being newly acquainted with the daughter of her protector. “Do you think it all true?”

“Of course it’s true,” Miss Compton said. “And monstrous besides.”

Mrs.Naismith nodded. “The injustice of it—men purposefully keeping us in the dark, and then chastising us for not being their intellectual equals? My—” she stopped, catching herself. “That is, a friend of mine, did recently say my concerns about money were unattractive. Unattractive, I tell you! But really…one must think of the years ahead. One isn’t young forever.”

Effie gave Mrs.Naismith a thoughtful look. Had she been pressing Compton about her future? And rather than reassure her, he had criticized her practical concerns as being unbecoming?

The unfeeling devil.

Though, Effie couldn’t say she was surprised. Not when Compton had already made something of an overture toward her. Perhaps it was his habit to change his mistresses out every few years? She wondered how many had preceded Mrs.Naismith.

Cabs and carriages vied for positions in front of Lady Bartlett’s house as the rest of the ladies who had attended the lecture departed. Miss Compton’s elegant lacquered coach, with its gold crest on the door, was slowly approaching. A lighter sporting coach pulled by two matched grays preceded it. The vehicle was small but sleek, with a glossy black body and sky-blue painted wheels.

Mrs.Naismith brightened. “Ah! There is my carriage.”

Effie admired the dashing vehicle along with Miss Compton. It had doubtless been provided by Lord Compton, along with Mrs.Naismith’s fine clothes and her house in Ellis Street.

It occurred to Effie that, yesterday, Gabriel had offered her something strikingly similar. Clothes, a house, a carriage. A comfortable life as mistress, rather than a wife.

But no.

It wasn’t at all the same. Gabriel hadn’t proposed that Effie be his guilty secret, tucked away somewhere in a house of her own, to be visited at his leisure. He had asked her to be his love. To make her home—and her life—with him.

Effie’s heart had yearned to accept his offer. Never mind that it wasn’t an offer of marriage. Her heart didn’t care about legalities. All it had wanted—all she had wanted—was to be with the man she loved.

But it wasn’t her heart that was in charge today. It was her head. She had important business to attend to. She couldn’t afford to be distracted.

Mrs.Naismith turned to Effie and Miss Compton with a smile. “Goodbye to you! Perchance I will see you again at the next meeting?”

“Perchance you will,” Miss Compton said, exchanging curtsies with her.

“Until then,” Effie said.

Mrs.Naismith waved at them as she boarded her carriage. The instant her coach set off, Miss Compton’s carriage pulled up to take its place. The liveried footman jumped down from his perch to open the door for his young mistress.

Here, at last, was the moment Effie had been waiting for.

“May I beg a lift from you?” she asked Miss Compton.

“If you like,” Miss Compton said, “but I must go straight home. My music lesson is at one. And after that, I depart immediately for the balloon ascension at Cremorne Gardens.”

“You mean to attend?”

“Naturally. Lord Mannering will be there with his sister, will he not? I’m eager to tell her I attended the lecture.”

“Yes, of course,” Effie said. “It’s sure to bring you closer to her.”

“And then to him,” Miss Compton said, allowing the footman to hand her into the carriage.

Effie climbed in after her. The interior of the coach was upholstered in blue velvet with gold edging. It appeared to be new. “An excellent plan,” she said. “I shan’t do anything to impede it. Indeed, you need only take me as far as Grosvenor Square.”

The footman closed the door behind them and the carriage started off, rolling smoothly toward Mayfair. It was but three miles away. A negligible distance in such a well-sprung vehicle. They arrived in front of the Comptons’ mansion not twenty minutes later.

Miss Compton gathered her skirts to disembark. “You needn’t walk,” she said to Effie. “John Coachman can convey you to Brook Street quickly enough after I get out.”

“No, no,” Effie objected. “Truly. I had rather stretch my legs. But first…” She sunk her voice. “May I trouble you to use the necessary?”

Miss Compton’s face turned a dull red. Ladies were discouraged from mentioning their bodily functions, even amongst each other. “If you must,” she said with stiff dignity.

The footman opened the carriage door and assisted Miss Compton down. Effie followed, making sure her reticule was still with her. She had packed enough twine in it this morning to fulfill her plan. Without it, she’d have no way to spirit the book out of the house.

Before they had finished ascending the front steps, the Compton’s butler, Parker, materialized at the door. He held it open for them as they entered the hall. “Mr.Lampert has arrived, miss,” he informed Miss Compton. “He awaits you in the music room.”

Miss Compton hurried to the stairs. “I must change,” she said. “Tell him I’ll be down in five minutes. And Parker? Do show Miss Flite to the washroom.”

Effie waited at the foot of the stairs, her eyes lowered in what she hoped was a fair impression of feminine modesty. The house boasted an indoor privy on each floor. She didn’t know where the ground floor one was located, but she suspected it was somewhere along the long corridor that led to the library.

Her suspicions were confirmed when Parker gestured in that direction. “This way, miss.”

Effie followed him. She sensed he was looking at her again, still trying to puzzle out why she seemed so familiar. “Is Lady Compton at home?” she asked.

“Her ladyship is presently attending to callers in the drawing room,” he said.

“Yes, of course. These must be her receiving hours.” Effie hesitated. “And Lord Compton? Is he at liberty?”

“His lordship is in Westminster. He is expected back any moment.”

Effie’s pulse quickened. If that was true, there was little time to spare. “Pity I’ll miss him.”

“Indeed.” Parker led Effie down the corridor to the door of a small coatroom that had been converted for the purpose. “You will find all you require inside, miss.”

Effie stopped beside him, still refraining from making eye contact. “You needn’t wait on me,” she said. “I shall show myself out when I’m finished.”

Parker didn’t question her. Any servant worth his salt was aware that it was as indelicate for a lady to be seen entering a water closet as it was for her to be seen leaving one.

“Very good, miss.” Parker quickly departed, presumably off to inform the music teacher that his pupil would be joining him shortly.

Effie exhaled the breath she’d been holding. She waited, hand on the door of the washroom for a full twenty seconds, wary of one of the servants seeing her. But there appeared to be none about. Lord Compton was away, Lady Compton was engaged in the drawing room, Miss Compton would be occupied in the music room, and the servants would be kept busy ushering up any callers.

This was Effie’s moment.

Slipping down the hall, she made for the library. She quietly opened one of the double doors. An excuse for her presence hovered on the tip of her tongue should she find anyone inside. But there was no one. No servants, no shadows, and no ravening wolves waiting to pounce. The large book-lined room was bright and empty, smelling of pipe smoke and lemon polish.

Silently closing the door behind her, Effie went to the shelf where Miss Corvus’s books were displayed. She extracted the first one, turning to the page where she’d seen Miss Corvus’s message.

It was still there.

Relief coursed through her. She had feared Compton might have made good on his threat to expunge it. But no. As ever, his attachment to valuable things superseded all other concerns.

Effie prayed it would be his undoing.

Acting swiftly, she opened her reticule and removed the wad of twine. She’d never secured an item as large as a book to her crinoline before, but given the circumference of her poplin skirts, she was confident it was possible.

Raising her petticoats and crinoline, she tucked the book beneath and used the twine to tie it to the underside of the wire cage frame. It wasn’t a heavy tome, but heavy enough to exert an unfortunate pull. Not ideal, admittedly; however, it would do until Effie could get to Brook Street.

She dropped her skirts back into place, giving them a shake to test whether the book wobbled.

It didn’t.

Effie was heartened by the discovery. She adjusted the remaining books on the shelf to better disguise the first book’s absence. With luck, Compton wouldn’t immediately discover it was gone. By that time, the book would be safe in Miss Corvus’s hands.

All that remained was for Effie to slip out of the library and exit the house without drawing any attention to herself. Snapping the drawstring closure of her reticule shut, she turned to leave.

Parker stood at the door. “Can I help you, miss?”

Effie froze where she stood. Her stomach dropped. Good heavens. How long had he been there? Had he observed her taking the book?

It was bad enough that he’d seen her at all. She’d wanted no link between herself and the library today. No chance of anyone connecting her with the room when the book was later discovered missing.

Looking at the cruel set to Parker’s mouth and the sinister intent darkening his brow, she briefly considered abandoning her plan. But it was too late. The book was already in her possession. She had no choice but to proceed.

“Not at all, sir.” Pasting on a smile, she crossed the library. “I was merely admiring his lordship’s collection.”

Parker remained where he stood, all but barring the door.

Effie didn’t wait for him to move. She pressed toward him, her enormous skirts going before her, forcing him to back out of her way. “I have a great fondness for books, as Miss Compton can attest.”

Parker glanced at the shelf by the fireplace as Effie brushed by him.

Her heart plummeted. She hadn’t accounted for being found out so soon. It meant an end to the fiction she’d been perpetrating. She would have to return to the Academy. Perhaps even go abroad. But first—

She had to get away.

Pulse racing, she strode down the carpeted corridor.

“Wait a moment, miss,” Parker said.

Effie quickened her pace. She made for the marble entry hall. It was empty. The ringing chords of a concerto drifted down from the first floor, Miss Compton’s flawless soprano voice accompanying the piano music in perfect harmony.

“Stop,” Parker said, this time more forcefully.

Ignoring the command, Effie opened the front door. She dashed out, bounding down the front steps as quickly as she could without losing her footing. She had traveled lightly this morning, leaving her parasol behind. She had no convenient tools with which to defend herself. If Parker caught up with her—

“I said stop, miss!” Parker bellowed, pounding down the steps after her.

Effie’s chest constricted with panic. She raced down the street, past the carriages and strolling pedestrians. The entrance to the mews was on the left. She ducked down it without thinking. The sound of Parker’s footfalls was unrelenting. Good God—he was chasing her!

Another narrow alley was on the right. Effie darted down it at a full run, the book under her skirts slapping against her legs. Her hat fell off. She didn’t stop to collect it. Parker was right behind her. She got no more than a few yards before his brawny fingers closed around her arm in a punishing grip, nearly wrenching her off her feet.

He dragged her around to face him. His bald head was gleaming with perspiration, his brows lowered in a fearsome scowl. “Stop thief , I should have said.”

Effie attempted to pull away from him to no avail. He was far too strong. She glared up at him, summoning her best effort at ladylike outrage. “How dare you accuse me of theft?”

“You took one of his lordship’s books. I saw you.”

“You most certainly did not.” She made another equally unsuccessful effort to free her arm. “I’ll thank you to release me.”

His grip on her only tightened. Effie gave an involuntary cry of pain. “It was you I saw last week in Ellis Street, wasn’t it? That nosy woman with the veil?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You have a way of walking. I knew I’d seen it before. When the master finds out—”

Effie pulled at him with all her might. “Unhand me!”

“Oh no,” he said. “I’m taking you back to the house. His lordship will deal with you. Or I can call the constable. It’s your choice.”

Effie dug in her heels. “Let me go, you great oaf!”

Parker dragged her several steps. “The book’s under your dress, isn’t it? Devious slut. I’ll retrieve it myself when I get you back to the house.”

“I’m warning you,” she said.

“Or how ’bout I retrieve it now?” He made a grab for the fabric of her skirts.

Effie’s mind stilled at the physical threat. Her senses sharpened to a knife’s edge, even as her pulse slowed and her respiration grew steady. Years of Academy training ignited in her as instinctively as breathing.

She had warned the man.

Rather than pull away from him, she came closer, gripping him by the front of his coat. As he lunged forward to grasp her skirts, she bent her knees, shifted her weight on her hip, and using his own great bulk against him, tossed him straight over her shoulder.

Parker landed on the ground with a resounding thud. Dust from the alleyway puffed up around him.

Effie lingered only long enough to see if he would remain down.

He didn’t.

He was back up with surprising speed for such a large man, coming at her again, too furious to employ strategy.

She deftly sidestepped him, delivering a sharp elbow to his spine as he passed.

Parker staggered forward, uttering an inarticulate roar of rage. Regaining his balance, he turned on her, his face contorted in a ferocious mask. He made another clumsy lunge.

Effie avoided him again. As he moved by her, she hooked his ankle with her foot, bringing him to one knee.

Panting heavily, the butler regained his footing. “What manner of female—”

“One whose business is no business of yours,” she said. “I’d advise you to—”

He barreled straight for her before she could finish, knocking the breath out of her lungs. His arms came around her midsection in a crushing bear hug, lifting her straight off the ground. “Demented doxy,” he growled. “I’ll carry you back if I have to.”

Effie struggled against him, pummeling him with her fists and kicking him in the legs with her booted feet. She couldn’t get to his eyes. His head was bent against her shoulder, protecting his face, and he had no hair she could pull to force him to raise it again.

She attempted to knee him in the nether regions, but her skirts were in the way, and he was holding her too close for her to do any appreciable damage. She vaguely registered that the book was still attached to the inside of her crinoline. Perhaps he could even feel it there, pressed as they were front to front. If he could, he gave no sign of it. He was too focused on subduing her and returning her to Grosvenor Square.

Scrunching his face against her repeated blows, he conveyed her down the alleyway. It would be the work of a moment to carry her back to Compton’s house. Once inside, Effie would be a prisoner, left at the mercy of the constable or of Lord Compton himself. There would be no escape.

She must free herself now or never.

With leverage no longer in her favor, she had but one option left. Reaching back, she tore one of her dragonfly pins from her plaited coiffure. She hesitated but an instant. She didn’t like to be brutal, but…

She had given the man multiple chances to desist.

Raising the hairpin, she stabbed it straight into his ear.

Parker emitted an animallike howl of pain. He immediately released her. Effie fell to the ground in a bruising heap as the butler staggered past. His cries were interspersed with foul words, calling her every vile name under the sun, as his hand reached uselessly for the protruding pin.

She scrambled up, breathless. The full import of what she’d just done struck her with a sickening clarity. Catching her skirts in her hands, Effie ran.