Page 14 of The Lady is Trouble
Stumbling to the washstand, he heaved until his body had no more to give.
Sliding to the floor, he dropped his head to his knee, throat working. His heart continued its staggering rhythm as he struggled for control, struggled to gather the memory. Bracing his palms on the worn planks, he focused on the woman as if she sat close enough for him to trail his finger across her skin.
Julian’s advice whispered through his mind:gather the details.
Heavily accented speech. French. Tapestries on the wall. A castle. Jewels on her fingers and strung around her neck. A fur cloak. Wealth. Terror and desperation—and a willingness toharm. To destroy without thought, without guilt, without concession. He watched a river of blood washing down stone steps and knew killing was not beyond this woman.
The most disturbing element she’d left him with was a chilling sense ofawareness. He squeezed his eyes shut and shoved aside his dread. She’d been rummaging through his mind like one would a drawer for a stray sock. What if he’d inadvertently provided a clue to their location, to Piper?
Thank God he’d managed to block her, but he needed Piper’s assistance to get stronger. Which, in turn, would protect her. Protect the League.
The endgame was tostealthoughts, not give them away.
Peeling himself from the floor, Finn stumbled from the room, preparing for a discussion with Julian neither of them was going to enjoy.
Chapter 6
How little do they see what is, who frame their hasty judgments upon that which seems.
~Robert Southey
“Crack of sparrows, miss!”
Piper stuck her head beneath the feather pillow, praying for mercy and more sleep, but the curtains were thrown wide, and the window opened with a screech. The smell of rain and gardenias circled, a welcome reminder she was no longer waking to the soot and stink of London. Or the wretched seclusion of Gloucestershire.
“Mr. Finn is headed to the mercantile and asked me to wake you as you arrived with a valise packed with scraps of paper and not much else. It’s sitting at the end of the bed when you want to attend to it. I don’t know what to do with that clutter.” Piper heard the clunk of a washbasin being filled. “Not the first odd arrival here, I tell you. Nor the last. I’m not belittling, mind you, as I was one of those arrivals a few short months ago.”
Piper peeked from beneath the pillow to see a stout woman nearly the same age as she, standing arms akimbo, expectation—for what Piper had no idea—stamped across her rubicund face. As Piper stared, her aura flared, a mix of colors not unlike a tattered quilt. She looked sturdy and fearsome, while Piper felt like a wilted flower. She’d fallen into an exhausted slumber the previous evening, missing the promised arrival of dinner, a chance to bathe, and her first encounter with her maid.
“Minnie?” Piper asked and laid the pillow aside.
“That’s me,” the woman replied, moving to the bed. “Mr. Julian doesn’t like anything formal unless we’ve a guest who requires, but if you don’t like using my Christian name, what with your upbringing, Miss Dunbar will do in a pinch.” Minnie straightened the counterpane, a nervous movement that made Piper wonder if this encounter was unsettling to them both. “Though no one in my life ever called me Miss Dunbar.”
Piper clutched the sheet to her chest. Out of necessity and fatigue, she had slept in her chemise and drawers. “Clothing, perhaps? A fresh set?”
“Ah, that dunce Humphrey! Showed you nothing, did he? Telling us to stay away when you arrived and then doing a piss-poor job. Men shouldn’t be given certain duties, but here, we’re all topsy-turvy. You’ll find that out quick enough. Not one soul I’ve yet to meet trained proper for any position they hold.” She darted a glance over her shoulder, staring down the wardrobe doors as they popped open with a dull click. “Mr. Julian had this filled for you months ago.”
Piper collapsed against the headboard with a gasp of delight. What a wonderful addition to her readings Minnie would have been! “So, this is your parlor trick?” she asked. “Fascinating! I’ve never seen the like, though I read of this gift in my grandfather’s papers. You can move objects with your mind, am I right? You must let me record your aura and what changes occur during the process.”
Minnie turned to Piper, her cheeks blazing. “I figured I’d get it out there, because sometimes, foolish woman that I am, I shift things without thinking.” She tapped her temple with a stubby finger. “I’ve had people faint, truthfully, over nothing more than a floating saltshaker. Can you believe that would upset anyone in this cruel world? Mr. Julian calls it influencing a physical”—she pulled at her lower lip—“system without a physical interaction. Now isn’tthatfancy? When my ma just called it misfortune.”
Fancy. And terribly keen. Piper scooted higher in the bed, wishing anything connected to Julian did not interest her so. “That sounds like him,” she said, the words holding a tartness she’d hoped to conceal.
Minnie halted in place. Piper instantly recognized the look and the aura framing it.
Bother. Julian had gained another devotee.
“M’lady, Harbingdon be the first place in my life I’ve felt safe revealing my wee talent. Why, I was being forced into an asylum when Mr. Julian offered to employ me instead. Those with a true gift, not the swindlers at high-flying séances and such, don’t find the mystical world all that entertaining. It’s an awful heavy burden.” She gave the counterpane another tug. “I was brought up in a special place, my ma a lightskirt, to put it plainly, but I’m not suited for that employ as you can see.” She executed a little sidestep, the cage crinoline beneath her mauve skirt giving a rattle of protest. “Assumed I was daft because such peculiar things happened around me. So, a lady’s maid I be.”
Piper blinked, appalled and enchanted.
Minnie, the mind-shifting daughter of a prostitute, was Julian’s idea of a proper companion for the most wretched excuse for a lady in England. Her smile bloomed.Thisrelationship might actually work out.
“Minnie, please, no lady, no Elizabeth. Just Piper. And I, well—” She slid off the bed, gaining her feet. If frankness were part and parcel of living at Harbingdon, she would fit in quite nicely as being blunt had never been a problem. “My mother died in Philadelphia when I was three, leaving me with a father with a disturbing penchant for gambling, not parenthood. I grew up above or near whatever gaming hell he was frequenting that month, minded by a hired attendant who often cared even less for children than he did.” Walking to the wardrobe, she stroked the sleeves of the dresses hanging there, the scent of starch and lemon drifting to her. Her heart clenched to imagine Julian ordering clothing for her.
“Oh, miss,” Minnie lamented. “My mother, strumpet she is, has a heart of gold. Pure gold. I was loved, no doubt. And protected as much as a woman in a man’s world can be. But my talent was causing such problems at the brothel. Then that awful Mr. Tupps, a regular client of my ma’s, the bootlicker, wanted me committed because I sent a glass flying into his face after he made a grab for me when he realized I was not on the menu. I may have sent a drawer flying at him, too. I can’t quite recall.” Minnie fluffed the pillows, snapping and tucking until the bed looked pristine. “Anyway, Mr. Julian heard of me and my specialness, so here I am.”
Piper turned, dress in hand. “How did he hear about you?”