Page 6 of The Wrath of the Wallflower (Revenge of the Wallflowers)

Sinjin brushed the back of his hand across his brow and went back to working the mortar and pestle on the Duke of Chelmsford’s kitchen table. He was surprised he could see at all between the dim light of the single candle on the table and the fact he was perspiring like a scythe-wielding yeoman harvesting wheat. Of all the things he ever considered he’d do for the love of Alice Lister, baking poisoned pasties in a duke’s kitchen in the middle of the night was not one of them.

“Tell me again, sir, why we could not do this in your kitchens?” Nell Barker, Alice’s lady’s maid, said as she rolled out the dough for the pasties by the light of another candle.

“Ye’ve never met our Missus Beatty, have you, lass?” Seamus asked. He brought the bowl of meat mixture to Sinjin. “She sleeps in the room next to her kitchens and guards them like a ragman’s dog guards a bone.” He shuddered to emphasize his point. “Here is closer to the Golden Lion too.”

“If His Grace’s cook comes down here, we’re all dead where we stand,” Nell replied.

“If you had talked Lady Alice out of this mad plan,” Sinjin said as he dumped the mixture of crushed herbs and seeds into the meat mixture. “We wouldn’t be trespassing in the Duke of Chelmsford’s kitchen making pasties to poison three gentlemen on their way to Almack’s, would we, Miss Barker?”

Nell snatched the bowl from his hands and began to spoon the mixture onto the dough squares she’d rolled out onto a marble-top work table. “ You try talking her ladyship out of something once she sets her mind to it. You’d have a better chance than me, especially these days.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Sinjin turned away so the maid didn’t have the chance to see his expression. He’d caught Nell Barker giving him knowing looks far too often over the past few weeks.

“Poison?” Seamus looked at the bit of meat mixture he’d sneaked from the bowl. Sinjin leapt to his feet and held the boy’s hand under the kitchen pump. He washed and dried Seamus’s finger with the cloth lying next to the sink.

“What’s in this, Mister Perriton?” Nell began to close up the pasties one by one. “I won’t trouble myself about killing those three, but I’d rather not hang for it if it’s all the same to you.”

“Hang?” Even in the dim light in the kitchen Seamus’s sudden pallor was unmistakable.

“ Carapichea ipecacuanha is not poison. Not really. In small amounts it is medicinal. And with the amount we’re using, it…simply makes one ill.”

“Ill?” Seamus fixed him with a skeptical gaze. “Ill, how?”

“Stomach trouble,” Sinjin mumbled as he watched Nell put the pasties into one of the duke’s Rumford stoves.

“What sort of stomach trouble?” Seamus’s tone grew more suspicious by the moment.

Nell laughed, cackled really, the sort of laugh that put one in mind of a witch in the wilds of Cornwall. “Don’t you worry about what sort of trouble, lad. Just don’t try any of those pasties if you know what’s good for you. According to Lady Alice that carapi…carapi…”

“ Carapichea ipecacuanha ,” Sinjin said slowly as he regretted the very moment he’d mentioned the plant’s properties to Alice.

“Bless you,” Nell said with a grin. The door to the kitchen gardens burst open, and Alice bustled into the kitchens in a whirl of icy wind and green wool. Her hooded cape made her appear like a character in a play for children, especially with the large covered basket she clutched in her hands.

“Are they ready yet?” she asked as she removed her cape to reveal the rich blue silk ball gown she wore. The bodice sported a heart-shaped neckline that emphasized and lifted her bosom to great effect, if Seamus’s startled stare was any indication. Sinjin smacked the boy’s shoulder and wondered who might smack his own shoulder as he could not take his eyes off Alice.

“Not yet,” Nell said as she took the basket from her mistress. The maid pulled a pastie from under the dingy white cover and handed the treat to Seamus. “You can eat this one, lad. Old Sue never made a bad pastie.” Seamus took the pastie and began to devour the meaty confection. Sinjin fetched his leather satchel from one of the benches around the kitchen table and dropped his mortar and pestle and the box of Carapichea ipecacuanha roots and berries into it. He would not risk cleaning anything that had touched those items in the duke’s kitchens.

“So, you were able to purchase all of Old Sue’s pasties and send her on her way?” Sinjin asked and tried not to sound disappointed.

“Of course,” Alice replied as she sat next to him on the bench. “Dickie was right. She couldn’t turn down a chance to leave her corner early on a night like this with every pastie sold and at the price we paid her. She’s probably at the Lamb and Flag with a bowl of stew and a pint of gin at this very moment.”

“How fortunate for her.” Speaking of stomach trouble, Sinjin’s began to roil at the thought of the plan they were setting in motion. “What about the rest of this mad expedition?”

Alice rolled her eyes and clasped his forearm with both hands. “Everything and everyone are in place. It has been more than a week since the Venetian breakfast. They won’t suspect a thing. Dickie is watching for Earden, Stanton, and Weatherly to leave Almack’s for their mid-assembly trip to the Golden Lion. Sally Big’uns is waiting at the Golden Lion to take Old Sue’s place on the corner with our basket of pasties. If they ask, she’ll tell them that Old Sue is ill and sent Sally in her place.” She shook Sinjin’s arm, her face alight with excitement. “Once Dickie is certain they have taken the bait he will come here so we can make out way to Almack’s in time to witness the ultimate comeuppance.”

“Ultimate comeuppance,” Sinjin muttered. He lowered his head to rest on the table with a moan. He ran every possible outcome of this evening’s plan through his head and nearly cast up his accounts. What had possibly persuaded him to participate in such a dangerous and outrageous plan?

Alice kissed the top of his head and squeezed his arm once more. “Your plan is brilliant, Sinjin. What could possibly go wrong?”

Ah! Now he remembered. Alice had gazed at him with those imploring blue eyes and he’d folded like a house of cards. Slowly, he raised his head which afforded him another excellent view of the crests of her breasts cradled in the elegant silk of her ball gown. Yes, he definitely remembered why he’d agreed to use his knowledge of plant properties to make three gentlemen of the ton violently ill at Almack’s.

“Who is this Sally woman?” Sinjin asked. “Can she be trusted?”

“Sally Big’uns,” Seamus offered, his mouth full of pastie. “She’s a right one. She won’t do us wrong.”

“Of course, she won’t,” Alice said. She jumped up from the bench and went to the stove to check on the pasties. “She is a friend of Uncle Percy’s.”

“His Grace has a friend called Sally Big’uns?”

“Sinjin, really? My uncle’s wife is a former pirate who owns a pleasure club. His brother is the largest purveyor of naughty books in London. Are you really shocked he knows someone like Sally Big’uns?”

Sinjin sighed and began to empty the other pasties from Old Sue’s basket onto a plate. “At this point, nothing about your family surprises me. I find myself straining simply to keep up.”

“Oh, Sinjin,” Alice turned and wrapped him in a hug. “I keep forgetting what a hermit you are.” He wrapped one arm around her and held her close. The heavenly scent of her lemon and verbena perfume teased and tempted him as nothing else could. She adjusted his neckcloth and when he glanced down, he saw her looking up at him, her expression soft and strange. His heart did a little skip.

“Are we ready?” Dickie asked in a loud whisper as he slipped in the kitchen door.

“Yes,” Alice cried as she spun out of Sinjin’s embrace and gathered up the basket of dosed pasties and her cloak. “Everyone into the carriage.”

Sinjin waited until the others had filed out of the kitchens. He blew out the candles and placed them carefully back on the shelf where he’d found them earlier. With a sad shake of his head, he struggled into his silk evening jacket and closed the door behind him as he made his way to Frederick’s carriage. His brother had been all too happy to lend the handsome conveyance to Sinjin.

“Mother and father will be in alt when I write them you are out and about in the social whirl. Especially as they have such high hopes for you and Lady Alice,” he’d said this evening as Sinjin left the house.

Sinjin had stopped protesting the notion of there being something more to his escorting Alice about than friendship. Frederick refused to believe him, and for Sinjin the truth hurt too much to keep repeating. The only thing he and Alice were courting was disaster, not each other. He pulled himself into the carriage and subsided onto the seat next to Alice. Dickie and Nell sat across from them. Seamus was up with John Coachman. A thousand random thoughts careened through Sinjin’s mind. Alice threaded her fingers through his, and in spite of the silk gloves they’d both pulled on, the heat of her grasp soaked into his very bones.

He despised attending social events, especially of the Almack’s sort. Too many people, too much noise, too little air. Alice always seemed to sense when his dislike of London society got the best of him. He was certain that was why she’d taken his hand. Unfortunately, as much as he wasn’t happy about attending Almack’s that was the least of his concerns. They’d managed to pull off the great Venetian breakfast debacle without anyone being any the wiser. Had they stopped with that she would have her revenge and Sinjin might gain the courage to tell her how he felt about her. Now, however?

“There she is,” Dickie, who had been peering out the window the entire way, pointed as they pulled up in front of the Golden Lion. Sinjin leaned over Alice to take a look. And he was assaulted by the sight of the biggest pair of breasts he’d ever seen.

“Good Lord.” He dropped back into his seat. Alice and Nell both laughed.

“Told you,” Dickie said with a smirk as opened the carriage door. The tall, large woman wandered up to the carriage, her bosom arriving a good few seconds before the rest of her.

“Here you go,” Alice said as she handed the woman the basket of pasties. “Remember, once they’ve bought their pasties and gone inside dump the rest in the Thames. You do not want to eat them.”

“I’ll remember so long as you forget I had anything to do with this, milady. Yer uncle will have me hide if he finds out, not to mention what Captain El will do.” She pulled a battered straw hat over her face and disappeared into an alley to the side of the tavern. Dickie slipped out of the carriage and squeezed into the Golden Lion where he appeared in the front window and offered them a salute. The carriage jerked into motion and headed towards Almack’s on King Street just down the way.

Once they arrived at Almack’s and paid homage to the patronesses, Sinjin immediately sought out the refreshments table and fetched himself and Alice a generous glass of punch. Nell had beat a hasty retreat to the retiring room, and Sinjin was half-inclined to join her. Instead he stood next to a slightly open French window behind Alice’s chair and made short work of the insipid beverage that was a staple of the Almack’s assemblies.

“Might I suggest when we leave here that we raid Missus Beatty’s kitchens for some decent lemonade?” he whispered as he bent to Alice’s ear.

She snorted punch up her nose and whipped her head around to give him a half-angry glare. When he gave her his best innocent smile, she had no choice but to laugh. “Give me your handkerchief. I have punch all over my face and chest.” Sinjin obliged, pulling the clean white linen square from his jacket inside pocket. He watched with heated fascination as she blotted the drops of punch from the expanse of ivory flesh bared by the low cut of her ball gown. She handed him his handkerchief which he carefully folded and tucked back into his pocket.

“Perhaps I should join the other gentlemen in the card room. My standing here may prevent anyone from asking you to dance.”

She looked up at him, the excitement and laughter gone from her face. “Sinjin, you are not the reason no one has asked me to dance. No one ever asks me to dance.”

“That is ridiculous. You are beautiful, kind, a fine dancer. If the gentlemen of London cannot see that they are all nodcocks.” His heart ached for her. Other young ladies her age strolled by arm in arm and gave her such haughty looks he wanted to drag Alice out of that chair and kiss her senseless in front of them all. He wanted to tell them no beautiful gown or oversized jewels would ever make them as enchanting and desirable as Lady Alice Lister. Sheep, that’s what they all were, mindless and heartless sheep.

“Oy!” He was snatched from his reverie by a sharp tug on the tail of his evening jacket. He sidled in front of the open French door and peered over his shoulder. “They’re here,” Dickie Jones whispered. “They et those pasties like starving men, put down a few tankards of ale, and they should be coming down those stairs any time now.”

Sinjin tapped Alice’s shoulder. She glanced back and spotted Dickie behind Sinjin. The lad grinned at her and nodded. With that he stepped back and strolled out of sight. Sinjin had no doubt he’d find a way to watch the night unfold from some window or corner of the assembly room.

“There they are,” Alice said. She moved forward to the edge of her chair. “They’re coming this way. Damn!”

Sinjin stepped in front of her and bowed. “Such language, Lady Alice. May I have this dance?” He grasped her hand and pulled her to her feet. In moments they were lined up to begin la boulangere . Like any gentleman’s son he’d been forced to participate in dance instruction. He was never so grateful for his nearly perfect memory in his life. Leading a joyful, glowing Alice through the dance, he was truly astonished at how much he enjoyed dancing with her. Perhaps he simply appreciated any opportunity afforded him to hold her in his arms.

“You, sirrah, have been keeping secrets,” she said when the steps of the dance brought them together.

“Secrets?” He stumbled and had to add a few steps to catch up.

“When did you learn to dance so well?”

He breathed a small sigh of relief. “Frederick taught me.”

“Frederick?” she blurted out. She covered her mouth with one hand and kept dancing. “Stiff-rumped Frederick?”

Sinjin laughed. “In his defense, Mama made him teach me.”

“Then I shall thank your mother,” she said as the circled each other in the figures of la boulangere . “I am so happy to be dancing with you, Sinjin.”

His lungs seized for a moment. “I’m happy to be dancing with you too,” he said tightly. The dance ended all too soon. He bowed. She curtsied, and he escorted her back to the chair next to the French windows. Alice twisted and turned in her seat as she searched the ballroom. Couples were forming for the next set. As they began to take to the floor her ability to see those at the refreshment table and in little groups around the edge of the ballroom improved considerably.

“Where are they?” she whispered. Sinjin leaned down from his place behind her chair.

“Trust me, Alice. Once the Carapichea ipecacuanha begins to work we will most definitely—”

Shrieeeeek!

“Know.” Sinjin snapped upright as Alice shot out of the dainty chair.

He clutched her elbow and slowly steered her into the crowd that had begun to head toward the screams that echoed over and over in the cavernous confines of Almack’s. With some careful maneuvering and a firm grip on Alice’s arm he managed to weave the two of them into the highly excited throng without actually giving them a full view of the trouble.

“What is the matter?” he asked the bejeweled dowager between them and the scene around which everyone gathered at the edge of the dance floor. The woman turned, her fan flittering back and forth in front of her face so furiously he could hardly see her. A particularly noxious odor floated on the air stirred by her fan. Alice gasped next to him.

“Lord Earden has just cast up his accounts all over Miss Rutherford,” the dowager announced. “And there is a suspicious substance leaking from the leg of his breeches. Oh dear!” Another wave of noisesome air wafted past him. Alice pushed forward to stand next to the dowager. Sinjin remained behind her, his hand firmly around her elbow. He peered over her shoulder.

“Bloody hell,” he murmured. The dowager stared at him open-mouthed.

Millicent Rutherford, dressed in what had very likely been a lovely white gown, stood in the middle of the ballroom screaming at the top of her lungs. The front of her gown was splashed with…well, for lack of a better term what appeared to be vomit. The reddish-brown substance dripped and slid down the front of her dress and little chunks sounded like gunshots when landing on the polished wooden floor. Her mother stood next to her, but not too close, arms flapping and begging someone to do something. Earden was bent double nearly to the floor.

Stanton stumbled out onto the floor with a brass spittoon in his hand. He likely meant to offer the vessel to Earden, but just before he reached his friend he dropped to his knees and began to empty his belly into the container, the vomit producing a loud gong-like sound against the brass. Several gentlemen took a few steps forward as if to offer aid. However, when a stream of watery brown material began to slither from where Stanton knelt those gentlemen thought better of it.

“What the devil are you about, Lord Stanton? What is the meaning of this?” Lady Jersey parted the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea. Stanton glanced up at the venerable lady, opened his mouth to speak and then returned to the spittoon, heaving like an Oxford lad after his first visit to the local tavern.

“Poison!” a loud voice cried from somewhere in the crowd. Men shouted. Ladies screamed. Viscount Weatherly staggered out onto the dance floor, his breeches around his knees and his arse covered in shite. “We’ve been poisoned.” He fell flat on his face next to the still shrieking Millicent Rutherford. As expected, that set pandemonium in motion. Some ladies began to swoon. Others were dragged out by their mamas. Gentlemen divided themselves into those desperate to get away from the rancid smell that now permeated the assembly like a morning fog and those frankly enjoying the show.

“Swoon,” Sinjin whispered into Alice’s ear.

“What?”

“Past time to go, my dear. Swoon, so we can make our escape without arousing suspicion. Now.”

To his astonishment, Alice let loose an exaggerated cry and crumpled toward the floor. Sinjin caught her and swept her up into his arms. “Please move aside,” he said as he turned and headed along the edge of the crowd towards the steps out of the ballroom. People quickly moved out of his way, shaking their heads sympathetically. Sinjin struggled to appear the concerned hero rescuing the lady in distress because though her eyes were tightly closed, Alice’s entire body shook with laughter.

Once he reached the foyer, he sent one footman in search of his and Alice’s coat and cloak and another to order John Coachman to bring Frederick’s carriage to the door. Fortunately, the sight of a supposedly unconscious lady in his arms sped the footmen’s steps, and Sinjin soon had himself and Alice in the carriage.

“Where to, sir?” the coachman asked as he closed the door.

“Hyde Park,” Alice said as she sat up and settled her cloak around her shoulders. John tapped two fingers to his hat and climbed up onto the coachman’s bench.

“Hyde Park?” Sinjin asked as he pulled off his gloves and tucked them into the pocket of his greatcoat draped across his lap.

“Oh, Sinjin, I am too excited to go home just now. Do you mind?” She removed her gloves and placed them in the little silk reticule at her wrist.

“Excited? Did you hear what Weatherly said?” Sinjin wasn’t truly worried about the accusation. He doubted anyone would believe three gentlemen known to appear at social events well into their cups. Especially not after the Venetian breakfast misadventure.

“Pshaw!” Alice snapped her fingers. “No one will remember what he said. They will, however, remember the smell, and the sight of Millicent Rutherford covered in…” She broke off into peals of laughter. Once she stopped, she grew serious. Her expression grew grim, made even more so by the dim light of the lamps in Frederick’s carriage. “Am I an evil person to take such pleasure in their misery?” She worried her bottom lip.

“Did they enjoy making your last two seasons so unbearable every letter I received bore the stains of your tears?” Sinjin kept his expression neutral to hide the rage that enveloped him every time he thought of her alone in London dealing with the hateful ugliness of those who thought themselves superior to her.

“Oh.” She touched her fingers to her lips. “Those weren’t tears. You know how messy my writing is. I should have…”

“Alice.” He pulled her hand away from her mouth and pressed a kiss to her palm, closing her fingers over his kiss. “I wish I had been here. I wish you had stayed in Surrey.”

She cupped his cheek with her other hand. “I wish I had too. You always take such good care of me.” She leaned towards him, so close he could almost taste the punch on her lips. Her eyes fluttered closed.

“I always will, Alice. Always.” A fine madness seized him, a madness he was helpless to fight. He settled his lips on hers.