Chapter Eight

They were sitting inside Gunters, huddled at a small table in the far back corner, eating ices.

Ellen had told her mother that she was shopping for a new pair of gloves, having ripped her favorite pair. It was all a lie, of course. She’d not ripped her favorite gloves. She was eating a lemon ice with Oliver. Except she couldn’t quite bring herself to tell her mother about Oliver.

Maybe because it was all so new, this feeling.

And her parents had plans for her. Ellen had known that since she was a little girl. Aspirations, her mother had called it. It fell on Ellen to elevate the family.

But Ellen had aspirations of her own. Plans that didn’t include what her parents thought she should be doing. She had things she wanted to do with her life that had nothing to do with men and their titles and Society and her place in it.

“A little bird told me something,” she said, licking her spoon.

“Animals speak to you?” Oliver’s eyes crinkled in laughter, and she dissolved into giggles.

Oliver scared her. Or rather her constant thoughts of Oliver scared her. Her heart beating out of control when Oliver was near scared her.

“This particular little bird spoke to me.” The bird was her friend Ruth, but she would play this game with him because she loved being silly with Oliver.

“And what did the bird say?”

“That your father is the Earl of Armbruster.”

He put his spoon down, suddenly serious. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” She stabbed her spoon into her melting ice. She’d been surprised when Ruth had told her, although she shouldn’t have been. Oliver held himself like someone who was important, someone of nobility. It was just another thing that frightened her, his titles.

Because it was everything that Ellen’s parents wanted for her and it was everything that Ellen did not want. Not now. Not yet. She had plans.

She swallowed and stabbed her spoon repeatedly into the ice until it was mush.

Oliver put his hand over hers, and she froze. It was the first time they had touched other than Oliver helping her off her mount or the occasional brush of arms.

His hand was warm, the pads of his fingers rough.

He was staring at her intently. At first she’d been very much aware of the other patrons in the establishment. Now she saw nothing but the deep azure of Oliver’s eyes.

“Why so serious?” he asked.

She shrugged, suddenly shy when she’d never been shy with him before.

She released her spoon, and it clinked as it hit the glass bowl. “Do you ever want more out of life than this?”

He sat back, his hand sliding off hers. She wanted to grab it, hang on to it, put it back over her hand, and keep it there. “More than what? Ices at Gunter’s with you? No.”

She pressed her lips together to keep from smiling. “More than what life has given us.”

He drew in a deep breath and seemed to think about her question. “We’re lucky, you know. Born into the lives we have. Wealth. Social connections. Access to an education, if you are male.”

She waved her hand in the air. “Yes, yes.”

“What more could you want?”

“It just all seems so…small. We see the same people every day, walk the same streets, attend the same balls, plays.”

“You are far too young to be this jaded,” he said.

She blew out a frustrated breath. He wasn’t understanding what she was trying to tell him.

“What more do you want?” he asked.

“I want to meet people. I want to expand my life, to learn things.” She leaned forward. He was watching her intently, honestly listening to what she was saying, and the idea was so novel, so exciting, that someone was truly listening to what she had to say. “Do you attend the opera? Plays?”

“Of course. That’s hardly expanding your horizons.”

She shook her head. “Do you ever look at the actors, the performers, the musicians? I mean, really look at them? Do you ever wonder who they are? What they do after a performance? Who are their friends? How did they get into this line of work?”

He tilted his head. “I can’t say that I’ve ever thought any of that.”

“There is a whole world of people out there and we converse with the same ones over and over. Why? Why can’t we make friends from the theater? Because there is some unwritten rule that says we can’t? That’s silly.”

He blinked, then blinked again. “You’re right. We ostracize ourselves and by doing so we are hurting only ourselves.”

She pounded her open palm on the table, making the silver spoons in the glass bowls rattle. A couple at the next table paused their conversation to stare at them.

“Finally, someone who understands,” she said.

“Is that what you want to do? Meet new and interesting people?”

“Yes,” she breathed, excited by the prospect. “Do you know any of those people?”

“No.”

Her shoulders deflated. “Oh.”

He leaned forward and took her hands in his and stared deep into her eyes. “But if you were my wife, I would not stop you from befriending such people.”

She drew in a deep breath, shocked at his words. They’d never mentioned anything close to marriage. They’d met only a few times, clandestinely. That he mentioned it now took her aback.

She’d not wanted to marry, but maybe, if her husband was someone like Oliver… Maybe she would consider it.

When Ellen entered the sitting room, she didn’t need to see Oliver’s carefully and quickly concealed surprise at her pale complexion and worry in her eyes. She was put together, as always, but Oliver was good at seeing what was beneath. He saw the real her.

That both bothered and comforted her, because he was the only man, the only person, really, who could do that.

There was one thing that he did not see, because she was very careful to not even think it while in his company—that Philip was his son. She’d never had any intention of telling him, and that had been easy to do for the past sixteen years, because they had avoided each other.

But when she’d seen Philip draped over Oliver’s shoulder the night Oliver had brought him home, she had nearly fainted with fear that her terrible secret was about to be revealed. And then she had been so shocked at the resemblance between the boy and the man that she’d wondered that no one else saw it.

It had taken so much courage for her to ask Oliver for his help, and a great amount of guilt had followed the request. She was asking the man to help his son, and he didn’t even know it was his son. Did he have a right to know?

Would he even want to know?

Yes, he would want to know. He was that kind of man. The kind who would take his responsibilities seriously. After he’d become earl, he’d thrown himself into making the Armbruster estate and holdings even richer than it had been. He’d been innovative and creative in finding new ways to make money. He’d stepped outside the norm and had been one of the first of the aristocracy to invest in trade—something that had always been looked down upon.

And he was a very wealthy, much respected earl in business.

In Society it was a different story. He had a reputation as a rogue, and it had always confused Ellen why he cultivated that reputation when he was so much more than that.

She often wondered how much her son had inherited from his father. Philip was obviously working on the reputation as a womanizer. Ellen had hoped that Philip would have inherited the brains and the drive to succeed instead.

She swallowed all of those thoughts and proceeded into the room. Oliver stood but did not smile at her, which made her insides shrivel.

Oliver had been a handsome young man, and the years had only been good to him. He had filled out. His shoulders had widened and his body had matured. Those bright blue eyes were more cynical, always searching and weighing, but never revealing anything.

She sank down onto the couch and folded her hands in her lap.

“Well?” She could not handle the pleasantries, the trite banter before the real conversation started. She needed to know the fate of her son. For this was his fate. If he didn’t go back to school, she didn’t know what she was going to do with him.

“I’m sorry, Ellen.”

She blinked, expecting that answer but hoping for so much more.

“Th-thank you for trying, anyway.”

“The headmaster said that there have been too many indiscretions. Too many suspensions to overlook this last one and bring him back early. I have to agree with him. It sets a bad example for the rest of the lads.”

“I understand.”

Oliver searched her face, and she turned her head away, not wanting him to see her fears.

“Young Fieldhurst seems to find trouble easily.”

“I think rather than finding it he creates it.”

“I have no words of wisdom for you, as I don’t have a son.”

She closed her eyes, the guilt so overwhelming that she nearly blurted out the truth to him. But that would be disastrous. It would destroy Philip, and he would lose his title. And it could possibly destroy Oliver as well.

And it would paint her as the worst sort of person for not only lying to her husband and all of Society, but for sleeping with Oliver when she’d been promised to another.

“Since Arthur’s death, Philip has been angry and has acted out. Philip was the center of Arthur’s universe and Arthur doted on him. He’d not had any other children, you know.” Her voice cracked. After many years of trying for another baby, Arthur had concluded that he was just too old to father again and had set the sun and the moon on Philip. Only Ellen knew that he’d not fathered Philip, either. She’d let Arthur believe that the boy he loved so much was his, and all had been well for many years. She’d learned to live with the lie and had discovered that the more you lived with a lie the more you began to believe it yourself.

“He misses his father, and he’s at the age where he needs one to guide him,” Oliver said. “Did Arthur teach him anything about the earldom?”

“Some. Philip thinks he’s been taught enough that he doesn’t need school anymore.”

“There is more to school than learning. There are connections to make and friendships that will serve him far into the future, if he cultivates them correctly.”

She looked down at her hands clutched in her lap, the knuckles white. “Yes, I know. I try to tell him that, but he rarely listens to me.”

Oliver was silent for a long while, until finally Ellen looked up at him. His brows were pulled together, two vertical lines creased between them, and his lips were turned down.

“The headmaster isn’t even sure that he can bring Philip back the next school year. Apparently, he’s disruptive enough that they would consider expelling him.”

Ellen winced. Oh, Philip. What have you done?

“This is serious, Ellen. Eton prides itself on forming even the most difficult students. To admit defeat is of great significance.”

“I don’t know what to do,” she whispered. “Maybe one of the other schools…”

“No other school can touch Eton’s reputation. The institution is known to educate most of the nobility.”

“I remember how excited Arthur had been to put Philip’s name on the waiting list the day after he was born.”

“Arthur was a product of Eton?”

“Of course.”

Oliver sighed and rubbed his forehead. After a lengthy pause, Ellen said, “Thank you for trying. I truly appreciate that you took the time to drive there and speak to the headmaster.”

“What will you do?”

“I’ll think of something. Maybe the break from school will clear his head and he will come to his senses.”

Oliver looked at her in pity. They both knew that was not going to happen. Philip was on a road to destruction that he had no interest in veering from.

“The headmaster…” Oliver stopped, paused, seemed to consider what he was going to say. “He said that if I vouch for the boy they will bring him back next school year.”

A flicker of hope had her sitting up straighter, but then her shoulders slumped. “But what can you do? I refuse to let you put your reputation on my son’s head.”

“I don’t know how I would even help him,” Oliver said. “But…I’m willing to try.”

“I can’t ask that of you.” As much as she wanted, needed, someone to help her with Philip, it could not be Oliver. Never Oliver.

He looked at her curiously. “It’s your only hope. If Philip stays on this path he will ruin his reputation. There will be no hope for a good marriage. No one will want to do business with him.”

“I don’t think it is all that dire.” But she knew it was. She’d had those same thoughts herself. Ellen stood and Oliver quickly stood as well. “I will find a way to set Philip straight. As a mother it’s my duty.”

And as a father it was Oliver’s duty to help. But their paths had been set long ago, and it was far too late for either of them to change now.

“Very well. I will respect your decision and hope for the best for you and Philip.”

When he left, Ellen slumped back on the couch and brushed away the tears that had started to drip down her cheeks. She was lost and afraid, and the one person who was willing to help her was the one person she could never allow to help her.

…

Ashland finally joined Oliver and O’Leary for a drink in O’Leary’s office, and it was almost like old times. Except Oliver didn’t feel the same. He felt different, like something had changed within him, although he couldn’t put his finger on exactly what that was.

Ashland spoke of his new life with an inflection in his voice that had been missing since his first wife had died of childbed fever, and Oliver was glad to see a glimmer of his old friend back. He couldn’t begrudge Ashland his happiness, and he refused to admit that he was jealous.

Until lately, he’d never felt that his life was empty or unfulfilled. If he was honest with himself, when he’d seen Ellen again, it had made him remember how fulfilled he had been in the short time they had been together. He was surprised to find that he missed that companionship. He’d had many women over the years and had cultivated a somewhat shaky reputation as a womanizer. And he’d thought he was having fun, living the bachelor life.

But now it felt so superficial.

“Armbruster? Where did your mind wander off to, mate?”

Ashland was looking at him oddly, and Oliver pulled his mind back to O’Leary’s office and his friends.

“Just thinking,” he mumbled.

“We were talking about the strange disappearance of a few people in East End.”

“East End?” Oliver’s attention was captured. “There are always murders and the like in the East End.” The East End was one of the poorest sections of London where crime was rampant and no good gentleman ever ventured.

O’Leary took a long drag of his ale and put his mug down. “We have two separate reports from women who claim they were lured into a home, plied with ale, and then their lives threatened. One said she barely escaped, and she thought it was the end for her. The other sensed something was amiss with her hosts and claimed she needed to use the privy, whenceforth she escaped.”

Ashland’s eyes narrowed. This was where Oliver and Ashland excelled. Or rather, this was where their inflated egos felt they could do their best work. Over the years they had come to O’Leary with many thoughts and ideas on cases that Scotland Yard was working on. Seventy percent of the time they were correct. They knew that percentage because they kept a log.

It was a strange pastime, and Oliver wasn’t even certain how or when it had started, but eventually he and Ashland began to meet weekly, read the newssheets, and discussed the murders and other foul play reported. Then they speculated on motive and suspects.

It was a game to them, but it was O’Leary’s livelihood.

Oliver felt his blood humming with this new mystery.

“Why would someone lure women into their home, get them drunk, then try to kill them?”

Ashland and Oliver’s eyes met. They were both thinking of Ashland’s wife’s cousin, who had murdered at least half a dozen serving girls.

“You don’t think there is another murderer on the loose, do you?” Oliver asked. “Surely there can’t be two in such a short time.”

“The press went to town on the last murderer.” O’Leary shot Ashland an apologetic look. “Maybe someone read the newspaper reports and got it in his head to do the same thing.”

“Like a sort of imitator?” Ashland asked.

O’Leary shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know. But it seems odd. And now they’re saying that Blue Posey is missing.”

Even if you weren’t from East End, you knew who Blue Posey was—a young man touched in the head, who sold posies on the street corner of Cheapside. The only word he knew was “blue” and so everyone called him Blue Posey. Despite his disadvantages, everyone knew and respected Blue Posey and no one ever tried to cheat him. While Blue didn’t know how to speak other than the one word, he knew math very well, and he could add and subtract quicker than anyone Oliver had ever met. He knew if someone was trying to shortchange him.

That he was missing was somewhat concerning, but Blue was also a man who kept to his own schedule.

“Do you think he fell victim to these people who tried to get the two women drunk?” Oliver asked.

“I think it’s a stretch to think that,” O’Leary said. “Blue’s a large fellow. It would be difficult to get him drunk, let alone kill him.”

“Why don’t you go to this house and poke around?” Ashland asked.

“I would if I knew where it was, but neither woman could confidently pick it out. Just knew it was ‘somewhere off the main road.’ That doesn’t help.”

They all fell silent, lost in their own thoughts. After a while, talk turned to other things, and Oliver and Ashland soon took their leave. They walked out of Scotland Yard into the damp night air.

“How are things with young Fieldhurst?” Ashland asked.

“I spoke to his mother today. She’s at her wits end. Doesn’t know what to do with him. He doesn’t listen to her, thinks he can do what he wants, now that he’s an earl.”

Ashland chuckled. “Ah, the poor lad. If he only knew that being an earl meant exactly the opposite. You can’t do anything you want. What is Lady Fieldhurst going to do?”

“I don’t know.” Oliver had an uneasy feeling in his stomach, like a rock was sitting there.

“Did you tell her the conditions of his return?”

“I did.”

“Well, out with it, man. What did she say?”

“Damn it, Ashland. I know nothing about lads like that. I can barely keep myself respectable.”

Ashland held his hands out to the side in surrender. “Did I say that you should take him under your wing? No. I was just asking.”

Oliver was immediately contrite. “Apologies.”

“Why are you so touchy about this? It’s not up to you whether young Fieldhurst complies with his mother or Eton.”

Oliver didn’t know why he felt this compulsion to help Fieldhurst. Ashland was right. He had no obligation to the young man, nor to Ellen. He needed to move on and maybe, for once, he should take his mother’s advice and seriously look for a wife. A respectable countess who would give him respectable children. Children who would not be expelled from Eton and who would obey all the rules and grow up to marry respectable spouses of their own.

It all sounded very…respectable.

And boring.