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Authors: Laura London
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window.”
“My dear child, this is not the Rookery, this is Bennett Street. And here ‘they’ do
not
toss their garbage out the window. What a life you must have led!” said Linden. “Tell me,
chérie
, who looked after you during those times that Papa disappeared?”
“Ladies that Papa hired, mostly, though none of them stayed very long because Papa forgot to pay them most of the time. When I got older, I stayed alone. Papa says that every tub must stand upon its own bottom.”
Lord Linden pinched Katie’s chin gently between his fingers. “Katie, if we are going to get along, I think you had better stop telling me what Papa says. Frankly, I am beginning to develop a profound dislike for that gentleman.”
“Are we going to get along, my lord?” asked Katie wonderingly.
Lord Linden sighed, released Katie, and sat down in an open-backed armchair. He couldn’t send the chit back to the Rookery and Nasty Ned. It would be nothing short of murder. “I’m afraid so,
petite
. At least until I can find your father and bring him to some sense of his responsibilities. That is, if he hasn’t gone to America.”
Katie had great faith in Lord Linden’s powers of persuasion, but an intimate knowledge of her father’s character told her that it was beyond the power of mortal flesh to bring him to a sense of his responsibilities. “It’s not that Papa doesn’t like me,” she explained, “it’s only that he doesn’t think about me very often.”
Lord Linden looked grim. “Then we’ll just have to remind him.”
Chapter Five
London shone rose that evening and on Bennett Street the bandtailed pigeons strutted to and fro on the rails of the ironwork balconies, chuckling softly to themselves. Katie could hear them as she lay on her stomach on Lord Linden’s bed, watching him tie his white silk cravat.
“How did you know that I didn’t have French pox?” asked Katie. She lifted her slim ankles from the bed and bounced them one by one against the mattress.
“Because,” said Linden, immersed in the mysteries of knotting.
“Because why?” pursued Katie.
Lord Linden started to say something and then stopped as though he had changed his mind. “You really are very innocent, aren’t you? If your friend Zack was so eager to introduce you into the muslin company, it seems to me that he ought to have used a little more energy making sure you knew the facts of life.”
“Well, I do know them. Once I saw a cow and bull. Zack says that’s all you need to know.”
Linden gave a quick gasp of mirth. “Which partially explains your reluctance last night.”
“Are you still angry with me about that?” asked Katie uncertainly.
“No.”
Katie thought a minute. “Lord Linden, do you recall that lady who came into the restaurant while we were having breakfast? The one who is your grandmother’s friend? I think she might not have believed you when you told her I was your nephew. She wasn’t very friendly, was she?”
Linden smiled at some secret thought. “Don’t worry, child, it was directed at me and not you.”
Katie wriggled to the side of the bed and let her head hang over the edge. “How do you think she knew I wasn’t your nephew?”
“Probably because she knows that none of my sisters would ever allow their offspring to traipse around London looking like the loser in a dogfight,” said Linden crushingly.
Katie digested this in silence. Then she dropped her hands to the floor and rubbed her knuckles against the rug. “I think you look beautiful. Will it be much fun at the party you’re going to tonight?”
“Lord, no, dull work, my dear. A
soiree
at my grandmother Brixton’s, of all the damned things. Banal as a banker’s bath water.”
“Why do you go then?”
“Because
grandmère
‘ll raise holy hell if I don’t show up. And that means she’ll send my mother a long, detailed letter about what a hell-bound babe I am and my mother will send
me
a letter, splattered with tears
“My dear child, this is not the Rookery, this is Bennett Street. And here ‘they’ do
not
toss their garbage out the window. What a life you must have led!” said Linden. “Tell me,
chérie
, who looked after you during those times that Papa disappeared?”
“Ladies that Papa hired, mostly, though none of them stayed very long because Papa forgot to pay them most of the time. When I got older, I stayed alone. Papa says that every tub must stand upon its own bottom.”
Lord Linden pinched Katie’s chin gently between his fingers. “Katie, if we are going to get along, I think you had better stop telling me what Papa says. Frankly, I am beginning to develop a profound dislike for that gentleman.”
“Are we going to get along, my lord?” asked Katie wonderingly.
Lord Linden sighed, released Katie, and sat down in an open-backed armchair. He couldn’t send the chit back to the Rookery and Nasty Ned. It would be nothing short of murder. “I’m afraid so,
petite
. At least until I can find your father and bring him to some sense of his responsibilities. That is, if he hasn’t gone to America.”
Katie had great faith in Lord Linden’s powers of persuasion, but an intimate knowledge of her father’s character told her that it was beyond the power of mortal flesh to bring him to a sense of his responsibilities. “It’s not that Papa doesn’t like me,” she explained, “it’s only that he doesn’t think about me very often.”
Lord Linden looked grim. “Then we’ll just have to remind him.”
Chapter Five
London shone rose that evening and on Bennett Street the bandtailed pigeons strutted to and fro on the rails of the ironwork balconies, chuckling softly to themselves. Katie could hear them as she lay on her stomach on Lord Linden’s bed, watching him tie his white silk cravat.
“How did you know that I didn’t have French pox?” asked Katie. She lifted her slim ankles from the bed and bounced them one by one against the mattress.
“Because,” said Linden, immersed in the mysteries of knotting.
“Because why?” pursued Katie.
Lord Linden started to say something and then stopped as though he had changed his mind. “You really are very innocent, aren’t you? If your friend Zack was so eager to introduce you into the muslin company, it seems to me that he ought to have used a little more energy making sure you knew the facts of life.”
“Well, I do know them. Once I saw a cow and bull. Zack says that’s all you need to know.”
Linden gave a quick gasp of mirth. “Which partially explains your reluctance last night.”
“Are you still angry with me about that?” asked Katie uncertainly.
“No.”
Katie thought a minute. “Lord Linden, do you recall that lady who came into the restaurant while we were having breakfast? The one who is your grandmother’s friend? I think she might not have believed you when you told her I was your nephew. She wasn’t very friendly, was she?”
Linden smiled at some secret thought. “Don’t worry, child, it was directed at me and not you.”
Katie wriggled to the side of the bed and let her head hang over the edge. “How do you think she knew I wasn’t your nephew?”
“Probably because she knows that none of my sisters would ever allow their offspring to traipse around London looking like the loser in a dogfight,” said Linden crushingly.
Katie digested this in silence. Then she dropped her hands to the floor and rubbed her knuckles against the rug. “I think you look beautiful. Will it be much fun at the party you’re going to tonight?”
“Lord, no, dull work, my dear. A
soiree
at my grandmother Brixton’s, of all the damned things. Banal as a banker’s bath water.”
“Why do you go then?”
“Because
grandmère
‘ll raise holy hell if I don’t show up. And that means she’ll send my mother a long, detailed letter about what a hell-bound babe I am and my mother will send
me
a letter, splattered with tears
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