Kasey Michaels - A Gentleman By Any Other Name

“Oh, so that was in the way of friendly banter then?” Julia asked, knowing she’d heard nothing friendly in anything Jacko had said, no matter that he was dressed as a gentleman.

“Could it be anything else, Miss Carruthers?” Chance asked through clenched teeth, then shifted his blanket-wrapped daughter in his arms. “I’ve got Miss Alice here, Jacko, as Ainsley obviously didn’t get my letter, so you can either leave off your crowing and let us in or take a bow, then shut the door on our faces and we’ll be on our way.”

The man stepped forward, the light from the dying flambeaux on either side of the door at last revealing his face, showing his age to be somewhere older than Chance Becket and younger than Moses when he’d come tripping back down the mountain with those clay tablets in his arms. More than that, she really couldn’t tell.

Julia didn’t know whether to smile or run screaming for the safety of the coach. For this was a round, happy face. Even a jolly face, with eyebrows raised up high on its forehead, a large nose with a bulb at the end, a carelessly trimmed mustache and small beard surrounded by apple cheeks. His smile was wide and exposed huge white teeth that were all odd-sized and oddly spaced.

The eyes? The eyes showed amusement, even playfully twinkled. The skin around the eyes crinkled when he smiled. Oh, so jolly. Jacko would probably look jolly even as he was carving your beating heart right out of your chest.

“You’ve got the babe with you?” Jacko asked, his head coming forward on his thick neck, as if this part of him, at least, wanted a closer look. “God’s backside, you do! Well, get in here, boy. Don’t leave the child out in the damp. God gave you brains, didn’t he?”

Julia bit her lips between her teeth and waited for Chance to precede her into the large entrance hall, then followed after him, making sure she stood as far from Jacko as was possible without physically crawling beneath the long table pushed against a side wall.

Jacko kicked the door shut and turned to look at Alice, who had awakened at last and was already looking at him. “Hello, princess,” he said, his voice tender now, his delight obvious.

“Hello,” Alice responded sleepily. “I’m not a princess. You’re funny.”

It was true, Alice wasn’t afraid of strangers. But Julia didn’t trust that smile, that laugh. She knew a dangerous man when she saw one. Jacko was like a dog you met on the village street, seeming pleasant enough but just as likely to bite as to wag its tail.

“She’s very tired,” Julia said, stepping in front of Chance, as her concern for Alice outstripped her reluctance to draw this man’s attention to her. “We need to be shown a room where I can get her into bed. Thank you.”

Jacko cocked one eyebrow and looked past Julia, to Chance. “Not the wife. I remember the wife. Didn’t say two words to me, but I remember her. Who’s this?”

Chance held his temper as Alice slipped her thin arms up and around his neck. “Miss Carruthers is Alice’s nurse, Jacko. And my wife is dead these six months, as well you know. I’ve brought Alice to stay here, within the warm, loving bosom of my family. Now I’m taking Alice up to the nursery, as I know the way, and you can tell Ainsley I’m here. Or you can go to hell.”

Julia let out a half cough, half choke, then lifted her skirts to follow after Chance when he headed up the staircase, as being left in the hallway with Jacko wasn’t the most appealing thought she’d ever entertained.

She made it halfway across the hall before a large hand grabbed her at the elbow and pulled her to a quick halt.

“You don’t look like a nanny. Too pretty by half, and you look like one who really sees what’s around her. Why’s he here? Why’s he really here, pretty girl?” Jacko asked quietly, smiling down at her.

“If you have questions for Mr. Becket, you should direct them to him,” Julia said, wondering briefly if she might faint. “Please let go of my arm.”

“Leave off, Jacko. She’s good enough. Knows what she’s about, this one does.”

“Billy?” Julia asked, blinking, as the coachman rolled his wiry body into the hallway. What on earth? Servants didn’t come into the front of the house, most certainly not a coachman wearing all of his travel dirt and with mud still caked on his boots. And most definitely not any servant carrying a half-eaten drumstick.

Billy’s walk was suddenly more assured, the tone of his voice much more forceful, and Julia realized that this was the real Billy she was seeing now and not the awkward, scrambling little man who worked as Chance’s fairly cow-handed coachie—probably playing that role for her benefit, now that she considered the thing.

“Billy boy, there you are, ugly as ever.” Jacko let go of Julia’s arm. “You can go up now, miss. Third floor, then turn to your right and then your left and follow your pretty nose to the end.”

Julia didn’t move other than to rub at her arm where Jacko’s sausage-thick fingers had been. “You’re seamen. Both of you. I should have realized…I should have—”

She shut her mouth, remembered Billy’s description of her: Knows what she’s about, this one does.

And she did, didn’t she? She hadn’t lived in Hawkhurst on the edge of Romney Marsh for all of her life without coming to “know what she’s about.” Knowing what Billy and Jacko were and even what those three unlucky young boys had been “about.” Knowing that asking too many questions in Romney Marsh could mean she’d soon know too much for anyone to be comfortable.

But there was one question she had to ask. “Billy? Will you please tell me what you have done with the boys? Have you sent for the doctor? They’re harmless, Billy, just boys.”

“What’s she running her mouth about? What boys?”

“The lads will be fine, missy,” Billy said, ignoring Jacko’s question as he looked at Julia. “Excepting the dead one, of course. He’ll still be dead. Odette’s with the other one. If she can’t fix him, he’s good as fish bait anyway. No harm will come to them, rest your mind on that. Mr. Chance, he gave orders. You go on upstairs now, missy.”

Julia opened her mouth to ask something else—so many questions already half-formed in her mind!—but Jacko was looking at her again. “Thank you, Billy. Our…the baggage?”

“Already waiting on you, missy.”

“Thank you again,” Julia said as she clutched the small traveling bag to her and neatly sidestepped Jacko. She didn’t break into a run until she reached the third floor, barely remembering anything of her surroundings on the way up, except to think that Mr. Ainsley Becket, whatever and whoever he was, must possess amazingly deep pockets.

She had, however, found time to think up at least a half dozen pointed questions for Mr. Chance Becket!

Julia pushed wide the already opened door that led to the nursery—again, an almost ridiculously well-appointed room, larger than the entire vicarage in Hawkhurst—then followed the sound of voices into an adjoining room to her left. There she found Chance Becket and little Alice, Chance doing his best to pull the blue gown up and over his child’s head.

“Here, sir, I’ll do that,” Julia said, stripping off her pelisse and tossing it onto a nearby rocking chair that, goodness, had carved swans’ heads for arms. She opened Alice’s traveling bag and pulled out a night rail. “I imagine you’ll be wanted downstairs.”

“Do you really,” Chance said, stepping back to let Julia take over the chore of undressing a child so sleepy her arms and legs seemed boneless. “You took your sweet time, Miss Carruthers. I already know you’re a curious sort. Did you allow yourself a tour?”