The First Bloom of Winter, page 9
“From one of the books in Mr. Leslie’s library,” Amaryllis replied with obvious pride. “It’s called a ‘kimono.’ The basic design is dreadfully simple. It’s the embroidery and figuring out how to tie the bow that takes work.”
“Though it comes off easier than anything,” Gardenia interjected, tossing Holden an exaggerated leer as he waggled his eyebrows suggestively.
“Fortunately,” Amaryllis continued, ignoring Gardenia’s silliness, “most of your outfits require a far simpler closing, such as a front-tied sash. But Mr. Leslie wanted you to have something distinctive for your first presentation.”
All at once, Holden’s interest in his new wardrobe vanished, the reminder of why he needed this unusual article of clothing drowning out all other concerns. “Perhaps I should try on the rest so we can leave you in peace.”
Amaryllis was quite amenable to the suggestion, and it wasn’t long before he pronounced Holden’s part finished. “All of the pieces fit well enough, so I won’t need to do much in the way of alterations. Since I already have your measurements, I can make any new items you’ll need as my schedule allows.”
“Thank you,” Holden said after he’d once again donned his own clothes. He bowed his head as he and Gardenia took their leave. In spite of his reluctance to use the outfits for their intended purpose, he felt obliged to acknowledge Amaryllis’s mastery of his craft. Amaryllis appeared somewhat startled at his evident sincerity and closed the door behind them without his accustomed contemptuous dismissal.
Gardenia made a beeline to his room, which had become the locus of their reading lessons. Holden plodded behind on heavy feet, every step seeming to herald his coming hour of dread. Although he had another day to make himself ready, he almost wished his coming out were that night so it could all be over that much sooner. Seemingly ignorant of his mood, Gardenia burst into the room and immediately reached for the book of naval songs before flopping onto his bed. He was already flipping through the pages as Holden joined him.
“Where did we leave off?” Gardenia murmured as he searched. “Ah, yes! We were reading this one, right?”
Holden nodded as he studied the passage. “Yes, very good. Did you read the title?”
Gardenia grinned in response. “Of course,” he said cheekily.
In truth, his progress had been frightfully impressive. When Gardenia had expressed his desire to learn to read, his earnestness had been apparent, but Holden had been surprised at the intensity of the effort Gardenia had put into his betterment. The hunger was there, and his quick mind had expended his eagerness in the best possible manner. After only a few days, he was able to read nearly entire passages with little guidance. It did Holden’s frame of mind a world of good to know he had been of such use to his friend.
“Could you read it aloud while I follow along?” Gardenia asked, referencing their usual method.
Holden carefully moved his finger along the words as he recited the lyrics.
Jack dances and sings and is always content;
In his vows to his lass he’ll ne’er fail her,
His anchor’s a trip when his money’s all spent,
And this is the life of a sailor.
Alert in his duty, he readily flies
Where winds the tired vessel are flinging;
Though sunk to the sea-gods or toss’d to the skies,
Still Jack is found working and singing.
Tho’ careless and headlong, if danger should press,
And rank’d ’mongst the free list of rovers,
Yet he’ll melt into tears at a tale of distress,
And prove the most constant of lovers.
To rancour unknown, to no passion a slave,
Nor unmanly, nor mean, nor a railer;
He’s gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave,
And this is a true English sailor.
“The True English Sailor,” Gardenia read haltingly. “I like that one. It reminds me of Richard.”
Holden blinked in bemusement, heedlessly falling prey to the gambit. “Richard? You mean my Richard?”
“Ho! So that’s the way of it, is it?” Gardenia glanced at Holden slyly. “I’m not surprised. He is a handsome devil, and no mistake. And one would have to be blind to miss how you stare after him whenever he’s around.”
Cursing his fair complexion anew, Holden couldn’t deny the accusation, betrayed by the rush of color suddenly flooding his cheeks. Whether it was simply Richard’s undeniable attractiveness or the knowledge he’d soon be completely exposed to that watchful gaze, Holden couldn’t say. Whatever his reasons, his minder hadn’t strayed far from this thoughts since their second meeting, even though the man himself had been absent for a large part of Holden’s residence. Since his arrival, Leslie had sent Richard on various tasks, and Holden wondered whether the practice would continue once he was employed as Holden’s guard.
“What made you think of him?” Holden asked in a poor attempt to deflect attention from his own reaction. Fortunately Gardenia went along with the charade.
“I remember him saying once that he’d been a sailor.”
“Oh? Is that how he and Leslie became acquainted?” Holden had conceived no satisfactory explanation for how the two men had entered into their present arrangement. Richard seemed a rather forthright individual, and Holden had a difficult time imagining him willingly involving himself in such a sordid business as Leslie’s faux garden.
Gardenia shrugged. “I don’t know the details. He was already working here when I arrived earlier this year. Shall we try it again?” he pressed before Holden could slip in a question about the circumstances surrounding Gardenia’s introduction into this strange world.
Holden reread the selection, accepting his disappointment. Not that it was any of his concern, he reminded himself, how Richard had come here. His curiosity regarding Gardenia’s past was a natural expression of their growing friendship, but Richard was as much a stranger to him as he’d ever been. He’d be far better off tending to his own affairs than inquiring into matters that were not his own, no matter the width of the man’s shoulders or the magnificence of his eyes.
LATER THAT afternoon, Holden found himself at loose ends. Gardenia’s lesson had ended hours before, with Gardenia explaining that Mrs. Peabody had promised to show him how to make a proper meat pie if he showed his face in the kitchen while she was preparing lunch. Holden had taken advantage of his resulting solitude to catch up on some reading of his own, having borrowed several titles he’d been intending to peruse from Leslie’s collection. At some point, he must have dozed off, because his stomach informed him upon waking that he’d missed the noontime meal.
After indulging in a bone-popping stretch, Holden slid his feet to the floor and sat for a moment trying to decide whether he was more interested in eating or in hiding in his room. He recognized his desire for solitude as an attempt to avoid his onrushing fate. Another day of reprieve might await him, but he knew tomorrow evening would arrive all too quickly. Still, there was no point in starving himself, he decided as his stomach growled its disapproval at his neglect.
Holden was rounding the screen leading to the main hall when he noticed a lone figure sitting on one of the sturdier divans. The man had pulled up a table and was hunched over it, his dark head bent low over his unidentified endeavor. As he headed toward the kitchen, Holden’s path took him past the seated figure, and he paused as he noted the particular breadth of the figure’s shoulders. At first he thought it might be Leslie, for none of his comrades had such robust physiques. But even as he told himself that the hair color was wrong, the man looked up, erasing any doubt as to his identity.
“Richard,” Holden said in surprise. “I thought you were still away on business.” He hadn’t seen his future minder for nearly two days, and since their formal introduction in Leslie’s office he’d caught no more than fleeting glimpses. Yet, somehow, even those brief meetings had been enough for those beautiful eyes to sneak their way into his dreams. Holden cleared his throat as he dragged his wayward thoughts back to order.
Richard’s full lips curved in a slight smile. “I only just returned about an hour ago. I managed to finish my errand earlier than anticipated.”
“Oh? And what was it this time? Not frightening some hapless coal seller again, I hope.”
Richard chuckled at Holden’s cheek. “Not quite, though there was a customer who needed convincing he would be wise to settle his accounts with Mr. Leslie when due and not months later.”
“Surely it wasn’t as boring as you make it sound.”
Holden was dissatisfied with the sparse explanation, wanting to press for more information about Richard’s task of collecting from the delinquent patron. He told himself his interest was merely polite since he and Richard would soon be working extremely closely together. It certainly had nothing to do with the fact that he’d been impatient to see Richard again. Holden sighed heavily when Richard merely smiled and returned to his interrupted endeavor. He noticed for the first time that Richard was apparently writing a letter, though he was certainly making quite a hash of it. Holden tilted his head, trying—and failing—to identify even one word out of the illegible marks. The smudges of ink that Richard’s blunt fingers had transferred onto portions of the stationary were likewise not conducive to the task.
“Do you require assistance?” Holden asked. “I have some experience as a clerk.”
Richard glanced up with a single eyebrow raised at a rakish angle. The wayward brow merely enhanced his appeal, and Holden was forced to touch his tongue to his suddenly dry lips.
“I do know how to write,” Richard said drolly. “Though I confess I’m not very good at it.” He laughed softly, more to himself than so as to be heard. “My sister always scolded me about my atrocious penmanship.”
Holden stared somewhat transfixed by the gentle affection that lit Richard’s roughhewn features. Fearing that he was being rude, he took a deep breath and straightened to put some distance between them. While leaning over, he’d noticed that Richard seemed to exude a rather delightful spicy scent, and Holden found it most distracting. Still he continued to linger, feeling he should probably get to know Richard better given the nature of impending relationship. He quickly latched on to the conversational gambit Richard had unwittingly tossed out.
“So,” he began, “do you see your sister often? Are you close?”
“Yes, we are close,” Richard replied. “But no, I don’t get to see her much these days.” His shoulders lifted as he drew in a deep breath. “She lives up north in Cumbria with our aunt.”
“Oh? I’ve never had the good fortune to visit the Lake District. I hear it’s beautiful.” Richard had gone back to his unskillful attempt at writing, so Holden gazed curiously down at the top of his head. “Is that where you grew up?”
Richard shook his head without looking up. “No,” he answered, his posture muffling his voice.
Or perhaps, Holden mused, it could be that he seemed a bit reluctant to speak. Long seconds passed with no further exchange, the room silent except for the scratch of pen against the paper. Holden was considering ending the meeting, which had grown unaccountably awkward, when Richard suddenly tossed down the pen and sat back. His expression was thoughtful and unfocused as though he was looking at nothing in particular. After a moment, he seemed to come to some decision. He glanced up at Holden and speared him with a direct gaze.
“We were born and raised in London. My sister, Matilda, moved away with my aunt after….”
“After?” Holden pressed, sensing he’d been given permission to pursue his interest in furthering their acquaintance.
“After I was arrested,” Richard elaborated. His reserved tone intimated the topic of his time in prison should remain unexplored at present, so Holden instead voiced a question of perhaps greater importance.
“Does, um, your sister know you work here?” he asked somewhat obtusely, lacking the nerve to inquire directly whether she knew what went on at The Garden.
Richard’s answering grunt vaguely resembled a laugh. “It’s funny you should ask that.” He exhaled in a sharp gust of air and leaned back on the divan. “It’s actually because of Matilda that I’m here.”
Holden blinked as his jaw dropped in surprise. “What on earth do you mean? I am singularly unable to fathom how that could be true in the slightest. How could your sister be responsible for you ending up in a—” He swallowed. “—in a place like this?”
Richard smiled ruefully. “The first time I met Mr. Leslie, I happened to be out with my sister. She had begged me to go shopping with her, mostly so I could carry her packages,” he added with a chuckle. “We were in Piccadilly when I saw a proper bit of frock with lovely red hair getting harassed by some oaf who was full as a goat at eleven o’clock in the morning. Turns out it was none other than Amaryllis. I’d mistaken him for a pretty fal, as apparently had his accoster, though I’m sure you’ll excuse our muddle.”
Holden couldn’t repress his amusement. “Indeed,” he replied. “An understandable error. But please, do go on.”
Richard shrugged. “Well, I thought I’d let the drunken cod know he should keep his hands to hisself.”
“And how did you manage that.”
“By givin’ ’im a piebald eye.” Richard mocked his use of low cant with a wink, but the glint in his gaze spoke of the seriousness with which he’d dispensed his rough justice.
Holden nodded. “Ah, I see.” He could only imagine how the hapless drunk had looked after coming into contact with one of Richard’s meaty fists.
“Mr. Leslie happened to return right then from some errand and saw the end of the scuffle. He’d gone out with Amaryllis but had left him for a while to see to some business nearby while Amaryllis shopped. He was extremely grateful to me for protecting his flower’s honor.” Richard pitched the latter to indicate the words were a quote. “Of course, at the time I had no clue what he meant by that. Anyway, Mr. Leslie said I was to contact him if I ever needed anything and gave me his card.” His demeanor abruptly grew more solemn. “My sister wrote to him after the bobbies took me in. He was as good as his word and convinced the magistrate to let me out.” He shook his head. “Still don’t know how he managed it. Probably with a bit o’ weasel.”
Holden was familiar with the slang term for bribery. He had to agree with Richard’s deduction of how Leslie had secured his freedom. “I suppose he offered you employment as a way to repay his largess.”
Richard’s gaze narrowed dangerously, making Holden wonder what he’d said to cause offense. “He offered me ‘employment,’” he repeated sharply, “to keep me free of the workhouse. It’s like I told you before, I owe Mr. Leslie a great deal.”
Holden simply couldn’t share Richard’s approbation of Leslie’s character, but he recognized gainsaying the man would win him nothing. He uttered a noncommittal sound Richard could interpret however he wished. “Um, how long have you been here?” he asked tentatively.
Fortunately Richard seemed to prefer continuing their conversation on friendly terms. “Since last winter. Nearly a year now, I guess. Funny that it’s taken this long for Mr. Leslie to set me to the job he hired me for.”
Holden frowned. “What do you mean? Did he hire you for a particular reason?” The answer came to him before Richard could supply it. “He did intend for you to be a handler,” he said, remembering his conjecture on the subject during his first breakfast at The Garden.
“Right you are, though I never served as such. At least, not until now. All I’ve ever done for him is manual labor and providing a strong arm when Mr. Leslie requires.”
Holden took the latter to mean the tasks of intimidation Leslie obliged Richard to perform. “I wonder why Mr. Leslie waited so long to assign you a ward.”
“I couldn’t say. Some of the boys, Gardenia and Peony to be specific, came here after me, but Mr. Leslie hired Brian and Simon to look after them.” Richard paused and fixed Holden with a penetrating gaze. “Maybe he was waiting for the right one to come along for me.”
Holden could feel the flame in his cheeks as Richard studied him with a hooded gaze of vibrant blue. He suddenly realized he had quite forgotten to be apprehensive about Richard’s impending role in his life, so at ease had he grown in his presence during the course of their tête-à-tête. Now his disquiet returned in full measure at the mention of their forthcoming partnership.
“And now that I’ve shared some of my tale with you, tell me, Aster, how did a proper lad such as yerself come to be here?”
Richard might have been deserving of the question after Holden’s inquisitiveness, but it did nothing to return Holden to his former state of calm. As he’d been with the others, he was reluctant to completely divulge to Richard the sad facts that had led him to this circumstance. Regardless of the intimate nature of their relationship, he felt some hesitation to expose the fullness of his shame. Yet, he knew he ought to share something in return to honor Richard’s candid profession.
“I did something that pained my father to an unforgivable degree. I made a terrible mistake,” Holden said quietly, “and I’m to serve out my punishment here at Mr. Leslie’s behest.”
Richard watched him for a long moment. “Hmmm,” he murmured after a protracted silence. “Perhaps eventually you’ll be able to share your burden with someone. It appears to be a heavy one at that.” He braced his hands on his legs and stood up from the divan. When he twisted, Holden could hear the joints and sinews stretch with an audible crack. “I think I’ll finish my letter down in my room. The light isn’t as good, but the desk makes it easier to write without putting a crook in me neck.”
Holden backed away to give Richard space, noting that Richard topped him by nearly half a foot. However, he felt no displeasure at the marked difference in their statures. He had never considered himself as a mollycoddle requiring of protection, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that, should the need arise, Richard would prove more than equal to the task of ensuring his safety.
