Chapter 1
London, Winter 1891
“That Mason woman needs a thorough talking to,” Aunt Letitia said in her most imperial voice. “And you, India, must be the one to do it.”
I looked up from the deck of cards I’d been shuffling and shook my head. “I won’t interfere unless Cyclops wants me to.” I eyed him where he sprawled in an armchair by the fireplace, his long legs outstretched and a thin instruction book on the topic of policing loosely clasped in one hand. I thought him asleep until his eye cracked open.
“Nobody can change Mrs. Mason’s opinion of me except me,” he said.
“Maybe not even you,” Duke muttered from where he sprawled in an almost identical manner to Cyclops in the armchair positioned on the opposite side of the fireplace.
I glared at him.
He shrugged an apology. “I’m just saying she might be one of those people who never see reason because they’re blinded by their prejudice.”
“Mrs. Mason isn’t like that,” I said. “She can’t be or she wouldn’t have brought up such a kind, considerate and open-minded daughter as Catherine.”
Cyclops brightened at my response after deflating upon hearing Duke’s statement. “I reckon you’re right, India.”
“She usually is,” Matt said from behind the newspaper he’d been reading, proving he’d been listening to our conversation despite appearances suggesting otherwise.
The only one missing from our quiet evening was Willie, which probably explained why the evening was quiet. She’d joined Lord Farnsworth for a night of card playing at a gambling den. They might never frequent that venue again after tonight, however. Lord Farnsworth had lost a wager on Christmas Day to Willie and had to wear a dress. No doubt he’d be too embarrassed to face the other gamblers again.
Cyclops, suppressing a yawn, set the book on the occasional table nearest his chair. “I’m going to bed.”
“You don’t want to hear how Willie’s night with Farnsworth went?” Duke asked.
“Not enough to stay up. I’ve had to work all day, unlike some who’ve lazed about here, drinking tea and eating cake.”
Duke opened his mouth to protest but quickly shut it again. He couldn’t argue the point. He’d done very little today, whereas Cyclops had been performing drills as part of his police training. He was two days into the three-week course and had come home tired both nights from the drills and lectures.
Once Cyclops departed, Aunt Letitia asked for the cards. “Matthew, Duke, we need you for a game of whist.” She indicated the spare chairs.
Duke dutifully joined us but Matt murmured a distracted, “In a moment.”
“What has you so engrossed over there?” I asked.
“Electricity.” He folded the newspaper and indicated the article about the newly opened City and South London Railway, the first deep underground railway and the first to use trains powered by electricity. “One day every home in the country will be powered by electricity, not just the streetlights, some trains, and a few public spaces.”
“But it’s so expensive.”
“To convert the whole house, yes, and it’ll be some years before it’s affordable to everyone, but I think it’s worth investing in now. I’ll speak to my man of business tomorrow. Duke, do you want to invest in an electric lighting company?”
Duke shook his head. “I ain’t got nothing to invest. Cyclops might. He’s better at saving than me.”
“And he has a future wife and family to think about,” I added with a smile for Aunt Letitia.
She, however, was staring at Matt with something akin to horror. “You are not going to install electricity in this house, Matthew.”
“One day,” he said. “It’s inevitable.”
“It’s much too dangerous!”
“Actually it’s safer than gas if installed properly.”
“If every home gets electricity we’ll be overshadowed by wires.” She dubiously eyed the ceiling rose above us. “Not to mention the illness caused by leaking electricity.”
“There’s no proof of that, Aunt.”
She didn’t look convinced but dealt the cards anyway and mercifully didn’t mention electricity again. Nor did Matt, wisely.
We played for a mere half hour before Willie returned home with Lord Farnsworth in tow. The dandy was dressed in an ill-fitting gown of russet silk with brown fur sewn into a diamond pattern on the skirt and trimmed with more fur at the collar and cuff. It was the most hideous dress I’d ever seen and I burst out laughing at the sight of it.
Lord Farnsworth sashayed into the sitting room with all the elegance of a debutante showing off the swish of her hemline. “It is rather ghastly, isn’t it?” he said as he looked down at the dress.
“It wouldn’t be so bad on a woman,” Duke told him.
Willie snorted. “You think all women look good.”
“That’s because all women do. In a dress,” he added with a pointed glance at her buckskin trousers.
Willie poked her tongue out at him and strode to the drinks trolley where she poured two glasses of brandy.
“I think you make a very pretty woman, my lord,” Aunt Letitia said. “Doesn’t he, Willemina?”
Willie handed one of the tumblers to Lord Farnsworth. “He would if he wore a wig and shaved. I reckon he’s been growing the fluff on his face just for tonight so no one would mistake him for a woman.”
“It’s called a beard, Willie.” Lord Farnsworth sat in one of the armchairs by the fire and flattened a hand over the silk skirt. “And I grew it because I felt like growing it.” He rubbed a hand over the patchy red-gold hairs that couldn’t quite be called a proper beard yet. “I think it makes me look even more handsome.”
“It certainly does,” Aunt Letitia said. “Very handsome indeed.”
“He can’t be pretty and handsome.” Willie threw herself into the other armchair, somehow managing not to spill a drop from her glass. “Anyway, I reckon the beard was a nice touch. You should have seen everyone’s faces and heard their lewd comments.” She chuckled into her tumbler. “He even got a proposition, and I reckon it was a real one, too. The fellow was blind drunk and thought Farnsworth was the bearded lady escaped from the fair.”
Lord Farnsworth sank into the armchair, his legs spread wide beneath the skirts. “He was just having a lark.”
“He kept trying to look down your bodice.”
Aunt Letitia clicked her tongue. “That’s enough of that talk, Willemina. You’re not in America anymore. We don’t talk like that here in England.”
“Not in drawing rooms, but the English are just as vulgar as we Americans if you go to the right places. Maybe even more so.”
“Last time I looked, this was a drawing room, so stop it. Lord Farnsworth has had a rather trying evening, thanks to you. It’s time you let him enjoy some peace and quiet.” Her tight smile softened as she turned to Lord Farnsworth. “Perhaps you’d like to change into more suitable clothing then join us for a game of whist. Duke will give up his seat, won’t you, Duke? And perhaps India can give hers up for Willemina.”