“When they are more fully recovered,” answered Teresa.
It was agreed that she would send word when this time came, and the group started to break up. But they had scarcely pulled on their gloves when Chirt marched in with a large figure at his heels. “Miss Julia Grandison,” the butler announced in a deeply aggrieved tone. Arthur had no trouble interpreting his expression. Chirt resented the chaos that had overtaken his well-ordered household. And he was just waiting for the right opportunity to express his outrage. “She did not care to wait below,” the man added in sepulchral tones.
“What do you think you are doing, visiting a man’s home?” boomed a familiar voice as the formidable lady sailed in behind him. She raked the young ladies with her harshest glare.
“Señora Alvarez is here,” said Miss Deeping.
“Indeed? Well, she should know better. Or perhaps be better.”
“I can only aspire,” said the señora. Arthur stifled a laugh.
Not waiting for an invitation, Miss Grandison took an armchair as if it was a throne. “The most extraordinary rumors are flying about town,” she said. She frowned at Arthur. “They are saying you have filled your home with opera dancers, Macklin. Dozens of them!”
“There are only…” began Miss Deeping, then fell silent as both Teresa’s and Miss Grandison’s sharp gazes swung to transfix her.
“Well,” continued Miss Grandison. “What have you to say for yourself?”
“Nothing,” Arthur replied. He had to keep reminding himself not to gaze at Señora Alvarez like a lovelorn boy. He could think of nothing else since that searing kiss. He ached for her, day and most particularly night. To be so near and not touch her—it was maddening. His only consolation was the conviction that she would welcome his suit when they were done with this visit. Which already felt interminable.
“I beg your pardon?” said Miss Grandison.
“I owe no one explanations,” he replied.
“You will allow malicious tongues to wag?”
“I doubt I could stop them.”
“How fortunate to be a man,” murmured Miss Finch. Señora Alvarez gave her an appreciative sidelong glance.
Momentarily, Miss Grandison seemed at a loss. Clearly, she had expected to mow down opposition. But for what purpose? “I wish to speak to these opera dancers,” she said then. “At once.”
Ah, that was it. “About your brother?” Arthur asked.
“I require only a bit more information.”
“No,” said Señora Alvarez.
Miss Grandison turned on her. “You do not wish to make an enemy of me, my good woman.”
“I would rather not. But I will not expose the girls to your interrogation.”
Arthur agreed with this. They were in no shape to endure the formidable lady’s questions.
“I believe I can talk civilly to anyone,” said Miss Grandison.
“Your idea of civility will intimidate them,” said the señora. “Find out about your brother from someone else.”
Miss Grandison made a sour face. “The men close ranks, you know. And many of the women as well.”
Señora Alvarez looked as if she was quite familiar with this tendency.
“Those who recall me under the overturned punch bowl seem to rather enjoy the memory. I’m sure I made a most amusing picture.” The older lady’s tone was bitter.
“I am sorry.” The señora sounded sincere. “But would it not be better to let the past go? Is it really necessary to humiliate him? What about your brother’s wife? Do you give no thought to her?”
“He treats her with contempt,” replied Miss Grandison coldly. “But she is too timid to pay him back herself. He ought to be taken down a peg.”
The three young ladies looked as if they agreed with this description, which was telling. There was a short silence. Arthur saw no need to fill it. Señora Alvarez was more than holding her own. She was the equal of anybody.
“I will ask the dancers more about your brother,” she replied finally. “When I think they are up to it. I cannot predict what day that will be.”
The two women’s eyes held. Neither wavered. Arthur decided one would have to judge the face-off as even, ending in mutual respect.
“Very well.” Miss Grandison stood and hovered at her full impressive height. “I will bid you farewell. Are you girls coming with me?”
“We will stay a bit longer, ma’am,” said Miss Finch. Only to avoid Miss Grandison’s company, Arthur thought.
“I am not your chaperone” was the disapproving reply. “I suppose you may behave as badly as you please.” She turned and swept out of the room.
“You might have helped me,” Señora Alvarez said to Arthur.
“You didn’t need any help,” he answered. “And I feared the intervention of a mere man would make things worse.”
Miss Finch snorted a laugh.
“You were wonderful,” said Miss Moran. “Ada’s aunt always makes me quake in my boots.”
The señora made a pfft sound. She was always magnificent, Arthur thought.
Thirteen
Over three quiet days, the rescued girls recovered. With safety, good food, rest, and care, they regained their strength. Only Odile remained weak, and even she was showing some improvement. Their spirits were a different matter. These veered from tears to rage to anxious tremors as the group sat together in the earl’s drawing room. But Teresa knew how to comfort without discounting these reactions, allowing them to run their course. She understood, too, that the tales might need to be repeated more than once. She had found this for herself, long ago. Repetition weakened bad memories; their impact could slowly trickle away, like sand running from an hourglass.
Visitors from the theater, including Tom, called to cheer the dancers, and Lord Macklin, on his brief look-ins, treated them with grave courtesy. Teresa grew hopeful that they would be able to move on very soon to whatever came next. She longed for that with all her being because she was finding it maddening to be in the earl’s company but not really with him. They had less conversation than during his visits to the artisans’ workshop. His sense of honor had become a barrier in his own house.
On the fourth day, she was determined to catch him and broach the subject of the future. But at midmorning the peace of the house was broken by shouting from the lower floor. The noise brought all the girls to worried alert. Puzzled, Teresa went out to the top of the stairs and looked down into the entry hall. A man was actually grappling with the earl’s butler. As she watched, he struck out and knocked Chirt to the floor. Where were the footmen?