The Gentleman's Walking Stick

"Henry," Mrs. Chambers said. "Have Annie fetch Mr. Summerville's walking stick from my armoire, please."

Henry bowed and withdrew. I gathered that he truly hadn't gone to visit his family.

"How did you find me out?" Mrs. Chambers asked in the ensuing silence. She did not invite me to sit down again, nor did she offer me a beverage.

"You were not surprised when I told you what I'd come for," I said. "You had a glib explanation that Summerville always left the walking stick about, but I do not think he does. Summerville is careful even when he seems not to be, which is part of his charm, I think. And he was too worried when he found it missing to make me believe this a common occurrence. You questioned John, who would not have taken it at the door last night, instead of Henry who had. You did not want to make Henry lie."

Mrs. Chambers listened to my tale, her lips parting. When I finished, she looked away. "I had not planned to keep it. But when you turned up, saying he'd sent you, I realized how anxious Mr. Summerville was for the walking stick's discreet return. And I understood what that meant."

That Summerville had realized the danger of having the walking stick found in the house of his mistress. The utterly respectable Wrights would never forgive the transgression. Summerville also believed Mrs. Chambers might try to blackmail him with it, which put plainly just how much trust he had in her. And so Mrs. Chambers had decided to act.

I looked into Mrs. Chambers' clear eyes and suddenly wished myself a wealthy man, so I could press money to her palm and tell her to go somewhere, anywhere, to forget about Summerville and pursue her own happiness.

"I am sorry," I said. I truly was sorry. Sorry I'd ever agreed to help Summerville.

"The ton can gossip all they like that he is my protector," she said, "but such talk can be dismissed as gossip." Especially by Summerville, the charmer. "But the stick is proof, isn't it? Proof I can show to his beloved fiancee and her father."

I studied her brittle face, her too-bright eyes. "You love him?"

"Yes. I am afraid that I do."

"He does not deserve you," I said savagely.

She smiled, but the smile was strained. "You are kind, Captain. But it does not matter. I told you this morning that I understand why he must marry. And I do. Marriages should not be made lightly."

"But you do mind."

"Of course I mind! Do you think I have no heart? He must lie in a bed with her and get children on her, and for that I want to gouge her eyes out!" Her rage faded as abruptly as it had come, and she gave a little laugh. "You see, Captain? I am petty and jealous, as is any woman who wants a gentleman."

I took a step forward. "You are brave. I wish…" I stopped. "I am friends with Mr. Grenville, who has a large acquaintance. Perhaps he could introduce you to a gentleman who proves more appreciative than Summerville."

She was shaking her head before I finished. "No. I know you mean it as kindness, Captain, but no."

"I wish you were not so in love with him," I said.

She shook her head again. We watched each other, the words hanging.

Henry entered at this interesting moment, carrying a black walking stick with a gold head. Mrs. Chambers took it from him, dismissed him, and put the walking stick into my hands.

"There, Captain. Tell Mr. Summerville not to be so careless with it in future."

I bowed again, but I had no more words to give her.

My coming had hurt her. If Summerville had not sent me, certain Mrs. Chambers presented a threat, she might never have realized how much he mistrusted her, how much he viewed her as an embarrassment. I'd sown a seed of darkness.

"Good-bye," I said, and left her.

When I reached Summerville's rooms in Piccadilly, his valet was dressing him to go out. Summerville turned from the mirror, his expression hopeful. He did not even inquire about my bruises. "Did you find it?"

I looked him over, from the elaborate cravat his valet had just tied to the pristine pumps he wore with pantaloons that buttoned at the ankle. I thought of his brother, the threadbare parson, and Nellie in her tiny rooms with her children and her drunken husband. I thought of lovely Mrs. Chambers and the misery in her eyes, misery Summerville had put there.

"Yes," I said.

Summerville's smile flashed. "Thank God. I knew you'd do it. Grenville said you were astonishing. Where is it?"

"In a safe place." I had stopped at Grosvenor Street and given it to Grenville's very discreet valet to look after.

His smile faded. "Have you not brought it with you?"

I glanced meaningfully at the valet, and Summerville took the hint. "Leave us, Waters." The valet bowed and departed.

"What are you playing at, Lacey? Where did you find it?"

I ignored his questions, letting my temper rise. "I toyed with the idea of returning it to you-end-first with you bent over, but I decided that would not be practical."

Summerville flushed. "I do not find that amusing, Lacey."

"It was not meant to be. Instead, I decided to ask you to make out a draft for one hundred pounds."

"One hundred-" Summerville gaped. "You are joking. Why the devil do you want a hundred pounds?"

"Fifty of it I will give to Nellie, because she has need of it. The other fifty I will give to Mrs. Chambers for putting up with you. The three hundred you owe to The Nines is between you and Mr. Bates."

A muscle moved in his jaw. "Very well. I suppose you've put yourself out for me today. I will give you your one hundred pounds. A fee, shall we say? For locating the walking stick."

He insulted me. A gentleman did not fetch and carry for money. I did not react to his suggestion, and Summerville gave up and strode to his writing table. Candlelight shone on his immaculate white neckcloth as he sat down, sharpened a pen, and dipped it into his ink pot. He wrote hastily, the scratching of the pen loud in the stillness.

"There." He snatched up the paper and nearly threw it at me.

I took the bank draft, examined it, and tucked it into my pocket.

"Thank you. Next month, I will return, and you will write another draft, for the same purpose. And the next month after that."

"The devil I will. My income is not substantial, Lacey."

"Better marry your Miss Wright quickly then."

Summerville slammed himself up from the chair. "You go too far, Lacey. How dare you?"

I eyed him coldly, our heights nearly the same. "If I do not receive the sum of one hundred pounds from you at the first of each month, to be dispersed as I've outlined, your walking stick will turn up somewhere far more embarrassing than in the houses of Mrs. Chambers or your brother's paramour. I know people in many places, Summerville. You would do well not to have your name associated with them."

Summerville stared in disbelief, then he snarled and lunged at me.

My sword flashed out of my cane. Summerville stopped, looking down at the point of my blade resting against his immaculate cravat.

"Stand at ease, Lieutenant," I said quietly. "Or do you want to ruin your suit?"

"Blast you, Lacey. You're nobody. You always were nobody. How dare you?"

"I am a gentleman of the Thirty-Fifth Light," I said. "Who are you?"

"I am a gentleman who will have the power to ruin you in a few years' time."

I made a frosty bow. "Then for a few years at least, you will do some good by these ladies." I sheathed the sword. "Good night, Mr. Summerville."

I left him cursing as I walked out of the room and hobbled back down the stairs and into the rain.

The next afternoon, I found Lady Breckenridge at Lady Aline Carrington's garden party, as I had known I would. The rain had gone, and the sun shone at last, chased away from time to time by a breath of cloud.