The Wartime Matchmakers, page 30
“Marcus,” Elizabeth and Hetty said at the same time with a laugh. He’d been riding his bicycle all over London to spread the word. Although he spent most of his time at Cunningham House, Eva had been bringing him in every other week to London to get a bit of excitement of city life.
They finished the rest of the afternoon’s appointments and had a brief break to enjoy a cup of tea. Hetty had just put the kettle on the stove when the bell rang down in the reception.
“I’ll answer it,” Elizabeth said, leaving Hetty to brew the tea.
A woman stood by the check-in desk, her finger hovering above the button that would ring the bell upstairs.
“May I help you?” Elizabeth asked. The woman’s silvery hair was pulled back in a bright-red scarf, and her dress, a midlength blend of various patterns, made Elizabeth think of the Romani, or Travelers. The multiple silver rings that adorned her fingers and the heavy beaded necklaces draped around her neck added to the image.
She produced a card from her handbag with a magician’s flair. “I am Madam Broadstone.” Then she stroked the beads hanging from her neck as she waited for Elizabeth to respond.
Elizabeth read the card aloud. “Madam Broadstone—Psychic Readings and Seaside Lodgings?”
“Yes, I offer people readings on their future, and I also run a boardinghouse on the seaside. It’s the most darling location.” She drew out the word darling with a wide smile. “It’s only a stone’s throw away from the sea. Each room has a view of the ocean. Very romantic.” The woman waited and stared at Elizabeth. “Very romantic,” she repeated, as if Elizabeth had missed some cue.
“And how may the Marriage Bureau help you, Mrs. Broadstone? Are you interested in being matched, or—”
“Heavens no,” Mrs. Broadstone laughed. “My tea leaves have predicted three tall, dark men in my life, and each of them have been absolutely unsuitable. No, my dear, I thought I could help you.” She gave Elizabeth an exaggerated wink.
Elizabeth blinked. What on earth could the woman mean? “Help me?”
“Yes. You match people, and I predict futures. You make a tidy sum upon successful marriages, don’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose, but I don’t see how—”
Mrs. Broadstone waved a hand. “It’s quite simple, my dear. You arrange a match between, say, a Mr. Brown and a Miss Jones and then urge them to visit me. I give a clever reading to them each in private, encouraging them to see that their new matches are, in fact, their destiny.” She whispered the word destiny in a theatrical fashion. “Then it hurries the marriage up a bit, and I receive a small fee for my services.”
“Oh, I see.” Elizabeth was both stunned and a little offended by the woman’s suggestion.
“And then when they wish to honeymoon . . . they can board at my little seaside cottage.”
“I thought you said it was a boardinghouse.” Elizabeth frowned.
Mrs. Broadstone waved a hand. “Cottage, house, it doesn’t matter. You must come and see it. Stay the night for free,” she offered. “This weekend I have rooms available.”
“Er . . .” Elizabeth knew she did not want to be a part of any scheme that would defraud her clients, but if the cottage was lovely, it could be a nice place to refer clients. Therefore, she could justify visiting it to see what she thought.
“You have a business partner, yes? Go and speak to her,” Madam Broadstone encouraged. “I’ll wait here.”
Elizabeth climbed the stairs and found Hetty in the back office. She explained the woman’s scheme and the seaside boardinghouse as a possible place for clients to stay.
“I agree, we can’t use her fortune-telling services, but perhaps we could go see this boardinghouse, and if the place is up to snuff, we could refer clients. I’m not above playing along so that we might get a nice night by the sea,” Hetty chuckled.
“True . . . you could bring Charles,” Elizabeth suggested. “You won’t have much time after the wedding before he must report for duty.”
The laughter in Hetty’s eyes dimmed at the mention of Charles’s imminent departure.
“You’re right. I’ll telephone him. Would you ask her if we can come this evening?”
“Yes, of course.”
Elizabeth returned to the reception, where she accepted Madam Broadstone’s invitation. Eva and Marcus were to spend the weekend with Colonel Cunningham and Mrs. Harrow at the country house, and there were no more appointments for the weekend.
After they packed, Hetty and Charles picked Elizabeth up from her aunt’s townhouse and drove east to the seaside village of Margate, which was on the south coast of the Thames estuary. The beaches they passed were clean, and the town of Margate was quite picturesque, right down to the old clock tower, which Charles explained had been built to commemorate Queen Victoria’s Golden Jubilee in 1887. He read that from a travel book that he’d brought along, as Hetty navigated the streets.
“What’s the address of this boarding house again?” Hetty asked.
Elizabeth read the address from the business card, and they drove away from the beaches and finally stopped in front of a little stone house at the end of the street. It had definitely seen better days.
“Oh dear,” Elizabeth murmured.
“Perhaps its seaside charm is on the inside?” Charles said hopefully.
“I highly doubt it,” Hetty grumbled as she parked the car, and they exited the vehicle. Madam Broadstone opened the door with a smile.
“Come in, come in. Let me show you to your rooms.” She waved them inside, and Charles collected their bags from the car and followed them in.
The boardinghouse was dim and musty smelling. The clear air of the sea seemed unable to penetrate its walls. Every bit of the house was stuffed with antimacassar-covered furniture. The little needlepoint cloths decorated every armrest and headrest to the point that one could not see the original fabrics underneath. Stale smells hung ominously by the door leading to the kitchen, and Elizabeth feared that whatever they might be offered to eat tonight would perhaps be inedible. They were shown to a pair of rooms upstairs.
“Miss Mowbray.” Mrs. Broadstone pointed to one door. “And for Mr. and Mrs. Humphrey, this one is yours.” She nodded to a second door.
Charles’s eyes widened at the pronouncement of a Mrs. Humphrey, but he didn’t say anything.
“Settle in and come down for dinner in a few minutes.” The fortune-teller left them upstairs.
When the three of them were alone, Charles looked at Hetty.
“One room?” he asked in a whisper.
Elizabeth hid a grin as she heard Hetty’s reply. “I’m not sleeping alone in a place like this.” As if that resolved the matter quite sufficiently.
“Well, I’ll never argue for you to sleep alone, especially if I’m your roommate.” Hetty jabbed an elbow into his ribs, and Charles leaned in and kissed her.
“See you down in a moment, Lizzie?” Hetty asked, not that she had much to “settle in” with. She’d only brought a small travel case with her. Elizabeth went into her room and set it at the foot of the narrow, metal-framed bed. Then she approached the window and pushed the blackout curtains aside to take in the view. All she saw was a building across the street.
She opened the window and craned her neck out. A flickering blue stripe between the two buildings on the left was her only view of the sea. So it was more sea adjacent than seaside, she realized with a bit of disappointment.
When she came back downstairs, she found Charles and Hetty seated at the small dining table with Mrs. Broadstone, who was pouring liberal amounts of gin from a bottle into some glasses.
“And then I told the man he was going to marry an heiress and have twelve children,” Mrs. Broadstone was saying.
Hetty was staring at the gin bottle with no small amount of suspicion, while Charles was smiling and seemed perfectly content to listen to the fortune-teller ramble on.
“And did he?” Charles asked. “Have twelve children with the heiress?”
“Of course! Although I believe they ended up with thirteen children in the end. Busy man, that one,” Mrs. Broadstone chuckled. “The handsome lads always are, aren’t they?” She winked at Charles, who discreetly adjusted his tie and shot a quick glance at Hetty.
Dinner came half an hour later. Madam Broadstone served a burned beef Wellington and beetroot soup. It was a rather meager dinner, but Elizabeth imagined the poor woman had worked quite hard on the beef Wellington—not to mention she had used her precious meat rations on them—so Elizabeth vowed to eat every bite.
“Eat up, my dears, and drink your tea.” Mrs. Broadstone fluttered her many-ringed fingers at their teacups. “I shall read your tea leaves while you dine.” She smiled at them while they were all quickly drinking their tea. It wasn’t the worst tea Elizabeth had ever had, which surprised her. She’d always thought tea for such fortune-tellings would taste terrible.
“Turn your cups over on the saucers,” Madam Broadstone instructed. Charles did his first, and Elizabeth and Hetty followed.
“Good, good. Now, you first, Mr. Humphrey.” She took Charles’s teacup, while Charles sliced vigorously at his beef Wellington.
“Ah yes, I see.” She turned his cup about, studying the dregs at the bottom. “I see fog . . .”
Hetty stifled a derisive snort.
“Fog . . . ,” Madam Broadstone said again. “No . . . gas, not fog. You must take care, never leave your gas mask at home.” She sent Charles a stern look. “There is a cross . . . a silver cross, but the metal is dark and something is engraved on it. I can’t make out what.” A furrow dented her brow. “But it’s covered in blood. Your blood.”
Hetty rolled her eyes, but Charles was staring at the teacup he’d given Madam Broadstone with an unusual stillness.
“Now you, dear.” She leaned over and pried Hetty’s cup out of her hands and then gave it a concentrated examination. “Hmm . . . I see a child. A little boy. But . . .” The fortune-teller’s face fell. “He might not survive. You must not eat any onions for a year.” She set the cup down and held out a hand toward Elizabeth.
When Elizabeth hesitated, Mrs. Broadstone wiggled her fingers. Hetty was staring at her plate of food as though checking for onions. She prodded her food this way and that way with a fork.
“Give it here, dear.” Madam Broadstone took the cup, practically snatching it out of Elizabeth’s hands. There was a long silence as she studied the leaves. Then she looked at Elizabeth, her face serious.
“The one you left behind wasn’t a good man. But the next man will fall from the sky into your path. He will be everything that you could ever want or need. But you must trust him—or rather, you must trust yourself.” She glanced down at the cup again. “He’s your destiny, dear. You will recognize him by the way he befriends a lion tamer. He is fearless, and if you are brave enough, he can be yours.”
Befriends a lion tamer? What did that mean?
Madam Broadstone blinked and cleared her throat. “Now . . . eat up, my dears. Your food is getting cold.”
Hetty, Charles, and Elizabeth continued to eat dinner, and Madam Broadstone regaled them with her triumphant predictions about the futures of many clients from the bureau.
“So you see, it would be an ideal arrangement to combine forces.”
“We will certainly consider it,” Hetty said with a polite smile. They were having dinner and staying here for free, so she wasn’t about to tell this eccentric woman what she really thought of her plan to take advantage of Marriage Bureau clients.
“Well, shall we go to bed?” Hetty suggested and reached for Charles’s hand.
He smiled politely at their hostess and winked at Elizabeth before he allowed his bride-to-be to drag him up the stairs to their small shared room. Hetty closed the door and locked it before she leaned back against it to look at Charles. He had his back to her, the single lamp in the room silhouetting him as he removed his suit coat. He was wearing a dark-blue suit, the color she fancied him in the most. It made his golden hair even richer, and it intensified his gray eyes to the color of winter storms.
Butterflies fluttered in her belly as he draped his coat over the nearest chair with casual ease. He was always so calm, so at ease with himself and her. She wanted to be that way with him, to be herself in a way she never had been with Roger. With any other man in the world, she was confident and self-possessed, because she didn’t give a damn what those men thought. But this was Charles, and she felt like she was a schoolgirl again, her heart beating madly and her body wanting to swoon at his every smile. She’d thought this would be such a delightful weekend for the pair of them, but this hadn’t gone at all as planned.
She glanced about their room and winced. This was far from the romantic interlude she’d hoped for. Instead, they were surrounded by blackout curtains and ridiculous knitted cloth coverings on all the chairs. The bed even had a knitted blanket covering it. Charles didn’t seem to mind all this, however.
“I’m sorry about this. It’s not what I had in mind for . . .” Her voice trailed off.
Charles came toward her, his gray eyes twinkling with mischief. “For our first night together?”
“Yes, it’s a bit, well . . .”
“I think it’s charming.” He caged her against the wooden door, his hands on either side of her shoulders as he slowly leaned in and claimed her lips. The kiss sent her spiraling in a delight that would have had her grandmother calling her punch-drunk. He nibbled playfully at her lips, and she sighed, slipping into the heavenly feel of the moment. She had missed this, the intimacy of a man in her life, the knowledge that soon she would be drifting away upon clouds of pleasure. She was no stranger to lovemaking, she and Roger had been compatible in that department, but with Charles . . . everything was heightened, everything was somehow more intense. Every touch, every taste, every sigh and heated breath and kiss were sacred in a way she’d never imagined before she’d fallen in love with him.
She slid her arms around the back of his neck, trailing her fingertips into his hair. He groaned softly, pressing her harder against the door. She could feel his strength, the very power of his body, yet he was so gentle with her. Charles had a strange sort of magic that defied logic, and he pulled her into the moment of simply being with him.
When their lips finally broke apart, she was breathing hard and so was he. Hetty slid her hands down from his neck to his chest. She unbuttoned his waistcoat, sliding the mother-of-pearl buttons through the slits, and then peeled it off, letting the waistcoat drop to the floor.
Charles’s eyes heated as he let her unbutton his shirt next. The moment her fingers lightly stroked his bare chest, he made a soft, possessive sound at the back of his throat before he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed like a conquering warrior. She lifted her gaze up to his, feeling more vulnerable now than she had ever been in her life. She had faced Dunkirk at this man’s side and felt like she could do anything, but right now she felt as fragile as a butterfly in his arms.
“Henrietta Byron . . . I loved you from the moment we met,” Charles said. His eyes, the color of a winter storm, held the answers her lonely heart had searched for.
“For that long?” she asked in wonder. They’d known each other half their lives.
“Yes,” he chuckled softly as he laid her down on the little bed. He leaned over her as he removed his shirt and dropped it to the floor. “When did you decide you loved me?” He lay down on the bed beside her and slid an arm around her waist. Her skin felt too hot. She shifted restlessly beside him as he toyed with the snaps that closed the back of her black skirt.
“When did I know I loved you?” she repeated as he undid the buttons on her skirt. She gasped as his fingers grazed her lower back and he gently pulled at the blouse that was tucked into her skirt. “I fear you’ll be rather upset with me. I’ve been such a fool when it comes to you.”
“Will I?” He arched a brow, but his lips were still curved in a devious smile. He began to pluck at the buttons of her blouse until the silk fabric gaped open and allowed him a view of her breasts, barely concealed in lingerie. She rolled onto her back, and he slid closer, leaning over her, resting his head in his hand as he gazed down at her.
“When?” he asked again.
“When Lizzie and I walked into your office and told you about the Marriage Bureau. You didn’t laugh at us—you believed in us. You believed in me. That was when I first suspected it. Then, when you asked me to go with you to Dunkirk, I was certain of it.”
Charles gently pushed her blouse off her shoulders and leaned in to press a kiss to the newly bared skin. A delicious shiver rippled through her.
“I will always believe in you, Henrietta. Always.”
Somehow those words, murmured huskily in that dim little bedroom by the sea, were more powerful than any declarations of love or clever poems he could have recited.
“My grandmother once said that Lonsdales never die,” Hetty said softly as their eyes locked and held.
“Did she, now?” His eyes held a hint of humor, even though the room was charged with the hunger and tension between them.
“Prove it to me. When you leave for the Continent. I need you to prove it, that Lonsdales never die.”
He answered without a word as he lowered his head and captured her lips. She was swept away by him and everything that could be theirs if only they could just survive.
“Charles?” she murmured against his mouth.
He continued to steal kisses in all her forbidden places. “Yes, my darling?”
“Make love to me.”
He looked at her and chuckled. “That’s what I’m doing. I’m simply savoring it, and you, for as long as I can.”
She pulled his head back down to hers, vowing to do the same. The time they had left was but sand pouring through an hourglass. All too soon, it would be over.
