Mr Bishop and the Actress Read Online Free Page A

a sense of honour. He’d do better with me than anyone else, and I’d keep an eye on his accounts next time.’

    ‘Mrs Wallace, I don’t intend to flatter you. My instructions are to make sure that you will not come to Mr Fordham with any claims of a financial nature in future; in short, that you are out of his life. As for your honour, I think you will find the rest of society does not concur with your definition, so I advise you, ma’am, to find another profession.’

    This room, with the looming great bed and its pretty occupant, is becoming a trifle close for my tastes.

    ‘Oh, an excellent idea, sir.’ She beams at me. ‘You know, I have always fancied the law. Or perhaps I should try for a commission in one of His Highness’s more fashionable regiments? I should look well in an officer’s uniform, I think.’

    Of course I should be outraged by her frivolity. I should bow with outraged dignity and stride from the room. I should certainly not be thinking of Mrs Wallace’s slender neck rising from a black gown, a horsehair wig atop her curls; or worse, flaunting a set of regimentals, tight-trousered as any shameless actress. Good God, the woman is impossible – and possibly more accomplished in her current profession than I had first thought.

    ‘Or,’ she continues, ‘I could return to the stage. I was quite good.’

    Good is not the word I would have chosen. I clear my throat. It sounds horrendously loud in the quiet room. ‘Enough, Mrs Wallace. May I enquire as to the whereabouts of Mr Wallace?’

    She raises one foot a few inches – the drapery of her gown slips from her ankles – and flexes her silk slipper. ‘Since you apparently must enquire, sir, the late Captain Wallace is in hell, and I wish you godspeed there, too.’

    In the blink of an eye we have travelled from (mostly) good-natured wrangling to downright animosity. She has the last word and we both know it.

    I bow with all the courtesy I can muster. As I pass her, I catch a whisper of her perfume, sultry and intoxicating – and doubtless expensive and not yet paid for, I remind myself.

    Mr Fordham, heaving sighs, lurks on the stairs.

    ‘Come, Mr Fordham, you should leave now. I’ll call you a hackney carriage. Your mother and sisters are most anxious to see you back at home.’

    ‘But Sophie – you must help her move her bed, Bishop. She’s a good-hearted girl.’

    ‘Very well. You won’t be bothered by Mrs Wallace again.’ I take his arm.

    His lip quivers. ‘But I should like to be bothered by her.’

    I bite back a sharp retort.

    After I see Charles Fordham safely stowed in his hackney carriage I make haste to solve the problem of the bothersome Mrs Wallace and her bed.

Harry

    I find Mrs Wallace sitting on a large, neatly folded pile of pillows, sheets and feather bed, the bed stripped to its mattress.

    ‘I have arranged storage for your bed and temporary accommodation for you, Mrs Wallace, at Mr Fordham’s request. A driver and a cart will arrive shortly.’

    ‘That’s very good of you, sir.’ She proceeds to remove the mattress that lay beneath the feather bed and I move forward to help her. ‘May I ask where?’

    ‘At Bishop’s Hotel.’

    ‘Bishop’s Hotel? Your family owns it?’

    ‘They do, ma’am.’

    She looks at me with a satirical smile. ‘Oh, I know what you think. I assure you, I can be discreet. How very pleasant that you can visit your family!’

    I’m annoyed that my misgivings show on my face and am then surprised when she says with apparent sincerity, ‘Oh, I beg your pardon.’

    She unloops the rope that was the support of the mattress and coils it neatly. ‘Is the man with the cart strong?’

    I bristle with offended male pride. ‘I assure you I am quite strong enough to deal with dismantling your bed, Mrs Wallace.’

    ‘Oh, certainly.’ She strolls over to the window and props herself against the window ledge. ‘Pray proceed. The steps double as storage. You will