A Most Dangerous Profession(38)

“Though you didn’t love it?”

“Not at first; it was a childish ploy for approval. But now I’m glad I did it. I find myself still reading those classics, admiring them in new ways. So my father’s evil plan worked—he bred an army of scholars, for we’re all bookish—even William, the sea captain.”

She lifted her brows. “That’s a bit dismissive. It takes a lot of knowledge to sail a ship. You must read charts, understand astronomy, decipher the weather—most of the sea captains I’ve known are extremely capable.”

“I didn’t mean to be disparaging. It’s my brother’s chosen field, so it’s my job to mock it.”

She chuckled. “And does he do the same for you?”

“When he’s not calling me a ‘fop’ and a ‘lace-edged puffin,’ he is quite capable of pulling out a few well-chosen insults, some of them from the bard himself.”

“That will be most useful, since he’s now married to an actress. I once saw Miss Beauchamp perform. She is a remarkable actress.”

“She is, and my brother supports her desire to remain on the stage.”

“He must be very sure of her, for I cannot imagine a career more fraught with illicit invitations.”

“Other than ours? A false princess and a spy?”

She nodded, a shadow crossing her face. “You can get lost, pretending to be someone you’re not.”

“Very true.” He watched her for a moment. “Now that I’ve bared my soul, tell me about your family.”

Her lashes lowered as she regarded her riding boots. “There’s not much to tell. My mother was a mill worker and had me when she was only fifteen. Supposedly, my father was the mill owner’s son. He swore that he’d never touched my mother, though she bore the proof. When my mother’s parents found out she was with child, they threw her out of their house and pretended she’d never been born.”

“Families should stand by one another, through difficulties and triumphs.”

She tilted her head, her expression grave. “Is that what your family would have done?”

“Yes.”

“I would never abandon Rowena in such a way, no matter the circumstances. I don’t think my mother would have, either. I don’t remember much about her, as she died before I turned five. After that, I lived in an orphanage until I was ten.”

“And?”

“One day, a very tall and elegantly dressed woman came to the workhouse where we spent our days—”

“Workhouse?” His jaw tightened. He knew something of workhouses, of the brutal treatment that children, especially orphans, received in those places.

“Yes, I worked a loom with two other girls. This woman looked at all of us, as if selecting a horse. When she saw me, she stopped and said, ‘This is the one.’ I was told to pack my few belongings, that I was going ‘home.’ ”

“Who was the woman?”

“Her name was Talaitha Tigani and she was a gypsy.”

“Out of the frying pan and into the fire.”

“No. Her daughter had died at an early age, drowned in a pond. Aunt Talaitha missed having a daughter, so after a few years she picked one. Me.”

“So you became the daughter of a gypsy. It must have been an exciting life, especially after working a loom for hours every day,” Robert said thoughtfully. “That explains why four walls aren’t enough to hold you.”

Moira smiled. “Talaitha taught me everything she knew: how to pick pockets, open locked doors, make charms—”

“And make people believe you were whomever you wished to be.”

“Yes. Especially that.”

It explained so much. “And so you became a Princess Caraboo.” He smiled at the outrage on Moira’s face. Princess Caraboo’s real name was Mary Baker. Several years ago she had appeared on the steps of the house of a magistrate. Because she wore a turban, seemed unable to communicate except in an unrecognized language, and behaved in a number of bizarre ways, it was decided that she was a lost foreigner. People came from miles around, attempting to decipher the mystery.

A jackanapes eager to get involved in the mystery pretended to understand her “language” and interpreted her tale. He told her compassionate hosts that she was a kidnapped princess, stolen away from her homeland by pirates, and that she had escaped their ship and swum to shore. The romantic story made the unknown woman into “Princess Caraboo,” and she was feted until a newspaper ran her story and her description was recognized by several people who knew the real Mary Baker. Caught in her lie, Mary confessed to all. It was a huge embarrassment for her hosts, and she was banished to America.