Mr. Wilkins and the Lodger Read online

  Mr. Wilkins and the Lodger

  Campion Square Book 1

  Adella J. Harris

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  Gerald Wilkins was content with his life at number 18 Campion Square, until his sister, worried that he’d be lonely when she married, found them a most unsuitable lodger. Gerald didn’t think it could get any worse, until his sister ran off with the lodger.

  Hugh Dewitt was used to getting his brother out of trouble. This time should have been no different. His already-married brother had run off with a woman of some means, intending to swindle her no doubt. But this time there was a brother, a brother Hugh would very much like to know better.

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  Copyright (c) 2021 Adella J. Harris

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  WHEN CAMPION SQUARE HAD BEEN BUILT, the architect had hoped to attract the wealthy and the titled. He’d thought the proximity to a royal residence, all but a minor one, would attract them, along with the beautiful garden they would share in the square. It didn’t work, of course. Campion Square never quite attracted the attention his investors had hoped. The royal palace wasn’t important enough on its own. The houses weren’t large enough for the truly rich, only one boasting a ballroom, none with more than two drawing rooms, and several of them only having three bedrooms for family. And why share a garden when you could have your own in another, more fashionable part of town? But it did mean there was a lovely square in a good part of London surrounded by lovely townhouses to be had at good prices for people who had the money.

  Gerald Wilkins’s grandfather had made a nice bit in copper mines and had invested it well, meaning Gerald’s father had had a good income even when he’d been a newly married man. Enough to buy his wife a nice house on Campion Square, where they had been happy for many years, welcoming their late-in-life children, Gerald and his sister Julia, and leaving them a nice house of their own in the end. Gerald loved the house. He loved the creaky stair that warned him when a servant was coming upstairs, and the view of the garden from the front drawing room, and the funny little bit of a sitting room tucked behind the staircase, and the doorknob on the upstairs linen closet across from his room that cast a shadow that looked exactly like a dog.

  Nothing had changed much after their parents had died. Some of the furniture that had been old and out-of-date but not sentimental had been replaced, and new curtains and wallpaper for some of the rooms, but nothing major, nothing that altered how the place felt. Julia had suggested he take the master bedroom after a suitable amount of time had passed, after all their parents’ things had been redistributed through the house or given away, but he hadn’t wanted to leave the familiar space of his room, so he’d told her it made more sense for her to move in there as her room was the smallest, rather than all of them moving around, and then Julia’s room could become a guest room.

  So Gerald had never thought of leaving Campion Square. He was quite happy there. Some of his relatives had called it a lovely spot to raise a family, complete with pointed looks, but he knew that wasn’t going to happen. He was quite content to think of a nice bachelor life at number 18, with Julia, of course. She didn’t feel the same connection to the house he did, but it was still her home. Somehow, he hadn’t thought of her wanting to leave.

  And then Mr. Barlow came to call. That had been a shock. Not that he’d called; Mr. Barlow had been a friend of the family for some time. Gerald couldn’t quite remember how they’d met, but he’d been to supper a few times, had gone walking with them in the square, and taken them driving in Hyde Park. But it had never occurred to Gerald that there could have been anything else behind it until the day Mr. Barlow turned up on the doorstep and asked to speak to him privately. Mr. Barlow had been quite polite, quite friendly, but not particularly romantic as he’d explained his good prospects, his ability to support a family, and his deep respect for Julia. Gerald had been caught so off guard, all he could do was mumble something about having to consult with Julia, which seemed to satisfy Mr. Barlow.

  Of course, Julia had been waiting in the hallway as Mr. Barlow left and had wanted to know the outcome at once. She’d been quite shocked to learn Gerald hadn’t been preparing for such a meeting for weeks. “You could have mentioned it,” Gerald had muttered in his defense.

  “I honestly thought you’d noticed. Why did you think he was spending so much time here?”

  “He liked our company?”

  “Oh. Gerald. Just because you’re a confirmed bachelor…”

  Gerald did not want her discussing his romantic options, so he quickly changed the subject. “So you want this marriage? You want to me to say yes?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Well, he wasn’t terribly romantic about it.”

  “Mr. Barlow is a very practical man, which suits me well.”

  There didn’t seem to be any impediment then, and by then Gerald had recovered his wits enough to say, “Then I’ll send a note for him to call again tomorrow. I wasn’t going to agree to anything that momentous without consulting you first.”

  That had been the proper thing to say. Julia smiled at him and patted his arm. “Which is very sweet of you.”

  “I’ll get a note sent off at once.”

  And so the engagement was finalized. Nothing rushed or hurried about the wedding. As Julia had said, Mr. Barlow was a sensible, practical sort of person. And it gave Gerald a chance to accustom himself to the idea of things changing at number 18 again. As he thought about it, he found himself rather looking forward to having the house to himself. Not that he disliked having his sister around, but she did make things a bit difficult at times. When she was happily married, he would be free to do things. Things like inviting a gentleman over for an occasional evening. Not that Julia had ever stopped him from inviting friends over, but if there was someone special… or even someone he wanted to have a bit of fun with, well, that was difficult when your sister had the room down the hall. And she knew all his comings and goings. The one time he’d tried going to a molly house, he’d told her he was going to his club. A school friend who he’d shared a few illicit whispers with had told him about it, The Chalice and Child, not more than fifteen minutes away on foot. A perfectly respectable pub on the ground floor, inconveniently placed on a small, dead-end street, and with a more popular pub prominently located on the corner just before one turned into the little street. But if one knew the right thing to say to the landlord…

  It had been thrilling going up to the fellow and mentioning Singer’s name and answering a carefully worded question the led to him being led through to the back, as if he were going to the privy, then the next question in the small hallway, just beyond the gaming tables. Had he heard of any good pubs in Surrey? And the answer, the Bowl and Brat, which was also the name those who knew the first floor of the Chalice and Child used to discuss it. And then he’d been led up a narrow set of stairs to the first floor, which was another dining room, this one only for men who shared certain interests. It had been thrilling and nerve-wracking and wonderful. One fellow had even flirted with him, but Gerald had started blushing so furiously that the fellow had laughed and said, “Maybe next time,” and gone on to the next table where he and a redheaded fellow had started a conversation that led to them agreeing to share the costs of one of the rooms above. But Gerald had still felt it had all gone so well that the next time, and there would be a next time, he would find someone to talk to. Maybe not share a room just yet, but at least talk.

  And then he had returned home. It had all seemed like the perfect plan, until he’d returned home, and Julia had asked where he’d been. He’d had a panicked moment, thinking she somehow knew, but fortunately, he’d had enough sense to simply ask “What?” and had learned that she’d sent a note round to the club because the pantry window had been broken. He’d apologized profusely, said he’d met some friends, and they’d decided to go to a pub instead, and had never attempted that particular trick again. So he was quite looking forward to slipping out to the Bowl and Brat again without having to worry about his sister knowing where he’d been.

  So it all seemed to be working out for the best until the night three months before the wedding when he and Julia were in the sitting room after dinner, she going over some lists for the wedding, he pretending to read. They had done something similar most nights for as long as he could remember, sometimes in silence, sometimes talking about the day, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when Julia interrupted his thoughts by saying, “I’ve been thinking.”

  He closed his book so she would know he was listening. “Yes?”

  “About finances.”

  That wasn’t particularly surprising either. They frequently discussed the household accounts in the evening. Unless she was concerned about the marriage settlement, but Mr. Barlow had been quite reasonable about that, particularly since most of Julia’s share of the inheritance was tied up in a trust with Gerald as trustee, and he’d been reluctant to turn the lot over to Mr. Barlow, preferring to be certain Julia could get money when she wished, as she always had while he’d been in control of the trust, instead of having to ask her husband. “I think they’
re well settled.”

  “But will they be when I leave and take my share of the household money to Mr. Barlow’s? That’s what I was thinking about the last few weeks.”

  Gerald was struck by the fact that Julia still referred to her fiancé as Mr. Barlow even in private. It seemed a bit too practical to him. He was so caught by that notion that he didn’t realize where Julia was heading with the idea.

  “And I couldn’t see how you were going to manage all the expenses when I’m gone.”

  They did well enough on the income from their inheritance. It had been enough to keep them quite comfortable before the war—another thing to blame Napoleon for, he supposed—but even that dip in their fortunes hadn’t been too severe, and he’d managed to supplement the income with a position keeping the books for a firm of solicitors. It suited him well as he’d learned to do the family accounts long ago, and the position only required him to be at the office two days a week, less often in the summer when most of the city retired to the country and a bit more before the end of the year when the accounts needed to be reconciled. When the investments had returned to something resembling their previous income, he’d kept on at McKenzie’s to keep his hand in as it were. He was quite certain he could find another firm or two needing his assistance to make up for the money Julia would take with her or perhaps dip into the principal in an emergency. “I think I’ll be fine. I can always take on another law firm or two if I should need to, but our needs have always been modest here, and my income should cover my needs.”

  “It’s well and good to think so when everything is still as it has been.”

  Gerald refrained from pointing out he was a bookkeeper by training and profession, so he did have some idea of how the household accounts worked, or that he’d gone over the expenses that would be reduced with Mrs. Reynolds, their housekeeper, when he’d been working out the requirements for the wedding, so he had a fairly good idea of what he’d need to live on.

  “And I wouldn’t be easy in my mind if I wasn’t sure you’d be all right without me here contributing. I know some of the expenses will be reduced when there’s only one person here, but not all of them, and those not by half most of the time.”

  Gerald was debating the best way to bring up the numbers he and Mrs. Reynolds had come up with when he had a sudden thought. “I say, Julia, if you’re not sure about this marriage, I’m happy to play the villain for you.”

  “Why would I be unsure about this marriage? It’s a good match. Mr. Barlow is stable and sensible.”

  And boring and dull and probably had hair growing out of odd places. And there was only so much boring and dull one could take before one exploded. He knew; he was nearly at the point. And Julia must be well past the exploding point. But he couldn’t say something like that to her. “I just thought…”

  “And very sweet of you it was. But I’m happy with my choice. And I don’t want to be worrying about you being lonely or having to scrimp.”

  “I’ll be fine, really. We’ve been through all the finances already. And as for being lonely…”

  “I know, but as I said, I’ve been thinking about it, and I’ve solved all of it. I advertised for a lodger.”

  “What?” All his quiet evenings in the study, all the trips to the molly house he probably wouldn’t really have taken but liked to imagine, all gone just like that. Then there was the spare room upstairs, the smallest bedroom that had been Julia’s. There had been some talk of letting it when their income dipped, before he came up with the idea of working as needed for solicitors. He hadn’t been fond of the idea of inviting a stranger into their home, although he hadn’t wanted to tell Julia that. But that idea had quickly fallen apart when Julia had begun discussing the sort of tenant they might take. A gentleman was out of the question as Julia was bound to be unchaperoned with him at some point, and she didn’t want the worry that her reputation would be in any way questioned. There was the same problem, or a variation of it, with taking a respectable, unmarried woman and the risk of her being left with Gerald upon occasion, which naturally led to the idea of a respectable widow. And that was when Julia lost interest. Gerald suspected she was afraid a widow, even a young one, might start ordering things in the house or even want a say in the servants they hired. But with Julia gone, he realized, the objections to a respectable bachelor gentleman were gone as well.

  “I didn’t want to say anything until I was sure someone suitable would apply, and they did. Read this letter I received.”

  Gerald was almost afraid to take it from her. The letter was from a Mr. Hugh Dewitt of York. He said he wanted a quiet place in London so he could enjoy the theater and galleries, and their location sounded ideal. He went on to describe his habits and interests, saying he wanted someplace quiet in town, convenient to the theaters, where he could have privacy without too many other tenants wanting to be friendly. Had Gerald been looking for a tenant, he might have considered the letter writer.

  Julia was smiling when he looked up. “I had Mr. Pearson look into him.”

  Mr. Pearson had been the family solicitor for ages and worked at the firm where Gerald did the books. He found himself wondering why Mr. Pearson hadn’t said anything to him.

  “It seems he’s the second son of the sister-in-law of the Earl of Haxby. The family made quite a fortune from mining then from selling a good bit of land to have a canal built on it, so he has a good income and a very respectable name. It’s the perfect situation for you.”

  “I’ll have to think…”

  “Oh no, no thinking needed. When Mr. Pearson gave him such a sterling recommendation, I wrote and told him he could have the room.”

  Gerald felt around the corners of his mind for some objection, something to at least buy a bit of time. “Would the nephew of an earl want to live in the smallest bedroom?”

  Julia was so caught up in her idea, she misunderstood the question entirely. “I’ve thought of that. He’ll arrive at the end of August. I’ll be safely married off by then, and he can take over my rooms. Isn’t that a lovely arrangement?”

  It was not a lovely arrangement, not as far as Gerald was concerned, but it was clear Julia had put quite a bit of thought into it, and she had chosen someone who sounded compatible, at least on paper. Perhaps it would do for a little while, until this Mr. Dewitt decided to go back to York or to get his own place in London. How long could he reasonably stay on as a lodger? Particularly when he had the sort of money Julia was describing? After a few months, he’d move out, and by then, Julia would be involved in her own home and marriage, and Gerald would put her off for a little while about finding a new tenant then say there was no one suitable, and he was doing just fine on his own, and that would be the end of it. A simple and sensible plan that wouldn’t hurt her feelings or have her worrying in the first months of her new marriage. “I suppose I could try it for a little while at least.”

  “Excellent. I knew you’d approve. He’ll be here on the fifth of August, so plenty of time to get the room ready when I’ve left.”

  It would give a week, but that was something, he supposed. There really wouldn’t be much to do. “How nice.”

  Only Mr. Dewitt didn’t arrive on the fifth of August. Three days after the conversation about the letter, Gerald went to answer the front door only to find a gentleman on the front step, or at least, he assumed the fellow was a gentleman. He was lounging—that was the only word Gerald could find to describe the nonchalant way he was standing on the doorstep—leaning on a walking stick that was too flimsy to be something he needed for support. He was dressed in clothes that had the cut of good tailoring but hadn’t been cared for particularly well, a green overcoat over a rather gaudy red jacket with large buttons and a waistcoat that clashed with it, and pantaloons fitted to his legs so carefully that Gerald could see the edge where the padding he was using on his calves didn’t quite blend properly with his actual leg, which made Gerald wonder if he was also wearing a corset, although if he was, it wasn’t doing much for his figure. Gerald took an immediate dislike to him, but he wasn’t sure why. Perhaps it was the way the man had almost been leering when the door opened then had quickly changed to a charming sort of smile that didn’t reach his eyes when he saw who’d answered the door or the fact that he had too much bear grease forcing his hair into the newest disheveled style and too much scent everywhere.