Wanted: One Scoundrel by Jenny Schwartz Read Free Book Online Page B

screens. They were shown to a table on the veranda facing the sea. A bronze wind chime, green from contact with the sea air, hung in a far corner.
    “Unless you would prefer to be inside?” Esme paused beside her chair.
    “This suits me. The air is bracing.”
    “And the horizon extends forever.” She smiled and turned to the hovering waiter. “Two cups of chai, please, Chandra, and a selection of sweets.”
    “Chai?” Jed queried.
    “Milky tea with a mix of spices, cardamom, ginger, cinnamon, pepper and some sugar. I can never make anything half so good at home, so I save it for a treat here. It is an Indian drink.”
    He mourned the absence of coffee silently, until he tasted the chai. “It’s good.”
    “You needn’t sound so surprised.” Her eyes laughed at him over her cup.
     
    Jed adored Esme’s laughter. He kept sharing stories just to provoke it, of his two brothers—now seriously involved in business and politics—and of his youngest sister, innocently and mischievously enjoying her introduction to society.
    “And what of yourself, Jed?” Esme asked as she finished her second cup of chai. “Did you get into scrapes?”
    “I once built a clockwork rocking horse. Well, more a bucking bronco.” He grinned reminiscently. “I added springs to the legs and a wind-up mechanism that set it swaying wildly. It was actually more violently unpredictable than I’d expected. I was thirteen at the time. My brothers and I loved it.”
    “That doesn’t sound so bad.”
    “One of the housemaids snuck her boyfriend in to try it. He was a clumsy clod. He fell off and broke his arm. The maid had hysterics. Mom made me dismantle the bronco and build something safer.”
    He paused.
    “Go on.” Her face was alight with interest. “What did you build?”
    “An automated pea-shooter. I peppered the mailman while aiming for the dog chasing him. Mom was not amused.”
    They exited the Chai House on a wave of laughter and Jed again took the reins.
    The bridge held a mix of traffic—pedestrians, dogs, horses, carriages and bicycles. Below them in the river, the steam bucket dredge lay Sabbath-idle.
    A young man stood balanced on the edge of the bridge, showing off for his friends and a group of giggling young women watching nearby. He’d have been barely eighteen, his clothing showing the extreme of fashion with its wide collared jacket and padded shoulders and a blazing crimson waistcoat. He was Indian, slight and dark.
    The gust of wind off the ocean was sudden and powerful. It slammed into him and he fell from the bridge, arms windmilling.
    Women screamed. Men cursed and dithered. Someone shouted to throw a rope, but no one had a rope.
    “He’s drowning.”
    “He can’t swim.”
    “Get a boat.”
    Jed handed the reins to Esme, stripped off his coat as he kicked off his boots and dove from the bridge. The water was cold and, this close to the river mouth, salty. He spat out a mouthful as he surfaced and looked for the boy.
    The young man was churning up the water with his frantic and ineffective efforts.
    “Be still,” Jed shouted.
    The boy either couldn’t or wouldn’t listen.
    A few strokes were all Jed required to grip the boy’s collar and, when he continued to struggle, Jed hit him. Dazed, the boy floated and Jed headed for the riverbank.
    “Hold on, mate,” an Australian voice called out, loud and cheerful. “We’ll land your catch in the boat.” A middle-aged man rowed out and turned the boat to drift with the incoming tide. “There we go.” He hauled and Jed pushed and the boy fell into the boat. The man shifted his weight to balance the boat and Jed heaved himself in.
    “Thanks.”
    By the time they reached shore, the boy was shivering, coughing and effusive in his gratitude. The winter wind struck chill through Jed’s wet waistcoat and shirt. He shuddered. When the boat reached the shallows, he leapt out and helped beach it.
    Esme waited with the gig amid a gaggle of onlookers. She