Free The American Boy by Andrew Taylor

and composed with her, submitting to her embrace rather than returning it. A moment later, she turned to me, her hand outstretched.
    â€œI must thank you, sir,” she said. “I shudder to think what might have happened to Charlie had you not been at hand to help him.”
    â€œYou must not magnify the danger he was in, madam,” I said, thinking that her hand was soft and warm like a living bird.
    â€œBut a mother can never exaggerate the dangers that face her child, Mr Shield. And this is Edgar Allan?”
    As she was shaking hands with him, Charlie piped up: “His grandpapa was a soldier, Mama, like mine. They might have fought each other. He was a general in the American Revolutionary army.”
    Mrs Frant looked inquiringly at Edgar.
    â€œYes, ma’am. That is to say, he is widely known as General Poe among his friends and neighbours, but my foster father Mr Allan has informed me that he did not in fact hold that rank. I believe he was a major.”
    â€œAnd his mama was a famous English actress,” Charlie went on, though I could see the conversation was causing Edgar some embarrassment.
    â€œHow charming,” Mrs Frant said. “You come from a talented family. What was her name?”
    â€œElizabeth Arnold, madam. Though English, she acted mainly in the United States. And it was there that she died.”
    â€œYou poor boy.” She turned the conversation: “Perhaps you should visit cook before you do anything else. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if she had baked something for you.”
    The boys clattered out of the room, relieved to be away from the company of their elders. For the first time I was quite alone with Mrs Frant. Her dress rustled as she crossed the room from the window and sat down upon a Grecian sofa of carved mahogany. The air moved around me as she passed, and I smelt her perfume. I was seized by a crazy desire to kneel at her feet, throw my arms around her and bury my head in the sweet softness of her lap.
    â€œWould you care for some tea, Mr Shield?” she asked.
    â€œThank you, madam, but no.” I had spoken abruptly, and I hastened to smooth the refusal with a lie. “I have several errands I must complete. When would you like me to return?”
    â€œI have ordered the carriage for half-past six o’clock. If you wish to come earlier, perhaps at six, the boys will be having their supper and I’m sure you could join them.” There was a delicious touch of pink to her pale complexion, and she began to speak faster. “I would ask you to dine with us, but my husband prefers to sit down at a later time.”
    I bowed my acknowledgement of her condescension and a moment later said goodbye. When the door of the drawing room was safely closed behind me, I dabbed my forehead and felt the sweat. I was terrified by the strength of my own desire.
    I walked slowly down the stone steps to the hall. Loomis was waiting at the bottom. As I drew nearer, he gave a gentle cough.
    â€œMr Frant desired me to ask you to step in and see him on your way out, sir.”
    I followed the servant to the book-room at the back of the hall. He knocked at the door, opened it and announced me. Mr Frant was seated at his bureau, as he had been on the other occasion I had visited him here. This time, however, my welcome was altogether more cordial. He looked up from a letter he was reading, and a smile spread across his pale features.
    â€œMr Shield – I am rejoiced to see you. Pray sit down. I will not delay you long.” He folded the letter and locked it away in a drawer. “My wife informs me that you rendered us a considerable service the other day.”
    â€œIt was nothing of consequence, sir,” I said, embarrassed that the Frants were making so much of the incident.
    â€œNevertheless, I am obliged to you. Tell me, would you describe to me exactly what occurred?”
    I explained that an older boy had sent Frant and