by L. C. Sharp
She paused. “I don’t know. My mother didn’t allow me to write to her, and if she ever wrote to me, I never received anything.”
“A shame. We must see if we can find her. I owe her a debt of gratitude.”
That was right. Juliana could look for her now, perhaps reacquaint herself with her old governess and friend. She didn’t have to ask anyone’s permission. Or hide her true feelings, something she would never cease to be grateful for.
They arrived at the house in half an hour.
Apart from the lack of brass plates on the wall, the house looked much the same as the one occupied by Fox and Smythe. Tall, perhaps four stories, with another windowless story under the eaves, and a cellar below, with two bays by the side of the front door. A substantial house, but not a large one, such as the sprawling house Juliana currently lived in.
Ash plied the knocker and stepped back.
At least she had an address now, where she could contact Ash’s sister, the nearest to him in age, and from what he’d said to her from time to time, the most beloved, before Silence had been forced into marriage. She’d had an earlier address, but when Juliana had written her a note, Silence had lived up to her name.
The door opened, and a respectable maid looked out. She widened the opening, and allowed Ash and Juliana to pass through.
The black-and-white tile hall was neat and appeared like many others in the City. A couple of hard hall chairs sat either side of a small mirror, and a row of pegs below. Instead of waiting for the maid to help her, Juliana took off her hat, tucked her gloves inside and balanced them on a hook.
The hall went up the height of the building, a skylight at the very top letting in a beam of light. The stairs wound around the central core, compact and practical. Two people could not mount them comfortably side by side.
“My mistress is upstairs, sir, ma’am,” the maid said. “She is awaiting you.”
Ash did not move, when she indicated the polished wooden stairs. “Who lives here?”
“Only my mistress. Nobody else. Only her and the servants.”
Mollified, Ash nodded.
The stair wall held a few engravings, none of them scurrilous or lewd. If this was a brothel it was the most tediously respectable one in the world. Juliana wondered if the bedrooms were equally staid.
She’d first met Silence last year in scandalous circumstances, at a Covent Garden masquerade ball. Since at the time she’d been in fear for her life, Juliana had nothing to lose, and she’d viewed the events there in awed fascination.
They followed the maid up the stairs, the sound muffled by the thick red carpet on the treads. Everything they saw spoke of quiet prosperity, the wood polished, the glass panes in the windows gleaming. The only ornaments were discreet, vases with a modest bunch of flowers in them, paintings and engravings that were not critic-worthy, but which made a person smile.
Juliana liked it. She would have loved a house like this. Not that she did not enjoy the house she lived in, the one that would be hers one day, according to the documents she had just signed, but this was compact, quiet, and it only held people the owner wanted to have there.
They entered a drawing room that was just as modestly prosperous as the hall. The chairs were a little out of fashion, chunky and walnut, but the cushions were soft and comfortable and a small fire burned in the grate, testament to the slight chill in the air outside.
“Welcome,” said Silence Ashendon, otherwise known as La Senza.
She had cast aside her extravagantly decorated hat and her rich cloak, together with the florid gown, and now she wore a neat caraco jacket over a modest flowered petticoat. A sensible linen cap was pinned on top of her dark curls. She looked like a well-to-do merchant’s wife, and not the notorious courtesan she was.
Silence was not as tall as her brother, but she had the same rangy form. Without her heavy face paint and hair powder, her features were revealed. She had the same pale, delicate-appearing skin, perfect in a woman, and her eyes were the same changeable gray. The high cheekbones, and the long, elegant hands were the same as her brother’s. But her lips were full, and her shape soft.
“Is this your house?” Ash asked with the bluntness of an older brother. “Or your keeper’s?” He sounded harsh, but there were reasons for that.
Silence put up her chin. “I bought it with what I earned. I owe this house to nobody, and nobody comes in here without my say-so. It’s my sanctuary, where I come when I want some solitude and peace. Very few people know about this house. I would like to keep it that way, but if I can’t trust you, then I can’t trust anyone.”
“You don’t have to worry about that.” Ash shot her a sharp look as he sat on a sofa. Juliana settled next to him.
“Tea?” Silence flourished the inevitable teapot. Juliana shook her head. “Not for me, thank you. I’ve had enough.”
Ash concurred. Although she was not touching him, Juliana felt his restless energy, as if it vibrated through the cushions. “You said you had information for us.”
Silence dropped a mock curtsey before she took her seat. “Yes, I’m well, thank you, dear brother. No, I want for nothing.”
Her reminder of his lack of manners was met with a shrug. “I can see that. This house cost a pretty penny, and if you own it outright, you need no help from me. You know you’ll get legal help, and anything that will keep you out of the hands of that monster you married. But don’t ask me to condone what you did to get the money.”
“You never shook off that Puritan attitude, did you?” she said smoothly.
He growled low. Very few people could make Ash lose his calm demeanor, but Juliana guessed Silence had experience at it. “That has nothing to do with it. The thought of my sister doing that, servicing men flat on her back, isn’t something any brother would condone.” Temper simmered under his words.
“You’d be surprised,” Silence replied. “And it’s not usually flat on my back.”
Juliana took a hand, although she had determined to keep out of any friction between brother and sister. But in all fairness she had to point it out to Ash. “That is what my parents demanded of me. That was all they wanted of me. Nothing else.”
Ash closed his eyes. “It’s different.”
“Not especially. I was sold to a brute. Sold for a title.” Bitterness stung her throat. She swallowed. “I thought I had no choice in who I married because that was the way I was taught. And I thought Uppingham would make a tolerable husband, because I had not heard of his reputation. My parents had. All they asked was that he did not kill me before I gave them a son. If I’d had the choice, if I’d known I could run away, I would have. But I knew no one and I had no friends to ask. They made sure of that, too.”
Silence paled. “Dear God. Yes, we are sisters under the skin, but at least I had people to talk to, to share my concerns with. To go through that alone! I, too, thought I had no choice. I, too, thought the man my mother chose for me would make me a tolerable husband, and after all, a girl has to marry. But after the first time I tried, I knew I had to run, or he would kill me. I’d given him the children.” Tears glimmered in her eyes. “I will get them back one day. I swear it. Even if I have to kill him to get them.”
After a short pause, Ash said, remarkably calmly, “But you will not, will you? And if you did, I doubt anyone would grant you custody of them.”
“But you could apply, dear brother.”
This time the pause went on longer. Eventually, he said, “Yes, I could. But I would not do it for you, if you’d committed murder to get them. I would do it for them.”
Silence nodded, but Juliana would wager she had a plan. But not to kill her husband. “He won’t even give me a legal separation,” she told Juliana. “That would give me some redress. But as far as he is concerned, I’m his property. I belong to him, body and soul. If he discovered where I was and what I was
doing...” She shuddered. “But he will not. In any case, I have enough money now to run in comfort.”
Her feeble attempt at a joke only deserved the smallest of smiles, so Juliana gave her one.
“You said you had information,” Ash said abruptly.
Juliana was about to reprimand him for the way he cut across his sister’s heartache, but Silence said, “Yes, I do.”
Apparently she did not want to continue with that part of the conversation, and was pleased to follow his lead.
The similarities between brother and sister went deeper than appearance.
“I know your Lord Coddington,” Silence said.
Ash’s gaze sharpened. “How?” he demanded. He leaned forward, rested his arms on his thighs. “Was he your...”
Interesting to see Ash at a loss for words. It hardly ever happened.
Silence laughed, an elegant trill. “Not that. He was never my keeper. But I have expanded my business of late. I have no intention to continue whoring all my life. Whores do not last long in this world. They become ill, they die. You know that. So last year I bought my first gaming house. It operates without me, for the most part.” She waved her hand, as if to dismiss it. “However, last October, the manager seemed concerned. We review the accounts every month, and he showed me that a person had a run of bad luck. Lord Coddington.”
“Did you refuse him credit?” Ash asked.
“Yes of course. He protested, threatened to report me to the authorities. I told him to do it, and I would ensure...well, never mind. He was all bluster. He left and went somewhere else, I believe to one of the houses the Raven owns. He’ll take any kind of riff-raff and extort the money from them, any way he can.”
At that name, a chill ran over Juliana’s skin.
The Raven. They had come across him during the investigation into her husband’s murder. He had been implicated, although he had not done the deed. During that investigation he’d demonstrated his power. Juliana would not cross him willingly. He would flick her away as if she were a piece of lint on his sleeve.
He was a powerful man, on the shady side of London, ruling the rookeries, where the law did not apply. Nobody knew his real name, and nobody knew what he looked like. At least, nobody they had ever met. But his reach was terrifying. London had had colorful characters before, but none as insidiously strong as the Raven.
“Have you met him?” she asked.
Ash’s attention turned to her, and he reached out as if to shake her hand. Juliana gave him a tiny shake of her head, and he left his hand there. If she wanted to touch him, she could. The reminder of her husband’s murder brought her reactions back. She wanted to shrink into herself and hide for an hour. The mention of the Raven had reminded her of that terrible time as few other things did. Normally she could think of it dispassionately, rationally, but not now. Not after discussing the brutality of husbands with a woman who had suffered as she had.
She kept her gaze on Silence, who hesitated before she shook her head. “Nobody has. Or nobody knows they have. It’s said he moves around freely because of that anonymity. Other ruffians have been proud of their identity, but not him.”
It was Juliana’s turn to bring the topic back to Lord Coddington. “So you will never retrieve your debt.”
She gave a half shrug. “It will not ruin me. But I read that you were involved in the case. I thought you would find the information, slender as it is, useful.” Her hands fluttered in a graceful gesture.
“Did you make inquiries about his record for debts?”
Silence shook her head, her fingers tapping a tattoo on her silk-clad leg. “Why would I waste the time? He would not be allowed into any house I own.”
Ash followed up swiftly. “Do you own many houses?”
“I would be a fool if I did not invest what I earn.”
“And you move the occupants around, do you not? One day a gaming house, one day a brothel, perhaps an innocuous shop or a coffeehouse the next.”
“If I did it daily, I would rack up such expenses I’d be bankrupt in a month,” she answered, her voice tart, her lips straight and tight. “You know a great deal more than you should about such matters, brother.”
“That is what I do, sister. I could hardly catch wrongdoers if I did not know how they behaved.”
His hand twitched, so slightly that Juliana would not have noticed had he not been touching her. Silence had acknowledged their relationship for the first time since they’d entered the house, and he had answered her back.
This woman believed Ash had let her down. So did he. Juliana was the only person in the room who did not.
“You can come home, Silence. We can fight your husband, demand a separation from him. I can protect you as I could not before. Please consider it.”
Ash’s heartfelt outburst was met by Silence with—silence. The clock ticked away a full minute before she spoke, and when she did, her voice was softer. Not seductive, but intimate with the shades of family, of belonging.
“No, my dear. I will not come home. I know I would have a good chance of a separation now, but if that happened, I would lose the children forever. The court would never appoint me as their guardian, even if they knew nothing of my life since I left. The father always gets custody.”
She got to her feet with a swish of silk, and went to the window, staring down at the passersby. “When I came here, I felt this city as I had felt nothing else. The life, and the vitality. I wanted it for myself. I set myself to work, and I achieved it. I became part of it, and its life. I help women, do you understand that?”
Turning, she confronted them, the light of battle in her fine eyes. “I find women who are worn down by their lives. Kitchen maids who can’t walk another step, but have to. Farmer’s daughters coming to London to be in service, only to find a predatory madam instead. If they have talent, if I see something in them, I will take them on.”
“Very philanthropic of you,” he murmured.
She smiled. “Not entirely. But I do pay them a fair share. If you keep your workers happy, they stay with you. You know that.”
Ash said nothing. How could he when she was right?
“I still work, but my other businesses keep me busy.” She crossed the room to her chair, her temporary restlessness gone. She had conquered the art of sitting gracefully as well as any duchess. “I will eventually give up my work. But only reluctantly, because I discovered my true talent is for pleasing men in bed. I am sorry to put it so bluntly, but I do.”
Beside Juliana, Ash did not move, his pose as rigid as a statue. He was finding this hard to listen to. Juliana, on the other hand, did not. She had nothing but admiration for this woman, who had done what Juliana had not. In time, if Godfrey had lived, who knew what she might have done? But he hadn’t, and she had not needed to find out.
Her blunt speaking invigorated Juliana. After her husband’s death she’d promised herself she would not hide her opinions ever again. But she didn’t know if she could be as plain-spoken and practical-minded as Ash’s sister. That took courage, to look at herself so straightly, without compromise.
Ash let out a long breath. “I see. If you’d contacted me, I’d have given you money,” Ash said.
“I couldn’t bring you into my life. Couldn’t give you the guilt of knowing my secret. If I could not exist on my own in London, I had another plan. I would apply to a registry office and find a position as housekeeper somewhere. Or a governess.”
“You should have done that.”
“And escaped one form of servitude for another?” She swept the notion aside. “That was a last resort, and thankfully I did not have to take that path. No, Ash. I am happy as I am.”
“Do you have a keeper now?” he demanded, stepping boldly over the forbidden land that had lain between them for so long.
“Yes. And in a few days I’m leaving London
with him for a month. Do you want to know his name?”
“No.”
“Because then you would seek him out, would you not? Tell him to keep away from me.”
Ash got up, fists clenched by his sides. “If I knew him. Do I?”
“How do I know? Go and find your murderer, Ash. Leave me in peace.”
There didn’t seem to be anything left to say.
The next day Ash set out on his own. He wanted to visit King’s Coffeehouse, close to the Opera House in Covent Garden. King’s was notorious as a place of assignation between whores and their keepers. And he’d been putting off his meeting with that damned journalist for too long. Eventually, he would have to confront the man. People were queuing up for his rag now, and he’d employed people to scour the city with copies of The Daily Ransom.
Still sore after his confrontation with his sister yesterday, he hadn’t visited Juliana at bedtime. As he lay sleepless in his bed, the church clocks struck three and he’d heard a muffled gasp from the room next door as she woke from a dream.
She had them less often than when she’d first arrived, but he always woke, always knew. She usually lit a candle and read for a while, or had a drink and snuffed out her light. He saw the light flickering through the gap at the bottom of the door when he went into the sitting room that separated their rooms. He’d even had his hand on the door more than once, but he had never gone in.
He didn’t know what to do about her nightmares, didn’t know if he’d be welcome. He’d asked her about them once and she’d denied that she had any, shut him out. Now she suffered them alone.
He hated that. He wanted to help her, but his new awareness of her as a woman was getting in the way. Because he wanted her in his bed, and he was finding increasing difficulty in behaving like a brother toward her, instead of a husband.
This new feeling was completely foreign to him, he reflected, as his cab fought its way through Covent Garden, and up past the white-stuccoed Opera House to the coffeehouse beyond. When he’d married Juliana, he had no expectations of physical intimacy with her. He still did not, but now he wanted it. He wanted it all.