Mrs. Cartwright looked horrified by the very notion of being so familiar. “I couldn’t do that, miss,” she demurred, then quickly got back to the business at hand. “There’s a few girls who’ve come to hear you speak, though not as many as were here a half hour ago. Some had to get back to work.”
Mel inwardly cursed the meddling nature of lords who kissed well but thought altogether too highly of themselves. “I am sorry I was not here earlier, but was unavoidably detained. I shall meet with the remaining women straight away. Might there be any tea?”
“Of course there is,” said Mrs. Cartwright. “I also tried my hand at scones. I’m getting right good at it, if I do say so. I’ll fetch some now.”
Mrs. Cartwright seemed to gain confidence with every accomplishment. Mel had only known her a few months, but the woman had blossomed even in such a short time. She still kept to the house unless it was absolutely necessary to leave. But she believed in her abilities more and more. It was heartening to see.
Mel walked through the narrow hallway with the Persian runner that had seen better days. Everything in the house was clean but old, verging on threadbare. Mitchell House had some funds to refurbish it, but never enough to do everything that needed to be done. Mel contributed as much money as she was able, but even she had limits. Her inheritance was substantial, but since she was a minor her uncle had control of it. He was generous with her quarterly allowance and would give her advances if she requested them. But if she asked for too much money, he would have questions. And they were the type she couldn’t provide answers for that her aunt and uncle would approve of, regardless of how good they were to her.
Mel entered the sitting room and tried not to let her disappointment show. Only four women were there and she’d been hoping to see more than three times that number. Nevertheless, she smiled and greeted each of them.
Sonia Kinne was originally from Spain and had been orphaned by the peninsular war. Well-meaning relief workers had sent the girl to England at the age of thirteen. Lindella Dupuis spoke with a French accent by way of Cornwall. She and Sonia worked and lived at Madame Thurmond’s.
Angela Evans and Lydia Robinson were boarders at Mitchell House. Angela was an opera dancer at one of the Covent Garden theaters. Lydia was in the early stages of working as a courtesan. Neither of the two lovers she’d had so far had been able to set her up in a house but she still held out hope she might luck into such a situation.
Anne brought in the tea and the women began the familiar ritual. The cups did not match, but the tea was fragrant and the women all complimented Anne on her scones. The scene might have taken place in any sitting room in Mayfair, save the topic they were about to discuss.
Mel knew the women had only limited time to be away from work, so she began. “I have good news. My friend Mr. Parker has the funds to transport four women to Philadelphia. His friend Captain Clinch’s ship has not yet arrived, but four women could be on their way to new lives in as little as two weeks.”
As she expected, her announcement wasn’t met with cheers or requests to be one of the four. Sonia and Lindella looked at each other nervously. Lydia frowned and Angela ate a third scone.
“Do you have a question, Lydia?”
“I know you said some of the other girls who went to America married. How rich was those gen’lemen? Do they live in a big house and have lots of servants?”
With Lydia, it was always some variation of that question. Mel knew it was the result of having grown up in poverty and living hand-to-mouth in the present. “Well, no,” honesty required her to reply. “At least not right now. Most of the women who marry are on their way to the frontier. They’ll work alongside their husband and build a farm or a ranch or maybe even manage a store. It’s the chance to start over again.”
“Don’t they have them savages on the frontier?” asked Lindella with a shiver. “I wouldn’t like to move all the way to America only to get my scalp taken.”
“The frontier can be a dangerous place,” admitted Mel. “In addition to some hostile tribes, there are dangers presented by animals and the land itself.”
“I would like to see a bear,” said Sonia. “Not too close, of course. But it might be interestin’ to see one from a distance. Can you see bears in America?”
“There are bears in some places,” said Mel.
“Did you ever see one?” asked Sonia.
“I spent most of my time in Philadelphia, so I’ve never seen one.”
“That must have been very disappointing,” said Sonia.
“I wouldn’t want to see no bear,” said Angela, as she finished her scone. “But I wouldn’t mind seeing one of them savages. Who knows, maybe I’d want to see one of them up real close.”
The girls all laughed, then Anne cleared her throat. “I believe Miss Sutton is telling us that starting a new life in America wouldn’t be easy. But it’s not like life here is without risk, either.”
“There are times I’d rather face a tribe of them Indians than some of the gents I have to service,” said Lindella. “And there are prob’ly plenty of bears that smell better, too.”
All of the women laughed at that.
“You shoulda seen the cove who met me backstage at the interval last night,” said Angela. “Smelled like that bear. And wanted me to suck his cock right there in front of….”
The other women shushed Angela, who then looked sheepishly at Mel. “Sorry, miss. I keep forgetting you don’t know nothin’ about rot such as that.”
In spite of her fiery blush, Mel smiled and reached out to squeeze the girl’s hand. “Please do not worry. I’m not as unworldly as you all think.” That pronouncement was met by skeptical looks all around. “I mean, I do not have experience in the way you think. But I have spent considerable time in the streets and am not completely unfamiliar with how things work.”
Complete silence greeted her words.
“No offense, miss,” said Lindella. “You may have visited these streets, but you don’t know ‘em. Not the way we do.”
“Of course,” said Mel, embarrassed by her own insensitivity. She had no real idea what it was like for these women to eke out a living. To survive in a dangerous world. She’d heard stories. She’d even seen dead prostitutes in the street, the victims of violence or the effects of opium, gin or disease. But she didn’t truly know what it was like for them.
And these women would never fully trust her because of that.
The meeting broke up twenty minutes later with Angela taking a final scone and Lydia telling the girls about a new clothing shop that allowed one to buy on credit. Just as in Mayfair, the talk soon turned to fashion.
When Mel was alone again with Anne she collected the tea service to take into the kitchen.
“You mustn’t do that,” said the housekeeper. “It isn’t proper for a lady to do such work.”
“I like to feel useful,” said Mel, as she carried the tray to the back of the house despite her friend’s protests. “And I certainly didn’t accomplish anything in the meeting.”
“That’s not true. You gave the girls hope. You showed them there’s a whole other world out there. They might not be ready to go right now. But maybe in two weeks they will. Or maybe two months. You never can tell.”
Mel watched the young woman prepare the cups for washing. “Would you care to go to America, Anne? I know I have asked before but thought perhaps now you might have changed your mind.”
“Thank you for thinking of me. But my place is here. I already look like the Indians got hold of me. Wouldn’t want to look any worse than this.” Anne deflected further conversation by drying her hands on a towel. “I hope you don’t mind, miss, but I wanted to air out the bedrooms whilst it’s still light.”
“Of course,” said Mel with a smile. She knew Anne was deliberately changing the subject, but she couldn’t force her to discuss the future even if Mel believed the chance to start over in America would benefit Anne a great deal. Perhaps there she could see
beyond her disfigurement. But Mel knew there was only so much you could push people before they turned away.
Perhaps it would still work out somehow.
* * *
Mel took her leave, then hailed a hack to take her to the meeting at Mrs. Seton’s house. As much as she hated lying to her aunt and uncle about anything, she knew that the best lies had some truth to them. There really was a reform meeting at Mrs. Seton’s house, only it had started two hours later than she’d told her aunt. After her stop at Mitchell House, she would only be slightly late for Mrs. Seton’s, which was not a hardship since she dreaded these meetings.
As the hack made its way toward Cheapside, Mel’s mood darkened considerably. It’s not that she disagreed with the goals of the group, as much as she found its leader to be disagreeable. Mrs. Seton was a widow past her fiftieth year. Her late husband had been a successful solicitor and had done business with some of the realm’s most distinguished peers. Mel knew that because Mrs. Seton took every opportunity to bring it up in conversation. Mel believed the older woman would never have allowed a lowly American into the group had it not been for her connection to the Earl of Heffner.
The reform group itself was comprised mostly of the wives, widows, sisters and daughters of the wealthy merchant class. Their goals were laudable – the abolition of the harsh, cheaply made spirits that poisoned those who drank it. Although if Mrs. Seton had her way, all spirits would be banned from sale, even those that were safe when consumed in moderation. Mel’s uncle had a store of French brandy that he enjoyed on occasion and she could see little harm in that. But Mrs. Seton was fond of rants which lumped everyone who imbibed into one group of sinners.
Mel also took issue with some of Mrs. Seton’s methods. While peaceful protests in the parts of town most frequented by peers out for a night of adventure could do some good, Mrs. Seton favored taking her fight to the enemy directly. She wished to storm the premises of gaming hells like Dill’s. Mel wasn’t sure just what Mrs. Seton would do if she gained entrance, but Mel was concerned the patrons wouldn’t take too kindly to the interlopers. When they protested on the streets, they usually just had to put up with hecklers. But who knew what dangers lay within the walls of the establishments.
As Mel arrived at Mrs. Seton’s, she briefly contemplated having the driver take her home instead. But she paid him off, took a deep breath and entered Mrs. Seton’s house. The butler took her pelisse, then escorted her to the drawing room where Mrs. Seton and the other ladies were having tea. Mel was a bit late, but was confident she hadn’t missed much of note.
Once she was announced, she walked into the room where about two dozen women were congregated. There was something a little different about the women, most of whom were matrons of middle age. They were smiling and one or two of them were tucking back their hair. That was certainly odd. Mel continued to look around the room, but then found the cause of the ladies’ unusual behavior.
Lord Henry Kellington was in attendance, drinking tea and grinning at her like an imbecile.
“You’re late, Miss Sutton,” reproached Mrs. Seton. “You haven’t set a very good example for our newest recruit.”
“Our what?” asked Mel, barely able to tear her eyes away from Lord Henry. And how the man could rake her with his eyes while holding a delicate teacup was quite beyond her.
“Your recruit,” said the devil himself. “I was just telling Mrs. Seton and the other ladies…” Here he smiled and nodded to the others in the room, causing one woman to begin fanning herself. “I was just telling them that you’d spoken so passionately about the cause that I had no choice but to come to a meeting and experience it myself. I sincerely regret the miscommunication we had earlier about transportation. But, fortunately, I was able to find the meeting myself. I hope you weren’t too worried about me.”
“Not too worried, Lord Henry,” said Mel with annoyance and an unfortunate amount of excitement at seeing the scoundrel again. “I count myself more surprised than anything. Not to put this too indelicately, but I thought you were rather fond of drink yourself. I find it odd that you would attend a meeting of those who would seek to limit its availability.”
Mrs. Seton turned to Hal, aghast. “Is that true, Lord Henry? Do you partake of mother’s ruin?”
Hal turned the full force of his considerable charm on the frowning woman. “I must confess, Mrs. Seton, that I have partaken of spirits on more than one occasion. However, Miss Sutton has shown me the error of my ways. I now offer myself to you as a servant of your cause.”
A nearby matron whispered, “He offers himself to us.”
“Lord, Henry,” said Mel with some asperity. “I do not recall any such conversation.”
“Do you not, dear lady? It was this morning, when you were on your way to this very meeting. At least, I believe that is the destination your maid told me.”
“You spoke to my maid?” Mel didn’t want to believe it.
“Yes. I managed to track her down. She said you told your aunt and uncle that you were on your way here, although I believe you may have stopped elsewhere first.” He raised his brows as if daring her to deny it.
The blood drained from Mel’s face. If Mrs. Seton learned of her other activities, she would throw her out of the group. The woman had made it clear on more than one occasion that the only thing worse than drink was the practice of prostitution. She believed the women were beyond redemption and merely associating with them in any way tainted a person. Mel wouldn’t mind being thrown out of the group, except then she’d have no excuse to get out of the house and do the work that was meaningful to her.
“You stopped elsewhere?” asked Mrs. Seton, turning her disapproving mien to Mel. “Where were you?”
“I was…” Mel tried desperately to think of an excuse.
“If you will allow me,” said Hal with a smile for Mrs. Seton. “Flora said she was at a sweet shop. Apparently Miss Sutton can’t resist a good treacle tart.”
What Mel was finding increasingly difficult to resist was punching Lord Henry’s smug, incredibly handsome face.
“A waste of money, if you ask me,” said Mrs. Seton. “Throwing good coin after something as frivolous as treacle tarts. Honestly, Miss Sutton, I question your common sense. I’m certain Lord Heffner would not approve of such frivolity.”
If Mel hadn’t wanted to end this conversation so badly, she could have told Mrs. Seton that her uncle’s only comment on her spending habits was that she didn’t treat herself enough. He was generous in supplementing the pin money from her trust. She knew he would not begrudge her a stop at a sweets shop.
But to bring the lecture to a halt, Mel simply curtsied demurely and murmured “Yes, madam.” Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed that the grinning Lord Henry didn’t believe her submissive act for a moment. But mercifully, and quite uncharacteristically of him, he remained silent.
“If you will but sit down, Miss Sutton, we can continue our strategy session on where we shall protest next,” said Mrs. Seton.
Mel looked in vain for a free chair, then saw Hal indicating the place beside him on the settee. She wasn’t going to sit there, even if she had to stand. Finally, she found a seat by the window.
Mrs. Seton continued. “For tonight’s protest, we shall go to the Covent Garden theatre district. We shall meet at ten of the clock, an opportune time to reach those who are leaving the theatre. Perhaps we can discourage them from imbibing on the way home. Is there anyone who cannot make the meeting tonight?”
Mel thought about raising her hand. It was always risky to be seen in a place so popular with the ladies of the ton. Standing outside a gaming hell, one usually only encountered drunk lords who were too cupshot to remember you. But being in Covent Garden after a performance was a risk. However, it would also be an opportunity to speak to some of the nearby prostitutes. She’d have to be careful not to be seen by Mrs. Seton, of course. But at least this time she would have an excuse to leave the house.
“
I look forward to this evening, ladies,” said Hal with a smile. “And I promise to personally escort Miss Sutton so she isn’t late once again.”
Before Mel could protest the man’s high-handedness, Mrs. Seton stepped in. “I’m not sure that would be all together proper, Lord Henry. Being in a closed carriage with an unmarried young lady is hardly the thing.”
“We would bring her maid, of course,” he added piously.
Mel rolled her eyes. Flora wouldn’t be persuaded to do any such thing. She could only imagine the size of the bribe she’d have to pay the girl to keep from telling Mel’s aunt and uncle about the evening’s activities, especially since they would involve a considerably greater risk than simply standing with a bunch of reformers.
She suddenly realized she had an even bigger problem. She might be able to handle her maid and her relations, but she wasn’t at all sure she knew what to do with Lord Henry. She didn’t know what he was playing at, but she was determined to not allow him to interfere with her business. With enough planning, she would surely get the better of him in the end.
* * *
As the meeting dragged onward, Hal began to wonder if any bet could be worth the torture of listening to the Seton woman prattle on and on about the danger of spirits. It was, quite frankly, enough to drive someone to drink and he regretted not having brought his flask with him.
He wondered, however, what was going through Miss Sutton’s mind. As he stole glances at her, he could see a total preoccupation that he was fairly certain had nothing to do with the unending lecture. He had no doubt her scheming had something to do with countering his admittedly high-handed move of first showing up at her meeting, then informing everyone he’d be escorting her to the protest.
He wasn’t exactly sure what had possessed him to track down her maid, then bribe the insolent wench into telling him Miss Sutton’s destination. But it had been a long time since any woman had refused his advances and this chit had actually left him sitting in a sweets shop waiting for a treacle tart. It was outside of enough and for the principle of fair play alone he’d been determined to track her down and insert himself into her life.
Never Run From Love (Kellington Book Four) Page 6