Patting her brassy curls, Mrs. Fernwood smiled. It was actually a leer. Scooping up the cat, she began to stroke its back. It hissed warningly, one paw slashing out at the sleeve of her wrap.
“I suppose ’e’ll be settin’ you up, in a grand flat,” she mused. “I knew it’d ’appen. Well, luck to you, luv. Treat ’im real nice. ’E’s a prize, an’ you could just as easily be walkin’ the streets like your chum Millie. I know all about ’er. None o’ my affair, though, not as long as she pays ’er rent.”
“Why don’t you go have another glass of gin, Mrs. Fernwood?” I snapped.
“’Magine I will, ducks. Just thought I’d pop out an’ say ta-ta ’fore you leave. I see so many of ’em come an’ go. Young, pretty, ambitious, they don’t stay long. There’s always a man. You’ve stayed far longer than most, but then you’re choosey. Guess it paid off. Got yourself a real prize—”
I left her rambling on and climbed up the four flights to my floor. So he had paid my rent. Thoughtful of him. That was one less thing I had to worry about, at least until the end of the month. Stepping into my room, I shut the door with a slam. I knew what he expected in return, and he wasn’t going to get it. The rent was paid. Fine. I wouldn’t have to creep up and down the stairs like a burglar, afraid Mrs. Fernwood would come pouncing out with palm extended. But Anthony Duke would never see a penny of the money again, nor would he receive any other kind of compensation. He was quite mistaken if he believed I would feel a sense of obligation to him.
Unable to rest, I straightened my room and went through my wardrobe, wondering how much longer my clothes would last. I still had many fine dresses, but they were beginning to show wear. I had not bought a single new outfit since arriving in London. I had lived frugally, counting each penny, yet the money had still vanished. I wasn’t going to worry about that just now. My rent was paid, thanks to Anthony Duke, and as long as I was paid up, I might as well order a hot bath. Mrs. Fernwood charged extra for baths, of course, but luxuriating in a hot tub would do wonders for me.
Stepping out into the hall, I caught sight of Jessie washing the windows at the end of the hall and asked her to prepare a tub. She scurried away, her enormous brown eyes full of concern. Jessie was a dear thing with her patched black stockings and faded gray dress, her pale blonde hair always spilling down from her topknot. Millie and I tipped her as much as we could for her pathetic services, and the child always looked as though she wanted to burst into tears. I found it cruel that a girl barely thirteen should have to polish bannisters and carry out slops and haul in buckets of coal, but Millie claimed Jessie was one of the lucky ones; when she was thirteen Millie was already on the streets.
I soaked in the bath for over an hour and washed my hair as well. It was almost six before I returned to my room. I would have to leave for the theater in an hour or so. Wearing only my petticoat, I sat in front of the dressing table and brushed my hair. Sunlight slanted in through the windows, pale and silvery, making bright patterns on the faded rose carpet and gilding the surfaces of the old mahogany furniture. The shabby room was comfortable enough with its flowered chintz curtains, its overstuffed olive chair and worn rose satin bedcovers. My books, which were all I had brought with me from Cornwall besides my clothes, helped to make the room my own.
I was still brushing my hair when I heard footsteps in the hall and a light knock on the door. “Yes?” I called, and Millie stepped into the room, looking bright and sunny in a yellow muslin dress embroidered with tiny brown and gold flowers. The cut was exceedingly girlish with its puffed sleeves, form-fitting bodice, and full, swirling skirt. Millie’s long golden curls, pert pink mouth, and freckled cheeks might have been those of a demure young girl fresh from the country were it not for the deep-blue eyes. They were dark with worldly wisdom, eyes that had seen far too much for a seventeen-year-old. Tough, resilient, outrageously saucy, Millie was fiercely independent and invariably good-natured, determined to make the best of things no matter what the circumstances.
“’Ow do you like it?” she exclaimed, whirling around to show off the dress.
“It’s enchanting, Millie.”
“Made it myself. Just finished ’emmin’ the skirt this afternoon. Don’t I look winsome?”
“You look charming.”
“No feather boas or flashy paste jewelry for me, luv. No rouge or powder, either. The men fancy a sweet young lass with a delicate air, and I aim to please. I’ve been practicin’ my blush for weeks!”
“I’m sure you’ll be a sensation.”
“Oh, I don’t wanna be that. I just wanna keep on makin’ ends meet, if you know what I mean.” She smiled her saucy smile, delighted with her double entendre.
Millie had been orphaned at twelve and sent to live on a farm with her widowed uncle and his two strapping sons. When she was twelve and a half, her uncle had raped her, and shortly thereafter she was servicing his sons each night as well. Figuring that if she was going to spend so much time on her back, she might as well get paid for it, Millie had stolen a pouch of coins from her uncle and headed straight for London. The city was a treacherous place for a young girl alone, but Millie had faced all adversities with self-assurance, retaining her high spirits and the cheerful disposition that made her so endearing.
“Thought I’d pop down and ’elp you dress,” she said. “Looks like you’re gonna need a ’and with your ’air, too.”
“It really isn’t necessary, Millie.”
“Oh, I love doin’ it. What’ll it be tonight?”
“I really hadn’t given it any thought.”
Millie had already opened the wardrobe door and was inspecting the clothes with a critical eye.
“Mmmm, let’s see—not the pink silk, and this blue taffeta is beginnin’ to look frayed. I’ll ’ave to work on that ’un, maybe add a row of ruffles or somethin’. Do you feel like velvet? Too dressy? You don’t ’ave anything red. You’d look smashin’ in red, luv. With that gorgeous black ’air you’d look like a dream. So many pretty things. I’d be in ’eaven if I ’ad clothes like this. ’Ere it is! This lovely pearl gray. Watered silk, it is, and all these ruffles of coral lace—”
Millie took the dress from the wardrobe and spread it out on the bed, handling it tenderly, smoothing the skirt. She loved to help me take care of my clothes. Talented with needle and thread and an inventive seamstress, she had kept my things in marvelous condition. Millie had a way with hair, as well, and adored doing mine up for me, attempting new styles. Fussy, particular, with instinctive taste and a critical eye, she would have made a superb lady’s maid. I told her so.
“Oh, I’d like that,” she said, “but who’d ’ire a ’ore, luv? Not any of the fine ladies I’ve seen sashayin’ about London. Dear me, they’d be appalled at the very idea.”
“You mustn’t put yourself down, Millie.”
“I don’t,” she retorted. “I do what I do ’cause I ’ave to. Some girls might choose to starve, but me—I ’ave more spunk. It’s not so bad, really. I ’ave my regulars—pleasant chaps, most of ’em, quite fond of me. I’ve always been particular. I’m lucky. I could be sellin’ it in Soho every night like those other poor wretches.”
Millie stepped over to the dressing table, took the brush from my hand, and began to arrange my hair.
“I’ve been puttin’ a little aside, too, luv. Most-a the girls blow their earnin’s on gin or give it all to some man who clips ’em on the jaw by way of thanks. Me, I never touch liquor, and I’m not about to let any man boss me about.”
“You’re very wise.”
“I ’ave. to be, luv. It’s Millie against the world, and I don’t mind tellin’ you, the world can be rough when you’re all alone.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“You’ve ’ad your share o’ knocks, too, but you’ve got class and education. You’re going to be rich an’ famous one of these days. I can feel it in my bones. ’Ere now, we’re finished.”
She fastened another hairpin in place, frowne
d, and stepped back to admire her handiwork. Soft ebony waves swept back from my face, were caught up in back and fell in a rich cascade over my shoulders. Millie studied the coiffure critically for a moment and then smiled and snapped her fingers and began to rummage through the ribbon box, finally coming up with a long coral ribbon of soft velvet. She affixed it to the back of my head in a large bow, gave my waves a final pat, and pronounced herself satisfied.
“It looks lovely,” I told her. “It always does when you do it.”
“I reckon I ’ave a talent with ’air,” she admitted. “It’s time we got you dressed, luv. Wouldn’t want you to be late to the theater. Wish I could come watch you dance again, but I’ve got an appointment at nine. Wonderful chap. Always gives me a generous tip—”
The gown was one of my loveliest, much too elegant to wear to the theater, but Millie had her heart set on it, and I wasn’t going to disappoint her. It had narrow sleeves and a modest scooped neckline that exposed an ample amount of bosom. The bodice was form-fitting, the waist snug, and the full pearl-gray skirt was adorned with row upon row of coral lace ruffles. Millie helped me dress, spreading the skirt out over my voluminous petticoat and fastening the bodice in back.
“You look like a bloomin’ duchess,” she declared. “All them chaps ’angin’ ’round the stage door are gonna be knocked right off their feet.”
“There’s just one,” I replied, “and believe me, I’d love to see him take a spill.”
“That ’andsome chap with brown ’air and wicked blue eyes?”
“You’ve seen him?”
“’E was ’ere today. I was just comin’ down the stairs as ’e was biddin’ old Ferny adieu. ’E gave me the eye. That sort always does. Not that ’e was really interested, mind you, just lookin’ over the goods outa ’abit. ’E was givin’ Ferny a ’andful o’ bills.”
“My rent. He was kind enough to pay it.”
“Smashin’. I ’ope you’re not plannin’ to pay ’im back.”
“Not a chance.”
“Good for you, love,” she said, fetching the long coral velvet gloves that went with my gown. “’Ere, might as well put these on while you’re at it. Seein’ ’im might not be a bad idea.”
“What do you mean?”
“’E might ’elp you forget the other one.”
“How did you—”
“Oh, you’ve never mentioned ’im, luv, never said anything about your past, but I knew the minute I met you. Knew you were tryin’ to forget some man. It was written all over you. Still is. You’re never gonna be able to forget ’im long as you stay in your room an’ brood. This chap might be just the tonic you need.”
I pulled on one of the gloves, smoothing it over forearm and elbow. “I doubt it,” I said wryly.
“Oh, I’m not sayin’ you should fall in love with ’im. God forbid. That sort’d break your ’eart, steal your money, an’ laugh ’is ’ead off as ’e walked out the door. I’m just sayin’ it might do you good to go out with ’im an’ ’ave a bit o’ fun.”
“I’d rather read a good book.”
Millie gave me an exasperated look. “All these books—they can’t be good for you. You’re young, an’ you’re a gorgeous creature, luv. It seems such a waste.”
I finished pulling on the other glove and began putting my things in the gray silk reticule that matched the dress. Millie brushed a long gold ringlet away from her temple and stepped over to the mirror to admire the cut of her gown. It accentuated her slender waist and well-rounded bosom.
“We ’ave to learn to use men, luv,” she said. “If we don’t use ’em, they’re bloody well gonna use us, and me, I like to be the one who calls the shots. It’s much nicer that way. Think about it.”
“I will,” I promised. “I’d better leave now. I don’t want to be late, and it’s a long walk. It’s warm out. I don’t think I’ll need a cloak.”
Millie went downstairs with me and walked me to the front door, making a face at Mrs. Fernwood’s cat as we passed the table. We said goodbye on the front steps, and I started down the street, feeling rather foolish in the elegant gown and the long velvet gloves. If I were going to meet a man or, at least, take a carriage, it wouldn’t be so bad, but I was dressed for a grand party and didn’t even have enough money in my reticule to pay for a cab. I smiled, amused at the thought, amused, too, by Millie’s - matter-of-fact philosophy concerning men. She was probably right, I reflected. Brence Stephens had certainly used me.
It was a lovely evening, the sky a pale gray, not yet black, and there was a misty haze in the air. The gaslights, just coming on, looked like soft silvery blossoms glowing dimly through the haze. Turning into one of the better squares, I moved past a row of elegant houses, white marble steps gleaming, where an atmosphere of luxury prevailed. Behind the wrought-iron fence the flowers in their neat beds exuded a fragrant smell, and a bird warbled throatily in one of the trees. I was glad I had given myself time enough for a leisurely walk, so I could enjoy the evening.
A large closed carriage turned the corner at the end of the street and stopped. The horses stood patiently at the curb. I sauntered on, paying it no attention, but when I neared the carriage the side door opened. A man climbed out and stood on the pavement watching me approach. His hands rested lightly on his thighs, and as his opera cape belled out in the light breeze, I saw a flash of the white silk lining. My heart skipped a beat, and I stopped.
Anthony Duke moved toward me.
“You—”
“I intended to pick you up at your front door,” he explained, “but as we turned the corner I saw you coming down the street and told the driver to pull over. I always seem to be running a little late. It’s one of my worst faults.”
“If you—”
“No arguments now, luv. Be a good girl. Just come along peacefully.”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Anthony Duke took hold of my arm.
“Oh, but you are,” he said.
XIII
His voice was pleasant, even playful, but there was nevertheless a steely edge to it. In the glow of the gaslight, I could see his lean and angular face, the cheekbones too broad, the nose slightly crooked, its imperfections making it even more attractive. The wide mouth curled in a boyish grin, and the blue eyes were full of merry mockery and an undeniable determination. He was so tall I had to tilt my chin up to look into those eyes. His fingers tightened on my arm, hurting me.
“Let go of me!” I ordered.
“Promise to behave yourself?”
“I promise to slap you senseless if you don’t let go this instant.”
“Spirit. I love a lass with spirit.”
“I’m going to be late to the theater!”
“Oh, but you’re not going to the theater tonight. Didn’t I tell you? You’re coming to my digs. We’re going to have a lovely dinner together, just the two of us.”
“You’re out of your mind!”
“It’s all arranged. When I spoke with Madame Olga, I told her that you’d no longer be studying with her. In fact, I told her we were going to run off together and live in delicious sin. She was quite upset. She called me several colorful names, all heavily accented.”
“You’re mad!”
“My man has everything set up—a gorgeous dinner, luv, champagne in a silver bucket. Pheasant. Oysters, too. It’s all waiting. I’ve given him the night off for the sake of discretion. I’ll serve it myself.”
I tried to pull away, but his fingers tightened even more, and I gave a little cry. He chuckled softly. So, I kicked his shin. He gave a cry considerably louder than mine had been. A face appeared at one of the windows, and he let go of my arm. Seizing the opportunity, I tried to dart past him, but his arm encircled my waist, pulling me up against him. I screamed, and he immediately clamped a hand over my mouth. While all this was going on, the driver sat impassively on his perch in front of the carriage, toying with the reins and paying not the least bit of attention to us. Th
e face at the window disappeared.
“Let’s be sensible about this, luv,” Duke begged, but I continued to struggle.
Cautioning me to stop, his hand clamped tighter over my mouth, and he pulled my head against his shoulder. I managed to open my mouth wide enough to get one of his fingers between my teeth and bite him. He let out a yowl that rang up and down the street. Breaking free again, I whirled around to slam my reticule across his face, then started to run. He moved quickly to tackle me and I pitched forward, landing on the grass with him on top of me.
“There’s such a thing as too much spirit,” he grumbled.
“Help!” I screamed. “Help!”
“Oh, shut up!” he snapped, climbing to his feet, dusting his trouser legs.
He reached down and swept me up into his arms. Though I kicked my legs and pounded at his chest with my fists, he merely looked disgusted and continued carrying me toward the carriage. Nearby a door opened, and two men and a frightened housemaid appeared on the steps of the closest house.
“Lover’s spat,” Duke called. “Nothing to be alarmed about.”
“He’s a white slaver!” I yelled.
Duke kicked open the carriage door and hurled me inside, toppling me onto the cushioned seat in a jumble, ruffled skirt and petticoats all aflutter. I had barely managed to sit up and smooth my skirts down when Duke plopped down beside me, slamming the carriage door shut. “Home, Benson!” he yelled, and the carriage began to rumble down the street. Frantically, I reached for the door on my side and tried to open it, Duke slapped my hand and locked the door.
“Can’t you see that I’m doing this for your own good?” he protested.
“You’re abducting me! That’s a criminal offense!”
“Not so loud. I’ve got a crashing headache, and my shin hurts something awful. My finger’s bleeding, for Christ’s sake!”
“Serves you right! You’re insane. That’s the only explanation. You are out of your mind! Dear God, for all I know you might really be a white slaver! If you don’t stop this carriage immediately—”
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