A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  True concern was staring at her and it rattled Millie, but it did not dissuade her from her cause. “Do you remember my friends Lady Jennelle and Lady Aimee?”

  Evette nodded. Madame Sasha had never worked as a seamstress for either of them, but they had attended most of Millie’s fittings. Like Millie, they had been kind and surprisingly respectful to everyone in the house. Even Stuart liked them, saying one time that Aimee was quite the flash for a noble.

  “Well, Aimee’s life may be in danger. The three of us went aboard one of my husband’s ships one night, and before Jennelle and I could stop them, some men grabbed her. No one knows who has her or where she went. But I saw them and I saw the pinnace she left in. Someone on the docks has to know which ship it belongs to, but they are not going to talk to anyone who isn’t one of them. It may be dangerous and hard, and I may have a lot to learn, but I will do whatever I must to find my friend.”

  Evette found herself speechless. Some seamen had taken Aimee? It was hard to believe, but it explained much. Why Madame Sasha had not only agreed to help, but expected Evette to as well. But understanding the reason why Millie wanted her help did not make it any less of a hopeless mission.

  “This is it,” Evette said wearily as the carriage rolled to a final stop for the night.

  Millie nodded and reached into her bag. Feeling cool metal beneath her fingertips, she pulled the small pistol out before concealing it under her cloak. Seconds later she heard a thump as Bernard hopped down from his seat. He opened the door and then moved to meet with the hostler to discuss the horses and where to put the carriage for the night.

  Evette emerged from the carriage first, stretching her stiff limbs, uncaring of the rain, just thankful to be able to move. An hour into their journey it had begun to rain, slowing their progress. The muddy roads forced them to stop twice more than anticipated. They had seventy more miles before they reached London, and even if the weather improved, tomorrow would be a very long day.

  Millie stuck her head out of the carriage and craned her head to look at the sign waving in the wind. “Inn” was all it said. Nondescript, just like the building as well as the rest of the small town it was nestled in. Millie gracefully stepped out of the hack and saw Evette staring at her, shaking her head. “What is wrong?”

  Evette walked up close and whispered, “You cannot help it, can you? Being graceful. Even exiting a carriage you move like you are a duchess. No one with my background could ever walk like you do.”

  Millie shook her head. “With practice they could, but you are right to bring the discrepancy to my attention. What must I do to better conform?”

  Evette grimaced. It would be impossible for her ladyship to shun the elegance she naturally exuded, just as it would be for her to change the way she spoke. Best they could do was to avoid people. “Step into the mud to cover your shoes and then shuffle your feet,” she finally instructed, “and let me do the talking. Stay covered as much as possible. Your cloak is far too nice to belong to a farmer’s daughter, but at least it has mud on it.” Evette was about to head inside when she stopped and added, “And whatever you do, keep your head down. Keep your eyes on the floor. If someone gets even one glimpse of your violet eyes, they will remember them.”

  Evette went to the door and paused to square her shoulders. It was then that Millie realized just how nervous Evette was, and that she had reason to be. If anyone suspected any element of the truth, there could be trouble. Millie gave her an encouraging smile. “You will do fine, Evette.”

  Evette locked gazes with Millie. “I hope you are right,” she whispered, and added sharply, in an effort to build her courage, “Remember, face and eyes down till we reach our room.”

  Millie pulled up the hood on her cloak so that it completely covered her dark hair and most of her face. She then tilted her head down so that she could only see the hem of Evette’s dress and the heels of her moving feet as she entered the front room that also served as a dining area. Several tables were squeezed together, but only the ones closest to the large fireplace were occupied.

  “Is Mr. Stokes here?” Evette asked in a crisp, businesslike voice.

  Millie heard the footsteps of a heavyset woman approach them. “Eh? I’m Mrs. Stokes. What ye two be needin’?” Millie couldn’t see the woman who owned the booming voice but envisioned a large-busted woman with yellow frizzy hair.

  Evette looped her arm through Millie’s and advanced a couple of steps. “My cousin and I are on our way to Bristol, and my father told me to ask for the best room you have available for the night.” Evette’s voice sounded earnest and held no hint of deception. Millie knew then that Evette might be nervous about lying, but she was also fairly experienced at it.

  “Where are ye from, lass? Why are ye an’ yer sister travelin’ without yer father?” Millie heard Mrs. Stokes ask.

  Evette squeezed Millie’s arm and answered, “My cousin lives with me just outside of Portsmouth. Our grandmother is gravely ill and has asked for us to tend her during her last days. My father is busy preparing for harvest and has sent us on ahead. He told me specifically to stop at the Andover Inn and ask for Mr. and Mrs. Stokes. Said that you were really nice to him once and had excellent food and that you would take good care of us.”

  Mrs. Stokes took her time replying. “A room for the two of ye, plus the care of your animals, will cost ye a sixpence.”

  Evette hesitated just long enough to be believed and then pulled out a little purse. She dropped all the coins into her hand, making sure that the woman could see she held two sixpence, three farthings, and a single halfpenny. No half crowns, not even a shilling. Millie knew then that Evette wanted the woman to realize they could pay her demands, but they were not worth robbing.

  Evette nodded and dropped the coins back into her bag. Then she moved closer to the woman and whispered, “He also bade me to tell you not to worry. We both sleep with pistols and are excellent shots, so you’ll be getting your money when we leave.”

  Millie almost started coughing at Evette’s brilliant performance. With one short comment, she had flattered the woman into giving them probably the nicest room of the establishment and then ensured their safety with her bit about being good with pistols. Millie almost thought they were free when she heard Mrs. Stokes snort in disbelief. “Excellent shot, ye say? Including this one ’ere? Yer cousin can’t even lift an eyebrow up to greet me an’ say ’ello. I doubt she could hit a pot if it was three feet in front of her.”

  Millie carefully pulled back a piece of her cloak and quietly aimed across the room at a large black cauldron hanging in the hearth. A second later a click was heard, followed by a clang and the hiss of steam as the bullet hit the heated pot, causing it to rock and spill some of its contents into the fire. The three men eating close to the hearth immediately jumped to their feet, but Mrs. Stokes waved for them to sit down. She swallowed loudly and Millie wished she could look up and see if the crotchety woman’s eyes were popping out of her head.

  “Right then,” Mrs. Stokes said, clearing her throat before moving out of the front area and back toward the staircase. “Well, seeing as ye are together, I’ll give ye girls the room at the top of the stairs. It’s not me best. That one’s on the other side an’ already taken. But this one’s clean an’ it’s the quietest. Breakfast will be served in the morning an’”—the woman paused midsentence to turn around—“I’m adding a thruppence to yer tariff for a new pot.”

  Evette reached out and stopped the woman before she continued moving toward the stairs. “As you can see, my cousin is not only a good shot, but very shy. I’ll give you your thruppence plus two farthings more if you deliver dinner and breakfast to the room.”

  “Hmph,” was all that Millie heard but assumed when Evette remained silent that Mrs. Stokes had nodded in agreement. A moment later she heard the creak of Mrs. Stokes’s weight climbing the very narrow staircase. Then Evette went up and Millie followed.

  They went up one flight and down a lo
ng hall, when Mrs. Stokes stopped at a door and opened it for Millie and Evette to enter. “As I said, it’s clean. I’ll send my girl up with some food and your bags.”

  Evette gave her a quick thanks before closing the door. Millie waited until she heard Mrs. Stokes’s heavy retreating steps before lifting her head. She immediately removed her cloak and began to twist her neck several different ways, surprised how painful it was to look down for such a long time. “Evette, however Madame Sasha found you, I can see why she never let you go. You are indeed a treasure.”

  Evette smiled, unable to pretend she was unaffected by the ebullient praise. “Your shot was most excellently placed and timed as well, my lady.”

  “Ellie.” Millie sighed.

  Evette pursed her lips and then nodded, removing her own cloak. “Ellie. That is very close to what your friends call you, is it not?”

  Millie nodded, untied the laces on her once simple but pretty half boots, and then, using her toes, slipped each one off. “It is, but I am hoping that by keeping it close enough to my real name I will remember to respond to it. Besides, my middle name is Elizabeth. Somehow it seems less of a deception.”

  Evette raised a single brow at the rationalization but kept quiet. Instead, she followed Millie’s lead and took off her own shoes and sat down to warm her feet by the small fire.

  “Do you think we will still make it to London tomorrow?” Millie asked, joining her.

  “Bernard will get us there, though it might be later than he had hoped,” Evette said reassuringly.

  Millie put her palms on the floor behind her and leaned back. “Evette, why is it that you rarely spoke to us when the three of us would come to Madame Sasha’s?”

  “Why speak if there is no need?” Evette countered.

  Millie disregarded the question. “I think it is because as soon as you speak it is clear that you are educated.”

  Evette clenched her jaw. “Imagine, my lady, that if I find it challenging to hide my origins, how difficult you will find it.”

  “I have no intention to hiding my education. As you just said, it would be pointless.”

  Evette slowly turned her head so that she could stare quite pointedly at Millie. “How do you intend to be welcomed by dock workers who know that you come from a place of wealth?”

  Millie held Evette’s stare for some time before shifting her gaze to the fire. “I will tell them I was a governess.”

  Evette bit her tongue to keep from laughing, as it was clear Millie was serious. “Being a governess may explain your mannerisms and speech, but it would not explain why an educated woman would seek work near the docks.”

  “Then I will be a widow who once was a governess.”

  Evette shook her head. “The poor who make their home on the docks are going to devour you whole.”

  “Do not worry about me, Evette. I can defend myself, if necessary. But I am far more interested in your story. Where are you from? How did you receive your education? And how did you come to live with Madame Sasha?”

  Evette rose to her feet. “My story is far from unusual and therefore quite uninteresting.”

  Millie was about to protest when there was a knock on the door. Evette motioned for her to turn around, then answered it. A girl, close to their own age, entered carrying a tray with a half a loaf of bread, two bowls of stew, and two mugs of port, a bitter-tasting dark beer brewed from brown malt.

  The moment the girl left, Millie got to her feet and went over to the small table where the girl put the tray of food. Evette was already there, picking up one of the bowls and a mug. She went back to sit in front of the fire. Pulling off a piece of the bread, Millie dabbed it into one of the bowls of stew. After taking a bite, she went and sat by Millie. “Mmm, the stew is actually very tasty.”

  Evette was about to answer when there was another knock on the door. With a sigh, Evette put her bowl back down and went to open the door, only to see the girl again, this time holding out two bags—one an obviously expensive portmanteau. Evette doubted the girl even recognized what she was carrying, for the thin face held an expression Evette knew overly well. Exhaustion. Closing the door, she put the bags down and then joined Millie again by the hearth to eat.

  Licking her lips, Millie swallowed the piece of bread she was chewing and said, “I really am interested.”

  Evette shook her head and took another bite of stew. After a minute of silence, she exhaled and said, “If you insist. My mother was a governess. She was the one who taught me grammar and the little that I do know. My father worked in a shop that made the cast-iron pipes used to channel the gas to light lamps and burners. When I was thirteen, she got sick and died. My father took to the drink. He was not a mean drunk like some, but he was not a smart one either. He soon lost his job and it wasn’t long after that we lost our home and were on the streets. One day I went to find us food as I always did, but when I came back he was gone. I haven’t seen him since.”

  Millie sat quietly and listened. She offered no words, sensing Evette wanted neither sympathy nor condolences. “And Madame Sasha? How did you come to meet and live with her?”

  “I heard rumors a great singer was coming to Manchester and snuck in to listen to her sing.”

  Shocked, Millie asked with her mouth partially full, “Madame Sasha was a singer?”

  Evette nodded. “A very good one. Anyway, someone must have seen me, because I got caught. They were about to beat me and send me away for not paying, when Madame Sasha saw what was happening and rescued me.” Evette smiled and let go a small chuckle as she remembered. “Told them that I was her new seamstress.”

  “Were you?” Millie asked, tearing off a piece of bread. “A seamstress, I mean.”

  “Oh goodness, no, and I said as much. But she just looked at me and said that I’d better learn enough to pretend the part if I wanted to keep it. I was starving, and for the first time since I could remember, someone was offering to help me. That was three years ago.”

  “It seems Madame Sasha makes a habit of saving lives. She saved yours, then mine, and now, with her help, I hope we can find Aimee.”

  “Your life?”

  Millie pointed at the small revolver lying on top of her cloak. “She was the one who gave me that.”

  Evette stood up and took her bowl and Millie’s back to the tray. “For some reason, she believes in you. She always has.”

  The tension in Evette’s voice was unmistakable. It almost sounded like she was jealous. But that made no sense. Millie had known Madame Sasha for only a few months. Evette had known her for years. “Well, you have learned the part well. Have you your own clientele?”

  Evette’s back straightened and she pursed her lips. “Madame Sasha has said I have yet to prove myself.” Millie wondered to herself, How does one go about proving oneself ? when Evette answered her thoughts. “All I need is one client. Then I can show Madame Sasha what I can do and she will acknowledge that I really am a seamstress.”

  Millie decided a change of subject was needed. “I know others in the house will want to know who I am and why I am there, but please do not say anything about Aimee. It’s one thing to risk my reputation, but I do not want to risk hers.”

  Evette motioned for Millie to sit down so that she could help undo her braids. “I like Lady Aimee. I would never do anything to hurt her and I truly hope you find her.”

  Once her hair was undone, Millie gestured for Evette to sit and let her return the favor. They had both undressed to their shifts when Evette picked up a blanket off the bed. “You take the bed. I’ll sleep in front of the fire.”

  Millie stopped her before she could take another step. “We will share the bed.”

  Evette measured her with a cool, appraising look. “You may be pretending to be Ellie, but you and I both know the truth. You are a marchioness, not my cousin, and I am not going to pretend that you are my equal.”

  Millie rolled her eyes, snatched the blanket out of Evette’s hands, and tossed it on the
bed. “Do not tell me you believe such nonsense. During most of the ride today you were either hinting that I am a fool for leaving my pampered life or making it clear that you consider me an idiot for thinking I could pretend to be part of the working class.”

  Evette blanched, but Millie continued, spreading the blanket out on the bed. “Now I must admit that most of Society would not appreciate such candor, but then neither would they have fought madmen, drowned a traitor, tended to their shot husbands, or sought to rescue their friend by attempting to work on the docks. I am not most women.” Millie paused to look Evette in the eye. “You and I may have been born to different roles in this life and endured different burdens, but I have never thought myself above anyone. And as far as I know, neither have Aimee or Jennelle. We judge others by their actions, not their wealth or titles. I think you do the same, otherwise Madame Sasha would not trust you and sent you to help me. So choose a side. Left or right.”

  Evette stood motionless for several seconds. Finding her voice she said, “I . . . I prefer the left.”

  Millie smiled and pulled back the covers. “Then I shall enjoy the right.”

  Evette grimaced and joined her in the bed. “Enjoy? Not sure about that. Remember—these are the inn’s sheets—not yours.”

  Millie wiggled her toes, feeling the coarse linen. She had slept outside, in caves, and many other uncomfortable spots. The feel of the rough sheets did not bother her overmuch, but they were a stark reminder that she was leaving her old world behind. A world with Chase.

  Millie closed her eyes, and like every night since they had parted, she wished she were home, in his arms, and able to tell him just how much she loved him, knowing she was loved in return.

  Chapter 12