by Unknown
"Afraid of what? It will be work, and we've done our share since we were old enough to walk."
''No, I'm not afraid of work."
"Then what?"
"I'm afraid we'll be separated. You're the only real friend I have. What shall I do if Mrs. Gilbert forces us to apprentice so far apart I'll never see you again?"
"Beth, we've talked about this before and I've always promised you, one way or the other, we'll be together. I've never broken a promise, have I?"
"No . . . but"
"No buts. We'll find a way." Charity's voice held the same firm quality that could always comfort Beth. She lifted the weight of her thick hair and closed her eyes, raising her face toward the warmth of the sun. "Oh, it's such a glorious day. I wish we were free."
"Free? What would we do with freedom if we had it?"
"Go to the park and walk through the grass in our bare feet. Wade in the pond and sleep beneath one of those huge oaks." Charity laughed.
"And be hungry within a few hours and not have a shilling," Beth added dryly.
"How practical." She grinned at Beth. "Dear Beth, you were born to be a wife. You could run a household like Mrs. Gilbert runs this place. Efficiently and very practically."
"Well, one of us has to be practical," Beth replied. "You're too much of a dreamer."
"Yes, I guess I am," Charity said thoughtfully.
"Charity." Beth reached out to touch her hand, all laughter gone from her eyes. "I don't mean to sound condemning. You are a dreamer, and I admire you
for that. I am too afraid to dream. I wish all your dreams would come true, really I do."
"Well, if my dreams ever come true, you'll be right beside me. Now, speaking of hunger, do you suppose we could charm Mrs. Douglas out of something? I'm hungry enough to eat anything."
"Let's go try. But for heaven's sake, put your stockings and shoes on or she'll be scandalized, lecture you on propriety for an hour, then turn you over to Mrs. Gilbert who will lecture you again like she's done a million times."
With an exasperated sigh, Charity reached for her discarded stockings and began to draw them up over her slim legs.
The window of Josine Gilbert's office looked out upon the back of the orphanage property. Charles Brentwood stood gazing out the window with his hands in his pockets, watching the scene some distance away.
He was a distinguished-looking man whose vitality belied his fifty-two years. His hair was thick and still a vibrant gold brown, and he kept himself in excellent physical condition. Charles Brentwood gave the impression of perfect gentility. Only if his mask slipped could one see the fierceness in his eyes and the hungry look of greed that lingered there. He was a man who saw no limits to what he should be able to possess . . . if he wanted it.
Behind him Josine sat at her desk, making out a receipt for the very generous sum of money Charles had just donated to the orphanage. He had been a
source of financial help for the past two years, and Josine didn't want to question his motivation. She was too grateful for his much needed help.
Certain that he was unobserved, Charles watched Charity draw the black stockings over the creamy flesh of her legs. Flesh he wanted to touch.
He smiled as he turned from the window. Josine had risen and he didn't want her to see what held his attention. She handed him the receipt with a warm smile.
She was a tall, slender woman and her eyes were level with his. Her salt-and-pepper hair was parted in the middle, arranged in two braids, and wrapped neatly about her head. Her face revealed nothing of her age, for it was unlined and smooth, but her light blue eyes told of a woman who had seen much and knew much. Charles was well aware of the keen mind behind those eyes, and he had cultivated her carefully to keep his true interest in the orphanage his own secret.
Charles had carved a nîche in the business world with craft, guile, and a total lack of conscience. He regarded the world as a challenge, a challenge he never walked away from. What Charles Brentwood wanted, he set his mind to . . . and usually got. What he wanted now was the sweet innocence of Charity Gilbert.
"Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Brentwood," Josine said. "You have no idea how we have come to depend on your largesse."
Charles smiled his warmest smile. Of course he
knew how dependent she was on his money; he had carefully planned it that way.
"Think nothing of it, dear lady. My wife has always had a special place in her heart for the orphaned and the infirm."
"I know," Josine sympathized. "And how is your wife?"
"Still confined to her bed. She will be so until"He paused dramatically, magnificent in his sorrow"until she is with us no more." His voice caught on a seeming constriction in his throat. He could have laughed to see the concern and deep sympathy in Josine's eyes. "That is the reason I've come to see you today. I must speak to you about one of your wards. A Miss Charity Gilbert."
"Charity?"
"Yes. It seems my wife needs more help than I can provide since my time is so consumed with business matters. I know you apprentice your girls, and I would like to have Charity in my home as a companion to my wife."
"How convenient. I was just searching for the proper place for Charity and for Beth."
"Beth?"
"She is Charity's closest friend. In fact, I think Beth is more sister than friend. They are of the same age and have been here since . . . well, for most of their lives. It will be most difficult to separate them. But both need to be placed soon. Both will soon celebrate their nineteenth birthdays and they must have training so they can find a place in life. I will not have any of my girls on the street."
"No, of course not. Perhaps I will question some of my friends and see if a place can be found for Charity's friend. You do the placing, do you not? I mean, it is not left up to a childish whim?"
"Of course not. Your offer is very kind, and you have been very generous. You may consider it agreed upon. I'm sure Charity will be grateful too."
"Yes, I'm sure she will. My home is a very fine one, and I will see that she has separate quarters. I will also see she is supplied with proper clothes and a few shillings to compensate her for her time. I'll make certain she gets proper training for the position I want her to fill."
"How did you know of Charity?"
"It seems a friend of my wife acquired a girl from here and on occasion she saw and spoke to Charity here. She feels that Charity is exactly what my wife needs."
"Mrs. Stewart?"
"Yes, Mrs. Stewart. Her word is good enough for me. I shall take Charity and train her well. You need not worry."
"Then it is agreed. I will speak to Charity When would you like to come for her?"
"If you agree, I will come for her Sunday afternoon."
"Very good. And thank you again, Mr. Brentwood. I'm sure you will not be disappointed in Charity."
"I doubt if I will," he said, smiling. "I doubt if I will."
Charles left Josine's office, content with the progress of plans that had been initiated over a year and
a half ago. As he seated himself in his carriage, he thought of the first time he had seen Charity.
He had escaped the confinement of his wife's sickroom and the cloying scent of death that always seemed to cling to it. He hated being chained to her withering body and longed for the soft flesh and sweet scent of someone healthy . . . and young.
He had claimed a need to finish some work and gone out for a drive in his carriage so that he could get his wife out of his mind. He was passing the orphanage when he saw her. He had donated money to the Safe Home Orphanage before, and wondered how he had missed this gloriously pretty girl. Then, he had discovered the apprentice policy Josine Gilbert had begun when she first established the orphanage. It had been very well accepted, and a number of her children had grown and gone on to make good lives for themselves. The policy made Charles's plan simple.
He had watched, finding out how Charity spent what free time she had, and had seen her blossom. Now, he
could wait no more. His first step was to get her into his home. All the comforts and pretty clothes and gifts he could supply would eventually bring her to his bed. If there was anything Charles was good at, it was seduction. Had he not seduced his wealthy wife when she was younger and taken her to his bed, knowing the marriage would be forced? He had wanted her and her money, and he took both casually. Now he had his wife's wealth, and Charity would be his pleasure.
Sunday he would go to the orphanage, and he was sure Mrs. Gilbert would have Charity prepared to go
with him. Tonight he would go home and make the arrangements. Of course, Charity's quarters had to be far enough away from his wife's room so that she would be unaware of what was going on.
His body trembled with the visions he conjured up. There was no one who could not be bought, and Charity's life was a drab and empty one. Once she saw how generous he could be, her surrender would follow swiftly. He could see and feel and smell her young naked body beneath him.
Charity tried to ignore the chiming bell that had awakened her every morning of her life. She burrowed her head beneath her pillow. She absolutely did not want to get out of bed this Sunday morning. The day was gray, and she had heard steady rainfall most of the night. It meant she would be confined inside, and that thought made her groan inwardly.
But the long, barracks-like room in which she slept with over fifty other girls of various ages was alive with chatter and the bustle of rapid dressing.
"Charity." Beth bent to shake her. "Charity, come on. Everyone else is almost dressed. You'll be late for breakfast."
"I'm not hungry. Go to breakfast without me," she mumbled from beneath her pillow.
"You know Mrs. Gilbert will just send someone back for you. You'd better get up."
With a disgusted grunt, Charity pushed the pillow away and contemplated her friend. Beth knew her too well to be alarmed at the scowl. She smiled, and after
a while Charity smiled too, swung her legs over the narrow cot she slept on, and stood up.
Before either Charity or Beth had time to speak again, one of the younger girls came running toward them.
"Charity! Charity!" The girl was breathless by the time she stopped beside them. She was a girl of about ten, who had been deposited at the orphanage at two by parents who simply could not afford another mouth to feed. Charity had been kind to her, and Elise had never forgotten it. She smiled now as if she were more than pleased to carry messages to Charity. "Mrs. Gilbert says for you to come to her office right away. There's something important she has to talk to you about."
"Something to talk to me about? Elise, are you sure you heard right? Maybe it was something important she wanted me to do."
"No," Elise said firmly. "She said she wanted to talk to you and would I fetch you right away."
Beth and Charity exchanged bewildered looks. Then Elise grinned. "I'll bet I know what it is."
"What?" Charity asked.
"Well, maybe I don't 'zactly know, but I'll bet it has something to do with that Mr. Brentwood. He was in her office and he talked to Mrs. Gilbert for a long time."
"He comes almost every month. He gives the orphanage a lot of money. Why would he have anything to do with me?" Charity asked the question more to herself than to Beth or Elise.
"Well, you'd better go and find out what she wants," Beth said.
"Yes, I guess I'd better. Beth, do you want to come with me? You could wait outside her office."
"All right." Beth was surprised, for, for the first time in Charity's life, there was a flicker of fear in her eyes. This was so uncharacteristic that she could not refuse. As far as she knew, Charity had never been afraid of anything and certainly not of Mrs. Gilbert, who had always been more than kind to her. In fact, so kind that she had given Charity her own surname.
Charity dressed quickly and tied her wayward hair back with a ribbon. Then she and Beth started toward Mrs. Gilbert's office.
Charity walked slowly, which was unusual in itself, and she could not seem to stop her nerves from growing tense. She could feel an inner trembling. She had never felt this way before, and it frightened her. Beth walked beside her until they reached Mrs. Gilbert's door. They exchanged glances, then Charity raised her closed hand to knock on the door.
"Come in," Josine called out. Charity straightened her shoulders, opened the door, and went inside, closing the door softly behind her.
Charity stood with her back against the closed door for a minute, reluctant to go any further. Josine looked up from the papers she had just signed, and smiled at Charity.
"Charity, my dear child, come in and sit down. I have some very good news, both for you and all your friends here at Safe Home."
For a moment, relief made Charity's legs weak and
she paused. Then she walked across the room and sat in a chair before Josine's desk.
"Charity, you know that you will soon be nineteen."
"Yes, ma'am."
"And you know that we have an apprentice method to help teach our girls to be useful and productive in some form of work."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, I have found an excellent position for you. I call it a position because it can hardly be called work. You will be caring for an invalid. Bringing her meals, running errands, and reading to her. It will give you wonderful opportunities, for you will live in a very fine home and be given some new clothes and even a bit of money." Josine stood up and walked around the desk to smile down at Charity. "Do not be frightened, child. I wouldn't allow any harm to come to you. You know that. I want to see you protected, and this is an opportunity. You will work there until you are twenty-one. Then you can decide if you choose to stay or not . . . if she's even still alive by then."
"Still alive," Charity repeated.
"The lady is very delicate and very ill. No one knows if she will live long. But her dear husband wants her last years . . . or what time she has, to be as comfortable as he can make them. He is so kind. He has been married for twenty years, but within the past five years his wife has been bed-ridden. Still, he remains a diligent husband and caretaker."
"What is her name?"
"Jessica Brentwood. I think you know of her husband. He has given this orphanage a great deal of
money. He is very generous. Without his monthly donations, I don't believe we could go on. All these girls would be in the streets. His request that you care for his wife seems little to ask of us.''
"I . . . I suppose you're right." Charity could not seem to banish the tingle of fear that swirled through her. "When must I go?"
"You may pack your things this morning. Right after lunch Mr. Brentwood will come for you. Be of good heart, child. You are young and the job will be easy. The days will pass quickly, and in three years' time you will have some money and clothes of your own and good references for your future. It is a golden opportunity, Charity."
"I don't want to sound ungrateful, Mrs. Gilbert, truly. I . . . I've only known you and this place. It will be hard to go. And . . . what about Beth?"
"I will find a suitable place for Beth. Until I do, she will remain in my care. After all, Charity, you will not work every day. You can visit when you have free time." Josine rested her hand on Charity's shoulder. "I will even see to it myself that you two remain in contact. Now, I think it best you have your breakfast and begin to gather your belongings. I expect you back in my office at one o'clock."
"Yes, ma'am." Charity rose. There was no logical reason for her resistance, and she had always known this day would come. Still, she was unprepared.
When Charity left Josine's office Beth fairly leapt to her feet.
"What did she want?"
"It seems you were quite right, Beth. Mrs. Gilbert has already found a place for me."
"You're leaving!" Beth gasped, and her face grew pale. "You're leaving," she repeated with a half sob. ''Where are you going . . . and when?"
Charity turned to look at Beth and realized her friend was very close to pan
ic.
"Don't be upset. You and I knew it had to happen one day." She went on to explain what her duties would be and who she would be working for. "We'll just have to make plans to see each other as often as we can. Mrs. Gilbert said she'd try as hard as she could to get you a place somewhere close by Mr. Brentwood's home."
"He's rich and must have a wonderful house. I . . . I guess he's just trying to be generous," Beth suggested.
"I suppose. He's the one who gives Mrs. Gilbert so much money. I suspect we've been eating food and wearing clothes he's provided for quite some time."
"Then, if he's rich maybe he can find room for both of us," Beth said hopefully. "I can work hard, and together we can make certain his wife is comfortable. I could help in the house and"
"You needn't convince me what a hard worker you are. I already know. I wonder . . . if we both came back this afternoon, maybe we could convince him to take us both. At least we could try."
"Oh, Charity, I'll pray ever so hard. I don't think I can stand it here by myself, and to go to a strange place alone, I just couldn't bear it."
"Well, don't give up. From what Mrs. Gilbert says,
he is a very kind-hearted man." Charity smiled reassuringly. "We'll both cry and beg and hope he really is soft-hearted."
"Who could resist you if you cry?" Beth tried to laugh.
"Not Mr. Brentwood . . . I hope. Come on, let's go pack our meager belongings. We have to be back here by one."
Meager had been the proper word for their possessions. When they returned to Josine's office, each girl carried just one cloth-wrapped bundle. Neither had any luxuries such as jewelry.
They paused before the door, hearing the murmur of voices within. One was definitely male and could only be the very generous Mr. Brentwood.
"Are you ready?" Charity whispered.
"Yes. What should I do?"
"Just be ready to jump to your feet if I open the door. It might be nice if you could manage a few tears . . . just in case."