Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked Book 2)

by Liana Lefey

  Horton’s jaw clenched. “Then you risk destroying the only hope those girls have on this earth. If you expose them, you will ruin not only their lives, but the lives of all who care for them. The fate of every person on the premises will be on your conscience. Is there no way to halt the investigation?”

  Pinned by Horton’s piercing gaze, Will squirmed. “None. But be assured I will conduct my inquiry with the utmost care and discretion.”

  The other man swore under his breath. “It won’t matter how careful you are.” Sighing, he continued his appeal. “If I could, I’d allay your doubts this instant, but I have not that right. Only Madame Trouvère can share with you the truth of it. Please, before you make any assumptions or, God forbid, any accusations of wrongdoing, talk to her, tell her who you really are, and allow her to explain.”

  Will refrained from laughing—just. The woman would toss him out on his arse the moment she learned the truth, and then the fat would well and truly be in the fire! “I’ll consider it,” he lied, hoping to placate his distressed companion. “I cannot help observing that you’re rather protective of the headmistress.” For some reason, the thought that there might be a relationship between them made Will uncomfortable. More than uncomfortable, actually, for reasons he chose not to explore at the moment.

  The good doctor again raised troubled eyes. “My desire is to protect not only her, but all who shelter within her school, as well as those who support it financially. You’ve no idea the sort of trouble you court by seeking to expose the truth.”

  A frisson of trepidation crept up Will’s spine. No. Horton wasn’t in love with the woman. His was devotion of another sort more akin to religious fervor. “Then explain it to me—inasmuch as you can. What are you protecting them from?”

  “Curiosity. Beyond that, I cannot say, lest I violate the trust given me,” said the other man, rising. “Please excuse me, but I’m afraid I must be leaving.”

  Will leaped to his feet. “You cannot tell her!” he rasped, glancing at the door and hoping to God no one was outside it, listening. “If you obstruct this investigation in any way, know that I’ll be forced to bring you before the magistrate and have you charged. Don’t make me lump you in with the guilty.”

  “Guilty?” Horton’s reply was no less wrathful for all that it was quiet. “If you want guilt, I beg you to seek it elsewhere—you might start with the places from which those girls were liberated.” His eyes burned. “I shan’t give you away, but don’t ask me to betray their trust again. If you want the truth, you’ll have to get it from the source, as I did.” Turning, he strode to the door and let himself out.

  “That went well,” Will muttered sourly as his erstwhile friend’s footsteps died away. At least he had the weekend to try to figure out what to do next.

  Chapter Seven

  October 15

  Jacqueline returned Mr. Woodson’s cheerful greeting as they passed each other in the hall. She quickened her step, determined to ignore the disturbing aftereffect of seeing his lopsided smile.

  It both pleased and worried her that he was fitting in so well. Mrs. Hayton had reported him as being an exemplary tenant, a true gentleman in every sense. The other boarders seemed to have grown fond of him as well. As for the students, the girls appeared to be adjusting to his presence. Little Janet Fairfield had even told her in confidence that she liked him. In fact, everyone he met seemed to take to him almost at once.

  It made her suspicious. No one was that perfect. She was sure he was concealing something. No overt word or action on his part had caused her to arrive at this conclusion. It was more of an intuition. Or perhaps paranoia. She didn’t know, and in truth, it didn’t matter.

  I shall be ready when he shows his spots.

  He would, eventually. They all did, because all people were flawed. She’d ferreted out most of the faults among her staff and students and knew them well. That she hadn’t been able to do so with him bothered her. No one was wholly free of darkness.

  “Headmistress?”

  A tingle shot through her at the sound of Woodson’s voice right behind her. Turning, she addressed him with what she hoped was a neutral expression. “Yes?”

  He approached with a hesitant smile. “I spoke to Mr. Sharpton and confided in him your need for additional textbooks. I also relayed to him the past difficulties you’ve had in procuring such goods, as well as my offer of assistance in the matter. I hope you don’t mind my consulting him.”

  “Not at all,” she lied, swallowing a lump of mortification. Of the few males she considered friends, Mr. Sharpton was the most benign. Unfortunately, he was also a hopeless romantic, and his interest in her was no secret. Thankfully, he’d been too shy to speak out. As she could never marry him, she hoped he never would. The last thing she needed was Woodson making her beholden to the fellow. “What had he to say?”

  The man’s smile stretched an increment, producing an adorably boyish dimple in his right cheek. “He agreed to act as an intermediary to obtain the necessary texts directly from the publishers. Additionally, he offered to donate to the school some of his outdated scholarly texts. I took the liberty of accepting his offer on your behalf. They may not be the most current editions, but the information should certainly suffice for our purposes here.”

  For our purposes. He certainly joined ranks quickly. And yet something told her he wasn’t being entirely forthright.

  His deep blue gaze bored into her as he awaited her response.

  “Mr. Sharpton is most generous, and I will gladly accept them.” She gripped her stack of books a little tighter. “I shall draw up a list of what is needed from the publishers and send it with you at the end of the day, along with my thanks. We shan’t need the books until the new wing is complete, so he should have adequate time to find them.”

  “Speaking of the building, how goes it?”

  Work had begun and was progressing well now that MacCallum and his men had torn down the defective brickwork and cleared the debris. The workers seemed content to remain out of sight behind the partitioned entrance to the central courtyard. Only once had an unfamiliar male entered the school to seek her out, and he’d gone through the front entrance, per the agreement between her and his master.

  “All should be ready before Christmas, provided the weather holds fair,” she answered. “Once complete, we can begin accepting new students. Monsieur MacCallum predicts it being finished sometime near the first of the year.” By that time she’d know if this man was worthy to be brought into her confidence. It was unfeasible to think she could conceal the school’s secrets from him forever, but it would be nigh unto impossible once the new arrivals began to pour in.

  He nodded. “I’ll await your message before leaving this evening, then.”

  The distant peal of the school’s bell saved her from the awkward necessity of dismissing him. “I should have it ready before lunch.”

  But she didn’t. During the office hour just before lunch, she had a visitor. Lady Dibley had decided between the two candidates presented to her the week prior, and had sent her housekeeper around to pick up Miss Coralline. That she’d done so without sending more advance notice was somewhat irksome, but Jacqueline couldn’t decline the opportunity to place one of her girls.

  She fetched Coralline from class herself and was able to provide only a brief explanation to her comrades. Jacqueline would’ve liked to host a small farewell party preceding the departure, as was customary, but there was time only for hasty good-byes and hugs from a few of Coralline’s closest friends.

  Jacqueline refrained from muttering an oath as she quickly packed a care-basket to accompany Coralline. In went apples and a small fruitcake from Agnes, a new shawl from Mrs. Coburn, gloves from Mrs. Wicklen, and some pretty hairpins from Mrs. Orson. Mrs. Sloane had contributed a porcelain candlestick holder and candle, Mrs. Blake had given her three embroidered handkerchiefs, and Jacqueline added a small packet of stationery, a bottle of ink, and a new goose quill. With t
hese items, she tucked Coralline’s favorite book of poems with an inscription in the front: Avoir la foi, et n’oubliez pas que vous êtes aimé.–Mme. Trouvère

  Covering the contents with a plain square of linen, she made her way to Coralline’s room, where she found the girl saying a tearful good-bye to her closest friend, Suzette—who, to Jacqueline’s surprise, appeared relieved not to be the one leaving.

  She cleared her throat to alert them to her presence. “Suzette, you will please go to my classroom and explain that I will be a few minutes late. Coralline, are you ready?” At her nod, Jacqueline smiled. “Then come with me.”

  Coralline departed for her new and hopefully happy life, and Jacqueline found herself caught up in the day’s progress without a chance to do much more than catch her breath.

  Though all the girls knew their ultimate goal was to find suitable employment in the outside world, it was nevertheless a momentous and somewhat scary event when one of their number left. Jacqueline allayed their fears as best she could and tried to keep the children busy to take their minds off Coralline’s absence.

  By the day’s end, she was emotionally exhausted and ready for some peace and solitude. Declining to join the others for the evening meal, she instead informed the kitchen she would dine in her office while answering correspondence. When she later opened her door in response to a quiet knock, however, she found herself face-to-face not with one of the kitchen maids bearing a tray, but Mr. Woodson.

  “Forgive me for intruding,” he said with an apologetic smile that made her pulse stutter for a moment, “but I wondered whether you might have forgotten the letter we discussed earlier today?”

  Her cheeks heated with mortification. “Ah, mon Dieu! Indeed, I did. Your pardon, please.” She cast about, at a loss as to what to say. The truth wouldn’t hurt in this instance. “One of my students—Coralline—left today. I’m afraid it has thrown me into disarray.”

  He frowned. “Left?”

  “For a position, yes. She and Suzette were recently interviewed. Coralline was chosen and sent for this afternoon.”

  “Where has she gone?”

  “She is now Lady Dibley’s personal maid,” she replied, still annoyed with the woman’s lack of courtesy. “After the interview, Lady Dibley requested a fortnight to consider whether to hire one of my girls or further train the under-maid temporarily seeing to her needs. Today, without giving us any advance notice, her housekeeper came to fetch Coralline, saying her services were required at once. The girl who’d been attending Lady Dibley was apparently caught stealing this morning and dismissed.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  Jacqueline let out a weary sigh. “Unfortunately, a change like this is almost always accompanied by some emotional disruption among the students. They spend a great deal of time together here and form strong bonds. It’s hard for them to say good-bye, especially in such haste. Since Coralline’s departure, I’ve been preoccupied with counseling several of her closer friends. She will be greatly missed.”

  “Indeed. She was a bright pupil. I’m sure she’ll do well.”

  “As am I,” she answered, taking a deep breath. “Now, let me get that list ready for you to take to Mr. Sharpton.” Setting nib to paper, she quickly listed the books she wanted and added a brief note at the bottom thanking the bookseller for his kindness. Sprinkling it with sand, she laid it aside to let it dry. Nervous with Woodson sitting there, she began to tidy her workspace.

  “Now I know why the girls were so subdued this afternoon,” murmured her guest, breaking the silence. “Especially Miss Bagley, whom I can only imagine must have felt both the loss of her friend as well as disappointment over herself not having been selected.”

  “She was not disappointed.”

  His brows rose. “Oh?”

  “She was relieved.” Keeping her hands busy stacking parchment, she went on. “She confessed her reluctance to go this afternoon.”

  “She’s afraid of the outside world?”

  “No. She fears leaving behind her young friend, Miss Fairfield. When Janet first arrived Suzette came to her defense when Janet was singled out by another young lady who was less than welcoming. The pair subsequently became inseparable. Before she came here, Suzette lost a younger sister. In her heart, Janet has taken her place. She feels a powerful need to protect the child.”

  “What will you do when it’s her time to leave? Can you place them together somewhere?”

  His empathetic suggestion went a long way toward easing her troubled mind concerning him. She shook her head. “It’s against policy, though I cannot prevent Suzette leaving her post and hiring on wherever Janet ends up or vice versa.”

  It took only a moment for her to realize her mistake. She sent up a silent plea, hoping he’d miss it.

  He didn’t. “Why can they not work for the same employer?”

  Damn! “Because girls who have known each other for a long time like to talk, and it would be better if their fellows and employers did not learn certain details concerning their former lives. My primary objective in teaching them these skills is to ensure they are able to earn a living. Placing them in the same house together when they leave here poses a threat to that end. It would be a disservice to them.”

  “You don’t think you can trust them to keep their own secrets?” Though a faint smile curved his mouth, his brow furrowed with disapproval. “I think you doubt them wrongly.”

  “Perhaps,” she said, bristling. Who was he to judge her methods and find them lacking? “But they are children, and children make mistakes. They don’t always comprehend the long-term consequences of their immediate actions, not even after being repeatedly warned against foolishness. Just one pair of loose lips could bring disaster down on us all.”

  His smile had faded, and his manner now became sharp. “How could one girl’s indiscretion have such a large impact?”

  Inwardly, she quailed. I’ve made so many mistakes today! Outwardly, she tried to project an air of confident disdain. “How would prospective employers react if they learned that not all of my girls are from ‘decent’ families? Do you think they would hire any more of my pupils or neglect to tell their friends of their discovery?”

  The anger that had billowed her sails drained away. “I’m responsible for all the young ladies here,” she said, feeling the weight of that responsibility even more than usual. “As such, I must do everything I can to protect the integrity of this school and its reputation.” She passed her hands over her face and repressed a groan. “Please try to understand that, in my position, the demands of logic must outweigh the desires of the heart. No matter how much I want to keep them together, I cannot take the risk.”

  On opening her eyes, she saw a strange look of consternation cross his features before he spoke. “My apologies. I misspoke out of ignorance.”

  She nodded, bewildered by his sudden turn. “Thank you, monsieur.”

  In the act of reaching across her desk to retrieve her missive to Mr. Sharpton, Jacqueline noticed her cuff had ridden up and the lace had bunched, exposing her scarred wrist. Snatching the parchment, she set it down before her and then lowered her hands to open the drawer beneath in pretense of searching for something. Tugging the sleeve back down, she glanced at Mr. Woodson’s face.

  Did he see? No. Or at least, she didn’t think so. His eyes were busy roaming about the room, no doubt cataloguing the general disorder. She rummaged in the drawer and withdrew a new stick of sealing wax. I must be more careful.

  …

  Will barely stopped himself from exclaiming in shock at the sight of the pale, puckered scar circling Trouvère’s wrist. He looked away before she could catch him staring at it.

  Now he knew why instead of the tight elbow-length sleeves currently in fashion, hers went all the way to her wrists before ending in a froth of lace.

  My God… Had she done it to herself? He risked another glance.

  No. It wasn’t the sort of mark left by a blade; it was the sort
of scarring left by rope rubbing and cutting into flesh. Horror warred with curiosity. How had she come by such a terrible wound?

  Did she have a matching one on the other wrist? He’d seen such marks before in his line of work, and they usually came in pairs. Those who bore them had almost always been held prisoner at some point and struggled against their bonds. From the layered look of the scar, she’d done so for an extended period of time.

  Thoughts tumbled over one another in a melee of suspicion, accusation, and speculation. She was French. Had she fled incarceration in France and settled in England to escape justice? Was Trouvère really her name? What was a woman with scars like that doing running a school?

  She has suffered. The thought evoked a queer sensation of heaviness inside him, as if a weight had settled on his chest. Whatever the origin of that scar, she’d endured great pain in the making of it.

  Who put it there? He longed to ask, but the way she snatched her hands back and drew them down out of sight behind her desk made him suspect she wouldn’t want to discuss it. One after another, questions popped up in his mind like mushrooms after a rain.

  Who is she, really?

  “Monsieur?”

  Will started and realized he’d been staring off into oblivion. She was holding out a sealed letter. Cloth and lace now covered her hand all the way to the knuckles. He took the missive. “Thank you. I’ll see he gets it right away.”

  “Monsieur Woodson, are you unwell?”

  Looking into her eyes, he saw fear in them. “Not at all. Just tired. I did not sleep much last night.”

  Pink suffused her cheeks, mystifying him. “Missing your old home, no doubt,” she said with a shaky little laugh.