“My name is Silas Hodder,” the man with the burning eyes said. “I am a beggar by profession. And so is Moll. The two old ladies are somewhat beyond even this lowly profession and so live largely on our bounty.”
“Share and share alike,” Moll said piously. “Charity is a grand thing!”
“Amen!” Silas Hodder said, nodding.
Fanny stared at them in amazement. “But doesn’t it hurt your pride to beg?”
“Not at all,” the man said. “I consider myself tops in my profession.”
“Oh, he’s very good, he is, I promise you that,” Moll agreed, her hands clasped around her knees and a smile on her pert face.
Fanny said, “Can’t you get regular work?”
“None that would pay as well and be respectable,” Moll told her.
“London is a cruel city,” Silas Hodder warned her as the two old ladies continued to sleep by the fire. Fanny now noticed the gin bottle on the ground between them, empty as she might have suspected. The two old ones had downed it without doubt and were now blissfully at rest.
Moll followed her glance and laughed. “No tea for them! Gin is their mother’s milk and nothing else will do.”
Silas Hodder said, “I was once a businessman of some wealth and great respectability. I was swindled out of my fortune by scoundrels and I made a vow to even the score with the world by extracting a good living from it. And I have!”
Moll gave him an admiring look. “He’s really brainy, Mr. Hodder is. He put me on my game as well.”
“I’ll explain my own tactics first,” Silas Hodder told the dark girl. And then to Fanny, he continued, “I sleep rather late in the day. Then I make the rounds of the best taverns. I am, as you can see, shabby and peculiar-looking; I also smell rather high. When I enter these respected places I conduct myself most quietly and gentlemanly so there can be no excuse to evict me. I seat myself amid the most prosperous looking group and look as doleful as possible. Naturally I make them very uncomfortable.”
“And then?” Fanny asked.
“One of them will query me about my business there. I tell them I have come merely to sit in my haunts of yesteryear. To be a shadow at the feast and think of more prosperous days. I note that I once had a suite of offices in the City and then I bring out a box of matches (without offering them for sale). Most of the fat-bellies have a fit of conscience and thrust coins in my hand as I leave. All I do is sit there dull-eyed. When I’ve made all I can in one tavern I move on to another.”
Fanny said, “Don’t they become familiar with your routine?”
“Makes it all the better,” the skull-faced man said. “I become a sort of charge to them. If I don’t appear they worry that my health has broken completely or I have taken my life as I’ve frequently threatened, and my demise will be upon their conscience. I make the same rounds in the evening until about ten. Then I return here.”
She listened in amazement. “And this makes you a good living?”
“More than that, it allows me to bank a little each week,” Silas Hodder said with satisfaction. “Soon I shall be able to retire and take up my status as a true gentleman!”
“Ah, you never will!” Moll told him. “Not you! The greed has got you! You won’t ever give it up.”
“What about you?” Fanny wanted to know of the girl.
Moll said, “I don’t know. Mr. Hodder made me what I am. He showed me how to turn over a few pounds a week. He reads the death notices and he picks out names of married gentlemen in good circumstances. Then I makes a call on the dead man’s widow. I tell her what a dear gent he was and how he made love to me on the quiet and promised to marry me. I sniffle a lot at losing him but tell her there’s a good side. I will have the child he gave me. And it’s then they bring out their purses and give me a little something to keep quiet and go on my way.”
Fanny was shocked. “But that is so cruel! You make those poor widows unhappy by thinking their husbands were unfaithful. And you do harm to the reputations of the dead husbands!”
Moll chuckled. “There’s more to it than that. Some of those widows didn’t have much use for their husbands in any event. And they’re properly surprised many a time that the poor old gent was able to get me with child, since he hadn’t been able to do it for them. The way I see it, I give those dead chaps a gamy reputation that should make them happy!”
“No one is really hurt,” Silas Hodder said. “I carefully select the cases. No grieving young widows are ever included.”
“And all four of you sleep here every night?” Fanny said.
“We do,” Moll replied. “The old girls spend most of the day under an arch on the embankment not too far from here. But come nightfall we all head for our tomb.”
“A touch of the vampire, you might say,” the weird old man said with amusement. “Naturally the church people are not aware of our making such good use of the facilities or they would evict us. As yet, our dead comrades have made no complaint of any sort.”
She glanced warily at the dusty coffins with their cobwebs and said, “I can tell that. Is it healthy down here?”
“As healthy as most places in London,” Silas Hodder said. “My physician assures me no disease lives on in such places. The coffins are well-sealed and the tomb makes a comfortable place for us on nights such as this.”
Moll said, “We have just room for one more. You can join us if you like. You’ve got to keep out of the way of those two blokes!”
Fanny gave a deep sigh, thinking of all that had taken place since she ran away from Brenmoor on this eventful evening. She said, “The tall one will kill me to silence me if he ever finds me again.”
“I wouldn’t trust the dwarf either,” Silas Hodder advised. “He has a wicked look.”
Fanny’s pretty face was shadowed with the evil memory of what had happened. She said, “I saw those two murder a man only a few blocks from here.”
“Many such murders occur here in London every night,” the man in shabby black warned.
Moll stared at her with interest. “How do you come to be in London on your own?”
“It’s a complicated story,” Fanny said, staring wistfully into the fire.
“You’re nursing a broken heart! I’ll vow to that!” Moll declared.
Fanny gave her a surprised look. “How sharp you are to realize that!”
“Part of my trade,” Moll said proudly.
“Have either of you heard of the Marquis of Brenmoor?” Fanny asked.
Silas Hodder replied at once, “He has a large estate just outside London. I think he has three sons and a fine stable of race horses.”
She told the odd, old man, “You’re right on all points.” And then she went on to explain about her mother dying, her cousin Lily being the cook at Brenmoor and how she came to be there. She also told them of her stage ambitions and of meeting young George Palmer.
In a moment she had lost herself in the pleasant reverie of her second meeting with Viscount George Palmer. It had happened on a night in mid-April. The Marquis, who held many shares in the British East India Company, was having an entertainment to honor a certain Prince Aran, the Oxford-educated son of a Maharajah in the northwest of that vast and mysterious country.
Cousin Lily was in a state about the food, since the Marquis had commissioned a special menu for the Prince who was a Hindu and would not eat any beef dishes. Fanny herself was busily involved with the preparing of extra rooms for overnight guests. The great ballroom was festooned with colorful garlands and other decorations. There was to be a dinner, dancing and a musical entertainment.
The only one in the house who was not excited was the Reverend Kenneth Palmer, who disapproved of the Marquis catering to a man he felt was a heathen. Fanny had overheard him in conversation with his father in the lower hallway.
The young curate had informed the old man, “I shall be absent from the party, father. I trust you will understand.”
The Marquis had leaned on his cane an
d said tartly, “I expect you to attend. My guest of honor, the Prince, may be offended if you are not present.”
“I do not share your enthusiasm for heathen royalty,” the young man snapped back. “The Bishop is putting me up for a few days. I shall return here when this pagan orgy is over.”
“I call that most inconsiderate of you, Kenneth,” the Marquis had rebuked him.
But, as Fanny had expected, the rebuke had done no good. The bigoted young man was not influenced by his father’s words. On the other hand, Captain Charles and the Vicount George entered into the preparations with enthusiasm, as did Dora Carson, a daughter of a distant poor relation of the Marquis whom the old man had adopted as his daughter.
Several times Fanny had been assigned to act as personal maid to the pleasant young woman. And on the evening of the party for the prince Fanny found herself acting in this capacity for Dora once again.
Dora was slender, twenty-two, quietly attractive. Her large brown eyes and olive skin were her best features and she wore white as often as possible to emphasize her coloring. On the exciting night Fanny stood behind her fastening her gown as Dora studied herself in the mirror.
Dora, surveying herself with a smile as Fanny worked at the buttons, said, “They say the Prince is charming and a ladies’ man.”
“You should soon know, miss,” Fanny said.
“I have seen likenesses of him. I would not call him handsome by our standards but he has a noble look and a regal bearing, I’m told.”
“Is he returning to India soon?”
“Yes,” Dora said. “His father is ill. He may soon to be the Maharajah and his friendship is important to the British East India Company. Otherwise you can be sure the Marquis would not go to all this fuss.”
Fanny finished and stood back. “There! You look ever so nice, miss!”
“Thank you, Fanny,” Dora said, smiling at her. “You must look in on the party tonight.”
“I shall be serving,” she said. “And then later some of the other maids and I will watch from the balcony where we won’t be seen.”
Dora stood up. “Believe me, you’re lovely enough to be a guest. And you speak so nicely. You really shouldn’t be a servant.”
Fanny said, “You mustn’t be deceived by my speech, miss. I have very ordinary origins. I’m in my proper station in life.”
Dora placed an arm around her. “My dear Fanny, my origins were no more notable than your own until the Marquis adopted me!”
“But you do have his blood.”
“So little of it he would like to see me marry one of his sons,” Dora said with a wry look.
Fanny was surprised. “Truly?”
“Yes. You mustn’t whisper a word of it to anyone else. But the Marquis thinks I’d make a fine wife for a minister. And I can’t abide that awful Kenneth! He’s such a prig!”
“I agree!”
Dora’s eyes gleamed mischievously. “I wouldn’t mind being his daughter-in-law if he encouraged a match between George and me.”
“The Viscount!”
“Yes,” Dora said. “He’s the pick of the three. I’m very fond of him.”
“What about Captain Charles?” Fanny ventured.
Dora shrugged. “He’s not like Kenneth. He has a good nature. But he lacks George’s brilliance and charm.”
Fanny smiled a little sadly. “I quite agree with you, miss.”
“So you have been taken with him too!” Dora exclaimed with delight.
Fanny smiled ruefully. “He’s the hero to every maid and scullery girl in the house. No denying the Viscount is the favorite.”
“I’m sure of that,” Dora said. And then confidentially, “Of course, the Marquis is playing politics again, even with the lives of those dear to him. He’s deeply anxious for George to marry Virginia Andrews, the daughter of Sir Matthew Andrews.”
Fanny found herself feeling shocked, as she had not heard of this before. She said. “Is she apt to make him a good wife?”
“She’s pretty enough,” Dora said. “But that’s about all. She is flighty and shallow! The sort who flirts with every man at a party but cares for none of them. She only cares for herself.”
“It doesn’t sound promising,” Fanny suggested.
“It’s a shame,” Dora sighed. “And the worst part of it is that Virginia just might entice George into marrying her!”
“I hope not,” Fanny said, surprised at how strongly she felt on the subject.
“So do I,” Dora said as she prepared to go down to the party.
• • •
The ballroom of the great mansion was filled. Fanny was doubling as a serving girl. She went to the kitchen where she hastily donned an apron and different cap and then, equipped with a tray of dainties, went up to the ballroom to serve the guests.
At one end of the room an orchestra was playing. The notables, including the Marquis, the Indian Prince Aran and Dora and Viscount George stood at the other end of the great room receiving the guests as they came. There were red and blue uniforms resplendent with gold braid and bands, in contrast to the more soberly hued formal coats of civilians and the ladies in flowing gowns of every shade of the rainbow.
Conversation was loud and animated. The Prince, in native costume of pale salmon-colored silk and a turban in the same shade, was the center of attention. He was a young man with a short black beard. His eyes were black and sharp in his narrow brown face and his nose rather pointed. He was not truly handsome by Western standards, yet he had a certain quality about him.
Fanny did not take her tray to him as the group were still receiving. But she found herself blushing as his glance fixed on her and his eyes seemed to follow her about the room. Her tray was empty and she was about to go downstairs when a hand caught her by the arm. She turned to see that it was Viscount George.
The young man guided her to an alcove off the ballroom and whispered intensely, “I must have a word with you!”
Chapter Two
Startled by the sudden display of interest the young Viscount was showing in her, she looked up at him and asked, “What is it, sir?”
The handsome George smiled. “You’re trembling, Fanny. There is no need to be alarmed.”
The music was playing in the background and she felt that all the eyes of the elegant ladies and gentlemen must be upon them. She said, “I have my duties, sir. We’re ever so busy. You are keeping me back!”
He still kept her cornered in the alcove as he told her, “You’ll do no more serving this night!”
“What do you mean?”
“Prince Aran has taken an interest in you, which does not surprise me since he is a keen admirer of feminine charm,” George told her.
Her cheeks crimsoned more deeply. She recalled that the guest of honor had been rather greedily following her with his keen, black eyes. She said, “I’m much flattered. But I still have my work to do.”
“No, listen,” the young Viscount said. “Seeing his interest in you I told him of your talent for song and dance. And he has requested that you be included in the entertainment which is to begin in a few minutes.”
Her pretty face showed distress. “Oh, sir! You shouldn’t have said anything!”
“Too late now,” George said cheerfully. “Better make up your mind to put on your act for all of us.”
Becoming more uncomfortable as the moments passed, Fanny protested, “I can’t, sir! The Marquis would surely not approve of it. Nor would my cousin, Lily.”
“I can’t answer for your cousin Lily,” the amused George said. “But I can assure you my father is quite in favor of it. I have come here to make my request with his permission. You see, catering to the Prince ranks above everything else.”
She glanced beyond him at the crowded ballroom and told him, “I’d never manage! I’d be bound to faint!”
“We’ll take that chance,” George said. “I want you to put on your best dress and then take your place by the platform. When the time co
mes I will introduce you.”
“Must I? Please let me be free of it!” she begged him.
Staring at her George saw she was in earnest. “By Jove, you are the modest one!” he exclaimed. “But there is no way out of it now! The Prince is thin-skinned, easily annoyed. My father must encourage his every whim!”
“I have no proper dress!” she wailed.
“Never mind,” George told her. “I’ll fetch Dora and she’ll fit you into a gown of hers. You’re the same size!”
“Miss Dora!” Fanny said in dismay. “I can’t ask to wear her dress!”
“I’ll take care of it,” the Viscount promised.
And he did. Within the space of a few minutes she found herself whisked upstairs again in Dora’s company and with the help of one of the other maids being fitted into a fine yellow silk gown.
Dora stood back and studied her. “You do look really splendid, Fanny. We’ll just fix that flaming red hair a little. I feel sure that is what attracted the Prince’s attention. Dark haired girls are no novelty to him, so I’m quite out of the running!”
Fanny was almost in tears as she stood there with the two of them fussing over her. “And I’m quite out of my depth!” she said ruefully. “I shall make a proper fool of myself before all those people!”
“Nonsense!” Dora said as she expertly pinned Fanny’s hair on top of her head, allowing a few stray ringlets to escape in studied artlessness. “George tells me he witnessed your dancing and singing and you were very good. And he says your ambition is to be an actress?”
“Yes,” Fanny admitted. “My father was on the stage.”
“So that is why!” the other girl said with interest. “Otherwise I would discourage it! But if you wish to be an actress you must learn to face all sorts of people. Be glad the Prince is charmed by you! Go down to the ballroom and when your turn comes do George and me proud!”
Fanny managed a forlorn smile. “Well, if you feel that way, miss.”
“I do!” Dora said. “You’ll never look prettier, will she, Peg?”
The little maid said, “You’re ever so lovely, Fanny! No one would know you was just a maid!”
Vintage Love Page 123