Surrender to the Devil

by Lorraine Heath

  “I decided your Scotland Yard friend would liberate him and give him to you anyway, so what was the point?”

  She smiled at that, giving him reason to believe some truth resided in his words, and looked back at the boy, who appeared to be asleep.

  “So who is this Sykes fellow?” Sterling asked quietly.

  Rather than answering him, she murmured, “How old do you think he is?”

  He was not a student of children, but based on the boy’s size—

  “Somewhere in the neighborhood of five.”

  “I put him at eight, possibly nine.” She sounded confident of her answer.

  “He’s too small.”

  “That’s the way Sykes likes them.” She lifted her gaze, and he saw not only profound sadness but fury as well. She was a woman of far-ranging passions and the ability to feel them simultaneously. Knowing of her past, was he a bastard for still wanting her in his bed? Knowing he could never marry her, was he a blackguard for wanting her in his life? “He scours the streets for the smallest of lads, and then works very hard to keep them small. He feeds them only enough so they survive. I suspect this one either came down one of your chimney flues or through a window that is seldom locked because it’s considered too small to allow anyone entry. It’s the very reason Sykes works so very hard to keep them so small.”

  While she spoke, not once did she stop or slow the journey of her fingers through the lad’s hair.

  “He terrorizes them so they do as they’re told. Under his care, they know not the gentle hand of kindness. If they fall ill, they get no comfort, no food, because they’re no longer earning their way.”

  “And he refers to you as a devil?”

  She smiled fully then, and he realized she was pleased that Sykes had gone to the trouble of calling her anything at all.

  “The devil takes on all sorts of shapes,” she said.

  “You’re jabbing sticks at him.”

  “I give his lads a home when I can find them. And yes, I’ve put out word that I provide a safe haven.”

  “He sounds like a rather unpleasant fellow. He can’t appreciate what you’re doing.”

  Determination washing over her features, she angled her chin. “I know what it is to be fearful for your life. I will not cower from what I know is the right thing to do.”

  “Even if it puts your very life at risk?”

  “Don’t be so melodramatic. There are many children. Sykes can always find another.” She gazed down on the child still asleep on her lap. “This one now belongs to me.”

  “You think to reform him?”

  “He’s young enough that his soul is not yet lost. It’s the older ones, the ones who have been in prison who are more difficult to reach.”

  “I’m familiar with the London streets. There are hundreds of children scouring about. You can’t save them all.”

  She gave him a wistful smile. “No, but I can save this one, and for now, that’s enough.”

  And what about you, Frannie? he wanted to ask. Who will save you?

  She gave so much of herself to others. He wanted her to be like him, to put her own pleasures first.

  He gazed out the window just as the coach rounded the curve and went through the gates of the orphanage. The gas lamps lit their way up the cobblestone path. When the coach came to a stop, the boy stirred.

  “I’ll carry him,” Sterling said as the door opened and he stepped out. He reached back in and took the boy, who clung to him instinctively like a little monkey, his arms tightly wound around Sterling’s neck, his legs around his waist. Sterling stood there, astonished to realize that the child weighed almost nothing. He knew he was thin, but this…he couldn’t possibly be as old as Frannie thought.

  “Sterling?” she prodded, indicating the path to the well-lit door.

  “I do hope he doesn’t have fleas or lice,” he muttered as he fell into step beside her.

  “I think you’re quite safe. I didn’t notice any.”

  Withdrawing a key from her pocket, she unlocked and opened the door. Stepping inside, he was taken aback by the change in the place. It had a very homelike feel to it, with plants dotting the floor and paintings on the walls. Lamps burning low were sprinkled throughout. A large man with beefy fists rose up out of a chair as though ascending from the depths of hell.

  “Miss Frannie.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Bates. How are things?”

  “Quiet. Looks like you’re bringing in another one.”

  “Yes, I am.” She turned to Sterling. “Mr. Bates keeps an eye on things at night.”

  Like Cerberus guarding the gates of Hades, Sterling thought, although he suspected that here they were closer to heaven.

  Frannie touched Sterling’s arm. “We’ll put him in a room down here. Tomorrow when we have a chance to clean him up and explain things, we’ll put him in a room with another boy.”

  She guided him along a hallway to a room that contained a bed and a very soft-looking chair. She lit the lamp on the table beside the bed while Sterling carefully laid down the boy who’d sought to steal from him. The irony didn’t escape him.

  Moving back, he watched as she removed the lad’s scruffy shoes which—when his black-soled feet were revealed—were much too large. As though reading Sterling’s thoughts, she reached into a shoe and pulled out crumpled newspaper. She shrugged as though to signify that at least he had shoes.

  She left his clothing in place and brought a blanket over him. Once again she touched the boy’s hair, then leaned down and bussed a quick kiss over his temple. “Sweet dreams.”

  The boy muttered something indecipherable and promptly began to snore.

  With a tilting of her head, she led Sterling back into the corridor. “Whenever I come here at night, I always take a walk through. I’d like it very much if you’d accompany me.”

  As it would prolong his time with her, he nodded. She lifted a lamp from a nearby table and directed him toward the stairs.

  “Do you come here every night?” he asked as he followed her up.

  “Not often. Depends how late I work on Dodger’s books. I’ll usually stay at my apartment there and come here during the day to check up on things, visit with the children”—she glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled—“and look over the books. It seems I’m forever looking over books.”

  They reached the landing and he could see all the doors were open. She walked through the first one. Inside, two boys were sprawled on separate beds. Two small chests were at the foot of each bed, chests which he imagined contained their possessions. Leaning over, she gave first one boy and then the other a kiss. Neither stirred, and Sterling imagined they were accustomed to receiving angel kisses while they slept.

  She went through the same ritual in each room. Eventually, feeling utterly useless, he took the lamp from her so that he could at least contribute in some way. Besides, he was able to direct the light so it shone more on her than the children, giving him a clearer portrait of her. She possessed no pretense. She didn’t put on airs. She truly cared about these children, was seeking to provide them with a better life. Children she’d not given birth to. How much more might she love her own children? Or was her ability to love infinite?

  The number of children astonished him.

  “Where do you find them?” he asked, when she’d delivered her last kiss and they were walking down the stairs.

  “Mostly they find me. While Sykes might call me the very devil, there are others who refer to me as an angel. Word passes along the street that here they will find sanctuary and no harm will come to them. Some don’t trust it. Others are to a point that they feel they have nothing to lose. And of course, Jim knows who has been arrested. He’ll bring children here after they’ve suffered their punishment.”

  Of course. The inspector from Scotland Yard. Sterling had never thought he’d find himself competing with a commoner for the affections of…God help him. A commoner. Not that he found anything about Frannie Darlin
g to be the least bit common.

  Leaving the lamp on an entryway table, he went outside, grateful that she accompanied him. Every moment in her company left him wanting one more.

  “I didn’t notice the little scamp who tried to steal from me at the Great Exhibition. Charley wasn’t it?” he asked.

  She smiled warmly. “Charley Byerly, yes. I managed to find a decent family willing to take him in.”

  “God help them.”

  “He’s not as bad as all that. I managed to find time to visit him just the other day. He’s adjusting quite well actually.”

  “So in addition to everything else you’re doing, you’re striving to find them homes?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re remarkable. May I escort you back to Dodger’s?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “I’m going to stay with Jimmy. He’ll be frightened when he awakens in these strange surroundings.”

  He didn’t want to leave her here, but he knew she’d not appreciate if he insisted that she leave. “Then forgive me an indulgence.”

  Not giving her the opportunity to fully comprehend the meaning of his words, he took her into his arms and lowered his mouth to hers. She released a low moan, but no objection. He kissed her more gently than he had in the library when desperation had clung to him. He wanted more from her than he could have, more than he deserved. She wanted him to desire her, and by God, he did, with a fierceness that was almost terrifying.

  Drawing back, he clamped his hand beneath her chin. “Much remains unresolved between us, but never think for a single moment that I don’t desire you. Sleep well, Frannie.”

  Later, leaning back in his coach, Sterling slipped his thumb into his waistcoat pocket and smiled. His pocket watch was missing. Her taking of it was an invitation, if he’d ever received one. He was looking forward to accepting.

  Sitting in a chair beside the bed with the lamp turned low, Frannie watched as Jimmy slept. Poor lad. She was familiar enough with Sykes to know that Jimmy would worry about retribution if he didn’t return to his mentor. Sykes had been a bully as a lad, a monster as an adult. He cared for no one save himself, and while Frannie had not seen him since she was twelve, she walked the rookeries often enough in her search for orphans to hear stories about him.

  She slipped her hand into her pocket and withdrew Greystone’s watch. She wanted to see him again, and she hoped that by taking his watch she’d sent him the message. A message he would understand.

  He might never realize how deeply it touched her that he’d sent for her instead of a constable. If only she could get others to do the same. If these children never had to experience gaol or prison or any sort of punishment. If only her work could make a difference.

  She wasn’t aware of falling asleep, but she awoke with her neck aching and sunlight filtering into the room. Jimmy was still asleep.

  “Miss Darling?”

  With a smile, she looked to the doorway, where Mrs. Prosser, the headmistress of the orphanage, stood. “Good morning.”

  Mrs. Prosser gave a quick curtsy. Frannie couldn’t convince her that she wasn’t deserving of one. “I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am, but a gentleman is here to see you.”

  She felt her smile grow. Greystone had wasted no time in returning to reclaim his watch. Perhaps he’d join her for a bit of breakfast. But when she stepped into the foyer, it wasn’t Greystone who waited for her, but a small man with a ruddy complexion and a balding pate that was only visible because he’d removed his hat and was squeezing it between his chapped hands.

  “May I help you, sir?” she asked.

  “I’m here to help you, ma’am. I’m a cobbler. His Grace, the Duke of Greystone, has hired me to see that all the lads here have proper fitting shoes.”

  Frannie felt the tears sting her eyes at yet another example of Greystone’s generosity. “He did, did he?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Whenever a lad needs new shoes, you just send word to me and I’ll be by to take measurements. His Grace will pay for all the shoes you need.”

  “That’s very generous of him.”

  “Aye, ma’am. I’ve brought plenty of paper with me. If you’ll line the boys up, I’ll start taking their measurements, so I can get to work back at my shop.”

  After setting some of the staff to work gathering up the boys, she returned to the bedroom where Jimmy had been sleeping to discover he wasn’t there.

  “Mrs. Prosser?”

  Mrs. Prosser hurried into the room. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “The boy who was sleeping here, did you do something with him? Send him for a bath perhaps?”

  “No, ma’am. When I left he was sleeping.”

  Frannie was fairly certain it was futile, but she had everyone search the building and grounds for more than an hour. No one caught sight of a scraggly boy who answered to the name of Jimmy. She felt that she’d not only let Jimmy down, but Greystone as well.

  Chapter 15

  Standing in the darkened alleyway, Sterling reached into his waistcoat pocket for his watch before remembering that its absence was the very reason he was here now. It was habit to take out his watch, flip it open, and look at the time—even though he’d not be able to see its face in the darkness. He’d instructed his driver to park his coach on the street at the end of the alleyway. If Swindler or Dodger was about, he didn’t want either of them to know that he was. There was also the possibility that he’d misread Frannie’s taking of his watch. Perhaps she intended to pawn it in order to acquire the few coins needed to feed the little urchin who’d stolen into his residence.

  Or as he hoped, perhaps it was an invitation. He’d gone into Dodger’s briefly and cornered one of the lads who ran errands. He’d confirmed that Miss Frannie was seeing to the books. With any luck, she’d be finished shortly and Sterling would approach her and invite her to join him for a late-night repast in his residence or a late-night ride in his coach. She’d initiated this encounter and he was content to let her dictate the pace of things. Since Claybourne’s visit, Sterling wasn’t quite sure what he wanted of her any longer. Considering her past, seducing her for his own pleasure seemed inherently wrong. He couldn’t deny that he still wanted her, but he recognized that he wanted her for more than one night. He wanted to undo the harshness of her past, he wanted to introduce her to the sensual pleasures that she should have known all along.

  He could make her his mistress, provide for her orphanage, get her out of Dodger’s. For years. They could find a satisfying happiness. Yes, eventually he would have to marry some lord’s daughter, but he knew many men who had a wife and a mistress. It was the way of things. Of course, there was still the problem of saddling her with a blind man, denying her marriage, which she deserved, and her own children, who deserved her. No, making her his mistress was not the way to go. It was dreadfully selfish, and while he’d always seen to his own pleasures first, where she was concerned, he was more interested in hers.

  The back door opened and she stepped out onto the stoop. After she locked the door, she brought the hood of her cloak up over her head. A strange thing to do when her apartment was so near. It was certainly chilly out tonight, but…

  She hurried down the alleyway, passing by the stairs that led up to her apartment. Where was she going?

  By nature he was not in the habit of sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. But her movements were those of someone not wishing to be discovered. He told himself it was none of his business as he began walking briskly yet quietly in her direction. Coincidence, on his part. His coach was just around the corner, after all.

  Frannie had finished with her books as quickly as possible. She wanted to get to the rookeries while children were still out and about, while men were not completely foxed, while women hadn’t taken their last customer to bed. She’d spent most of the day prowling the area for Jimmy with no luck. But the atmosphere was different at night. Sometimes Feagan also haunted the streets. If she could find him, she was fairly certain she cou
ld persuade him to help her. He knew every nook and cranny. He might be bent with age now, but he was still clever.

  As she drew near the end of the alley, her heart picked up its tempo. She would find a hansom—

  Someone snagged her from behind and hurled her against the brick wall. Before she could react in self-defense, he was pressing his body against hers, pinning her in place, one of his hands gathering up her skirt, lifting it—

  “I’m ’ere to deliver a message from Bob Sykes,” he rasped, his breath rancid from too much drink and rotting teeth. “Leave his boys be.”

  “Let me go,” she demanded, trying to buck him off.

  He jammed his thigh painfully between her legs. “Not until I get payment fer delivering the message. I’ve always wanted a taste of a fancy skirt.”

  He clamped his hand on her jaw, his mouth smothering hers, his other hand touching her—

  No, no, no!

  She was twelve again, fighting, fighting—

  Everything happened in a heartbeat. Struggling against the dark abyss into which she wanted to fall, she pulled out the knife and thrust it—

  He yelled and was gone. She heard a thud, even as the knife hit something hard, and the impact reverberated up her arm.

  A strangled groan sounded.

  Labored breathing echoed around her.

  Fingers dug into her shoulder. In the pale glow of a distant gas lamp, she found herself staring at Greystone, his hand pressed to his side. She could barely make out the inky blackness flowing between his fingers.

  She heard a scrabbling motion and was vaguely aware of the other man running away. “This ain’t over, Frannie Darling,” her attacker called out as he disappeared in the deep shadows and around the corner of the building.

  Releasing the knife, she pressed her hand over Greystone’s. He ground out a strangled curse, and she felt the warm blood oozing between her fingers. So much blood.