Rags to Romance
By
Killarney Sheffield
DIGITAL ISBNs:
EPUB 9781771453042
MOBI 9781771455886
PDF 9781771455879
Copyright 2015 by Killarney Sheffield
Cover art by Michelle Lee Copyright 2015
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
Chapter One
London, England, April 1st 1858
“I refuse to allow you to go off wandering the seas in order to avoid your responsibilities! Why, I told Lady Hampton you would be around in the next day or so to offer for her daughter.”
Devon, the new Earl of Winton, fixed his stepmother with an irritated stare. “I am not a small child to be ordered about. I am leaving on the evening tide tomorrow.”
She shook her head of silver hair. “It is time you ceased this adolescent wandering and settled down with a nice girl. You could do no better than Miss Alicia Hampton. She is everything a man could want in a wife. Her breeding is impeccable, she comes with an enormous dowry, and she exudes wifely charm—”
The sigh he released was more reminiscent of a groan. “She’s boring, fake and cold as ice,” he finished for her. “I do not want to find a nice girl and settle down. Nice girls bore me.”
“Have you forgotten about your father’s will, God rest his soul?” She clutched her heart as if his father’s passing almost a year ago grieved her sorely.
He rolled his eyes.
“You have only three short weeks to marry and obtain your inheritance, else all will go to that fortune-hunting cousin of yours.”
Devon downed his glass of brandy and set it down with more force than he intended on the table by the settee. “I do not care—I have a little of my own money.”
She paled, eyes widening in horror. “You know full well if the estate passes to your cousin we shall be tossed out on the streets, or forced to live on his meager charity as poor relations!”
He snorted. “There is always the country house I purchased last month. Rest assured we shall not be cast into the streets.”
“That derelict old shack?” She placed the back of her hand against her brow. “Oh, my.”
“I do not believe one could refer to a house and estate the size of Candlewick as a shack.” He turned and made his way to the parlor door. “It is a little run down for sure, but after this next trip to the Orient I shall have enough silk and spices to sell and restore Candlewick to its former glory.”
“Why must you torment me so?” his stepmother moaned.
Shaking his head, he opened the door. “I have some last minute things to take care of. I will see you tomorrow before I set sail.” He left, his stepmother’s howl of despair making the hairs on the back of his neck stand. Good Lord! The woman can be such a drama sometimes….
* * *
“Ya’ good-fer-nothin’ cheat!”
Devon drew his horse to a halt and twisted in the saddle to see what all the commotion was about. A scruffy looking character stumbled from a low class card club and sprawled across the cobblestones.
A portly fellow followed behind, fists balled and face red. “You’ll ply yer tricks ’ere fer the last time, Lester!”
The man referred to as ‘Lester’ scrambled to his feet and the other launched on him. They fell to the ground, rolling around, each trying to get the upper hand on the other as a crowd of onlookers from the club gathered, chanting and egging them on.
Devon spun his horse around and sat watching the display, content to let the lower class settle their own dispute. The smoky light from the establishment spilled into the street allowing him a clear view of the drunken brawl. The two wrestled back and forth issuing vulgar insults and aiming blows where they could. After a few minutes they staggered to their feet, panting and bleeding. Thinking the display was over he turned around to be on his way. He hadn’t gone five paces when a shout rang through the air followed by the crack of a pistol. Wrenching on the reins he pivoted his startled horse back around. Lester lay prone on the cobblestones, blood seeping from a hole in his chest. The portly aggressor stood frozen in horror of his own misdeed. Whistles carried from down the lane, evidence the Bobbies were already on their way.
Dismounting he tossed his reins to an onlooker and knelt to see to the condition of Lester while a couple bystanders subdued the shooter. The prone man’s lips twitched and he bent his head to hear his words.
“Take care … of me baby gurl,” the man slurred.
“What girl?”
The man coughed, blood dribbling from his lips and down his chin before closing his eyes and breathing no more.
The Bobbies arrived and took the shooter into custody. An officer knelt beside Devon. “Did you know this man, my lord?”
Devon shook his head. “No, I did not, but I heard him addressed as Lester and he did mention a girl somewhere.”
The officer nodded. “He has a shanty over on the outskirts of Whitechapel in the hells. Poor child will just have to wait to hear the news of her father’s death. We got a triple murder in Hyde Park tonight that has to be investigated. Looks like a duel gone wrong.”
Devon frowned, the idea of a small child left alone in the dangerous district of the hells alarming him. “If you give me directions I will go collect the child and see someone takes responsibility for her.”
The bobby nodded. “Thank you, my lord. That is most kind of you.” He scribbled an address on a page of his notepad, tore it from the book and handed it to Devon.
Devon glanced at the address on the paper and then stuffed it in his pocket. With a nod he took back the reins to his horse, mounted and rode off in the direction of Whitechapel. As he passed the clock tower he frowned up at the face. Already ten o’clock. Well the pretty little filly waiting at Madame Jolie’s house would wait a little longer. Retrieving one small child and turning her over to a neighbor, or relative would not take long. I hope.
As he turned onto the main road into Whitechapel he was struck by the shabbiness of the lower class district. The odor of raw sewage made him wrinkle his nose in disgust. Here and there drunken men lay in the doorsteps as rats scurried about looking for an easy meal.
A scantily clad woman waved to him from a corner where she posed under the gross display of light from a street lamp. “Evenin’, gov’ner, lookin’ fer a willin’ body t’warm yer bed t’nite?”
He hardly spared her a glance when his horse passed by. “I have a lady already waiting, madam.”
“Pity, bet I could ’ave showed ye a good time, sir.”
Ignoring her, he continued down the street, searching for the right place. With a flick of his wrist he guided his mount onto Mutton Street, straining his eyes to see the numbers painted above each rickety door. Halfway down he found the one he sought, number 17. He pulled his horse up and dismounted in front. A low overhang supported by a weather-ravaged post made a convenient place to tether the animal. After he secured it he stepped to the door and rapped. Minutes ticked by, but no one came to answer it. He knocked again and then tried the knob. It turned easily and swung open with a creak. The room was cloaked in darkness and he groped his way to the darker shape he presumed was a table. His fingers found a tinder box and a candle. He struck the flint to steel and lit the short stub. It flickered to life, casting quivering shadows along the walls. Dirty dishes littered the table and filled a tin wash bin. Two lopsided chairs stood against th
e wall opposite the scarred table and a chamberpot sat near a door in the rear, the stench filling the tiny room.
“I say, is anyone here?”
A scuffling from behind the door caught his attention. He picked up the candle, crossed the shabby room in six strides and tried the knob. Though it twisted beneath his hand the door did not budge. His gaze followed the edge of the door until he spied the bolt securing it at the very top. With effort he pulled back the bolt and eased opened the door, wary of what might be locked within.
Something scrambled away from his entry and he raised the candle to light more of the closet type area. The smell of feces and dirt was overwhelming in the stuffy room. On a straw mat in the corner on the dirt floor hunched a figure huddled under a rumpled blanket. Anger filled him and he clenched his free hand into a tight fist. How could any being keep a child locked in such disgusting squalor?
“I am Lord Devon Dowell. Your father sent me for you.”
The figure scooted back further into the corner.
Devon knelt down in the dirt to reassure the frightened child. “Come here. I will not hurt you. Your father, Lester, did send me to see to you.”
A low wail startled him. “Stay ’way!”
Frowning he set down the candle and held up his hands. “See here, I promise not to hurt you. Come out and we shall see about getting you something to eat and a warm bed for the night with a neighbor.”
Before he could blink, the figure leaped to her feet and darted for the door. He dove for her to prevent the escape, toppling her to the dirt. Shifting his weight as she shrieked and struggled, he pinned her to the dirt and straddled her, securing a pair of bony wrists before reaching for the candle. Holding up the light he peered down at her. Dirt and grime streaked the face of not a child as he expected, but a young woman. Her eyes were wide with terror, her hair matted and greasy. The simple burlap sack she wore tied at the waist with a bit of rope scratching his skin. “Good Lord! You are not the child I expected.”
“Let go!” With another shriek she let a gooey wad of spit fly which struck his cheek and trickled down his jaw.
“See here you noddy wench! Stop that!” He set down the candle and raised his hand in a threatening way ceasing her struggles. Cringing she closed her eyes and whimpered.
“That is better.” He shifted his weight so he could sit up. “Where is Lester’s child?”
She opened her eyes and peered up at him, suspicion lining her face. “I’m she, name’s Finny. What’s it to ya, gov’ner?”
“I was lead to believe Lester had a much younger daughter.”
“Naw, jus’ me.” She glared at him.
“How old are you?”
She shrugged. “Donno’, old ’nuff.”
His eyes wandered down her slim form taking note of the peaks straining against the burlap and the wide hips he straddled. The girl was at the very least marriageable age. If not closing in on spinsterhood. “Why are you locked in this room?”
“Papa does it t’keep me from runnin’ away with the boys.”
Devon grimaced at her insinuation of male-female relations. “It is a punishment for spreading your legs for men then?”
“I’ve not whored with no menfolk. Don’t care what Papa tol’ ye!” She sucked in air as if she was preparing to spit again and he raised his hand.
“Do not spit on me again, wench, or I will be forced to turn you over my knee and spank some manners into you,” Devon threatened.
The girl bit her lip and scowled at him, but wisely held her saliva in check.
“Where is your mother?”
Her lower lip quivered. “Dunno, she done ran away when I was a babe.”
“What about the rest of your family?”
“Ain’t got none.”
With a sigh he eased off her, but made sure he was between her and the open doorway. “You father was shot and killed tonight.”
The woman sat up, her face emotionless. “Bloody bastard, serves ’im right.”
Taken aback by her lack of concern he shook his head. “Do you have anywhere to go, any way to look after yourself?”
She scratched at her head and then scrambled to her feet. “Naw.”
He sighed. “You will get tossed in Newgate if you survive long enough for the law to find you. Unless of course you find an abbess with whom you can earn your keep.”
With a sneer she crossed her arms over her chest. “I tol’ ye I don’t spread me legs for no menfolk.” Her stomach gurgled in the quiet of the room and she bit her lip, shuffling her bare feet.
“Come on, the least I can do is see a hot meal in your belly before I go on my way.” He crossed to the door, glancing over his shoulder to see if she followed. “Well?”
She lifted her chin and glared at him. “I suppose ye want me to share me wares with ye in exchange for a bite t’eat, eh?”
He snorted. “No, I already have a clean bit of muslin waiting for me at a reputable establishment.”
“Yer too good fer me then, eh?”
“Yes.” He held her eye for a moment and then walked out the door. “You had best hurry if you want to ride rather than walk.”
“Wait! I can’t leave me pet.”
Pausing he gave her an inquiring look. “Your what?”
“Me pet, Pa won it in a craps game last month. Said he go’ it from some shop keeper who go’ it from some lord something or other.” She scrambled over to the corner and picked up a dented bird cage. With a proud grin she held it up. A furry gray rodent the size of a large rat with a bushy tail scurried to the bars and peered out.
“What in God’s name is that?”
“Pa said it’s at chilla or somethin’. It’s from far ’way some where’s. It don’t bite and don’t eat much, jus’ a little bite o’ bread or seeds.”
Devon shrugged. “Bring it along if you must then.”
Chapter Two
Devon folded his arms and leaned on the pitted tabletop in the dim little inn watching Finny wolf down a kidney pie and a tankard of apple cider. When she speared the last bite and shoved it into her mouth she gave him a grin.
“Full?”
She nodded, chewed and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Trying not to grimace he handed her his silk handkerchief. “Here.”
Her eyes widened as she took the dainty piece of cloth. After sniffing it she tested its silkiness against her dirty cheek. With a smile she carefully folded it and stuffed it into the makeshift bodice of her burlap sack dress.
He watched as she drained the last of the cider from her tankard and scratched at her head. If he dropped her at the bobby station the way she was, she would definitely end up locked away in the noddy part of Newgate for the rest of her life.
A serving girl paused by his chair to take Finny’s empty plate. “Can I get you anything else, my lord?” She gave a seductive smile and leaned over to be sure he received an unobstructed view of her perky breasts.
Smiling he cast a glance at Finny. “Yes, I would like to rent a room for the night.”
The serving girl’s smile vanished. “Yes, my lord. It’ll cost ye two pence if you want it for the whole night.”
Nodding he fished the coins from his pocket along with an extra pence and placed them on the table. “Here is a little extra, see that a hot bath, a clean dress and undergarments are sent up.”
She scooped up the coins. “Yes my lord. Room number seven is free, top of the stairs, last door on your right.”
Devon stood. “Come on, Finny.”
Finny scowled at him. “I tol’ ye I won’t spread me legs fer any man, even if he’s a fancy lord.”
“I have no intention of lying with you, Finny. I simply rented a room so you might clean yourself up before I take you to the Bobbies. One look at the likes of you and they will think you are noddy and toss you in Newgate.”
With a shiver of distaste she stood, picked up the rodent cage at her feet and followed him upstairs.
Devon opened the door to the appointed room and stepped back to allow her to enter before him.
Finny stepped into the room. “Be damned, I ain’t never seen a room as grand as this, gov’ner.”
He closed the door behind them frowning at her vulgar speech. “Imagine that.”
“Ye makin’ fun of me?” She tossed a scowl over her shoulder at him as she wandered about the room.
It was a simple room by his standards. A lone bed sat against the wall and across from it a small table and two chairs. A dented bathing tub was placed in front of an empty grate beside which sat a bucket of coal. Crossing the room he shoveled a scoop into the fire grate and lit it. Within moments a bright blaze crackled, warming the chilly room. After dusting off his hands he turned the wall mounted gas lamp up. A knock on the door signaled the arrival of the hot water. He opened it to reveal a kitchen lad balancing a yoke across his slim shoulders holding two steaming pails of water. Devon took them and sent the boy back down for some cold to mix with it before he poured it into the round tin bathing tub.
Finny set the cage down on the floor and then perched gingerly on the edge of the bed. With a grin she bounced up and down and then giggled. “I ain’t never slept in a bed before, gov’ner.”
“Then you are in for a treat. Though you will not get much chance to enjoy it I am afraid.” He pulled his fob watch from his pocket and looked at the time. “’Tis already past midnight.”
She shrugged. “I’m in no hurry.”
He put the watch back in the inner pocket of his gold velvet waist coat. “I am afraid I have to be on my way early in the morning. I have a trip to the Orient to prepare for.”
Her startling blue eyes grew round. “Ye got a big ship?”
He nodded and opened the door wider as the kitchen lad returned with two pails of cold water. After the lad poured both pails into the tub he tested it with his finger and then dismissed him.
Rags to Romance Page 1