Keeping Faith
Fair Cyprians of London ~ Book 3
Beverley Oakley
Contents
Author’s Note
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Other Books in the Series
About the Author
Author’s Note
Hello dear reader,
I hope you enjoy Forsaking Hope, the second in my Fair Cyprians of London series set in the 1870s about a group of young women enticed through trickery or genuine desire to work in Madame Chambon’s high class London brothel.
Their stories of love, betrayal, honour and redemption are inspired by the frank interviews given by ‘fallen women’ to nineteenth century journalist Henry Mayhew which he documented in his book London’s Underworld.
Each story ranges in heat level from sensual to sizzling and each is a standalone, with Saving Grace a very short novella and the others full-length novels. Here’s a bit about them.
Many thanks ~ Beverley Oakley
Saving Grace (Book 1)
“This was a short, sweet book with heartfelt emotions and a happily every after.”
“Oh my! This story just makes you fall in love ! It's exciting. It never lags. And what a most satisfying ending!”
“This short story was really a good book. It proves that love conquers all.”
Forsaking Hope (Book 2)
“So very different from most of the historical romance books I've read. Well written with plot twists and hinting but not quite divulging what is the behind cause. Truly enjoyed this book.”
Keeping Faith (Book 3)
Revenge is sweet until it breaks your heart…
Chapter 1
“What did you learn last night?”
“A gentleman must always believe he knows best.”
Confident that her answer was pleasing, Faith reached across the table to help herself to a macaroon, but a sharp slap across the back of the hand stopped her progress by the silver teapot.
Her smile of feigned contrition was rewarded with the briefest of nods from Madame Chambon. Not an invitation to partake of a macaroon though. The table laden with eclairs and petit fours in Madame’s private sitting room was merely for show.
“Greedy girl, Faith! You can eat at the Dorchester tomorrow, and I daresay you won’t even spare a thought for the other girls who are justified in being somewhat jealous of your cosseted life.” Madame sniffed as she patted one of the grizzled orange curls of her elaborate coiffure. Faith suspected a squirrel’s pelt had made its contribution. “I’m sure they wonder every day why you never have to stir yourself, or anyone else for that matter, to get your fine clothes or a roof over your head.” Madame Chambon piled three macaroons onto her already laden plate, before making a sweeping gesture that encompassed the furnishings of her surprisingly decorous private sitting room with its gold-tasselled, green-velvet curtains and flock wallpaper. “What have you told them, Faith? About why you are here, I mean.”
Faith’s stomach rumbled as she gazed from the prints of the famous artists that lined the walls to the fine fare in front of her, ordered from Fortnum and Mason. These monthly sessions in table manners were supposed to give Faith the practise she needed to deport herself like a lady when eating in public, though, under Madame’s guardianship, Faith never actually got to try the specialties.
“Answer me, Faith. In all the three years that you’ve been here, you’ve had to do precisely nothing to justify your existence. Surely the girls have questioned you? I have my own version of the truth for them, as you know, but I’d be interested to hear what you have to say.”
Faith didn’t answer. She already knew how lucky she was, but Madame was not ready to drop the subject, despite having just crammed an entire chocolate éclair into her mouth. Faith just managed to make out the muffled words, “Every night you lie peacefully in your bed while the other girls have to earn their livings.”
Lying peacefully in her bed was not how Faith would describe the restfulness of her slumber. She was kept awake every night by the grunts and cries of ecstasy that penetrated the thin walls of her attic chamber.
Still, she’d finally learned when it was wise to respond meekly, so she bowed her head and stared at her neat kid gloves while dreaming of the delicacies Mrs Gedge would order for them when Faith really was dining with her at the Dorchester Hotel the following afternoon. The Sacher-torte Mrs Gedge had ummed and aahed over before finally choosing the baked Alaska from the sweets trolley last month still haunted her. However, since part of Faith’s tutoring included how to win over reluctant gentlemen ‘and make them wild with wanting’ which is how Madame phrased it, then surely Faith could persuade her American benefactress to order the Austrian chocolate specialty?
She was so busy rehearsing her words for tomorrow that she almost missed Madame’s prophetic and appalling statement.
“Well, Faith, the time has come for you to start earning your way now.”
It seemed the ground fell away from under her as Faith gripped the table edge. For so long, she’d known the reckoning would come. Yes, and with three years preparing for it, she’d believed she could meet it head-on with the necessary fortitude.
But there’d been no warning.
She began to shake, biting into her bottom lip and clasping her hands beneath the table to try and keep secret the manifestations of her terror from Madame, who’d only be spurred into gloating and make her suffer even more.
“Mrs Gedge reported last month that she wasn’t entirely happy you were ready for what she has in store for you when she took you to tea, Faith.” Madame chewed noisily, unperturbed, it seemed, by the crumbs that landed on her gaudy vermillion skirts.
Faith didn’t suggest that Mrs Gedge’s dissatisfaction was perhaps the fault of Faith’s tutor, the one sitting in front of her, who knew nothing about deporting oneself as a lady.
With a dainty gesture using only her forefingers, Madame Chambon raised her plate and licked at the crumbs that had not been dislodged by her fat fingers before saying, “Fortunately, Lady Vernon is recovered at last from her long indisposition and has agreed to forget your rudeness to her from six months ago. In fact, she’ll be here shortly. Yes, she’ll soon have you passing the scrutiny of the most discerning duchess.” Madame gobbled down another macaroon with as much finesse as the dogs Faith’s father used to goad into fighting each other after they’d fought over the scraps from the scrubbed wooden table at the farm. Not that there’d been many scraps with ten children to feed.
“Should we not have waited for Lady Vernon?” Faith suggested, daringly. But she had to say something to stop herself from launching into a volley of querulous questions about exactly what form this ‘having to earn her own way’ might take.
Madame Chambon pushed aside an untouched plate of bread and butter to reach for another chocolate éclair and sighed. “There was just so much food on the table it seemed unnecessary to wait if her ladyship was going to be late. Ah! And
here she is.” Madame’s orange-painted mouth turned up at a knock on the door. “Shoulders back, Faith! And make sure you don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Since this was not a danger, Faith supposed there might be some compensation in having to face her former nemesis, who surely must subscribe to the belief that learning table manners required one having to eat.
Madame threw her arms wide in a welcome as the door opened to admit the new arrival. “Good evening, Lady Vernon. We’re so glad you’ve recovered from your chest ailment,” she gushed. “A good rest has done you the world of good. Why, you look ten years younger. Just as you do every time I see you in fact. And we’re indeed humbled that you’ve consented to return.” Madame simpered at the elderly woman dressed all in black who looked, Faith thought, even more wraith-like than usual as she pinned up the veil of her bonnet and took the seat at the table proffered by Madame, who went on, “I’m sure you’ll feel even better once you’ve heard Faith’s heartfelt apology.”
Faith blushed under the scrutiny of the two pairs of expectant, unforgiving eyes, and glanced longingly at the remaining macaroon.
Yes, there were times when it was worth being abject. She mightn’t mean what she said, but if the last three years under Madame Chambon’s roof had taught her one thing, it was how to sound heartfelt and sincere when she felt anything but.
“I’m sorry for my rude comments about…” Faith hesitated. Perhaps it was best not to stir up old memories. While it must be perfectly obvious to anyone who met Lady Vernon as to why an earl’s daughter could remain a spinster into her sixtieth year, it hadn’t been in anyone’s interest—Faith’s least of all, it turned out—for Faith to have gone into quite such specific and extensive detail regarding her thoughts on the likely reasons. “I behaved like a child, though it’s such a long time ago now, I can barely remember what was going through my head at the time. I was only seventeen and, in those days, prone to losing my temper, but now I’m eighteen and thanks to all your efforts in teaching me how to act like a lady, Lady Vernon, I’m so far from the rude and impulsive young thing I was before, you’d not recognise me today. Thanks to your thorough tutelage, I am determined that I will never speak out of turn to you, or anyone. Indeed, I have changed! I truly believe that confronted by a table of delicacies like this, for example, I would certainly not embarrass you or Mrs Gedge or any lovely young man or his mother who might take me out to tea by any show of greediness or lack of restraint.”
Lady Vernon’s eyes remained fixed firmly on Faith for the duration of this speech with no indication of how forgiving, or otherwise, she might prove to be.
After a long silence, she spoke. “Restraint?” She sniffed. “Restraint is the most important requirement of any young lady, Faith. I’ve told you this many times, so I’m glad it’s a lesson you claim to have finally learned.”
With her eyes fixed on Faith, she reached towards the remaining macaroon that sat lonely on its plate just in front of them both, her long-fingered hand hovering just above. “Please pass that to me, Faith. I can’t seem to reach it.”
Wordlessly, Faith complied, schooling her features into impassivity while she railed inside, I hate you! I hate you! Outwardly, she gave nothing away as she watched Lady Vernon transport the coconut confection to her thin, bloodless lips.
“Delicious,” murmured Lady Vernon. “In fact, I believe it is the best macaroon I have ever tasted. You must surely agree, Faith, since the plate is now empty.”
She looked pointedly at the two remaining crumbs that clung to the edge, as if to imply that Faith had eaten the rest. Then she indicated the plate of bread and butter near Madame Chambon. “Please eat, Faith. Madame Chambon and I have a leisurely afternoon at our disposal. She and I will partake of the remaining chocolate eclairs…” Her pointed chin wobbled slightly, whether from the suppression of mirth, or the swallowing of bile, Faith could only guess, “while you make good work of the bread and butter with all the ladylike restraint you’re so anxious to prove.”
Chapter 2
Faith had learned to suffer in silence and to keep her thoughts to herself, long before she’d been brought to Madame Chambon’s. Madame might have been gloating the day before over her silly little bit of power play but in a few hours Faith would be sitting at a proper grand table laden with even nicer delicacies. Ones she could eat.
Furthermore, she’d be free of Madame’s cloying presence for an afternoon, admired in public by women who would sweep past in fashionable gowns adorned with cascades of bows and swathes of silk and satin who would see that she was every bit their equal.
Faith could barely suppress her excitement as Charity, from the room below hers, pinned up her hair the following afternoon.
“I’ll bring a macaroon home for you, Charity,” Faith promised, sitting as still as she could while Charity arranged a small jewelled comb amongst Faith’s fair curls.
“I doubt your Mrs Gedge would take kindly to that. Wouldn’t she call it stealing?”
Faith took a quick, surprised breath and glanced at Charity. Her best friend at Madame Chambon’s had never before resorted to unkind digs. But perhaps Charity was simply reminding Faith of the very real dangers of taking what Faith honestly believed had been promised; only to have it called stealing. It’s how Faith had found herself deposited at Madame Chambon’s, instead of before a magistrate.
“You will get your macaroon, Charity. And it won’t be stealing. I shall simply be practising what Mrs Gedge has instructed I be taught these past three years.” Faith smiled sweetly. “Deception. Taking what I want without the other party realising they’ve surrendered what they had not intended giving. Inveigling my way into their good offices.” Immediately, she felt overwhelmed by the unknown. “Do you think I’m up to the task, Charity?”
“Lord, Faith, I’m not used to hearing you talk like that, and it’s unnerving.” Charity stepped in front of Faith, her eyes skimming the length of her ensemble, from the demure neckline to the simple and depressingly plain skirt. Faith had expected to be dressed with all the flamboyance exhibited by Charity’s black and scarlet polonaise with its daringly low neckline and whisper of a sleeve. “You always sound like you know exactly how to get what you want.”
“It’s what I pretend. To Madame and the other girls.” Faith squeezed her eyes shut briefly and flicked away a tear. “Well, she might think I’m beholden to her because I have nowhere else to go and because Mrs Gedge pays her to keep me, but I swear to you that there are some things I won’t stoop to, regardless of whether it’s in Mrs Gedge’s grand scheme for me.”
Charity looked at her enquiringly.
It had seemed foolishly naïve to voice this determination in a bawdy house and to a friend who, every night, suffered what Faith was about to declare she’d never do.
“I will never go with a man I do not love. Yes! You might smile, Charity, but I have learning, and I have fine clothes, and I know how to behave like a lady. I’m cleverer than Madame Chambon thinks, and I am not afraid of Mrs Gedge anymore.” Her bosom heaved. Now that she was voicing her most fervently held innermost thoughts, there was no turning back. “No Charity, I swear it! I will not be taken by a man I do not love.”
“Ah Faith, now sit down again and let me repin that errant curl at the back.” Charity’s tone was as light as her hands were on Faith’s shoulders as she resettled Faith upon the stool of her dressing table. “I believe that’s what Anastasia said too, which got the fire up Madame’s backside and all but condemned Anastasia to the very worst next gentleman. You be careful who you say such things to.”
Faith glanced at the keyhole. They’d been foolish words and too loudly declared. What Charity said was true.
“How is Anastasia now?” she asked, biting her lip. “I haven’t seen her for a few days.”
“That’s because she’s not here anymore. Didn’t you know?” Gently, Charity began to massage Faith’s neck. “Once her bruises had faded, Madame said she couldn’t risk Anasta
sia ruining the reputation of a house to which gentlemen came expecting the loving comfort for which Madame Chambon’s is renowned. Now, you look beautiful, Faith. And I’m sure Mrs Gedge will think so too.” She smiled and touched Faith’s cheek, saying with genuine kindness, “And so too will the handsome gentleman Mrs Gedge has lined up for you. Indeed, I believe he’ll be so kind and gallant that you’ll fall instantly in love with him, and he with you, and soon you’ll be galloping into the sunset together to some gilded castle where you’ll enjoy a life of ease and domestic joy for the rest of your days.” She sighed wistfully. “And I will never hear from you again, but I will go peacefully to my grave knowing that at least you found happiness, Faith.”
Chapter 3
“A good thing you know how to balance your appetite for the good things in life without spoiling your pretty figure, Faith.” Mrs Gedge’s American accent seemed more pronounced when she was in fine spirits. She smiled at Faith across the damask-covered dining table, before taking a sip of Rhenish. Her violet ostrich feathers, coloured to match the silk polonaise she wore, reminded Faith of bowing acolytes. Like the other women in the room, she exuded wealth and privilege. Faith felt dowdy in comparison. She’d truly believed Mrs Gedge was going to dress her up to the nines to show off her protégé. “I was a beauty in my day,” Mrs Gedge went on. “I worked hard at it, and I had many marriage offers.”
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