She smiled and playfully twitched the fold of skin beneath his chin. Lord Fowler-Greene blushed and pinched her again in an effort to disguise his embarrassment. He’d not had excessive experience with women, not even when his wife was alive. And to have his advances met with a friendly welcome was indeed a novel treat.
“Hurry, hurry,” he breathed. “This way.”
Dolly laughed and pleased him with a quickening of her step.
In his haste to reach the door, the lord tripped on the edge of her gown. Dolly quickly reached out a supporting arm and prevented him from falling. She gathered him closely to her, murmuring soft, winsome phrases. Lord Fowler-Greene found himself with his face tightly pressed against Dolly’s soft, yielding breasts. The aroma of Tori’s cologne wafted to his nostrils and set his mind reeling. Oh, give me strength, he prayed fervently, I hope I have the strength.
He regained his footing and opened the door. Glancing into the room, he saw to his pleasure that all was in readiness as he had requested.
Dolly stepped across the threshold and drew in her breath in a silent “oh” of wonder. Her eyes traveled from the giant bed, set on a dais and hung with heavy red velvet draperies, to the accent tables laden with fresh-cut roses. The rug beneath her feet was thick and soft and the candle glow illuminated the gold leaf pattern on the red damask wall covering. Everywhere she looked there was another bowl of fresh-cut roses. Where such flowers could be found in the late fall of the year staggered her imagination.
Lord Fowler-Greene stepped lightly over to Dolly and helped her to remove her white, ermine-lined cloak.
Dolly bent her head to facilitate its removal and Lord Fowler-Greene succumbed to the urge to plant a kiss on the nape of her neck. Dolly leaned back and pressed against him and he held her for a moment. Turning slowly, she allowed him to embrace her and feel the warmth of her body. Dolly smiled secretly when he whispered in her ear, “I promise to go slowly, my dear, but you’re so lovely . . . forgive me.” He pressed his mouth to hers and she took the initiative. Slowly her lips parted, allowing him to search out the warm, moist recesses of her mouth.
Dolly remembered who she was supposed to be, and fearing to give over the game, drew back from him, a shocked expression on her face.
“Now, now, darling, I see I have much to teach you. ’Tis perfectly normal, a natural thing. Don’t be frightened. ’Tis only because I love you so much.” He panted as he pushed her toward the bed.
They fell together, the lord on top of her, squeezing the breath from her body with his immense weight. Oh, Dolly thought to herself, this’ll never do.
“Milord,” she gasped. “I’m only a small girl, forgive me.” She pushed him from her onto the mattress. Extricating herself, she slid from the bed and whispered, “One little moment, milord,” carefully trying to hide her cockney accent.
Slowly and deliberately, she unfastened her gown and let it fall to the floor. Gracefully, she stepped out from its wide skirt and removed her slippers, all the while looking into the mesmerized eyes of Lord Fowler-Greene.
Free of the encumbrance of her gown, Dolly hopped onto the bed beside him, cooing soft words of endearment. Sportingly, she began to undress him. First the buttons on his waistcoat, then his cravat. Lord Fowler-Greene allowed her to undress him, helping her with subtle movements, much like a child being aided by its nursemaid.
When at last all restricting garments were removed, Dolly sweetly told him he would have no need for his jewelry as she was afraid he would inadvertently scratch her. She removed his heavy rings, testing their size on her slim fingers and weighing their bulk before plunking them down on the bedside table. Lord Fowler-Greene reached out his arms and pulled her toward him, and she deftly escaped his embrace.
She stood up quickly, looking down at the wide neck of Lord Fowler-Greene’s blouse that revealed his white, hairless belly. The sight of it reminded her of the mackerels she used to split when she worked at the fish market, and she almost hesitated, thinking, A girl does ’ave ’er standards. Then her eyes traveled to the bedside table on which rested his huge, jeweled rings and a new determination was wrought in her.
Before she could change her mind, she began to undo the laces of her camisole. Lord Fowler-Greene watched her, lust dancing in his eyes. A primeval bellow rose in his throat as he divested himself of his few remaining garments.
Dolly watched him through slitted eyes as she busied herself with ribbons and laces in an effort to free herself of her many petticoats.
Lord Fowler-Greene settled back against the velvet throw and dazedly watched the tableau she presented. The whiteness of her body stood out in relief against the deep reds of the room. The flickering candles threw lacy, dappled patterns on her lissome form. As she raised her hands to free her long flaxen hair of its pins, her uplifted arms displayed the clean, flowing lines of her breasts.
Lord Fowler-Greene’s breath caught in his throat as she turned to him and stretched her arms out, reaching for him.
* * *
Lord Fowler-Greene lay next to Dolly, a quizzical expression in his eyes. Sensing his gaze upon her, Dolly lifted her lids and smiled at him. “Who are you?” he asked bluntly. “Surely you’re not Victoria.”
“Wha’ makes ye think not, milord?”
“Victoria Rawlings has the eyes of a cat. Yours, child, are a willow gray. I ask you again, who are you?”
“When did ye first perceive th’ difference, milord?” Dolly asked haltingly, fear in her eyes.
“Oh, no, be not afraid, child. I wouldn’t hurt you. I love you,” he said simply.
“Ye do?”
“Yes,” he breathed. “I know goodness when I see it. But tell me, how did you come to be in this marriage bed? Where is Miss Rawlings?”
Hesitatingly, Dolly told him of the deception.
“That old fox Lord Rawlings is behind all this. He sought to embarrass me and still keep the purse, a double purse! I can see him now, laughing at me. And what recourse would I have? If I create a stir he puts me in the position of being the laughingstock of London. This way, he thinks to keep his daughter and my money besides.” Anger welled up in him as he thought of the trick played. His impulse was to thrash Dolly and send her packing. His gaze lingered on her as she lay on his bed, her face pinched in concentration to read his intentions, her eyes tear-filled. The coverlet had slipped from her and disclosed a shapely thigh. Something instinctive tore through his chest and engulfed him. He opened his arms for her and she came to him, pressing herself against him. He held her gently, smoothing the silky skin of her back. Love flooded through him, a sensation he had never known. He could do worse, much worse. As he held her he murmured against her hair, “Methinks, dear child, I made the better of the bargain.”
Dolly pressed closer, reaching out behind the lord to the bedside table. Picking up one of the heavy jewels she had so carelessly placed there, she buried her face in her husband’s shoulder, smiling wickedly.
* * *
Tori trudged wearily into town and headed directly for the Rooster’s Crown, stopping from time to time to remove pebbles from her shoes. She looked gloomily at her road-torn slippers and wondered how long they would last.
Quietly, she opened the door of the rooming house and started down the dark passageway. Dolly had said the fifth door. Cautiously, she opened it and peered inside. She gasped. This was where she was to stay? A small, narrow and lumpy cot was to be her bed. There was a crooked chest that served as a wardrobe, with a cracked mirror hanging above it. As if drawn by magic, Tori looked around for other comforts. There were none. Not even a rag rug. The only consolation was that there seemed to be no bugs, and sparsely furnished as the tiny room was, it was clean.
Tori opened the chest. There wasn’t much, another tattered gown such as she had on, a frayed petticoat, and a pair of woolen stockings. There was a chill in the room and Tori wrapped her arms around herself as she closed the lid. Looking at the cot and the two skimpy blankets, she muttered alo
ud, “I’ll freeze!” Tori looked around again and bent over to peer under the bed. The ermine-lined cloak! Where was it? That’s what the little slut was carrying in the package; she hadn’t even left the cloak! Tori grimaced. Dolly had a brain, she did. She didn’t leave anything to chance. A girl after her own heart. Tori suddenly giggled, flinging herself down onto the cot to rest her aching feet from the long, unaccustomed walk.
Huddled there, Tori looked up as the door opened.
“Oi though’ Oi would foind ye ’ere lazin’ ’roun’. Get up, me girl an’ ‘and over th’ ren’. Oi waited too long as ’tis. No ‘one more day’! Cough it up, me girl!”
“Wha’ . . . what?”
“Th’ ren’!” the blowsy woman yelled. “Where izzit?”
Panic gripped Tori, “I . . . I don’t have it,” she whimpered.
“Oi though’ as much. Well, ye won’ get it lazing ’roun’ ’ere. Get yer backside over ta th’ inn an’ clean an’ scrub. An’ tell Jake ta pay ye yer wages t’night an’ ye best brin’ th’ coppers straigh’ ta me. Otherwise,” she added ominously, “ye’ll be spendin’ yer winter in Newgate!”
“Newgate? You can’t mean that!” Tori said vociferously.
“Oh, an’ don’ Oi? Do ye think ye can stay ’ere an’ no’ pay me rent? Oi wan’ wha’s me due, do ye ’ear? An’ th’ way Oi sees, a month’s lodgin’s ye owe me!” The slattern moved closer, threateningly. Tori could see the cruel lines in her face and smell the rank odor of spilled ale and decayed teeth.
“But I can’t go to work at the inn. I’m waiting . . . I’m waiting. Besides, I . . . I don’t feel well. But I’ll get it for you as soon as I’m better.”
“Wha’s all this ’orse dung, when ye’re better? Didn’ Oi see a gen’leman cum in ’ere las’ eve? An do ye ’spec’ me ta believe ’e didn’ leave ye naught? Hah!” she shouted raucously. “Do ye now?”
Tori bristled at the onslaught against her character and then she remembered it was Dolly the landlady was speaking of. She also remembered Dolly’s cockney accent. “Well ’e didn’ leave me anythin’! An’ when Oi’m better Oi’ll ’ave th’ money fer ye!”
The fat slattern moved closer for a better look at Tori. Picking up the candle from the rickety table, she lit it with a flint. Holding the candle higher, she peered through nearsighted eyes, squinting at the girl. Fear gripped Tori’s innards and she involuntarily drew back on the cot. Undoubtedly, the landlady knew Dolly quite well, and Tori wasn’t at all sure that the difference between the two girls’ appearance would go unnoticed if one were looking for it. Tori averted her eyes, allowing the landlady to think the candleglow was irritating to them.
“Aye! Ye do look a little peaked at tha’, Dolly. Oi can’ place me finger on it but ye do look feverish. Poor lass . . .” Just as Tori was sure she was gaining the slattern’s sympathy, a look of horror came into the watery, brown eyes of the landlady. “Look ’ere, ye’ve no’ gone an’ gotten yersel’ ridden wi’ plague, ’ave ye?”
At the mere mention of the word, the woman withdrew a few steps. If there was anything she feared more than the pox, it was the plague. Almost indiscernibly, she wiped her hand on her filthy apron, and then remembering the candle in her hand, dropped it back onto the table as though it had suddenly become too hot for her to touch. She spit on her hands and rubbed them again.
“Now look ’ere! Oi’ll no’ ’ave yer sickness in me ’ouse, Oi’ll no’! Oi runs a decent ’ouse ’ere an’ Oi’ll no’ ’ave th’ loikes o’ ye callin’ in th’ ’ealth authorities an’ closin’ me down. Now out wi’ it! Do ye ’ave th’ plague? Wha’s wrong wi’ ye?”
Tori immediately saw she had the edge so far as the landlady was concerned. “No, Oi don’ ’ave th’ plague. Oi’m simply no’ mesel’ t’day. Mayhaps Oi’ll be feelin’ mesel’ by mornin’.” And Granger had better get himself here by that time, she thought sourly. I’ll not have his tales of drinking to excess at my wedding.
“’Ere, wha’s th’ meanin’ o’ usin’ tha’ uppity talk wi’ me? ’Mayhaps Oi’ll be mesel’ in th’ mornin’,” the landlady mimicked. Then she shouted, “’Ave some respec’ ta who yer talkin’ ta, miss, or Oi’ll ’ave ye thrown out on yer ear. this minute!”
Tori bristled, about to rebuke the slattern. Then suddenly, she took another tack. “Why, missus, ye talk so much o’ th’ plague mayhaps yer th’ one ’avin’ th’ vision, ye know, a ’eavenly warnin’. Oi should be careful or ’twill be yersel’.” Tori allowed a veil of horror to slowly descend over her face and then she feigned an enlightened expression. “Why, missus, Oi ’ear tha’ a weakness o’ th’ eyes is one o’ th’ first warnin’s an’ then an achin’ o’ th’ ’ead an’ then a shortness o’ temper. An’ lastly, th’ wretched black spots tha’ mark its victims. ’Ow ’ave ye been feelin’ lately? Oi mus’ say ye don’ seem ta be yer usual composed sel’.”
A dawning of understanding fell over the puffed and gray face of the landlady. Tori thought the small, oblique, brown eyes would pop from her head. A heavy, hamlike paw was clutched to her thick neck as Tori continued her charade. “Also, they tell o’ a dryness o’ th’ mouth among other thin’s.”
“An’ ’ow do ye know so much abou’ th’ plague?” the proprietress said in a raspy voice. She was clearly stunned by the similarity of symptoms.
“Why, missus, at one toime Oi worked in th’ ’ouse o’ a family doctor,” Tori lied, “an’ along wi’ learnin’ th’ symptoms o’ th’ plauge Oi also learned somethin’ o’ th’ cures.”
“Hah! There be no cure fer th’ plauge!”
“Oh, but there is, if catched ear’y.”
“Please, be a good child an’ tell me wha’ ye know o’ th’ cure. Fer Oi’ll tell ye a secret, Oi’ve got a friend whose ’ealth concerns me. She’s no’ been ’ersel’ o’ late an’ Oi’m dearly worried fer ’er.”
Tori stifled a grin at the landlady’s try at deception. “Well, a good strong, ’ot posset made from barley an’ goose fat always wuz th’ doctor’s favorite remedy, an’ lots o’ rest. Why, ’e would make ’is patients lie abed fer weeks! ’E believed contact wi’ other people at a toime when th’ ebb o’ life wuz so low would worsen th’ disease an’ mayhaps catch other sickness.”
“Oh, yes. Oi can see where ’e could well believe tha’,” the landlady said in a weak voice as she retreated another three steps away from Tori. “Well, it’ll never be said th’ Mrs. Coombs wuz a fool an’ never took good advice when it wuz ’anded ta ’er. Oi’ll jus’ go tell me friend ta lie down. ’Ow long did th’ doctor say ta rest? ’Ow much goose grease should be in th’ posset?”
Tori breathed a sigh of relief as the slattern backed out of the room and hurried down the hall to her own quarters. Worrying about her own health would keep Mrs. Coombs busy enough to let Tori stay here until Granger would come and get her.
Then the reality of the situation hit her. Oh, why hadn’t Dolly told her the rent was due? And food! Where was she to get food?
* * *
Tori slept that night fitfully, fighting the cold and hunger that tormented her. There she sat all the next day, dreading the return of Mrs. Coombs and anxiously awaiting the arrival of Granger. Her night was spent the same as the one before, and added to her tortures was the smell of food cooking, wafting from somewhere down the alley and seeping through the crack in the window. Tori expostulated with every oath she knew and cursed Granger with a vengeance. Worse than the hunger and the cold was the anxiety over what could have happened to keep him from coming for her. Lastly, she berated herself for not having had the forethought to bring a little money.
All sorts of situations crept into her unwilling mind in the long hours she spent in the draughty room. Was Dolly discovered? Did Lord Fowler-Greene kill her? Was Granger a victim of some unforeseen accident? No imagining was too wild, no prediction too dire. In her cold and weakened state every horror played itself to the fullest, until Tori was a shaking heap among the few rags which covered her cot of d
espair.
Finally, Tori could stand the hunger no longer. She had to come to grips with her condition. “Oi think, me girl,” she scolded herself, imitating Mrs. Coombs, “ye’ll ’ave ta work fer yer keep!” Tori’s stomach commenced to rumble at the thought of food. Then remembering the greasy slop that was served at the inn, she shivered.
What had started out as a happy lark, had turned into something dark and gloomy, not to mention possibly disastrous. “Why, I could starve or worse yet, freeze to death. What am I going to do?” she wailed to the small, mean-looking room.
Full of self-pity, Tori let her mind wander to the wedding reception with its copious food and drink. Her thoughts kept going to the ermine-lined cloak. Blast the girl! Dolly was probably right this minute stuffing her mouth full of meat and sweets and was comfortable and warm. Then she thought of Lord Fowler-Greene and shuddered again. “Never!” she shouted. Well, she would have to move her backside as the landlady said, and get over to the Owl’s Eye Inn. Even if she had to work all day, she would make enough to satisfy her hunger.
Her face a mirror of dejection, Tori trekked around the building to the servants’ entrance of the Owl’s Eye Inn. Hesitantly, she opened the door and entered. She was rewarded with a smart cuff to the side of her head. Stunned, Tori blinked back the tears.
“Ye be late, Dolly. Oi’ don’ plan ta warn ye again. Oi’ll be dockin’ ye a copper this nigh’. If it ’appens again, Oi’ll be gettin’ rid o’ ye. There be others tha’ wan’ me generosity.”
“Generosity?” Tori squealed; then she remembered her place. Lowering her furious eyes, she nodded meekly.
“Well, don’ stand there. Get ta work! Sweep an’ mop these floors, then take out th’ slop an’ get ta th’ kitchen. Today’ll be busy. There be a weddin’ over ta’ th’ Jocelyns’. Some o’ th’ guests will be stoppin’ fer some ale. Now git a move on afore Oi cuff ye again.”
Tori scuttled away to the far corner of the room where she spied a broom. She held it clumsily, never having used one before. Still, she had seen the servants wield one and it looked easy enough. Gingerly she moved it back and forth across the floor. The dirt slithered here and yon.
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