by Janet Woods
Celia darted a look towards the loose brick and automatically lied. ‘I didn’t steal anything from anyone. You can tell your gentleman I want nothing to do with him, so I’d be obliged if you left.’
‘You should be careful of this precious little one,’ Bessie murmured, her voice hardening as she placed her down. ‘Now, listen to me, girl. I could have snatched you off the street at any time and forced you into this, but I won’t at the moment, because I liked your ma and I have a kind heart . . . ask any of my girls. This is big money the gentleman is offering, the like of which you’ll never see again.’
One hundred pounds! It was more than tempting. Think of what she could do with it? No, don’t think of it at all. It wouldn’t be a hundred; it would only be fifty if Bessie took half. Bessie would charge for the use of the room, for meals, and for a bath, because the man wouldn’t want her if she were dirty.
Oh, what she’d give to sink into a bath of warm water and soak . . . herself at one end with Lottie soaking in the other end. The offer was tempting for that alone, but it was meant to be. Once Bessie got her clutches on them, nothing of the kind would eventuate. There would be other men, one every half an hour, she’d heard. Lottie would be exposed to danger, for she’d heard there were men . . . but she didn’t want to think about it, and she shuddered. They’d have to do what they were told, or be beaten.
Celia didn’t allow her fright to show, but her instincts were so attuned to the danger Bessie represented, that her heart pounded and she began to perspire. ‘I’ll think it over.’
‘I’ll give you four days, since your gentleman will be out of town for a week. In four days you can come to me and learn what will be expected of you. I’ll teach you how to please a man, before your young man comes back. I shouldn’t be at all surprised if he becomes a regular after. Some men are faithful to one girl, and he looks the type.’
Celia didn’t care what type he was. Dogs were faithful, so were cats . . . as long as you gave them what they wanted. And when it came down to it, Bessie would whittle her share of that one hundred pounds down to a couple of shillings. Celia gave a faint smile. If her virginity was worth all that money to the gentleman, then she might as well cut out Bessie, sell it herself, and keep all of the proceeds. But she wasn’t going to; at least, not yet . . . perhaps one day, if she had no choice.
Bessie’s threats had rattled her though, and Celia knew the woman would follow through with them. She couldn’t stay here any longer. It wasn’t safe.
Before she went to bed she wrote down the story of Bessie’s visit.
The last thing she thought before a fitful sleep claimed her, was that she hadn’t seen Thomas Hambert for a while. She wondered what he’d think of her story.
The next morning she rolled up one of the blankets and tied it across her back. Cutting a hole in the second one – a hole big enough for her head to go through, she placed her valuables in the pocket under her skirt. The card case she’d lifted from the young gentleman was solid gold, and it had several cards in it.
‘Charles Curtis, Hanover Square,’ she whispered. ‘I’ll take it there like I did with Mr Hambert’s watch, since the gentleman is out of town.’ Only she’d knock at the door and tell them she found it. Nobody could prove any different, after all.
She placed her mother’s private box in a sack, which she tied on her shoulders, and slid her precious notebook inside her bodice. Where would she put Lottie? She wouldn’t get far like this. She was too bulky and could hardly move. Lottie couldn’t walk very far and she would slow her down. A handcart was needed.
Celia found a cart in the market place. The lad selling it was the only person there, though he was cold and shivering, as if he’d been there all night and she’d just woken him. He wore a frayed coat that reached his ankles, and a battered top hat on his head. It came down over his ears, and had a portion of the front cut out so he could see where he was going.’
‘How much for the cart?’
He looked hungry. ‘Two shillings.’
It would eat into her precious store of money. ‘I can only manage sixpence.’
The boy nodded. ‘That’s better than nothing. I can buy a feed with it. Are you going somewhere then?’
She wasn’t going to tell him where, but nodded. ‘Just to the country; I won’t know where until I get there.’
Sadly he said, ‘I’ve got nowhere to go, and no family now my old man has been transported. Seven years he got for stealing himself a pair of boots off a corpse. Old ones they were, not worth tuppence. You can have the cart for nothing if you let me come with you. It used to be my pa’s. I’ve travelled the road before and I can help you to find the place you’re going to, if you like.’
Celia considered it. She didn’t really need added responsibility, but he was small and muscular, and looked as though he might be useful. ‘What’s your name?’
He kicked at a cobble with the scuffed toe of his boot, obviously expecting a rebuff. ‘Johnny Archer.’
‘How old are you?’
‘Fifteen.’
‘You don’t look it.’
He shrugged at that. ‘All right, I’m twelve?’
It wouldn’t hurt to take the lad with her, and he might prove to be useful. Having made up her mind, she nodded. ‘Come on then.’
A smile sped across his face. ‘What do I call you, Miss?’
‘Celia . . . and this is my sister, Lottie. I’m taking her to be looked after by my relatives in the country. I promised my ma. I should tell you something . . . there’s a woman after me, who wants me to work for her. I’ve refused . . . but she might send someone after me. I’m hoping to get out of the district before the sun comes up.’
‘We’ll pretend we don’t know each other then. I’ll walk behind you a ways and keep an eye open. If anyone tries to get at you I’ll thump them.’
She tried not to chuckle.
‘You’ll see. My dad used to be a boxer, and he taught me a trick or two,’ he said fiercely.
‘I’m sure he did. Come on then. I planned to be gone by now.’
They went back to the cellar and Celia picked up one of the threadbare blankets she’d intended leaving behind. Doubling it over and fashioning it into a rough cape, she arranged it around Johnny’s shoulders, tying it around his waist. ‘There, that’s better than nothing.’ She laid the other blanket in the bottom of the cart and put the sack in along with Lottie. There was room for the warm blanket, which went over the top of her.
‘You’ll be nice and cosy under that,’ she said to Lottie.
She’d have to leave the sticks of furniture behind, but now had room for the sack which contained her mother’s personal items, one that she’d thought she might have to leave behind. There were other bits, too. A knife, hairbrush and matches. The book Mr Hambert had given her, and the cooking pot.
She left the key in the door when they made their escape, just after dawn. There was a feeling of unease about her when they went rattling over the cobbles because she felt so exposed.
When they passed Saint Paul’s Cathedral without being waylaid by Bessie’s thugs, Johnny caught her up and Celia felt more confident. Then she realized she shouldn’t have worried, since Bessie and her girls kept late hours, and didn’t rise early because of it.
Bedford Square was beginning to stir.
‘My employer is not seeing visitors. He’s recovering from a serious illness,’ Mrs Packer told Celia.
As if to prove her point there came the sound of a hacking cough from somewhere upstairs.
‘Step inside for a moment,’ Mrs Packer bade her, and her eyes went to the blanket that almost enveloped Celia. She sniffed. ‘I wondered where those blankets had gone. He’s far too generous for his own good.’
‘I’ll stay here. I want to keep my eye on Lottie.’ And on Johnny, in case he took it into his head to dump Lottie and run off with the cart.
‘They were his blankets to give, not yours,’ Celia pointed out and handed the woman
a small package. ‘Would you kindly give him this. There’s a letter inside. Tell him I’m going to Dorset to visit my relatives.’
‘And how will you get to Dorset?’
‘We’ll walk. I have a friend with me and he has a cart for Lottie to ride in, so we’ll manage.’
Her eyes went past her to where the cart was and she almost screeched, ‘Walk! Do you know how far it is?’
‘It doesn’t matter how far. We’ll get there eventually. I can’t stay in London any longer; it’s too dangerous now I’ve been marked.’
‘Marked? I don’t understand.’ Mrs Packer peered past her. ‘May I ask where your mother is?’
‘She’s buried in Potter’s Field. Somebody hit her on the head and stole the wages she’d worked all week for by sewing trousers.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry.’ Mrs Packer looked taken aback, and slightly ashamed of herself.
‘And will you thank Mr Hambert for inviting us to tea. My mother enjoyed it immensely. It reminded her of her former life, you see.’ A tear sped down her face and she dashed it away as she said bitterly, ‘At least she had that before she died. It made her happy.’
‘Oh, my dear . . . wait there a minute. I’ve just made some fresh bread.’ She disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a basket packed with food. ‘Here’s some cheese, bread and some ham for the journey. And there is some cake in the basket. I’ve put some money in there too; there should be enough for your train fare. There’s a train at eleven from Waterloo Bridge; you can take that and be in Dorset in three hours.’
‘Won’t Mr Hambert mind?’
‘Gracious, no. The dear man leaves money in an old teapot, just in case someone in need knocks at the door. He’s a nice man, very charitable. He’s taken a real liking to you, and will be sorry to have missed you. I’m sorry, but I can’t let you see him. He’s very feverish and the doctor said strictly no visitors. He could pass the infection on, you see.’
‘Give him my best wishes and tell him I hope he soon recovers. If I ever return to London I’ll come and see him. Thank you for your kindness, Mrs Packer.’
Colour seeped under Mrs Packer’s skin and she thrust an umbrella on top of the basket. ‘Here, take this. It might keep the rain off of your little sister. Safe journey, my dear.’
Their next stop was Hanover Square. There was plenty going on in the square, with vendors setting up their stalls in the middle. And though most people would be at their breakfasts, there were one or two gentlemen going about their business.
She left Johnny guarding the cart, saying, ‘I can trust you, can’t I?’
‘With your bloody life, Miss,’ he growled, looking menacingly round him.
‘Don’t swear in front of Lottie again, unless you want a good clip.’
‘I reckon you would, too.’ He grinned. ‘Sorry . . . I won’t let you down, I promise.’
And Celia, who rarely trusted anyone, believed him. ‘Placing Lottie on her hip she went down some steps to the basement and knocked at a door, her nose twitching at the smell of bacon frying.
The door opened suddenly and a maid of about the same age as herself stared at her, looking flustered. ‘Who are you and what do you want?’
‘I want to see Mr Charles Curtis,’ she said, secure in the knowledge that Bessie had said he’d left town.
‘Hah! Do you now? What for?’
‘That’s between him and me, Miss Nosey. As it happens, I’ve found something of his and I want to return it.’
‘You can leave it on the hall table then. I’ll see that he gets it.’
‘No, I’m not going to do that. Someone told me there was a reward.’ Her mouth watered as the sound of sizzling meat came to her ears. Pots and pans clanged and a kettle lid rattled with the force of the steam. She and Lottie could live happily off just the smell in this kitchen.
‘Ada, shut that door; you’re letting the cold in and the oven’s cooling down,’ someone shouted.
‘There’s a beggar here, Mrs Smithers. She reckons she’s found something that belongs to Mr Curtis.’
‘What is it?’
‘She didn’t say. I reckon she’s just trying to get a foot in the door so she can steal something. ’Ere . . . How did you know where Mr Curtis lived?’
‘His calling card was in it.’
A grey-haired woman appeared, smiling when she saw Lottie. ‘You’re a pretty one.’ She drew them inside. ‘Have you found the master’s card case? He’ll be pleased, and so will his mother, since it was a gift from her for his birthday and she’s been chewing his ear off about its loss. She’ll want to see you, to thank you and reward you personally, you know. Would you hand the case to me?’
Celia couldn’t do anything else but appear willing, though she was loath to part with it. ‘I can’t stay long, my brother is waiting outside for us.’
The woman went off and came back in a few moments. ‘Mrs Curtis will see you now. Leave the child here. Ada will give her some oatmeal and milk. And give the lad in the street a chunk of bread with an egg and some bacon on, Ada, but don’t let him in, since he looks like a bit of a villain to me. Make one for the girl to take away with her, too. The master likes us to be charitable to those less fortunate.’
A few minutes later Celia was being shown into a dining room, where an elegant woman in a grey silk gown was seated at the table. A maid stood by a buffet, waiting to serve her, and a second place was set at the table.
‘What’s your name, girl?’
She thought fast. ‘Lizzie Carter.’
‘I believe you found my son’s card case.’
‘That’s the truth of it, My Lady.’
‘Where exactly did you find it?’
She wasn’t going to tell her that her son was in the slums seeking excitement of the more basic kind, so she picked a more likely spot where a toff might have dropped it. ‘It was on Rotten Row in Hyde Park, on the ground.’ Her sense of drama came alive, along with the tale. ‘I had to dash under the hooves of the horses to rescue it. But when I looked up the man who’d dropped it was gone. That was quite a while ago now.’
‘Why didn’t you bring it to me sooner?’
Celia lowered her voice, and it wasn’t hard to look teary-eyed at the thought she voiced. ‘My mother died, and I had her funeral to see to, and my little sister to look after, My Lady.’
‘I do not have a title. You should address me as Mrs Curtis.’
‘I’m sorry, Mrs Curtis. I was mistaken, because you look and talk like a proper lady to me.’
The woman looked sceptical at first, but then a gracious smile appeared on her face, as though she’d decided to act the part on the strength of the remark. ‘I suppose someone in your position might think so. I imagine you are after some recompense, since you haven’t got much by the looks of you.’
‘A reward would be kind, and most generous.’
‘Do stop trying to put ideas in my head, girl; I didn’t say it would be generous. Nevertheless, it was an expensive case and you need to be rewarded for your honesty. My son will be down in a minute. I’ll leave him to deal with you.’
Her son! ‘But I thought—’
The door opened and the young man she’d filched the case from strolled in. His dark eyes riveted on her and he seemed rooted to the spot for a moment. Far from being self-assured a blush blossomed in his cheeks and he stammered, ‘What are you doing here?’
His mother stared at him. ‘Am I to take it that you know this young woman, Charles?’
‘We’ve never met . . . well, we might’ve done . . . not that I’ve been at the opera lately, but it might have been at the Lord Mayor’s dinner,’ Celia said quickly, giving him time to recover.
‘That’s enough of your cheek, girl,’ the woman said sharply. ‘Charles?’
His elegant nose wrinkled, but there was amusement in his eyes. ‘Really, Mother, does she appear to be the type of young woman I’d enjoy a social relationship with? She looks and smells as though she needs a go
od bath.’
‘I imagine not,’ Mrs Curtis said drily.
He was quick-minded, Celia thought with a grin. She didn’t need a bath since she’d had one two days before in the bucket they kept especially for the purpose. She’d filled the bucket herself from the stand pump in the street, and had washed her hair as well, working up a lather with some lavender soap she’d stolen from a street stall. It smelled lovely, and now and again, when she shook her head, the fragrance of it reached her nostrils.
Mrs Curtis rose. ‘Don’t be so churlish, Charles. This young woman found your card case on Rotten Row and has kindly returned it. Her honesty deserves rewarding, and I hope her example will teach you to be less careless. After you’ve suitably recompensed her, you can get on with your breakfast uninterrupted. Don’t be too long, dear. I’m going upstairs to ready myself to go out and I need you to accompany me.’
When the door closed after his mother he said, ‘Why did you say you found it on Rotten Row, when you know damned well you lifted it from my pocket?’
‘I didn’t think your mother would approve of where you were when your pocket was picked, or what you were doing there.’
He laughed at that. ‘You’ve got the cheek of the devil, girl. Why did you return it at all?’
‘Since I’m leaving London I thought there might be a reward. I don’t need a card case, even a fancy gold one, but I do need money.’
He fumbled in his pocket and came out with a guinea, spinning it in the air. ‘Here, will this do?’
She caught it. ‘Thank you.’
‘Why are you leaving town . . . Where do you intend to go?’
‘It isn’t any of your business. Why should what I do matter to you, anyway?’
He shrugged. ‘I might want to see you again.’
Her hands went to her hips. ‘I don’t want to see you. I’m leaving town because I have no choice. An unnamed gentleman has offered a woman of dubious interests and intent one hundred pounds to procure me for him. Was that you?’
