by Jenny Brown
“Then here’s my offer,” Her Ladyship explained. “It has long been a dream of mine to found a Refuge for Unfortunate Females, and at last I find myself in a position to do so. I should like to invite the three of you to become my very first guests. I can offer you room and board, and some help in improving your prospects.”
“Will we have to pray all the time?” asked Clary, who’d seen more than her fair share of the insides of various charitable enterprises.
“None unless you wish to. My refuge is different from anything ever before attempted. It’s run on strict astrological principles.”
“Is astrology your religion?” Temperance asked.
“Not at all. It’s merely a tool, a very helpful one. I hope to use it to help you.”
“Help us do what?”
“Determine what you want from life and attain it.”
Clary piped up, “I want to marry a duke and wear diamonds and jewels every day, even at breakfast.”
Becky said, “I want to live in the country and have a whole stable full of horses.”
“That’s what you think you want,” Lady Hartwood said primly. “But once I see your horoscope, I’ll be able to see what would truly make you happy.”
Temperance interrupted. “What if our horoscopes tell you we’re evil and can find happiness only in sin?”
Lady Hartwood’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ve never yet seen such a horoscope.”
Temperance shrugged. “There’s always a first time.”
But she’d wasted enough time jabbering. She wanted no part of Her Ladyship’s refuge, whatever its principles. “We need no reforming. Come along girls. We don’t have time to stand here jawing any longer.”
“Come on where?” Clary protested. “Her Ladyship’s offering us a place. It’s got to be better than Mother Bristwick’s.”
“It couldn’t be worse,” Becky said. “Really, Tem, where’s the harm in it? Food and heat, and Her Ladyship will even read us our fortunes. I say we do it.”
So much for their dreams of finding liberty! It was disgusting to see how easily her gang could be bought off.
Lady Bountiful smiled and opened the door of the carriage. “Climb in then, girls. There’s room for all.”
The younger girls scrambled in, leaving Temperance with no choice but to follow. She’d have to stick with them to keep them safe from whatever it was Her Ladyship really intended. She clambered in after Clary, regretting for once the efforts she’d made to keep her clothing clean. It would have been so gratifying had her gown been dirty enough to soil Her Ladyship’s pristine upholstery.
Once they were settled in the carriage, the benefactor called out to Jemmy to fetch the sacks in which their few belongings had been collected, and when they were safely stowed in the boot, they set off. As they did, Her Ladyship smiled that annoying smile of hers again, and, speaking softly, as if to herself, she murmured, “I knew it would be a perfect morning for a carriage ride. It’s always so when the Moon opposes Mercury.”
Chapter 4
When his head had finally stopped pounding, Trev went to call on Major Stanley. As he lifted the knocker at the New Street lodging, he steeled himself for the ribbing he knew the older man would administer when he learned of the sorry outcome of his encounter with the beautiful pickpocket. But Stanley was his friend, and it was worth putting up with any amount of ribbing to keep so valuable a friendship.
In the event, when he had issued his report, the major was gentle with him. “That’s the nature of the hunt, my boy. It’s a fair fight, and the prey may get away. I must admit, I envied you.”
“Ah, but you had the solace of Mother Bristwick’s incomparables.”
His friend gave a happy half smile. “I did indeed. But at a cost, my boy. At a cost. Unless I get lucky at the tables, it will be a lonely bachelor existence for me until payday. Of course”—his friend’s voice rose—“there’s always the masquerade.”
“Surely you don’t incline toward fancy dress.”
“Ah, but it is not the dress that draws me there but the prospect of undress. The women you’ll find there, Trev.” Stanley sketched an hourglass figure in the air with his hands. “Trollops on the make rubbing elbows with young gentlewomen married to rich old men, all of them bent on finding illicit connections. If you can’t find a woman to suit you there, there’s no hope for you. It’s a Bartholomew fair wherein are displayed our fairest temptresses.”
“How can you judge if they’re fair or not when their faces are obscured by masks?”
“It isn’t their faces you go there for.” The major laughed. “Their bodies are displayed clear enough, and best of all, if you play your cards right, you won’t have to pay for your pleasure. Did I tell you about that Italian woman I met at that masquerade in Calcutta?” He launched into a long and scurrilous tale Trev had indeed heard—several times. But he allowed his friend to tell it again as it gave the major pleasure to do so. And because his words had given him an intoxicating idea.
The girls had meat for their dinner, tender lamb chops, fresh from the butcher, and meat for their breakfast, too. The fat dripped down their chins as they stuffed themselves to the point of bursting, eating as fast as they could lest the food be snatched from them. Temperance would have preferred not to give Her Ladyship this evidence of how welcome her succor had been, but she couldn’t stop herself. The pleasure of filling her belly was irresistible.
Besides, it was only prudent to take advantage of this windfall. She’d be back on the street as soon as she figured out Her Ladyship’s dodge, and after that it would be a long time until she’d see this kind of fare again. Regret shot through her at that thought, swiftly followed by shame.
The poor lived on weevily bread and rancid sausage all their lives. Only the rich ate fat, streaky bacon like this. Eating poor victuals was part of the price she’d been willing to pay for her freedom, and she’d pay it again. But for now, she had no choice but to abandon herself to decadence. She wolfed down her portion, and when a maid quietly refilled her plate, she gobbled that serving up, too.
After the servants had whisked away their dirty dishes, the girls were put into the custody of Matron, a middle-aged woman with a kindly, but far from stupid, face, who arrived with a retinue of footmen bearing steaming vats of hot water. She combed the nits out of their hair and made them scrub themselves until they were pink and burning. As she soaped herself with an extravagant cake of scented soap, Temperance fought against enjoying it too much. She’d be of no use to the poor if she fell back into the blind self-indulgence of the wealthy, from which Randall had rescued her.
Then Matron gave each of the girls not one, but two serviceable new gowns. Clary and Becky were barely able to control themselves as they modeled their new finery to each other, squealing like piglets fresh from nursing. But this gift left Temperance unmoved. She’d found little happiness when she’d been dressed like a doll in the rich gowns her father had given her, for he hadn’t been able to see who she really was beneath the costly fabrics.
But she accepted them anyway, knowing they would give her something to pawn that would pay for the Weaver’s protection, as soon as she managed to get the girls out of here. If she could do it. Their dedication to the cause of liberty had never been as strong as hers, and when Matron left the girls to their own devices in a pretty parlor furnished with the latest novels and beautifully bound folio albums of prints, it struck her that it might be more difficult than she had thought to set them back on the path she’d chosen for them.
Late that afternoon, their benefactress arrived to check on their progress. No sooner had she settled herself than Temperance cut through the pleasantries with which she greeted them, and demanded, as rudely as possible, “So, what are your rules?”
There were always rules. And whatever they were, she would break them.
“Rules?” Lady Hartwood repeated, cocking her head like a little bird and resting her chin on her hands, looking for all the world as if
she had not hitherto considered such a topic. “Why, just the obvious. While you are under my protection, you must live within the law. There are those who would like to see the Refuge fail. If you behave like criminals, you’ll give them the pretext they need to shut it down.”
It was heartening to learn that the fledgling Refuge had its enemies.
“No stealing and no drunkenness,” Her Ladyship continued. “And I must ask you, also, not to entertain men within the walls of the Refuge. Such behavior is too easily misinterpreted. Beyond that, though, your private lives are your own affair.”
This was too easy. There had to be more. But at least Temperance knew now what she had to do to get herself kicked out.
After that, Lady Hartwood extracted from each of the girls the details of her birth, scribbling the information in a small notebook, and took her leave.
A few hours later, Lady Hartwood had called Becky into her office for a long confabulation. Temperance wondered if she’d pumped her friend for information about the rest of them. But whatever she’d said, it made Becky surprisingly reluctant to meet her eye, and as the day unfolded, a troubled look had flitted over the girl’s thin features more than once. She must keep a close eye on Becky to make sure Lady Hartwood’s meddling didn’t make her situation even worse than it already was.
The next day, Clary had been the recipient of Her Ladyship’s counsel. She, too, emerged from the chamber where Her Ladyship held court in a somber mood. Perhaps she really had expected to marry a duke. She wasn’t terribly bright. All Temperance could get out of her was that Her Ladyship had promised her instruction in playing upon the pianoforte, which seemed an odd way to prepare the girl for her future.
It was only on the third day of their residence at the Refuge that Lady Hartwood finally summoned Temperance into her office. By now, their benefactress had been given ample opportunity to learn all she needed to know about Temperance’s character, both from direct observation and from questioning the other girls when she’d got them alone to tell their fortunes. So, as she entered her benefactress’s office, Temperance prepared to enjoy an entertaining session. The birth date she had given Her Ladyship was accurate—it just wasn’t her own. She couldn’t wait to hear Her Ladyship reveal herself to be a fraud.
She found Lady Hartwood seated in front of a small desk heaped with papers, books, and a tall pile of leaflets that proved on closer inspection to be almanacs of the kind used by farmers to choose the best time for planting. Some of her papers contained large circle divided into sections filled with numbers and symbols. These must be her horoscopes. They looked quite convincing, but it must be a hum. How could anyone know about another person’s character from nothing more than the hour of their birth?
She settled down for an entertaining session. Her Ladyship would soon find she had met her match.
But no sooner had she taken a seat than Lady Hartwood said, “Yours is an interesting nativity, but it puzzles me. For according to everything I’ve learned of the astrologer’s art, the person it describes should have died when she was three, and you are most definitely alive.” She favored Temperance with a steadfast gaze.
Temperance gasped. Could this woman really have found that out from a birth date?
“I’m not a fool, Temperance.” Lady Hartwood’s usually mild look had been replaced by one of great sternness. “Whose birth information did you give me, here?”
“My older sister’s.”
“And is she dead?”
She nodded. She’d died at three, a stainless angel against whose perfections her father had always compared Temperance’s more sinful nature.
Lady Hartwood put down the horoscope she had been holding. “You were testing me, weren’t you?”
Temperance bit her lip but said nothing.
“The whole pattern of your behavior suggests you must have been born when the Sun was in Scorpio, for those born under Scorpio’s influence are the most secretive of all the signs. They see every human interaction in terms of exerting power and resist giving away anything that might give another person power over them. They can’t help it. That is their nature, and it is exactly the way they are supposed to be, but it does make it exceedingly difficult to help them.” She put down the chart. “Were you, in fact, born in late October or November?”
Temperance felt a chill as the small woman fixed her with a gaze of unexpected intensity.
She was a Scorpio, and it was true she had no desire to have people know any more about her than they had to. But if Lady Hartwood really could read a person’s character from her charts, after one glance at Temperance’s real one, she’d know that lying was the least of the sins she was capable of. She considered giving her more false information, but why bother? Besides, when it was possible, she much preferred to tell the truth.
“I was born on the six and twentieth day of October in the year ’02,” she said. “At two in the afternoon. So now you can use that to get power over me, good luck to you. ”
“I have no wish to do so. My Sagittarian nature delights in instructing others, not controlling them.”
“Well, you’ve certainly instructed my friends to where they barely give me the time of day.”
“I see,” Lady Hartwood said. “What you perceive as their disloyalty must disturb you, for loyalty is what Scorpios value most. But your friends can be loyal to you without giving up the power of deciding their own futures.”
“They would have been happy enough in America if I could only have found us the means to get there.”
“Then perhaps they might be happy there still. But it would be best, even in America, if they might learn how to maintain themselves without breaking the law. Could you offer them that?”
Temperance did not deign to respond.
“And it would help you to do the same.” Her Ladyship put down her pen. “You have a decision to make, Temperance. There’s no point in your staying here at the Refuge if you won’t take advantage of the help we offer. There are too many other girls who might benefit if they had your place. I will let you stay here a few more days while you make up your mind. But after that, unless you are willing to give me a chance to help you, as much as I might regret it, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
Now that it was only a matter of days until Lady Hartwood turfed her out, Temperance had no alternative but to head back to the old neighborhood to find some way to maintain herself when she was back on her own. She’d forgotten how quickly the smells changed as you left behind the cool white mansions of the rich. Had there always been so many dead cats in the gutters? Had the stench of rotting cabbage always been so strong? She fought against the nausea that rose in response to the filth, thoroughly disgusted with herself.
She’d been away for only three short days, and already she was turning back into a spoiled miss. If she didn’t watch it, she’d end up as soft as she’d been when she’d first come to London. How Randall had laughed at her ladylike airs and her almost insurmountable horror of dirt. Well, she’d soon have a chance to toughen up. She’d be back on these streets soon enough.
She made a beeline for Danny the sweeper, whom she found at the corner he’d made his own. She’d saved him a big chunk of meat and some thick rolls from the rich meals served at the Refuge. Even when surrounded by so much indulgence, she hadn’t forgotten who her true friends were. After she handed him the food, she asked him what he’d heard. Was the watch looking for her? Had the shoemaker lodged a complaint?
“Not that I’ve heard,” he said, leaning on his broom. “Though I did hear tell Mother B was fuming when she heard you’d found another protector. She thought for sure that when they tore down the snug, you’d have to go in with her. But I knew all along, you were too fly for that.”
“Damn right.”
“But there is a gentleman as is looking for you, Tem.”
She froze. “What’s he look like?” Was he a tall man dressed in cavalryman’s blue, with a scar above his lip—that scar she
kept seeing in her dreams?
“He was a short cove with ginger hair. Didn’t give no name or nuth’n. Might have been a gentleman’s servant. Hard to say.”
Not him. She cursed herself for the disappointment that swept over her.
“The cove said as how his master’s got something for you.”
Her locket? Again, that disturbing lift of the heart. But there were any number of other men who might want to see her again. Men were always after her. And as to what this one might have for her, it might just be a bob or two—if she would go back to his lodgings with him.
“Was it anyone you knew?”
“Never saw him before. But he gave me a shilling. That made me remember him, it did. Told me there’d be another if I told you something else.”
“What’s that?”
“The gentleman wot’s lookin’ for you—he’ll be at the masquerade at the Opera House, Thursday at midnight. Show up and he’ll give you wot you lost.”
Her heartbeat quickened. It was the officer, and he had found her locket. It would be so good to get it back, so she could look upon Randall’s face once more. But, of course, the man was using it as a lure. He wanted another go at her. Which wouldn’t have been a problem except that she couldn’t trust herself not to want the same thing, too.
Would it be safe to meet him at the masquerade? She’d been there many a time. Good pickings there for someone with well-trained fingers. The smell of lust in the air there was so strong, it made people careless. But it might make her careless, too. And she must not underestimate how she might respond if she met him there. She’d not been able to shake off the craving the captain had aroused to find out what else he could make her body do, and in the heady atmosphere of the masquerade, it would be all too easy to betray Randall again.
“There’s something else,” Danny added. “Snake’s looking for you.”
The hairs rose on her arm. She wanted nothing to do with the Weaver’s message boy.
