A Woman Made For Sin

by Michele Sinclair

  Evette pursed her lips together. “Not really.”

  Millie clucked her tongue. “You did. In addition, you have made all your own clothes, and I am fairly certain I have seen Susan wear your handiwork. And even if I am wrong on all accounts, it does not matter. You are talented and your services are needed, not just by Bessie here, but I believe by many in this community.”

  Bessie lifted the hem of Millie’s dress and looked at Evette. “I was never taught how to make much with needle and thread, but I know enough to see that whoever did this—and I know for sure it wasn’t Ellie here—is very good.” Then she dropped it and stared at Millie, but her gaze was far from friendly. “Even if your friend is half as good as you say, it would cost me a year’s pay to afford a dress like yours. And you bringing her here, offering me something you know I cannot accept . . . well, now I know your heart isn’t as kind as everyone thinks.”

  Evette crinkled her brow and picked up a larger piece of the cloth Millie had dropped on the table. None of the pieces were large enough to create a complete outfit, but if designed right, she could create something that blended several pieces. “Bessie, seamstresses can be costly, but the majority of the expense is in the material. You have that.”

  Millie could see Evette was starting to design something in her head. She had asked Sasha why Evette had never created something on her own, and Sasha’s reply had been crisp. “Fear and lack of confidence. The girl’s biggest difficulty is herself.” Millie did not say it out loud, but she could definitely understand just why Evette would have a lack of confidence around her mentor. Madame Sasha was unusually gifted. Most garments would seem deficient in comparison to the ones she created.

  “I implore you to consider this offer, Bessie. Evette owes me a favor, and if she could make something for you, it would relieve several debts.”

  Bessie looked at Evette. “You would truly do this for no coin?”

  Evette glanced at Millie. “Like Ellie said, I owe her a favor.”

  Bessie could not bring herself to say the words “I accept” aloud, but she did nod her head.

  Millie grinned and started gathering the material to take into the other room. Evette followed her. “So what do you think? Should I do two dresses? One for every day and one a little nicer? And her hair . . . It’s a beautiful color, but we need to tame it somehow.”

  “Agreed,” Millie said. “By the time we are finished with her, Clive will—”

  “Clive will what?” Bessie demanded.

  Millie looked back and saw Bessie standing in the doorway. “Why, he will realize that others will be able to see just what he has known all along.”

  “Which is?” Bessie snapped.

  Millie reached over and clasped her hand. “Just how beautiful you are.”

  Evette nodded. “Your hair really is pretty. It just needs styling.”

  Bessie’s fingers flew to her hair in an effort to smooth back the numerous wayward tendrils.

  Millie waved her hand, dismissing Bessie’s apprehension. “My hair can be difficult too, but I have learned a few secrets over the years. Why, Jennelle could—” Millie stopped midsentence. Jennelle should be here right now, as should Aimee. The Daring Three should be doing this together. Would they ever be together again?

  Bessie did not know who Jennelle was, but she could see that just mentioning the name was upsetting Millie. Never having been comforted much in her life, she really had no idea how to offer sympathy to others. So instead she tried to redirect the conversation. “I have a secret wish. I know we all do, but this dress is prob’ly the closest I’ll ever get to havin’ it come true.”

  “How so?” Evette probed softly.

  “One night I was comin’ back from a market near Dawsons Gardens and I looked up and I saw two people on a balcony eatin’. And I thought just once I’d like that to be me. Eatin’ a fine meal made by someone else under the moonlight.”

  Evette sighed in agreement. “Mine is similar except that it is daytime and I am in the gardens.”

  Millie listened as Evette described her secret wish to Bessie, who was nodding beside her in agreement. The two were already on their way to becoming good friends. Millie was glad. For while she had come to know both women and enjoyed their company, they would not understand who she really was.

  Evette looked at Millie and then Bessie. “Maybe we should eat.”

  Nodding, Bessie got up and headed into the kitchen area to see if the meat was ready to eat. When she was out of sight, Evette asked softly, “Are you feeling ill, Millie?”

  Millie shook her head. “No, just a little discouraged. I miss my friends.”

  “You have made others. I know the people at Madame Sasha’s can be distant, but they have grown to like you. Even Stuart grumbles less, and Bernard actually convinced Madame Sasha to go on a drive with him. Everyone knows he would never have done so without your influence. In their own way, they have missed you these past few days.”

  Millie sighed. “I’ve grown to like them as well and it makes being around them much harder because I am forced to deceive them. They deserve better, just as Clive and Bessie do. But if I told them the truth, I would be imposing my burden on them. It is hard enough that you know the truth. I will not ask anyone else to lie for me.”

  “My lady, it has been no hardship, and the reason behind your current pretense is of great importance.”

  “I never believed it would take so long to learn the answer to such simple questions, but until I am sure Aimee is not in danger, I have little choice.”

  Bessie hovered just out of sight, listening to all that was said. She had always known Ellie was not who she claimed to be, but Evette had called her my lady. Just who was Ellie?

  Old questions resurfaced along with several new ones. Were her lies really in an effort to protect them? If so, from what? And what had really driven her down to the docks—a man? Or some friend named Aimee?

  Chapter 27

  November 8, 1816

  “Did you get his name?”

  The question was direct, but Randall Greery could hear the faint sound of hope within it.

  “Devlin MacLeery,” the runner answered, glad he could finally relay some good news to the powerful marquess in front of him. Randall knew he was a good investigator, and when in the vicinity of the Cit or the docks, he was darn near exceptional. And yet it had taken him nearly a week and a half to find out even a sliver of information about the lady the marquess had hired him to find. He was almost beginning to think his lordship had been wrong to believe she was in that area until he had by chance asked Devlin MacLeery if he had ever seen the woman. Randall knew immediately that he had finally gotten a break in the case.

  “His name’s MacLeery. He owns one of the more successful gambling joints just north of the docks. Caters to a wide variety of clientele, from the poor to the rich. He doesn’t seem to care how a man gets his blunt as long as he has it.”

  “And you say that he recognized the portrait.”

  Greery nodded without hesitation. “Absolutely. He denied it, but I am certain he knows who she is. The man’s adept at hiding his thoughts, but I surprised him that day. During those first few seconds of looking at the portrait, he not only recognized the face, but he was surprised at what he was seeing. As if she looked different somehow.”

  The marquess tapped his fingers on his desk. “Did you follow him?”

  Greery inhaled. “Aye, but he knew I was doing so and he returned to his place. I’ve hired men to follow him. We’ll learn where he goes. If he knows the woman, we’ll find out how and where.”

  “As soon as you know anything, Greery,” the marquess said in a low tone, “come and find me.”

  Chapter 28

  November 10, 1816

  “Here you go, sweetness,” Burt said, catching Bessie before he made his way out the door. “And here’s a little something more for yer lookin’ so pretty tonight.”

  Clive’s blue eyes darkened like storm clou
ds before a heavy rainfall. Of medium height and brawny with muscle, Burt was built very similar to himself. But he was also five, maybe even ten years younger and still had his hair. Clive was not a man who normally heeded how another man looked, but he suspected that, to a woman, Burt was more than just a little good-looking. And for the past few nights, he, along with several others, had had become regular patrons. None of them had hidden their appreciation of the changes in Bessie.

  The first night, Clive had wondered why they were not eyeing Ellie. Oh, they glanced her way and enjoyed the vision, for the lass was in many ways the prettiest woman they had ever seen, but for most of the night, it was Bessie who had had their attention. She was one of them. She was from this part of town and understood how it worked and its people. Ellie, no matter how much she tried, was not of the docks and never would be.

  “So first a new hairdo and now a new frock? What’s gotten into you, Bessie?” Clive finally asked as Bessie stopped to hand him some empty mugs.

  Bessie raised a single eyebrow. “I didn’t even think you noticed.”

  Clive gave her a smirk. “Aye, I noticed. Just as every man who has ever been here has noticed. So what makes ye think ye need tae look pretty tae work here? I already got one lass doing that and causing me problems. I don’t need two.”

  Bessie looked at Clive, trying to decide how to interpret what he just said. “Ellie is not causin’ you any problems, so don’t be blamin’ her for stuff that’s got nothin’ to do with her. And as for my new dress, well, I think a woman deserves a new garment every once in a while. And I was certainly due for one.”

  “Ellie shouldn’t be making ye things like that. Gives men ideas. And not good ones.”

  Bessie suppressed the huge grin she was feeling inside. “You can blame Ellie, but you’d be wrong. The little missy can barely thread a needle. It was someone else entirely who reminded me that at one time I was rather nice lookin’ and could be again.”

  Clive watched Bessie turn and sashay back to a group of eager men. “Women,” he muttered underneath his breath. “I’d be better off running this place alone,” he added, knowing even as he thought it, it was a lie.

  “I think it’s working,” Bessie whispered over her shoulder to Millie.

  Millie waved her hand at the two men who had just entered and were sliding into chairs at the table nearest the front window. Then she glanced at Clive and then back at Bessie, nodding. “Oh, it most definitely is. When old Burt stopped you, I thought Clive was going to order him out of Six Belles and tell him never to come back again.”

  Bessie sighed. It had been so long since she’d had any hope for the future, she had forgotten how wonderful it felt. So much had changed in a week. She and Ellie had put aside their animosity, and while Bessie could never see them ever becoming close friends, a mutual respect had grown between them.

  The afternoons had gone from laborious and lonely times to the part of the day she looked forward to the most. Ellie always brought Evette, who was someone Bessie found herself growing to like more and more each day. They had much in common and similar personalities. Their growing friendship, in addition to the new dresses, made Bessie once again feel indebted to Ellie. Owing the little missy was just something she refused to do, and it occurred to her just how she could settle things between them. The one thing Ellie wanted most was the one thing she could not do for herself.

  Bessie hustled over to Millie to stop her before she was able to reach the two men and take their orders. “I don’t know what’s so important about some green and white pinnace, but those two men . . . well, they know somethin’. They knew it the last time you asked them. I heard ’em say so when they didn’t know I was right behind ’em.”

  Millie stood transfixed, feeling both naïve and surprised that someone would lie about such a simple question. “But why did they say they knew nothing? What could it cost them to tell me who the pinnace belongs to?”

  Bessie sighed and answered her honestly. “No matter how much you try to fit in here, little missy, you never will. Otherwise you would know people in these parts don’t like questions, aren’t ever goin’ to ask them, and they certainly won’t answer any. Goes against our nature.”

  Millie looked deflated. Bessie was right. Her speech, her walk, even how she moved her hands, all set her apart; something Evette and Bessie had taken turns pointing out to her the past few days. It was done in good humor, but it was clear that she could be there a year . . . maybe even longer, and it would still be obvious to all that Millie had not experienced the same difficult upbringing as those who lived and worked along the docks. “Then it’s hopeless.”

  Bessie shrugged. “Doesn’t have to be. Ask those two about the pinnace again and this time tell ’em that if they tell you, it’ll be as a favor to me.”

  Millie stared at Bessie. “A favor?” she asked, hinting at Bessie’s dislike of being indebted to someone. This time she was volunteering.

  Bessie refused to look at Millie. She gathered the empty mugs from a deserted table and said over her shoulder, “Consider it payment for helping me with me hair.”

  Bessie exhaled when Millie did not argue and turned to go and speak with the men near the window. Then she walked over to the bar and handed the mugs to Clive.

  “Why are ye all of a sudden trying tae help Ellie with the pinnace?” he probed, keeping his voice low so that only Bessie could hear.

  With a small shrug of her shoulders, Bessie replied, “I have me reasons.”

  “And just what reason do ye have tae be wanting tae help Ellie return tae a man and a life she’s running away from?”

  Bessie bit her bottom lip. She had decided the very night she had overheard Evette and Ellie talking that she would not divulge to anyone—even Clive—what she had learned: that it was not a man, but someone named Aimee who had driven Ellie to this life. So Bessie told him something he would understand. “I owe a debt and I’m payin’ it back.”

  Clive waved for Devlin to join them. Devlin did so, but his pained expression made it clear that he wanted to know why he had been summoned. Clive casually pointed at Bessie before crossing his arms. “Did ye know that our Bessie has decided tae help Ellie find out about the pinnace?”

  Devlin stared at Bessie coolly for several moments. “I don’t think that is a good idea,” he finally said.

  Bessie returned his gaze. “If you’re thinking that, it’s because you’ve already gone and found out about it. Yet you’ve never said anythin’ to her. And I thought you was a real gentleman, not just dressed up like one.”

  The accusation hit its target and Devlin felt the sudden need to defend his actions. “All I know is which ship the pinnace belongs to, and that the information is meaningless. The company, ship, owner, captain . . . even the crew have done nothing in the past or present that would generate the least bit of interest. There is nothing suspicious or unusual about them in any way. They’re successful but no more so than several other shipping companies. And from what I’ve learned, the captain of that ship is hard but fair, with a loyal crew. So until I can figure out how that pinnace is involved with Ellie, I’m not telling her a bleeding thing. And neither are you.”

  Normally, Bessie balked at such orders, but instead she just pointed over to where Millie stood. “Too late. See those men Ellie is with over there? They know about the pinnace and are telling her about it right now.”

  Devlin’s head shot up and he began to march over toward Millie, but as he did, a familiar figure came into view. The Bow Street runner who had been following him was across the street. He was heading toward the tavern, and with him was a tall, dark-haired man whose clothing was impeccably tailored.

  Running a place for gamblers, Devlin had learned to be something of an expert at assessing people from afar. And it only took him a few seconds to know the man coming toward the tavern was not just determined to achieve his goal, but lethally so.

  Suddenly small fingers flew to his arm and squeezed tight. M
illie sucked in her breath and whispered in fear more to herself than anyone else, “He’s found out that I left. Oh, good Lord, he cannot find me. Not here. Not now.”

  Then his arm was free and she was rushing over to where Clive and Bessie stood. Devlin quickly joined them. “There is a man coming. He is looking for the same thing I am, but he cannot know that I am here. If you know anything about the pinnace, please tell him. He has a right to know, but I beg you to tell him nothing about me.”

  Concerned, Bessie reached out to clasp Millie’s hand. Millie looked pleadingly into Bessie’s blue eyes. “If he learned I was here, he would be very, very angry. My life would be over.”

  Clive coughed into his hand. “He won’t learn of you from us. Devlin, take her out the back way.”

  Millie scrunched her brows but was given no explanation before Devlin grabbed her cloak and whisked her into the back room where she thought only extra liquor and spirits were stored. As soon as they disappeared, Clive yelled out to the room. It wasn’t often that he used his booming voice, so when he did, it got everybody’s attention quickly. He knew Ellie had not told him the truth as to why she was there and working for him, but at the moment it did not matter. Six Belles was his family and she was now a part of it. And he protected his own. “Anyone says a word about Ellie, knowing about Ellie, seeing Ellie, or anything about her working here, I’ll make yer life hell.”

  While the order came as a surprise to everybody in the room, not a single soul considered disobeying it. No one had more contacts along this part of the Thames than Clive. His network was unparalleled, and getting on the wrong side of a man with connections was a death sentence.

  Thirty seconds later a dark, stern-faced man entered. He was clutching a small portrait in his hand and walked straight up to Clive. “I’m looking for a man named MacLeery, who I have been told comes here every night.”

  Though not as quick to read men as Devlin was, years of owning his own place and having to predict the actions and attitudes of men both sober and drunk had enabled Clive to see that the man staring at him was not one of the pampered, soft-brained gentry. He exuded an air of command. His mouth was set in a firm, unyielding line, which should have implied a total lack of emotion. For some reason, Clive got just the opposite impression. If Clive had to guess, the man was afraid, and unaccustomed to feeling that way. But just what did a wealthy man like him have to be afraid of? And what did he want with Ellie?