by Sara Bennett
Averil cried out, and Jackson let her go so suddenly that she stumbled and almost fell. Rufus hurried forward and caught her. His arm was tight around her waist, and he drew her in to his side, holding her there in case she tried to pull away. She didn’t. She seemed to melt into him, clinging to his jacket, and he could feel her trembling.
“Are you all right?” he murmured, more shaken than he’d felt for years.
She nodded and lifted her head to look at him. There was a wobbly smile on her lips and her hair was falling untidily about her shoulders and her sleeve was torn. If he hadn’t reached her in time . . . the thought made him angrier still, but he knew he couldn’t afford to be distracted. He turned back to the other two, who were watching him intently.
“Game’s up, Sally,” he said. “The police are on their way.” He eyed Jackson, who had begun slinking around the wall toward the window. He almost hoped he’d jump—from up here he was sure to break his neck.
Sally curled her lip at him, putting on a brave face. “And what will they do? Slap my ’and and shut me down for a week or two, then go back to sleep?”
“Not this time.” His voice went hard. “A woman died, remember? I imagine that was Jackson’s doing. Why did you kill her? Didn’t she want to go with you, or was she going to tell Doctor Simmons what was happening?”
“It were an accident—” Jackson began.
“Shut up!” Sally flashed at him. Then she turned once more to Rufus, her green eyes watchful. “Women die around ’ere all the time. Life wears ’em down or they meet the wrong customer. You can’t blame us for every tart who’s found dead.”
Averil touched his hand and murmured, “Violet. I need to find her.”
Rufus hesitated, but she was already moving away and he doubted he could stop her. “If you get into trouble,” he said dryly, “I suggest you scream.”
Her lips quirked, and then she was gone. He heard her hurrying down the corridor to the stairs as he focused his attention once more on the two left in the room. His voice dropped threateningly, so there could be no mistake.
“I want to know the name of every woman you’ve taken out of Doctor Simmons’s Home and then you are going to tell me where they are now.”
Averil wondered if Violet had left the building, but something told her there was more to her visit here than a confrontation with Sally Jakes. When she reached the bottom of the stairs she looked about her and called out.
“Violet?”
A face peered at her around the corner from the far room—a thin woman in a head scarf and holding a mop. “Violet’s gone down to the kitchen,” the woman whispered loudly, looking anxious. “Me daughter’s down there and she promised to look out for her. She’s only eleven.”
“The kitchen?”
The woman pointed at a door near the staircase. Averil thanked her and went through, down creaky stairs, and into the shadowy depths of The Tin Soldier. It grew so gloomy that she had to feel her way along the gritty surface of the wall, and she wondered if she should turn back, but then she remembered Violet’s white, frightened face and the expression in her eyes when she stood up to Sally on Averil’s behalf.
She couldn’t leave without telling the girl that her mother was wrong. That Averil was her friend and that she would never let her be forced into the sort of life Sally Jakes had mapped out for her.
Light was coming through a small window high on the wall up ahead and she went toward it, hoping to find Violet at last, and discovered herself in a grim room with smoke-stained walls and lit by flickering candles. The air was stifling and hot, and when Averil’s eyes adjusted, she was shocked to see a group of girls cowering together. Many of them were no more than children. Violet, who appeared to be the eldest, was holding as many of them in her arms as she could manage, while the others clung to her skirts.
“Violet?”
The girls jumped. Violet murmured soothing words, her eyes focused on Averil.
“You see why I couldn’t leave,” she said, and although her voice was harsh, tears weren’t far away. “Without me they would be hurt, used, God knows what. I look after them. I look after them all. When I can. I protect them from my mother and Jackson.”
“Oh, Violet,” Averil breathed, coming forward, her heart aching. “You poor girl.”
“I don’t want your pity,” Violet retorted contemptuously, with a lift of her chin. “I want you to help me to look after them. I wanted to tell you everything, I did, but I was afraid if I told that these poor souls would be hurt because of it. You do see, don’t you?” she added softly, and once again Averil could see the kind and generous heart beneath Violet’s tough, brash exterior.
“Of course I see. And I’m not pitying you. I am in-in awe of you.”
Violet gave an unexpected smile. “In awe? Really?”
Averil held out her hand toward the group. “Come on,” she said, “let’s go. We’ll take them to the Home for now, until we sort things out.”
Violet demurred. “What if they don’t want to stay?”
“Then they don’t have to. We’ll find somewhere for them, Violet. I promise.”
Violet hesitated but whatever she saw in Averil’s face convinced her, and she nodded and began to chivvy the young ones across the room.
Just then Rufus arrived.
There were immediate screams and squeals and the girls rushed back to Violet, huddling around her once more.
Rufus had stopped in his tracks as soon as he saw the situation he’d walked into. “Averil? What’s going on?”
She examined him critically in the poor light. To her he was a hero, her savior, but if she looked at him as a frightened young girl might . . . well, she supposed he could seem rather alarming with his scarred face. Suddenly it was important to her that they know the real man.
“Hush, girls,” she soothed. “Lord Southbrook will not hurt you. He’s a friend and he will help you. He-he has a seven-year-old son called Eustace, and a castle that is falling down, and Violet cooked for him because he couldn’t find anyone else who could cook nearly as well as her.”
He blinked. Averil bit her lip. Her description probably wasn’t quite what he would have imagined for himself, but it seemed to do the trick. Violet was also reassuring them and, with a smile to Averil, she finally led the girls out of the kitchen and up the stairs.
“The police have arrived,” Rufus said, once he and Averil were alone. “Sally and Jackson have been arrested. I have to get back. Will you be all right?”
“Yes, thank you,” she said softly. And then, in a rush, “I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t arrived when you did. How did you know I was here?”
He explained, but she hardly heard his words. She was watching his face, listening to the timbre of his voice, taking in the whole lovely package that was the wicked earl of Southbrook. And she knew, with an ache in her chest, that despite what had happened at the castle, she hadn’t stopped loving him. Not at all.
She was giving him that direct look. For a moment he was disconcerted by her scent, the sweet womanly smell of her that had haunted him for so many lonely days and nights. Perhaps she saw something in his eyes, because she smiled, her gaze dropping, her dark lashes sweeping down.
He thought about giving her a speech about rushing into danger and frightening him, or perhaps he could suggest that next time she be less impulsive? But he discarded both ideas. She’d only get cross with him and that was the last thing he wanted right now.
“I’m glad you’re safe,” he said instead.
She glanced up at him then away again. She smoothed her sleeve. “I-I didn’t know you were back in London. Did you bring Hercules?”
He was confused. Had James been right and she’d left the dog behind so that he could follow? “No. As far as I know Hercules is happily ensconced at the castle with Eustace.”
“How is Eustace?” she asked, smoothing her other sleeve.
Rufus raised an eyebrow, wondering where this c
onversation was going and whether he really had time for it with the police waiting upstairs. But he was reluctant to leave her. “Eustace is well. That monster you left for him is eating us out of house and home, and destroying every cushion in the castle, but as long as Eustace is happy . . .”
She laughed softly, a breathless sound that made his senses jump up another notch. “Good,” she said. “Rufus, I think I might have been—”
But whatever she was about to confess was interrupted.
“Lord Southbrook?” It was Violet, calling down the stairs. “There’s an inspector here who wants to speak with you.”
Rufus gave an impatient sigh. “I have to go,” he said, “but I’m not leaving you here to get yourself into more trouble.”
“I have to go to the Home and settle the girls,” she said briskly, and their intimate moment was gone. They started up the stairs, and she glanced back at him over her shoulder. “Fancy Violet being Sally’s daughter,” she whispered, not wanting the girl to overhear.
Rufus wondered about that himself, but he didn’t have time to reply. The inspector was waiting and when next he had time to glance around him, Averil was gone.
Once back at the Home, they found room for their new arrivals. Surprisingly, Molly took them under her wing, showing a gentle side to her nature Averil had never seen before, and Violet was soon in the kitchen preparing hot soup.
That was where Violet told her story, in between setting out bowls and crusty bread, and comforting the girls.
“I grew up at The Tin Soldier. Sally let me do mostly what I wanted, and what I wanted was to stay out of the way of the customers, so I spent my time in the kitchen. There were always cooks coming and going, so I learned to do most of the cooking for the customers.”
“I remember you said you were used to cooking for many,” Averil said.
Violet smiled. “I was.”
“But . . . well, you don’t speak like Sally. You must have been educated at some point, Violet?”
“I went to one of the church schools. The teacher was good at what he did, and he saw in me someone who could ‘rise above her station,’ as he used to say. And Sally helped. Whenever one of her gamblers owed her money, she’d find out if he had some talent she could get him to teach me. You’d be amazed the types who pass through The Tin Soldier. There were artists who taught me to paint, and dancing masters who taught me to dance, and a posh lady who’d fallen on hard times, who taught me to sew. That was the way they paid off their debts.”
She grimaced. “But then it changed. Sally began to set up her houses of pleasure.”
Pleasure probably wasn’t the word Averil would have used.
“Jackson wanted me to come here to the Home, and he persuaded Sally that I would be able to keep an eye on things. Sally pretends Jackson is her creature, but I think she listens to him more than she lets on.”
“But why send you here? I don’t understand.”
Violet wiped her hands on her apron. She looked as if she’d rather not say. “They—Sally and Jackson, that is—wanted to give their women some shine. Make out they were ladies, or something close. I was supposed to be watching out, in case someone found out the truth, but I hated it.”
She looked up at Averil and her eyes were alight with anger.
“Oh, Violet, why didn’t you tell me?”
“How could I? I wanted to, but . . .” Violet sighed.
“Well, it’s over now,” Averil said softly.
“Yes,” Violet said, but there was sadness in the droop of her mouth and Averil knew it wasn’t really over for the girl. Not yet.
“Violet is a brave young lady,” Gareth said admiringly, when Averil had explained everything to him.
“Yes, she is.” Averil glanced at him sideways.
“Averil,” he said, catching her look, “I have learnt my lesson, I promise you. Never again will I single out any woman.”
“I hope that isn’t true, Gareth. One day you will find someone you want to single out, someone special, someone you love with all your heart.”
She turned away. She knew she’d sounded emotional, but she hoped Gareth would think it was because of the turmoil she’d been through at The Tin Soldier. She didn’t want to confess the truth. That she was just as foolish as Gareth, perhaps more so, because she loved a man who wanted her for her money, and if they hadn’t been interrupted she would have told him so.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
* * *
Beth was finding her days dragging. Before she met James Blainey everything had gone along very nicely, with visits to the opera and the theater at night, and her days busy with Averil and the house, and the occasional shopping trip. She would wake every morning, filled with anticipation and looking forward to the hours stretching before her.
Not anymore. Now her days seemed very long. The minutes ticked by so slowly, and no matter how often she glanced at the clock, it did not move any faster.
Averil was keeping herself busy at the Home, but Beth had nothing like that to throw herself into. She had nothing to occupy her that would take her mind off James Blainey. The truth was, she missed him dreadfully and some mornings she lay in her bed, staring at the window, and thinking that she might just catch the mail coach north and tell him she would marry him after all.
But then all the other doubts would come crashing in, making her head ache. How could she marry James? Averil deserved her loyalty. Averil had been wronged. Beth could hardly run off and marry one of the men responsible for her current situation. Did she really want to alienate the girl who was more like her daughter than her charge? Was any amount of personal happiness worth that? Surely it would be a selfish act to marry James?
In the end she would get up out of bed and carry on with her day as if everything was the same as normal, but it was far, far from that. Her life was slipping by and the love she had miraculously found after all these years was slipping away with it. She had told James she would not marry him, but she felt in a sort of limbo, as if the decision was still waiting to be made.
“Miss Harmon?”
Beth looked up. She was engaged in the exciting task of sorting linen and had the parlor cluttered with various bits and pieces, laid out around her as she inspected them for wear and tear.
The maid chewed her lip, as if she was worried the news she had to impart wouldn’t be welcome. “The Honorable James Blainey is here to see you. I know you said you weren’t home to callers, but when I tried to tell him you weren’t receiving he became quite agitated and insisted I ask you anyway.”
James! The usual calm and unflappable Beth was thrown into an agony of indecision. She wanted to run to the door and fling herself into his arms and at the same time she knew she must refuse to let him inside. She could not see him. Could she? While she was vacillating, James barged into the room behind the maid.
He looked thinner, his clothing was creased and his hair was unbrushed, and there were shadows under his eyes, which looked rather wild. No wonder the maid had refused him entry. James had the appearance of someone who had escaped from Bedlam.
“My dearest Beth,” he cried, taking her hands, “I beg you not to tell me to go until you’ve heard me out.”
Beth wavered, but he looked so desperate, so earnest, she didn’t have the heart to send him away. And besides, the touch of his hands in hers, the physical presence of him, made her feel like a wilting flower that had suddenly been given a lifesaving drink of water.
“Dearest Beth,” he said, as the goggling maid shut the door, “I know you told me you couldn’t marry me, but I had to see you. To ask you again. There were things I needed to tell you. You’ve no idea how utterly miserable I’ve been, Beth! I haven’t had the slightest urge to take up the cards, and for me . . . well, it’s a first.”
“James—” Beth tried to interrupt, but he wouldn’t allow it. He’d set himself to say his piece and nothing was going to stop him.
“I know I behaved appallingly. I see that now
. But sometimes, dear heart, I speak before my brain catches up with my mouth. And besides, it seemed such a good idea, Averil marrying Rufus. We are desperate, my dear, absolutely at rock bottom, and Rufus is too much of a gentleman to think of such a thing for himself. And the dear boy is so lonely and unhappy, and when I saw them together that night, when I saw the way they were looking at each other, I thought it was the perfect chance for Rufus to find the happiness he deserves. Two birds with one stone.”
“James, will you listen—”
“No. You listen, Beth. Please, just listen, and then if you ask me to I’ll go and never return.”
“Very well.” Beth tugged him toward the couch. “But sit down, James.”
He sat on top of a set of embroidered cushion covers, but Beth had always hated them so she remained silent. He wouldn’t let go of her hands. “I never expected to meet you. I was thinking of Rufus, and you sort of . . . crept up on me. I am so grateful I found you, Beth. I see now that my life has been missing a crucial component, an essential element, and without it nothing makes sense. Without you, Beth, nothing makes sense. Please, please, my love, say you will reconsider. Marry me. I swear you will never regret it.”
She waited, but he didn’t launch into any more impassioned speeches, and now it was her turn. While he had been speaking she had made a decision, and it was a decision she realized had been there all along, on the tip of her tongue.
“I know you meant well, James. When you told Rufus to persuade Averil to marry him, you were not acquainted with her, or me. But I still believe it was wrong, and if such an ill-considered idea ever pops into your head again, you must not let it past your lips.”
He nodded eagerly. “I won’t, Beth. I promise I’ll—”
“Hush, James. Whatever happens between Averil and your nephew is their own business. It is true that Averil is like a daughter to me and I will always do all I can to make her happy, but I have come to the conclusion that this is a matter between them. We cannot live their lives for them. They must sort it out themselves. You and I, well, that is a different kettle of fish.”
