by Shelley Gray
Eloisa peeked inside, intending to merely smile at the little girl she’d suddenly spied sitting on the rag rug in the corner. But when the little girl gazed at her with hope in her eyes, Eloisa couldn’t resist trying to make a new friend. Walking in, she said, “Hi. I’m Eloisa.”
“I’m Gretta.”
“What game are you playing in here all alone?”
“I’m pretending.”
“Oh?” She kept her voice low and encouraging, though she could sense Maeve’s disapproval. “Who are you pretending to be?”
“A daughter.”
Stunned, she knelt down beside the girl. “You’re pretending to be a daughter, dear?”
“She don’t have a family,” Maeve said in her brisk, no-nonsense way. “Gretta here is an orphan.”
It took everything Eloisa had to suppress the flinch that had risen up inside her. Surely there was no need to speak so bluntly. Or was Mrs. O’Connell’s tone a result of how she felt about Eloisa?
Keeping her eye on the child, she said, “I like your name, Gretta. How old are you?”
“Six.”
Eloisa was surprised. Gretta was small and rail-thin. She wouldn’t have guessed her age much more than four. But then she noticed the weariness in the little girl’s brown eyes. “How long has Gretta lived here, Mrs. O’Connell?”
“Seven months, or thereabouts. When her mum died of the tuberculosis, a couple of her neighbors tried to take her in, but they couldn’t afford another girl, especially one so young. Luckily we had space here for her. Otherwise she would have gone to the workhouse.”
A flash of fear appeared on Gretta’s face. Then, to Eloisa’s amazement, she valiantly attempted to hide it.
“Well, I’m pleased to have made your acquaintance, Gretta.”
Gretta’s nose wrinkled. She paused, then reached out and gingerly ran one finger along Eloisa’s sleeve. “Your dress is pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re pretty too.”
Eloisa gently covered Gretta’s hand for a second. “I think you are prettier. Next time I come, perhaps we can visit some more?”
Gretta smiled but said nothing, leaving Eloisa with the feeling that she was far too used to grown-ups not following through on promises.
After getting to her feet, she followed Maeve out of the room and up the back stairs.
“Up here are the sleeping quarters. As you can see, everyone shares. Most of the residents take a stroll on a Sunday afternoon with decent weather, or a lot of them would be in their rooms.”
There were at least two if not three beds in each room. Each was made up neatly. Also in the rooms were bowls and pitchers of water, hooks to hang dresses, and shelves where the women’s belongings were stored. It was all very utilitarian and very sad. However, none of the women she saw downstairs had looked especially dejected or displeased to be there. Unlike the women in the entryway, the two in the room smiled when Eloisa greeted them.
At the end of the hall on the second floor was a children’s room. “This is where the orphan girls live. The boys are in the attic.”
Eloisa felt tears prick her eyes as she imagined sweet little Gretta lying on one of the cots that lined the floor, each with one thin blanket. There were no toys or extra blankets to be seen.
“It’s very sparse, isn’t it?”
“To someone like you, I suppose it is. These women are grateful for their blessings, however. And the children grow up learning not to expect much.”
The meaning was clear. That Maeve was certain Eloisa had never had the occasion to go without something she wanted . . . and that she obviously took everything she had for granted.
Eloisa knew she should have expected Maeve’s disdain. But the distrust that emanated from her came as a surprise.
And there, in the darkened hallway, she realized that not only did Maeve not think much of her, but she actively disliked her too.
“Why do you dislike me so much?”
Maeve’s expression soured. “I don’t dislike you, Miss Carstairs. It’s simply that I have no use for young ladies like you.” Her tone hardened as she continued. “I have no desire to be a part of your miniscule effort to do charity work, to temporarily fill some gap in your life, deal with something that’s been missing.”
“That is not why I am here.”
“Oh?” That one word told just how little she believed that statement. “Oh, I see. Well, maybe you’re on a mission to give yourself some experiences. Perhaps it is to impress my brother? What is it today, Miss Carstairs? Do you have a little desire to see what the other side lives like? Are we going to be fodder for your next dinner conversation?”
Eloisa was taken aback. “Of course not!”
“If I’m wrong, then I’ll eat my words. But I must tell you, if I’m right? Well, all you’re going to do is hurt any number of people who aren’t wise enough to see your true motivations. Especially my brother. I’m not sure where Sean picked up this soft spot for you, but I am here to tell you if you so much as make him feel even an ounce of regret for befriending you, I’ll make it my business to make sure you regret it. We might not mix in the same company, but I have enough influence over Sean to make sure he sees you for who you really are.”
A warning and a threat. Eloisa would have laughed if she wasn’t feeling so hurt by Maeve’s accusations. “You don’t know me, Mrs. O’Connell. Just as you are saying I don’t know you, you certainly do not know me.”
Maeve’s eyes cleared as she stared at her. “We’ll see.” Her expression looked like she was seeing Eloisa for the first time.
“You really shouldn’t presume so much,” Eloisa said.
“I know enough about your like.” She looked away. Ran her fingers down the seam of wallpaper on the wall. “More than one woman from your side of the tracks has turned our lives into something out of a Dickens novel. And done nothing of use.”
“That is not who I am,” she said again. For a moment, Eloisa was tempted to confess everything that had happened to her. To tell her all about how she’d trusted Douglass Sloane and he’d abused both her emotions and her body in the worst way imaginable.
To share how alone she was at the moment. About how much pressure she was under, because her mother was determined that she make a suitable match within weeks, not months. As if any match were possible since . . .
And how she was so disgusted with so much in her life that she was willing to go against everything she knew to make something feel right for a change—if even for only a few minutes out of the day.
But, of course, Maeve wouldn’t believe her.
Or even if she did, what would be the point? Eloisa’s story was regrettable, but it certainly wasn’t a cause for tears. No matter what had been done to her, she was still the pampered daughter of one of the city’s leading families. She had been blessed with physical features and a temperament that others found pleasing.
She’d never been truly cold, and she’d never gone a day without food in her life. She’d never even had to worry about being looked after. A houseful of servants and her parents were ready to see to her every need.
“Thank you for the tour,” she said before turning around to walk back down the stairs. “I sincerely appreciate your time.”
She heard Maeve grumble behind her as she followed, and saw Sean’s eyes fill with relief at the sight of her, then darken with worry as he took in the obvious tension that was flowing between her and his sister.
Sean strode forward to meet her, and lifted his hand slightly. It was obvious that he would have taken her arm or her hand if they had a different sort of relationship—or perhaps if his sister wasn’t there, probably looking as though she was eager to interfere between them.
“Is everything okay?” he murmured, looking from her to his sister.
Before Maeve could reply, Eloisa painted a bright smile on her face. “Everything is perfectly fine. I’m so grateful for your time, Detective, and for Mrs. O’Connell’
s time too.” Slowly, she turned and met Maeve’s sour expression. “Words cannot express how illuminating this visit has been.”
Sean’s eyes darted to his sister’s. “I look forward to hearing your impressions, Miss Carstairs. But for now, I should take you home.”
Still aware of Maeve glaring at her with no small amount of distrust, Eloisa ventured, “Or perhaps to the train station? I know you are a very busy man.”
He offered his arm. “As I said before, escorting you is my pleasure.” Glancing just beyond her, his voice turned far less gallant. “I’ll see you later, Maeve.”
“That you will, Sean. That you will.”
Only after they exited the house and started walking down the street did Sean speak again. “Care to tell me what that was all about?”
“It’s nothing you need to worry about, Lieutenant Ryan,” she said, briefly returning to formal address. Her conversation with his sister was absolutely nothing she wished to discuss with him. Not until she could calm herself. Not until she could understand for herself what had just happened. And what she’d just done. It certainly felt as if she had done so much more than meet his sister and visit a house for the disadvantaged.
No, it was obvious that she had done so much more.
“I know I said I’d take you directly home. But would you care for a light lunch? I didn’t eat much before . . .” He flushed. “Or tea? Ice cream?”
Accepting wasn’t the wise thing to do, just as his offering probably hadn’t been the best choice he’d ever made, given his sister’s obvious disapproval of their friendship.
But now it didn’t really matter. All that did matter was how she felt, and what she wanted.
And right that moment, she didn’t want her time with him to come to an end. “I’d like that very much, Sean,” she said with a smile. “I didn’t eat much before coming either. I was too excited about seeing Hope House. Thank you for the invitation.”
CHAPTER 11
Sean could hardly believe Eloisa had accepted his clumsy invitation. For a second his mind froze, for what had just occurred was so far from his expectations that he wasn’t quite able to process it.
Much to his dismay. He’d thought he was made of sterner stuff.
Then a buzzing directive filtered through the chaos. Say something, it practically shouted. Say something before she realizes you’re a feebleminded idiot and she reconsiders her acceptance.
“There is a small café up ahead. It’s nothing special, but it’s open on Sunday afternoons, and they do serve good soup. The woman there also bakes fresh bread every day.”
“A bowl of warm soup sounds delicious.”
Now that they had a destination in mind, his feet began of their own accord. After half a block, he realized he was walking too fast and he shortened his steps.
She beamed. “Thank you. I was afraid we were about to enter a race and I knew I would come out the loser for sure.”
“Pardon me. My manners are not usually so clumsy.” Of course, it had been a very long time since he’d escorted any woman in a social situation like this.
Walking her home from the Gardners’ party certainly didn’t count.
Luckily, they arrived at the café before he had to think of something else to say. He opened the door with a flourish, and they were immediately surrounded by a burst of warm air scented with the smell of the fire in the hearth and the tangy aroma of pork, thyme, and rosemary.
Mrs. Kirkpatrick herself came over to greet them. “Afternoon, Sean. It’s been a long time.” She eyed Eloisa curiously. “Glad you decided to stop in.”
“Yes, ma’am. It’s a perfect day for some of your home cooking.”
“That it is.” After darting another curious glance Eloisa’s way, Mrs. Kirkpatrick smiled warmly. “We always have a bowl for you, Sean. Free of charge, of course.”
“That’s not necessary.” Feeling Eloisa’s attention firmly on him, his cheeks flushed. “You know I never asked for such things.”
“It’s our pleasure, you putting yourself out in harm’s way and all. Speaking of which . . . I trust you are staying safe in the streets? All the papers talk about is you and your gentleman partner on the trail of that Society Slasher. We worry about you, you know. I pray for you every night.”
“I appreciate your prayers. Uh, I was just telling this lady here how good your soups are. I’m hoping that delicious scent is what I’m smelling?”
“It would be, indeed. We’ve got two choices today. Potato with leeks and bacon, or pork with white beans, onions, and carrots.” With a laugh she said, “And I just happened to have made a loaf of honey wheat bread today.”
“It all sounds wonderful,” Eloisa said with a smile.
Before they’d walked inside the cozy café, Sean had intended to keep Eloisa’s identity a secret, fearing she might not want anyone to ever know that she was out and about with him.
But since it was obvious that she had no desire to be ignored, he turned to her. “Miss Carstairs, you are in for a treat. Mrs. Kirkpatrick here makes some of the best bread in the city.”
“It sounds heavenly. I’ll have a thick slice of bread, and perhaps a bowl of the potato soup too. If you please.”
“And I’ll take the pork.”
“It will be right out,” Mrs. Kirkpatrick said with a new gleam in her eye. “Now that your order is settled, why don’t you two take a turn at that table near the fire? It will keep you toasty until I bring your order. There’s a new chill in the air. It seeps into my bones.”
Sean smiled his thanks as he gestured Eloisa toward the table. “After you, Miss Carstairs.”
She sat down with a rustle of skirts and crinoline, looking as graceful and elegant as ever. With effort he looked around the room, afraid to stare too long at her.
The cheery fire next to them felt calming after their walk in the brisk air. Giving in to temptation, he pulled off his gloves and held out his hands, enjoying the heat licking his fingertips. After watching him for a moment, Eloisa carefully began unfastening the buttons on her wrist. When she fumbled with one of the fastenings, he reached for her hand. “Allow me,” he murmured. He carefully unhooked each one, telling himself that the slight tremor in his own fingers had everything to do with the delicate nature of the glove and nothing to do with the nature of the task.
At first she looked at him as if she’d never had such a kindness done to her before. Then he realized that he’d probably just broken some special sort of society rule. Maybe gentlemen weren’t supposed to ever help a lady with her gloves?
But it was too late to go back now. Besides, he wanted to help her. And, if he were being completely honest, he wanted to hold her bare hand in his. Glide his thumb along her smooth skin to see if it really felt as soft as it looked.
Telling himself that he mustn’t think about such things, he focused on his task at hand. With care he freed another button.
“You look as if you have a lot of experience with disrobing women’s hands, Lieutenant Ryan.”
He couldn’t contain his bark of laughter. “Hardly that. I’ve just been sitting here thinking that my fingers are too thick and clumsy for such a delicate task. I am trying hard not to accidentally break a button.”
“If you did, it wouldn’t be a tragedy.”
“If I did, I would feel even more like a clumsy fool than I already do.”
Tilting her head, she stared at him. “I wouldn’t have guessed such thoughts ran through your head.”
“Even policemen need a break from thinking about cutthroats and thieves, miss,” he murmured, taking care to lay on his accent a little thicker than usual so she would smile.
And when she did, he smiled right back. Suddenly hoping that she would never guess everything else he was thinking.
After sliding the glove off, he promptly unfastened the other one. When they were bare, he gave in to temptation and examined her hands. Her fingers were long and slim. No scars or veins or spots marred the skin. They were
perfect. Actually, she had the prettiest hands he’d ever seen. He ran a finger along her knuckles. Her skin was, indeed, just as soft as he’d imagined it would be.
“Lieutenant?” She tugged on her hand. “May I have my hand back?”
Of course, his actions made him feel like twice the fool.
Right away he let go. “Forgive me.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
“I, uh, was just noticing that your hands are very pretty,” he blurted before realizing that he shouldn’t be saying such things. It would be better to keep such thoughts to himself.
“Thank you.”
“Sorry. I imagine you’ve never been around a man with such cloddish manners.”
“You’re right. I’ve never been around a man like you before, Lieutenant.”
“Sorry. I don’t always know how to act around you.”
“Is there a certain way you feel you are supposed to act?”
“I don’t know.” He smiled as he shrugged. “I’m used to keeping company with gamblers and thieves, you know.”
True interest entered her eyes. Leaning forward, she said, “You know what? I really don’t know. What is your job like? What do you do all day?”
He was prevented from replying by Mrs. Kirkpatrick’s arrival of a tray filled with their steaming bowls of soup and a half loaf of bread. A small crock of butter accompanied it. With great fanfare she set a bowl in front of each of them.
“You two eat up now,” she commanded. “Especially you, miss. You look like a strong wind would blow you away.”
“I’ll do my best,” Eloisa said with a smile. When their server left, she carefully dipped her spoon into her bowl, skimmed off a small portion, and said, “Now, as you were saying?”
He shrugged. “My days are about what you might expect. I report in to the precinct. Once there, my captain usually has a case for us to follow. Or we continue the one we are working on.”
