Mrs. Brodie’s Academy for Exceptional Young Ladies

by Galen, Shana

  Caleb had told her to wait for him near the theater, and she spotted him almost immediately. It might be more apt to say she spotted him as soon as he allowed it. She’d been looking for him outside the theater as she approached and thought she had arrived early. Then he seemed to appear from nowhere. He joined her, falling into step beside her.

  Seeing him again brought the memories of the night before rushing back. The way his kingfisher-blue eyes had looked up at her as she’d disrobed, the way his mouth had looked when he kissed her breast, the way his hands had felt as they touched her. She felt her cheeks heat at the memory.

  “Are you feeling suddenly shy?” he asked after the silence had gone on and he’d glanced at her face.

  “Just remembering last night.”

  “I’m sure you repented this morning.”

  He turned in the direction of Bethnal Green. “Did you?” she asked.

  “Hell no. I’m not a bit sorry.”

  She laughed. “You are incorrigible.”

  “I am. I see you in that pretty dress and jaunty hat, and all I can think about is taking it off you.”

  Now her cheeks heated for another reason. She swallowed, eager to change the subject. “I have good news.”

  “Tidings of great joy? Isn’t that in December?”

  She punched him lightly. “Not that good news. A young girl is interested in taking art lessons with me. If her mother recommends me to her friends, I could soon have a number of pupils.”

  “And what will you do with all that blunt?”

  “Buy James clothes and shoes and pay for schooling.”

  “Are you still determined not to accept my money?”

  She ducked her head. “I suppose if you are determined to give it to me, I won’t refuse. I could move to better accommodations or buy James some toys.”

  He took her hand and squeezed it. “We’ll find him today. I can feel it.”

  She nodded, not wanting to allow her expectations to rise too high. At the Hog and Hen, she knew where to go and what to do. She entered right before Caleb and made her way to the back room. She waited until Caleb took a seat at a table nearby, then approached the entrance to the room, where the same sentry as the day before stood.

  “Can I help you, missus?”

  “Yes, you can. I’d like to speak with Mr. Merceron.”

  He scratched his bald head. “Do you owe him blunt?”

  “No.”

  “Then—”

  “But I’ll pay him for information.”

  The sentry’s brows went up. “What sort of information?”

  “I’ll discuss that with Mr. Merceron.” She tried to move past the sentry, but he blocked her path.

  “Come back tomorrow. Maybe he’ll see you then.”

  “That’s what you told me yesterday.” She rose on tiptoe and spotted a well-dressed man sitting at a table with another man and speaking in hushed tones. “Mr. Merceron!” she called, hoping he was the man at the table.

  He looked up, glancing from her to his man, then back to her.

  “I need to speak to you, sir.”

  “Oy!” The sentry moved to block her vision. “I say who sees Mr. Merceron.” He grabbed her arm and pushed her around, and immediately Caleb was at his side.

  “You’ll want to release the lady,” he said, voice low and menacing.

  “And who are you?”

  “A friend of the lady.”

  By this time, Merceron had risen. As she’d observed, he was well-dressed, though his clothes were too bright and too flashy to be those of a nobleman. His dark hair was pulled back into a queue, and he had a high forehead and a large, flat nose. It had obviously been broken a time or two. “What’s this about, Digsby?”

  “I told this wench to be on her way, but her cull is giving me trouble.”

  Merceron’s gaze flicked to Caleb, then back to Bridget. He gave her a quick once-over. “I must apologize for Digsby, missus. Is there something I can help you with?”

  Digsby scowled, but stepped back and out of the way.

  “I’m looking for Joseph Merceron.”

  “You’ve found him.” He gave a half bow. “Come sit.”

  Caleb made to retreat, but Merceron pointed at him. “You too, fellow. Come and have a drink.”

  Bridget shot Caleb an apologetic look, then took the seat Merceron offered. His previous companion was gone. Since he hadn’t passed Bridget on his way out, she surmised there must be a back door. Caleb took a seat as well, keeping his hat pulled low over his brow.

  “Do I know you?” Merceron asked Caleb. “You look familiar.”

  “I’ve lived here and there,” Caleb answered.

  Merceron lifted the bottle of wine on the table. “Thirsty?” he asked Bridget.

  “No, thank you. I actually have a question to ask you. I’m told you’re familiar with Spitalfields.”

  He nodded. “I was born on Brick Lane. I know every inch of that street, from Spitalfields to Bethnal Green. You want to open a business?”

  “No. Actually, I’m looking for someone. He was left at the St. Dismas Home for Wayward Youth, but that building has burned down.”

  “Happened about three years ago. One of my men was injured in the fire. He was trying to help the women and children escape, of course.”

  “Of course,” Caleb muttered.

  “But it weren’t called St. Dismas. That rum mort who took over named it something else.”

  “What’s that?”

  Merceron crossed his arms and smiled. “I don’t rightly remember.”

  Caleb put a penny on the table. Merceron looked at the penny, then tapped his forehead.

  Caleb put two more pennies on the table.

  “Now it’s coming to me. Sunnyvale or Sunnybrooke Home for Boys.”

  “Where is it located now?” Caleb asked.

  “Not in my jurisdiction, so I don’t care. But the rum mort…what was her name?”

  Caleb sighed and put another penny on the table.

  “Lady Julia. That’s right. She was the daughter of a duke or an earl or one of them nobs. I assumed she either went back to her ballroom or moved the orphanage somewhere a bit to the west.”

  Caleb stood, and Bridget followed. “Thank you.”

  Merceron looked up at Caleb. “Sure I don’t know you?”

  “I’m sure.” He hurried Bridget through the tavern, and when they stepped outside, he muttered, “I shouldn’t have come with you. He knows who I am.”

  Chapter Six

  CALEB KNEW THE MOMENT Merceron said he looked familiar that he’d made a mistake. He didn’t regret going with Bridget. He couldn’t have sent her into the tavern alone, and he’d known it was a risk to go along. But now he could feel the shadow of danger closing in.

  Bridget, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of the peril awaiting them. She was walking quickly and chattering about the new information they’d gained. He did not wish to ruin her excitement, but he thought the sooner he separated from her, the better.

  “Should we find a bookstore and purchase a directory? Surely there can’t be too many orphanages with sunny in the name.”

  “I don’t know that a directory of businesses or tourist sites would list orphanages at all.”

  Her shoulders fell. “You’re correct, of course.” She looked up at the sky, which was cloudy, but at least no rain fell. “I suppose we can start in Mayfair and ask people we meet if they know it.”

  He steered her toward a shop window, the blinds pulled down indicating it was closed on Sunday. “We might find it even more quickly if we go to the charity hospital. The nurses will know all the foundling houses.”

  She nodded. “Yes. I didn’t think of that. Let’s go now.” She started away, but he grasped her arm lightly, holding her back. “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t go with you. In fact, it’s time we say goodbye.”

  The excitement and pleasure on her face fled. “I don’t understand. We’re so close.
”

  “You are. I have no doubt you’ll find James today, but not if I’m with you. I’ll only cause you trouble.”

  She shook her head. “No, you won’t. I understand if you don’t want James to know who you are, but there’s no reason you can’t meet him.”

  He bent close to her. “I was recognized, Bridget. Merceron knew my face. He might not have put my face with my name and the reward offered for me, but he will. And when that happens, he’ll send men after me. I have to leave Mrs. Jacobs’s, choose a new name, and find another place to hide. London is full of boarding houses and taverns with rooms to let. It won’t be difficult.”

  “And that’s to be your life? Always running? Always hiding?”

  He straightened. “If I want to live, yes. I had thought—” He shook his head. “You should go on without me.”

  “Finish what you were saying.”

  “It’s nothing that concerns you. I’d thought of leaving, sailing for the Americas or Canada. I’d be safe there.”

  She stepped back, knocking into the window. “That’s so far away.”

  “I should have gone already, but there was something keeping me here.” He looked into his eyes. “Someone. Now that I know you are safe and well and will be provided for, I can go. I’ll leave blunt under your pillow before I go, enough to see that you and James are cared for.” He took her hand and kissed it. “I’ve never loved anyone else, Bridget. I don’t think I ever will.”

  It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, to walk away. He heard her harsh intake of breath and the sob as she released it, but he didn’t look back. If he truly cared for her, walking away from her was the right thing to do. And he’d be damned if he would put her and his child in danger.

  He turned a corner and stumbled. Every fiber of his being wanted to go back to her, but he forced himself forward, returning to Mrs. Jacobs’s. He’d gather his things, leave Bridget the blunt, and be on his way. Perhaps it was best if he left England altogether. If he was in the same city, he didn’t trust himself not to attempt to sneak a look at Bridget or James. It would be better if an ocean separated them, safer for all of them.

  TWO HOURS LATER, BRIDGET trudged up the stairs of Mrs. Jacobs’s boarding house. She was tired and hot and discouraged. By the time she reached the second floor, she was also lightheaded. She hadn’t eaten since the pilfered slice of bread after church, and that had been hours ago.

  She unlocked her door, stepped into her dark room, and leaned back against the door. The rain from the day before had left the city muggy and humid, and this upper chamber was as stuffy as she’d known it would be. She started for the window, then paused and glanced at her bed. Had Caleb left the money under her pillow? She turned back, then screamed when she saw the man standing on the other side of the room.

  Caleb stood, hands outstretched. “It’s only me, Bridget.”

  She clamped a hand over her mouth and stared at him. “I thought you were gone,” she whispered.

  “I tried to leave, but they’d already found me.”

  “Who? How?”

  A sharp tap at the door startled her into silence. “Mrs. Lavery? Are you well?” Mrs. Jacobs asked.

  She winced, then motioned for Caleb to get behind the door. “I’m fine, Mrs. Jacobs,” Bridget called. But she knew that wouldn’t satisfy the lady, so she went to the door and opened it a crack. “I’m so sorry. I thought I saw a rat.”

  Mrs. Jacobs stabbed her hands on her hips. “All that racket because you saw a rat! I thought you’d been set on by murderers. First, those men looking for Mr. Smith, now this.” She started away, but Bridget slid out the door and went after her.

  “What men looking for Mr. Smith?”

  “Not that it’s any of your business, but three men came here looking for him. They said they were from the magistrate and he’d stolen something. Asked to search his room, but when they went in, lo and behold, he had already cleared out. Thieves and whores have taken over the city, I tell you.”

  “Where are these men now?”

  “How should I know?” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s it to you?”

  “I just wondered how you could be certain they came from the magistrate. Was the magistrate with them?”

  “How I could be certain? How I could be—do you think men just go about impersonating city officials? Why, that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Bridget nodded. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Course I’m right.” She pointed a finger at Bridget. “No more screams out of you.”

  “No, madam. Again, I’m sorry.” She went back to her room, closing the door quietly and locking it. Caleb stood against the wall, arms crossed.

  “I was in here when they arrived.” He gestured to a valise near her table. “I thought I’d better wait to leave until it was safe.”

  “When will that be?”

  “After dark. I doubt they left anyone to watch the place, since it was clear I’d already taken my belongings and gone, but I don’t want to risk being seen.”

  “Should I go out and look around?”

  He crossed to her and put his hands on her arms. “No. Stay inside. I’ve been sitting here the past hour worrying about you. Where is James?”

  She closed her eyes, and he led her to the bed, sitting beside her. “I didn’t find him. I went to the hospital, but no one was there to see me today. It’s Sunday, and only a few nurses were working, and they had more work than they could handle. I was told to come back tomorrow.”

  “Then you go back tomorrow.”

  “I have to teach tomorrow and won’t be able to go back until evening.”

  He stroked her hair. “I know it’s difficult to wait.”

  She nodded. “I just want to see him, hold him, know he’s all right. I know one more day is nothing after all these years, but it feels like forever.” She swiped at her eyes. “And now I’m crying. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “You’re tired, and you haven’t eaten. I have bread and apples in my valise.”

  He rose and fetched them, tossing them in the center of her small bed. “You need these for your travels,” she said.

  “I’ll buy more. Eat.”

  She lifted an apple and bit in while he dug under her pillow and produced a handful of paper notes. “For you and James.” He pressed them into her hand.

  Bridget gaped at them. “Five pounds? I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

  “Then accept it for James.”

  She nodded and secreted the notes in a drawer. “I have something for you as well,” she said, returning to the bed. She reached underneath and pulled out the box. “I would have shown you these before, but I didn’t realize you’d have to leave so soon.”

  She opened the cover and drew out the sketch of James when he’d been an infant. “I drew these of our son.” She handed him the first one and watched his face as he studied it. His expression turned from wonder to joy to pride.

  “He’s beautiful. Like his mother.”

  “More like his father.” She handed him the second drawing. “He has your eyes.”

  Caleb touched a finger to the drawing. “He does.” He looked up at her. “He really does.”

  “I don’t think I got the color quite right.” She placed a hand on his temple. “But then, I don’t think anyone could. Did you mean it?” she asked.

  His brow furrowed.

  “When you said you’d never loved anyone else. Did you mean that you loved me?”

  “I still love you.”

  She swallowed her uncertainty. “Then don’t go. I want us to be a family.”

  “Bridget, you know that’s not possible. The only way to keep you safe is to leave you. I’ve already put you in danger.”

  “There’s no reason for anyone to come after me.”

  “And I don’t want to give them one.” He looked down at the box. “Do you have any more drawings?”

  “Just one.” She lifted the la
st, the drawing that showed James crying as he was taken away from her. Caleb took it and let out a slow breath.

  “Bridget, I’m so sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.”

  “It was. I swear to you, this will never happen again. I’ll make sure you always have funds.”

  “I’ll be fine. I have my position at the academy and students waiting for art lessons. James and I will be fine. I don’t need your money.” She took the drawing from his hand and placed it with the others back in the box. “I just need you.”

  Still on her knees, she put her arms around his neck and kissed him. If she was not to see him again, then she wanted one last night to remember him by. He kissed her back, tentatively at first and then with more passion. She pulled his coat off and unfastened his neckcloth, making it clear she wanted more than his hand on her tonight. She wanted all of him.

  “Are you certain?” he asked when she reached for the placket of his breeches.

  “Absolutely certain.” She loosed the breeches and took him in her hand. He was warm and hard, the weight of him familiar. She stroked him, then pushed him back on the bed and lifted her skirts to climb on top of him. He grasped her waist, staying her.

  “If we’re to do this, I want to do it right.”

  She raised her brows. “I thought I was doing it right.”

  “I want you naked. I want to see you.”

  “Then undress me.”

  He lifted her off him and stripped his own clothes off first. Bridget’s throat went dry at the sight of him—his long, muscled legs; his broad shoulders; his corded arms.

  He started with her hair, plucking pins from the simple upsweep until it all tumbled about her shoulders. Then he unfastened the bodice of the dress, slid the skirts and petticoats off, and gave her a long look as she stood in only her chemise and stays.

  “Are you tired already?” she asked.

  “Just trying to decide what to take off next. I could remove your garters and stockings, but perhaps I should leave those for last and divest you of your stays and shift first.”

  She stepped out of her shoes, pushed them aside, and put her arms around his waist. His hard member pushed against her belly, and he inhaled sharply when her hands squeezed his buttocks. “Or you could just take me now and worry about the clothing later.”