Not wishing to burden his mother, he fell into the relatively easy world of picking pockets to earn his keep. It was certainly better than fighting off Rutledge’s filthy advances. Out of his pickings, he brought home his paltry shoemaker’s assistant salary and saved the difference, his mother never the wiser. He left the same time each morning as if he were going to the shoemaker’s and returned in the evening before his mother did.
Stealing was much more satisfying than working for Rutledge.
With picking pockets, Tom was his own boss. He decided who to pinch from and where he would look for fancy toffs. And he liked having his days free to himself to do what he wanted. He could wander about the city, taking in the sights and sounds, observing everyone. He enjoyed walking along the nice neighborhoods, like Mayfair, looking in all the fine homes where the rich folk lived. When evening fell, he could see the warm glow of candlelight in the tall windows and families gathered around the table, and he wished so desperately that it were his family there. He and Ellie and Mama and Papa, all together again. He knew that could never be, but still he would pick out one house he liked especially and imagine he and Mama lived there now. She would be well cared for and happy then. And she would finally smile again. Living in one of those swanky town houses, Mama wouldn’t have to work and could wear pretty dresses of her own, instead of sewing them for others.
He wanted that for her. He wanted his mother to be happy again more than anything in the world. But he just didn’t know what to do to make that happen.
Mama released a heavy sigh. “Yes, that’s it. Maybe Mr. Rutledge can give you a little raise.”
“Maybe I should look for a different job that pays more,” Tom suggested.
“No!” Mama’s eyes grew wide and panicked. “You stay there, where you are safe. I won’t have you off in one of those horrid factories. Or working for a chimney sweep, God forbid. Your father would never forgive me if I let it come to that, if I let anything happen to you. And I can’t lose you, Tom. I’ve lost enough already.”
Yes. They both had lost enough. Tom’s heart constricted at the thought of Papa and Ellie.
His mother rose slowly to her feet and walked to him. She ran her cramped hand through his tousled red hair. “You stay at Rutledge’s, Tom. You’ve been doing so well there.”
“But I don’t like it there . . .” Tom’s voice trembled as he began to confess.
“But we need your wages.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He felt a little sick inside at his deception. The charade would continue then, for he had not the heart to tell her that he’d been lying to her and stealing. Not tonight anyway, when Madame La Fleur had just let her go and she was so worried about finding another job. He didn’t want her worrying more than she already did.
“I’m so sorry, Tom.” Her voice quavered as she went to lie upon the thin pallet on the floor. “You’re just a little boy and shouldn’t be worried about these adult things. I wish I could send you to school, like your papa wanted. I wish I knew enough to teach you myself. Your father and I wanted so much more for you than this.”
Tom had known that. From the stories his mother told him, his father had been a learned man, an educated man. The only child of an impoverished pastor and his wife, James Alcott had been taught how to read and write and speak other languages. After his parents died, he had taken a position as a tutor for a wealthy family in a fine manor house in Wales. At that house, James met Anna Powell, a pretty parlor maid. His mother never talked about her own family, just that her parents died when she was a baby.
James and Anna fell in love and married each other. Tom knew something bad happened at the manor house, but his mother wouldn’t go into specifics, just that they had had to leave in a hurry. The two of them came to London with the little bit of money that James had saved. They were able to rent some decent rooms and James managed to obtain a position teaching at a little parish school. Baby Tom arrived without delay and Anna stayed home and took care of him and did some sewing for extra money. She always said that Tom was the best surprise she ever had and how much she loved him. Things were going well for a while even though money was scarce. Papa and Mama were happy together and along came Ellie. Papa had big plans for the family, according to Mama’s telling of it. He was teaching Mama to read better and he wanted both his children to go to school someday, too.
Then came that terrible day when Tom’s whole world changed forever and Papa got sick, vomiting uncontrollably. Somehow he had caught the cholera and they took him away before he died. The landlord told Mama that they had to leave, because he didn’t want a diseased family living in his building. Tom didn’t remember much of those years, except for Mama’s crying. They eventually came to live in the garret at Framingham’s because it was all Mama could afford. It was not easy for a woman with two little children clinging to her to find enough work to support them, but somehow Mama survived by securing a position at Madame La Fleur’s dress shop.
So the three of them lived in the garret room and Tom looked after Ellie while Mama went to work at the dress shop. But Mama never gave up on Papa’s wish for Tom to learn to read.
Then they lost Ellie last Christmas.
Mama wanted Tom to go to school then. But school was not mandatory. And eating was. So he had gone to work instead of learning to read and write.
Tom stood above his mother as she lay on the pallet. “I don’t need school. I’m doing all right, Mama. I’m as smart as they come already. And don’t worry because I’ll earn enough for both of us.”
His mother cried then. Tom had meant to comfort her with his words, not make her cry. He curled up beside her on the pallet, feeling the sobs that wracked her thin body. Slipping his hand in hers, he squeezed her hand tightly. He wished with all his might that she wouldn’t cry. But on that cold December night Mama cried and cried and he could not get her to stop.
11
Good Tidings We Bring
Saturday, December 6, 1873
“He was with whom?” Lady Emmeline Tarleton asked two days later, incredulous at what Penelope Eaton had just told her. Emmeline had been working on some details of her upcoming wedding with her mother, when her friend Penelope had unexpectedly called on her that afternoon. They now sat in the exquisitely decorated parlor of the Duke of Wentworth, who was Emmeline’s father, at their grand home in Mayfair.
“A very pretty young woman,” Penelope explained for the second time. “He said she was a friend who was visiting Brighton. He introduced her to me as Miss Lisette Hamilton.”
Emmeline’s eyes narrowed at the blond girl, who had been her friend since childhood. What had Quinton been up to while he was in Brighton?
“The only reason I am mentioning this to you, Emmeline, is that they looked rather intimate with each other, as if they were about to . . . about to . . .”
“As if they were about to what?” Emmeline demanded, her heart pounding in her chest.
Penelope paused, unsure whether to divulge this piece of information or not. “As if they were about to”—her voice dropped to a hushed whisper—“about to kiss.”
Kiss! Images of Quinton and this faceless woman swirled in Emmeline’s mind. It was impossible. Quinton loved her. They were about to be married, for heaven’s sake! Penelope must be mistaken. The scenario was impossibly absurd. Emmeline laughed aloud, if somewhat forcefully. “Why, that is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard in my life!”
“I am only telling you what I saw with my own eyes,” Penelope responded defensively, a bit hurt that her scandalous news was being so easily dismissed. “He held her hand and was leaning very close to her. Their lips were almost touching. They looked quite intimate with each other. If I had not come along when I did and interrupted them, who knows what might have happened between them!”
Incredulous, Emmeline questioned in disbelief, “They were about to kiss in public? In the middle of a shop? In full view of whoever might be walking by? It does not sound at all like some
thing my Quinton would do.” Still, she could not ignore the twinge of panic that nipped at her heart. Quinton loved her and would never behave in such a manner with another woman. They were to be husband and wife in a matter of weeks!
Yet . . . there was no reason on earth for Penelope, her dearest friend, to concoct such an outrageous tale either.
“Believe what you will, Emmeline.” Penelope sniffed, taking on an injured air. “I simply thought you should know.”
“Yes, I understand, and I thank you for thinking of my well-being. But I believe you must be mistaken, Penelope. However, if it eases your mind, I shall speak to Quinton about it.”
Penelope harrumphed with a superior attitude. “I should think you’d want to talk to him to ease your own mind, not mine.”
Emmeline wished wholeheartedly that Penelope had kept her mouth closed and her salacious tales to herself. But perhaps it was better to know what was going on. Who was this woman who threatened her happiness? Emmeline would find out the truth. First she would confront Quinton, although he would naturally deny it. Then she would learn who this Miss Lisette Hamilton was and just what her designs were on Emmeline’s fiancé.
“Have you mentioned this to anyone else?” Emmeline questioned, trying to sound more casual about it than she felt.
“Of course not!” Penelope responded, clearly offended that Emmeline would suspect her of spreading scandal. “But Priscilla was with me and saw exactly what I saw.”
Emmeline’s heart sank a little at that disclosure from her friend. Penelope’s sister was the worst kind of gossip. It would be a wonder if all of London hadn’t heard that Quinton was kissing a mystery woman at a shop in Brighton! Her heart pounded in her chest and her face grew warm. She would be humiliated. If her father found out, he would probably shoot Quinton. Emmeline wouldn’t mind if the story were true, but she simply did not believe it.
Or was it simply that she did not want to believe it? Penelope made a point of adding, “But I made Priscilla promise not to utter a word about this to anyone!”
“Lady Emmeline, I beg your pardon for interrupting,” a uniformed housemaid said, “but Mr. Roxbury is here.”
Emmeline stared at the young housemaid who had just entered the parlor. Quinton was here? She was not ready to confront him just yet. She glanced nervously at Penelope, whose eyes had gone wide. “Please show him in, Minnie.”
“Oh, he is in the study with your father now. I just thought you would want to know that he was here, in case you wished to fix yourself up a little and all.” Minnie grinned broadly, happy to be delivering news to her mistress that her handsome fiancé was in the house.
“That was kind of you to inform me, Minnie. Will you please let me know when he is finished speaking with my father?” Emmeline pasted a bright smile on her face. Of course, Quinton would visit with her father before seeing his future wife. Why would she even entertain the idea that he would do otherwise?
“Yes, miss.” Minnie nodded her head and left the room. Penelope rose from her seat, gathering her reticule and gloves. “Perhaps it’s best if I leave. I would think you would want to speak to him in private.”
Emmeline stood and went to her friend. “Yes, thank you, Penelope. I shall call upon you tomorrow.”
“Good luck, Emmeline,” Penelope whispered before exiting the parlor.
Emmeline’s heart sank at the pitiful, worried look she had seen in Penelope’s eyes. She soothed herself with the thought of how foolish her friend would feel next month when watching Quinton and Emmeline wed at Saint Paul’s!
Alone in the parlor, she walked to the mantel and glanced in the gilt-framed mirror hanging above. She stared at her own reflection. Dark brown hair and brown eyes fringed with long black lashes. Ivory skin. A heart-shaped face. There was nothing amiss about her personage. No blemishes. No scars. She had been told how pretty she was, and she was aware that she was attractive to gentlemen. But now she gave herself a keen inventory.
Perhaps she was not attractive enough? Not attractive enough to hold a man. Were her eyes too cold? Her lips too thin? Her chin too pointed? What if Quinton desired a more traditional-looking wife? The blond-haired blue-eyed type. Was it her figure? Was she too thin and shapeless? Perhaps too lacking in the bosom? Gentlemen tended to prefer females with a more hourglass shape, and she was taller than most girls and rather angular. At least she was young and healthy. But was she too young? Not sophisticated or worldly enough? What if she was not the right woman for Quinton?
Emmeline found herself blinking at her anguished reflection. These novel thoughts of inadequacy caused her unexpected apprehension. It was such a new sensation she did not know how to deal with it.
As the cherished and pampered daughter of a wealthy duke, Emmeline had never had a doubt about her importance and position in life. She grew up adored and indulged by her parents and brothers. Dressed fashionably and educated well, she had enjoyed a life of quiet privilege and pleasure, assured of her future happiness as well. Surrounded by family and friends who doted upon her, she knew only comfort and acceptance wherever she went. During her Season she had had many admirers and countless offers, from men far wealthier and titled than Mr. Roxbury.
But she had eyes only for Quinton from the moment she saw him in her father’s grand ballroom.
His masculine handsomeness took her breath away. The golden warmth of his hair and his sky blue eyes were so very different from her own coloring that she was instantly drawn to his fairness. Classic features, an aquiline nose, and a strong chin combined with the charm of his smile made him irresistible. Tall, muscular, and broad shouldered, he carried himself like a prince and could probably pass for one if they put a crown on his head. Quinton Roxbury looked like he stepped right out of the pages of a fairy-tale book. Emmeline had been nervous and giddy in his presence, and as soon as he spoke to her, she had fallen in love with him. She could not recall now what he even said to her, but she knew right then and there that she wanted to marry him.
Since Emmeline had always gotten everything she had ever wanted, it did not enter her mind that she would not get Quinton Roxbury.
That same evening she informed her parents that she had found the man she wanted to wed. And of course, just as they always had her entire life, they set about arranging it for her. They did not question her desire, for her father knew Mr. Roxbury and his family and approved the match. Within the week, Quinton had appeared on her doorstep and their courtship began.
Quinton was charming and solicitous of her, escorting her to various dances and parties. They made a stunning pair, a study in contrasts, light and dark. Emmeline thrilled to the envious looks other girls cast in her direction when she was on Quinton’s arm. By month’s end they were betrothed and the planning for their grand society wedding was under way. Because her birthday was in January, Emmeline thought it a wonderful birthday present to herself to be married on the very day of her birth. So it was settled and she had been blissfully happy with the way it all turned out.
As the wedding day approached, it did not dawn on her that her future husband spent little time with her, so consumed was she with choosing the most beautiful gown, selecting the most extravagant cake, and creating the perfect guest list. All her friends told her how lucky she was to have such a dashing and handsome fiancé. The fact that Quinton had not kissed her only reinforced her opinion of him as a proper gentleman and demonstrated his great respect and regard for her person.
But now . . . Now she wondered.
Should not Quinton have tried to kiss his fiancée? At least once? Should he not be a little more interested in the planning of their wedding instead of caring only about his little houses for the poor? Should not her intended come to see her before seeing her father?
Now as Emmeline Elizabeth Tarleton stood in front of the mantel mirror, doubts began to plague her. She bit her too thin lip.
Lisette Hamilton. She repeated the name to herself softly. Lisette Hamilton. She wished she had asked Pe
nelope what the woman looked like. This woman Quinton wanted to kiss. Was about to kiss. May have already kissed!
That thought almost knocked her off her feet. He had probably done more than kiss this woman. What if Lisette Hamilton was Quinton’s mistress!
In spite of her sheltered upbringing, she had heard about unsavory women that men consorted with before they were married. Then she gave a little sigh of relief. Of course! Quinton had a mistress. Only a woman of that type would be seen kissing in public. A dancer or a stage actress. That’s who it had to be. A common, low, coarse sort of woman. It surprised her to think of him with that type of female, but she assumed it was the way of men and took it as a matter of course. Quinton would not keep this mistress after they were married; of that she was certain.
Now, should she mention to him that she not only knew of this creature’s existence but also knew her name? No. She could not even bear the thought of discussing something so repulsive with Quinton. It might be better to keep the information to herself for a bit longer and see what came of it.
Before her wedding, though, Emmeline vowed to find out more about this woman who behaved with her future husband so scandalously in public. To be safe, she would discover just who this Lisette Hamilton was.
“Hello, my dear. Has Penelope left already?” Emmeline’s mother, the Duchess of Wentworth, asked as she entered the parlor.
Startled, Emmeline turned away from the mirror, embarrassed to be caught staring at herself. She smoothed her dress with her hands. “Oh, yes, she had to go home.”
It Happened One Christmas Page 10
