When Angels Fall

by Meagan Mckinney

  She was going to forget Ivan.

  She told herself that all during the long coach ride to Grenham. She told herself that now. Of course, she knew it to be a hearty lie, but it was her only solace. Her anger at Ivan increased by the mile. There were moments she felt she wouldn’t be able to contain the rage and pain within her breast; they were too deep even for tears. So she spent the train ride sitting grim and silent, unable to comprehend that Ivan was so cruel as to start those horrid rumors about her seducing him for marriage. Those words were so viciously untrue, the gall choked her whenever she thought about them.

  But now, thanks ironically to Arabella, she had saved herself from him, and the thought gave her strength. Perhaps she was saving herself only physically—for her mind was still consumed by dark thoughts of him, and her desire for him still tormented her—but she would never again be at his mercy. In one impulsive act, she had thwarted his plans to ruin her. She was running to London where no one would know or care what was being said about her in tiny Nodding Knoll. And she was running far away from those terrible, desperate passions, those same uncontrollable passions that had brought her own parents to such a tragic end.

  Someday the pain in her heart would diminish.

  She smiled a grim, bittersweet smile. Another lie, but it was her only hope. Her only reason for going on.

  They stopped in Kilburn Wells and, as some of the passengers disembarked, she took the window seat. They were now less than three miles from London and her nerves were wearing thin. She had spent the night sitting in the car and her whole body was stiff and sore. She longed for a bed, but she knew it would take her awhile to find the ladies’ hotel Mrs. Parks had told her about. In her mind, she went through all Mrs. Parks’s instructions. She was to get a hansom and go to the boardinghouse. The next day she was to make several polite inquiries about governessing at the homes for which Mrs. Parks had provided references. Mrs. Parks had been all too kind. Uncharacteristically kind. But Lissa forced herself not to question her fortune. She was offered a grand escape; she could not afford to spurn any help.

  The first whistles blew, signaling their approach to Euston Station, and for a moment she felt almost optimistic. She had finally escaped Nodding Knoll.

  Euston Station was crowded as their train pulled up to the station building. In nervous anticipation, Lissa gathered her purse and black leather satchel and tied her bonnet. Then she disembarked. She had never seen such a sight. Hundreds of people milled about, either waiting for departure or having just arrived. Women dressed in bombazine hustled along, pulling their children behind them. Men in top hats and checked trousers lounged by the station buildings smoking. Having only known the quiet sameness of a small-town existence, she found the frenzied pace thrilling. Everyone seemed to have something important to do, somewhere important to go. And now she, Lissa Alcester, did too.

  When she entered the Graeco-Roman Hall of the station building, again she was taken aback by the confusion and noise. Somewhere nearby she heard a child crying and a gentleman arguing with a railway clerk. Above her light came from enormous windows set near the coffered ceiling. She looked around for the exit but couldn’t find it.

  “Excuse me—” she began, turning to an elderly, pleasant-looking gent, yet before she could utter another word, the gent moved on, ignoring her completely.

  She was not used to such rudeness. In Nodding Knoll, people had gossiped about her, but no one except Old Widow Tannahill had ever been so blunt as to refuse to speak to her.

  “I say, excuse me,” she next called to a pretty woman who was sauntering by with her entourage of trunk-bearing servants. However, the haughty young miss only raised her eyebrow and moved on, leaving Lissa completely bemused.

  “You need something, mum?” A soberly dressed young girl, obviously one of lady’s maidservants, stopped.

  “Thank heavens! Yes, could you tell me where I might get a hansom?” In relief, Lissa clutched her purse to her chest.

  “Up the stairs, mum. It’s quite simple. The cabbies are parked before the gateway.”

  “Oh, thank you ever so much!” Lissa smiled and watched the girl catch up to her mistress. Then she mounted the stairs.

  The hansoms were lined up beneath the long portico that led out to Euston Square. However, before she could summon one, she needed to be able to tell the driver where to go, so she unknotted her long silk purse and reached inside it for Mrs. Parks’s directions. As was fashionable, her purse was sewn with steel beads, which jangled while she dug for the paper. She soon discovered she was drawing attention, so she moved out of the path of traffic toward a wall.

  A man whom she thought was a cabbie swaggered by. He was young and seemed rather shabbily dressed for a hansom driver. He leaned against the wall next to her. Frightened, she moved away from the man, but he only began to stare at her quite rudely. She clutched her purse in her hand and was about to move farther away when the man grabbed her purse. She wanted to scream but she was so terrified, her voice caught in her throat. Instinctively she pulled her purse toward her. But to no avail. He was much stronger; in one swift tug he had it. Then the cocky purse-snatcher grinned crookedly, his eyes sweeping appreciatively down her face and figure. “You’re quite a morsel, mum,” he said before he took off down the lane to Euston Square.

  She could hardly comprehend what had just happened. Putting a trembling hand to her mouth, she thought of crying out for help, but her voice failed her once more. All around, people bustled past, unaware that her purse had just been stolen. She wanted to cry out for a bobby, but she saw none in sight. She felt she must tell someone of the robbery that had just occurred, but then she thought of the rude gent and the lady she had encountered in the hall. Staring at the hurrying figures before her now, she suddenly wondered if any of them would even pause long enough for her to spill out her tragedy, let alone to help her.

  Numbly she moved from the wall and looked around, wild-eyed. She didn’t know what to do. Clutching her satchel to her bosom as if for her life, she took a few steps toward the cabs, but then a voice startled her. She spun to face it.

  “Have ye a halfpence to spare, miss?” A wizened hag held out her palm.

  Lissa’s gaze darted to the cabs. Inching back from the woman, she explained, “I haven’t. I’m sorry. My purse was just stolen from me.”

  The hag frowned in sympathy. “Oeeeii, ain’t that a shame!” She moved forward, her hand still out. “But surely you’ve got a little bit tucked away somewhere else, miss. I just want a halfpence . . .”

  Lissa stumbled back into a hansom. She did have a few coins tucked in her satchel, but now those few pennies were very precious to her. She most definitely couldn’t afford to give any to this woman. As it was she wondered how she would get along on the meager funds she had left.

  The hag pressed forward again and then Lissa didn’t know to what to do. She’d never dealt with beggars. Nodding Knoll hadn’t any beggars. She didn’t know what would put this woman off.

  “Move along, Deara, you’re hurtin’ the business.” A man’s annoyed voice sounded from on top of the hansom Lissa was pressed against. Lissa turned her head and the driver was scowling at the woman. He wore a black frock coat and a full gray beard, but even his somber appearance couldn’t diminish the Irish sparkle of his clear periwinkle eyes.

  “Jack! You son of a cur! And you’re hurtin’ mine!” Deara spat into the tall wheels of the cab.

  The driver ignored Deara’s foul gesture. He got down from his seat, then tipped his top hat to Lissa. He opened the door for her and held out his hand for her satchel. “Get in, miss, and we’ll be off. That’s the only way ta get rid o’ the likes of her!” He nodded his head distastefully in Deara’s direction.

  Lissa looked at the driver. She desperately wanted to get into the cab, but with her purse gone, along with Mrs. Parks’s directions, she now didn’t have the least idea where the hansom should take her.

  “O’Hurley’s the name, miss. Where
ya be goin’ today?” the driver asked.

  “I’m—I’m not sure.”

  “Was someone ta meet you then?” O’Hurley already looked disappointed over the loss of his fare.

  “No, it’s just that my purse was stolen. Right over there.” Lissa pointed to the wall of the station. “Now I haven’t the name of the hotel that was recommended to me.”

  “Nor the coins for a cab, I think.” Disappointed, O’Hurley remounted his hansom. Even Deara wandered off to beg from another passenger.

  “Mr. O’Hurley, I don’t know anyone in London.”

  Lissa reached into her satchel and dug out the last few coins she had left. “Would you please tell me where I could find a room?”

  O’Hurley looked down at her. Though his face remained irritated, he suddenly seemed touched by her plight. His faded blue eyes softened when he analyzed her meager funds. They softened even more when his gaze rested on her beautiful, frightened face.

  “Where ya come from, miss?” he finally asked her.

  “Nodding Knoll, sir.”

  “Well, I want ta give you a bit o’ advice. Take those pennies you have left and buy a ticket back ta Noddin’ Knoll. London is no place for the likes o’ you.”

  Lissa cast her gaze downward. Nodding Knoll had never looked so good. She was almost tempted to do just what he suggested.

  But then she thought of Ivan.

  “I can’t go back, Mr. O’Hurley. I just can’t.” She raised her eyes again and said, “Please won’t you tell me where I might stay?”

  O’Hurley, now thoroughly disgruntled, visually counted up her funds. He then shook his head. “The only room you could get with those coins, miss, is a room in St. Giles-in-the-Fields.”

  “St. Giles? Where is that?”

  “Yacan’t stay there, miss. Do ya know what goes on in St. Giles-in-the-Fields? Now take those coins and get yarself back ta Noddin’ Knoll.” O’Hurley began studying the hansom in front of him as if, by taking his eyes off her, she might just go away.

  Obviously she wasn’t going to get any more help from him. Lissa put her coins back into her satchel and murmured, “Thank you very much for your assistance, Mr. O’Hurley. I’m sorry I took so much of your time. I’ll inquire about a place to stay with someone else.” She began to walk away, but for some reason whatever she said seemed to stir O’Hurley into action. He called to her and she walked back to his cab.

  “Listen, miss,” he began, “if yar goin’ ta be so stubborn as ta stay here in London, the Bell and Garter ain’t so awful. In fact, I go there meself every now and then for a mug o’ stout.”

  “Oh, thank you!” Her eyes turned brilliant with new-found hope. “Will I find this place in that St. Giles you were speaking of? Is it within walking distance?”

  O’Hurley looked uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t at all used to being charitable. “Well, ya head down Tottenham Court Road—of course, leaving the station ya take New Road—St. Giles is at the east end of Oxford Street—” He looked down and read the utter confusion on her face. He then scowled. “Oh, get in.I’ll take ya.”

  Lissa looked hesitant. “I’d like to, but I’m afraid you were right. I really can’t afford to take a cab.”

  O’Hurley’s scowl deepened. “Go on, get in. I wouldn’t have made a fare no matter, for I was just about ta head out for the day. And don’t it confound all but I’ve a sudden thirst for some stout from the Bell and Garter.”

  She looked up at him, a smile of gratitude on her lips. But knowing that her thanks would only irritate him further, she mutely climbed into the open carriage. When he heard the door shut, O’Hurley cursed heartily at himself and headed out of Euston through the great Doric Gateway.

  The Bell and Garter was not what Lissa had expected. It was a ramshackle half-timbered structure almost three hundred years old with a huge yard to the rear for carriages. The inn sat on the east side of Charlotte Street, and much to Lissa’s embarrassment, its sign was a painting of a rusty iron bell, artfully wrapped with a multitude of ladies’ silk garters.

  O’Hurley seemed to know a fair number of the inn’s patrons, for when they pulled up several men leaving the yard called in greeting. By the time he had dismounted and opened the door, a small crowd had gathered around.

  For some reason Lissa, even in her drab little costume, appeared to be an oddity. It was as if they had never seen a lady before or, at least, not in a very long while. A tingle of apprehension went down her spine as she felt the men’s eyes on her like a pack of winter-starved wolves. As if instinctively knowing it would only offer encouragement, she refused to even look at the men, and she stepped nearer O’Hurley’s side.

  “Jack! Haven’t seen you since you lost your arse on Stir-Up Sunday! Come to win it back in a game of craps, have you?” She watched as a tall, thin, aging man who appeared to be the ostler stepped from the gathering. He wore a dingy apron. His trousers looked almost like leggings for they buttoned down each side from waist to ankle.

  “Sly! Ya old dog!” O’Hurley smiled wryly at the innkeeper. “Ya won’t get me again! The last time I threw the dice I almost found meself in Newgate for me troubles.”

  “Well, you’re welcome anytime, Jack!”

  O’Hurley rolled his eyes.

  Suddenly the ostler seemed to notice Lissa. For some reason he appeared affronted. He turned to O’Hurley and said, “What have you got here, Jack? You bring your own tart when my girls are—?”

  O’Hurley cut him off by waving his hands. He shot Lissa an apologetic glance, then he lowered his voice. “Not so, Sly. This is Miss—ah, Miss—?”

  “Alcester,” Lissa volunteered, her face pink from embarrassment. She knew what a tart was, all right. She’d been called one often enough. Still, she wasn’t sure what the innkeeper had meant by “his girls.”

  “You see, Sly,” O’Hurley continued, “I picked Miss Alcester up at Euston. Her purse was stolen. She just came down from Noddin’ Knoll and doesn’t have too many friends here ta put her up, so I knew ya’d be able ta accommodate her on what funds she has left.”

  The ostler gave her an appreciative glance. It was so shockingly thorough, she found herself stepping back.

  He opened his mouth to respond but O’Hurley wouldn’t let him. He said, “I know what ya’re thinkin’, Sly, so just scrub out that mind o’ yours. Miss Alcester’s a good girl, and she won’t be working for the likes of you. All she wants is a cheap room.”

  “And since when have you been the one to help foundlings who come in at the station?” Sly asked.

  “I don’t.” O’Hurley scowled. “But seein’ as how she’s here, I think ya can give her a room. After all, for the coins I’ve lost ta ya in craps, I ought to own one o’ them rooms by now.”

  The ostler laughed and slapped Jack on the back. “And wouldn’t you like that fine!”

  O’Hurley’s whiskered mouth twitched in embarrassment, but he picked up her satchel and walked toward the black battened door that was the entrance to the inn.

  Lissa followed, utterly confused.

  “What’s the girl’s room ta be, Sly?” O’Hurley asked when they entered the common room. It smelled of stale hops and even staler cigar smoke, but the bar was well polished and the floor swept clean. She reassured herself that that was a good sign. What was not a good sign was the fact that at this time of the morning only a few patrons were about, and oddly enough, most of them were women who either sat boredly shuffling dog-eared cards or joking with the handsome barkeep. Suddenly all her worries congealed into a dread, unspeakable thought. With it, everything was beginning to make sense.

  “Number Three, Jack.” From a counter beneath the wainscotted stairs, Sly threw O’Hurley a rusty iron key. Lissa followed her benefactor up the stairs to her room.

  Number Three’s only charm was the fact that it was clean. The floorboards were waxed and the linens fresh and white. However, the whitewash was gone along with the plaster in several places and the only chair in the room l
ooked as if a sparrow could knock it to the floor. There were two pegs above the bed where she could hang her clothes.

  O’Hurley dropped her satchel next to the bed. He watched her as she peered out the only window, a grim set to her mouth.

  “That’s Leviticus Cemetery. Jews are buried there, just like in Whitechapel,” O’Hurley told her.

  She studied the huge, crumbling mausoleums and shivered, then immediately turned from the mullions. “No ghosts, I hope,” she said, the whisper of a smile on her lips.

  “No ghosts.” O’Hurley laughed. “At least none that I’ve heard o’.”

  Lissa walked up to him. “Thank you. You’ve really been too kind.”

  Immediately O’Hurley looked uncomfortable. He stepped back into the hall and, for the first time, removed his top hat. “Get a good job, miss, and don’t let Sylvester suck ya inta doing his kind o’ work.”

  She now understood perfectly what he was telling her. Sly’s girls were unrepentant Magdalenes. And here she was right in the midst of them with nowhere else to go. But nonetheless, she was going to make the best of it. With the last pennies from her satchel, she had paid for her room for a week. When that week was out, she’d be on to greener pastures.

  She nodded her head, assuring him. “I’ll be looking for a governess position tomorrow.” Ruefully she thought of the references Mrs. Parks had given her. Those that were in her purse.

  “See that ya do.” O’Hurley nodded. With nothing more to say, he stomped down the stairs.

  She closed the door behind him. Instinctively she went to the key lying next to her satchel and locked the door.

  Unpacking her bag took almost no time at all for she hadn’t brought much. She had another wool gown, some underclothing, her hairbrush. And the Worth gown.

  Gently she unpacked it from the bottom of her bag. She shook it out and, in dismay, she surveyed the damage. It was hopelessly wrinkled, but the wrinkles could be ironed. The tatters at the hemline were another matter altogether. Though the rips were physical proof of her attempt to save herself from Ivan’s clutches, that proof would do her no good now. More than ever she needed to sell the gown.