“You have no—”
“Here, miss.” Josiah pulled out his wallet from inside his waistcoat pocket, unfolding several pound notes without even trying to look at their amounts. “A gift for your trouble and your kindness to Miss Beckett.”
Maggie took the money in astonishment. “Thank you, sir!”
As an afterthought, he also gave the girl his card, and then turned back to the modiste. “That same threat about calling the authorities applies to this young lady as well. There wasn’t a penny of that intended for you, Madame Claremont, and if you punish her for the gift, I warrant she’s smart enough to let me know. Aren’t you, Maggie?”
Maggie bobbed a curtsy and tucked his card safely away. “Yes, Mr. Hastings,” she said, and then vanished into the back of the shop.
Madame Claremont abandoned all affectation and put her fists on her hips, her accent suddenly as coarse as burlap. “You cannot just walk into my shop and … toss about threats and throw money at my … Whatever Miss Beckett told you is a lie and slander! It’s her word up against mine, and I’ll see to it that they hear how she invited that man’s attentions and was eager for it. I’ll say that’s why I threw her out and who’s to say otherwise?”
Josiah’s breath caught in his throat, the weight of his anger and indignation making it hard to focus. For a few seconds, it had been like a game, swaggering in and getting the dress, even giving the other shop girl a chance to run. But this—he’d never wanted to hit a woman in his entire life—until that moment. “Your word will be worth nothing by the time I’m through. Your reputation will be forfeit, madame, and I wonder how many respectable ladies will cross your doorstep if they know how you encourage your girls to sell themselves for your benefit? I’m not sure”—he looked at her with contempt, before continuing—“but I don’t think they’ll want their day dresses pawed over by whores.”
She gasped, her color draining quickly, and even in the shop’s poor light, he could see the change. “You’re a devil! Take her and good riddance! That little baggage thinks she’s too good for it, does she? Well, I had no idea that Mr. Perring meant her any harm! He comes from a very good family, and any other girl would have been flattered. Hell, I was doing that chit a favor!”
And there it is. Spoken like a true pimp. God, what world is this and how do any of us survive it?
He turned to go, but the woman screeched out one last protest. “You’re no better than the others! You’re no saint! You’ve saved her for your own wicked pleasure, no doubt! And when you’ve ruined that strawberry and set her out in the cold, I hope you remember that I saw you for what you are! You’re the Devil!”
His stride never slowed, but the words stung a bit. It was true his motives weren’t as altruistic as one might hope. But he wasn’t going to ruin her, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the cruel badger of a woman see him stumble on his way back to the carriage.
Chapter
4
You’re the Devil! Eleanor shuddered as her ex-employer’s words echoed into the street. Her rescuer gave every indication of being a gentleman even if there was something of the buccaneer in the way he carried himself. Tall and rakish, she still wasn’t sure what to make of her remarkably handsome guardian angel. Mr. Hastings might be Satan himself, but at the moment, she felt lost and wasn’t sure what a lady would say to uncover the truth. He may be a terrible fiend, and what have I to do? Politely thank him and climb out of this carriage so that I can honorably freeze to death?
Even so, the sight of him coming down the shop steps with that impossibly red velvet evening gown was an arresting experience. He was being so heroic on her behalf, but the sight of the loathed garment made her want to start crying all over again.
Oh, God.
He climbed inside the carriage, setting the rescued gown down onto the seat next to her with as much care as he could. “I didn’t manage to extort any funds from the woman, but I did manage to get the gown she’d forced you to buy.”
“Th-thank you. It’s … hardly … I’m not sure what to say.”
“Where do you reside, Miss Beckett? I ask, only because I have a sinking feeling that your employer may have helped you secure those lodgings?”
It shouldn’t have surprised her, but it was a horrible truth she’d managed to forget in the chaos of the moment. Oh, God. Everything I have left is in that rented room. “Yes! How did you guess? Her sister owns a boarding house at the end of the street. It’s the one with the green trim at the corner. But, surely you don’t think … ?”
“You need the rest of your things, Miss Beckett.” He tapped the roof of the carriage. “Just to the corner for now, John!” The hack pulled away from the sidewalk and Josiah sighed. “Let’s pay your landlady a visit before Madame Claremont thinks to send a runner and make your day more difficult.”
“Oh my! Would she take my things?”
“There’s nothing she wouldn’t do out of malice at this point. But don’t worry. We’ll collect everything and I can contend with your landlady. I would offer to go in alone, but I’d rather not be arrested for burglary.”
Eleanor’s heart was pounding at the speed of her life’s unmaking, but there was nothing to do except move forward. Her rent had been deducted from her wages, but with the hateful tone of her departure from madame’s employment, she wasn’t sure if Mrs. Smith would accuse her of being in arrears or not.
At the bottom of the narrow stairs inside the foyer, she stopped, praying for strength. “Mr. Hastings. Men are not … allowed on the upper floors, and so you’ll have to wait here. I won’t be long.”
“Of course. Take as long as you need.”
His patience was like a balm to her rattled nerves, but even so, she was a bit astonished that he would go to such trouble for a stranger. “Thank you, Mr. Hastings.”
She climbed the stairs to the second floor and unlocked her door, relieved to see everything as she’d left it. It was quick work to empty the wardrobe and pack the two other dresses she owned.
Besides that impossible red dress we left in the carriage!
Slippers and her nightgown, sundries, and an extra pair of stockings were added to the small trunk, along with gloves and her lace caps. On top, she placed the well-worn small volume of Lady M’s Guide to Etiquette she’d received on her fourteenth birthday from her father, and closed the trunk. Then she retrieved her bonnet from the dressing table to try to make a better showing for Mr. Hastings, and pulled her little jewelry box out from under the bed.
She checked the contents and was vaguely comforted by the sight of her mother’s best pearls. Eleanor calculated her savings one last time. It was a paltry amount, but Eleanor closed the box and tried to summon the resolve she needed to avoid crumbling into a useless pile of tears. I shall find new employment in just a day or two, and with any luck, a better place to live. I’ll sell the red dress to add to my reserves and never think of Madame Claremont again.
Selling the pearls was out of the question. She’d starve before she relinquished her mother’s favorite keepsake and the last echo it represented of the life she’d once had—and the love of her parents.
“Running out?” Mrs. Smith asked sharply from the doorway. “It’s a workday, isn’t it? Does my sister know you’re here?”
Eleanor stood, tucking her jewelry box firmly under one arm. “I gave her my notice today.”
“More likely she tossed you out!” the woman scoffed, her piggishly small brown eyes brightening with malice. “I told Emmaline you were going to be more trouble than you were worth, coming from money, like you did.”
“Well, I won’t be troubling you any longer then, Mrs. Smith. If you’ll excuse me,” she bit off as politely as she could, attempting to step around the woman blocking her path.
“You think you’re better than all of us, don’t you?”
Eleanor shook her head, readjusting her grip on her jewelry box. “I have never thought such a thing, but at this moment, Mrs. Smith, I’m not sure w
hy you care what I might think. I just want to leave—”
“The others are all good girls who know what it is to do back-breaking work to survive! But my sister sees to it that there’s a bit of light work on the side and it’s an easier life for all. They entertain downstairs when it’s called for, and Emmaline takes care that it’s only quality company, no rough trade. The other girls have the way of it, and no complaints!”
The other girls! Poor Maggie! “An easier life for you, perhaps, as you line your pockets!”
“Mind your tongue! A woman does what she can in this world, and you’re no different. If that’s Perring down there waiting in my parlor, then you owe us a finder’s fee, Miss Beckett! And you’re not leaving this house without paying your fair share for your little slice of good fortune!”
“That is not Mr. Perring and I am most decidedly not paying you a penny. I am an honest woman!” She tried to brazen her way past the larger woman, but Mrs. Smith didn’t even blink. “Now, kindly let me pass!”
“Found a benefactor of your own, did you? I knew you were a brazen thing under those tight little laces! Well, you’re not cheating us! We’ve put a roof over your head and kept you well enough these last few months when not another shop would have bothered with those soft hands of yours without a day’s experience. You owe us our slice!”
A wash of rage flowed through her at the injustice of it all. “I’ve earned my keep, and then some, Mrs. Smith! I owe you nothing and wouldn’t offer a prayer for your soul if asked, so for the last time, kindly step aside!”
“Pardon me.” Josiah’s deep bass resonated behind the older woman and he stepped casually in the room to pick up Eleanor’s trunk as if there were nothing but pleasantries being exchanged. “I’ll just carry this down, Mrs. Smith.”
“I’ll—I’ll need to examine it, sir!” Mrs. Smith protested. “This chit might be carting off my finest silver!”
He hesitated and gave the woman a smile that was all charm, but also all knowing. “Do you keep your finest silver in your boarders’ rooms, Mrs. Smith? I ask only because that would make you the most benevolent and trusting landlady I have ever met.”
“I …” Mrs. Smith had the grace left to look embarrassed, but tried to recover. “You’ll have her keeping and it’s not my place to say, but … I’m due rent for the week, sir.”
Eleanor squeaked in protest at the blatant lie, but Mr. Hastings shook his head, unfazed. “You’re due nothing, but I can send for a policeman if you’d like. I’m sure they would love to hear more about this slice that you are owed for the trade of the unwilling Miss Beckett to your sister’s client. Your sister has already confirmed that she doesn’t want anything to tarnish her reputation since whoring isn’t considered fashionable, is it? But you’re running a trade house here, if I heard you correctly, so by all means, let’s wait for the authorities and see what you’re owed.”
Mrs. Smith shook her head, her face growing redder and redder. “You misunderstood! Take her things and go, please. I keep an honest house here! I want no whores under my roof!”
“Come, Miss Beckett. I’ll see you out.” Josiah stepped back, and Eleanor was quick to seize the opportunity to escape with her handsome rescuer once again at her back.
Once they were at the carriage, he handed her small trunk up to the driver and helped her back up inside, where he joined her with an easy grace. “Well … that was”—he smiled at her—“an adventure.”
“It’s tawdry and—unseemly! All of it!” Eleanor shuddered, horrified to realize that she was already crying. “I am not one for tears, but … I … never knew … people could be so … cruel. …” She took a deep breath to try to banish the tearful hiccups, wiping her face and nose as discreetly as she could. “I’ve ruined your handkerchief, sir.”
“Keep it for now. I have others, somewhere.” He smiled, and made a show of looking for another handkerchief in his pockets. “Ah!” He pulled one out with a flourish. “A gentleman is always prepared for catastrophes.”
“There is something so sordid about—having one’s finances and personal struggles on display. I’m usually”—she took another deep, steadying breath, squaring her shoulders and doing her best to hold her own—“extremely independent. It was hard work, Mr. Hastings, but I wasn’t complaining. If only … I had no idea that Madame Claremont was the sort of woman to condone … illicit behavior. And Mrs. Smith!”
Josiah watched in fascination as she began to work it all out.
“It all seemed so proper! The house rules were so strict about male guests that even when the other girls had uncles or male cousins visiting, Mrs. Smith would show them to the downstairs parlor for …” Eleanor stopped herself with a shocked hiccup. “Oh my! I’m so … blind!”
The world blind was a quiet, painful blow to his stomach, but Josiah marveled that the sensation was muted in her presence. “I have nothing but admiration for you, Miss Beckett, and you have nothing to be embarrassed about. Poverty tests you, but it doesn’t define you, and whatever sins your housemates committed, it has nothing to do with you.”
“You hardly know me! But I’m flattered all the same.” She felt a little stronger, knowing that her benefactor didn’t doubt her virtue. “Why have you done all this?”
“It was the right thing to do, wasn’t it?”
“Thank you.” She took one unsteady, trembling breath. “But you cannot be obligated to do more on my behalf. You have no cause and I cannot ask it of you.”
“Where is your family, Miss Beckett?”
He had the delightful image of a cat puffing up to look larger than it is to scare away a potential threat as she stiffened her spine and gave the impression of a woman with an army of relatives within shouting distance. “If you mean to take advantage of my situation, Mr. Hastings, you have underestimated my resolve. I may not have family, but I have every intention of making an honorable life for myself.”
“Of course,” he conceded. “We share the same goal. Although, I’ve had a few strange turns on my journey. But I admire your pride and zeal, Miss Beckett, and I assure you that—you are safe in my company.”
You are safe in my company.
Eleanor was having trouble focusing her thoughts in his presence. The confines of the carriage made his masculine company a bit overwhelming. The blur of her dismissal and rescue, the race to collect her belongings had finally slowed, but now, there was a man named Josiah Hastings sitting across from her, discussing her problems and offering polite support as if it was a perfectly ordinary thing to do. Every orderly and disciplined fiber of her being was completely off balance by the distractions of the most beautiful man she’d ever seen gently holding her hatbox on his lap.
But he’d corrected himself midsentence, she was sure of it, and Eleanor had to wonder what it was he’d intended to say. She felt safe enough, but he was so handsome and sincere that it was difficult to get her bearings. “Perhaps if you know of an establishment that … offers vacancies to women. …”
“I’m not sure, but West would know. With your permission, we could call on a friend of mine and seek advice on where to land. He’s a physician and I’d like some assurance that you’re uninjured.” He leaned out of the window to give the driver an address but she stopped him.
“I’m fine.” She could feel the heat in her cheeks, touched by his concern but alarmed at how efficiently he was managing her.
“Your cheek is bruised, Miss Beckett.”
“Is it?” She reached up to touch her face, finding no tender places or signs of injury.
He leaned forward slightly, squinting, and then abruptly moved back against the cushions. “My mistake. A trick of the light.”
“Oh.” She dropped her hand, wishing she knew why he looked suddenly wary and wounded. “Mr. Hastings, as kind as you’ve been, I can’t just … go with you. We have not been formally introduced and you could be …”
“The Devil?” he supplied, then let out a long sigh. “What do you suggest, then?�
�
Eleanor looked out the window and realized it was snowing. It would take most of the money she had left to secure a respectable room. She could sell the red velvet gown for a few pounds at the rag trades, but nothing felt certain.
There was always her mother’s necklace. …
“I am ruined already, aren’t I?” she whispered, her face to the glass. “I’ve climbed into a carriage with a complete stranger. I’ve not a friend in the world, and after months of struggling to find honest work and prove that I could keep myself from …” She turned to look at him, her cheeks streaked with tears. “I never used to cry, Mr. Hastings. And now—I can’t seem to stop.”
It was a miserable admission, and she was so sweetly pathetic making it. It was pure instinct that dictated his next move. Decorum be damned, she was so terrified and so sad, he couldn’t help himself. He shifted over, set her hatbox aside, and just gently gathered her hands into his. She sobbed against his shoulder, sagging against him as the storm of her emotions took over. He said nothing, unsure of how to comfort her beyond softly squeezing her hands and doing his best to keep his attentions as brotherly as possible.
“You aren’t ruined,” he told her, his own heart starting to ache in concert with hers. “Far from it, Miss Beckett.”
She sniffled a bit, the tears finally slowing, and pushed away from him, her cheeks stained with embarrassment. He released her instantly, retreating back to his side of the carriage to allow her to regain her composure. She was such a prim thing, in her bedraggled bonnet, clutching her jewelry box like a drowning woman would clutch at a life preserver. “Ruined or not, crying won’t help and I intend to stop.”
He nodded and held out the spare handkerchief he’d found earlier in his coat pocket. “Here. Take it.”
She took it from him, careful not to touch his fingers. “Thank you.”
He waited until she’d dried her cheeks and seemed steadier. “I may be able to help, Miss Beckett, with the matter of finding honest work.”
Passion Wears Pearls Page 5
