Rosalyn understood. “Oh, hello . . . Aunt . . . Auntie,” Rosalyn stuttered. She awkwardly returned the woman’s hug as she sent a sideways glance at the men.
The Irishman acquiesced surprisingly easily. He extricated himself from the soldier’s hold and tipped his cap toward Rosalyn. “Well then, since you’ve been delivered into the loving arms of your family, I see you have no need of my help after all.” He had the temerity to give her a wink. “Do have a pleasant evening, lass.”
After shooting a brief, malevolent glare at the soldier, he turned and sauntered away. Rosalyn imagined he was headed back to the train platform to scout out another victim.
Her would-be protector, on the other hand, did not move. He said skeptically, “This is your aunt?”
“Yes.” Rosalyn felt a blush rising from the shame of having to lie, but she plunged on. “So you see, I’m quite fine.” She added, with genuine sincerity, “Thank you for your help.”
He nodded, accepting her thanks, but still looked doubtful.
The old lady patted Rosalyn’s arm. “Now then, dearie, let’s get going. I’ve procured a cab with a good lantern on it, and there’s a warm dinner waiting for us when we get home.”
She began shepherding Rosalyn toward the main entrance. Rosalyn went along willingly, intending to make her way back to the ladies’ waiting area as soon as she had lost sight of both men. To the older woman she said, “Thank you, Mrs. . . . ?”
“My name is Mollie Hurdle. And it was no trouble. I certainly couldn’t let those two men bully you.”
They had gone perhaps twenty yards when Rosalyn heard the soldier shout, “Wait!”
He ran up and stepped in front of Rosalyn, stopping both women in their tracks. “Do you really know this woman?”
His brown eyes searched her face so intently that Rosalyn found it impossible to answer. She hated to lie again.
It was Mrs. Hurdle who responded. “Sir, you are quite overstepping propriety. I must ask that you let us be.”
But the soldier had gleaned the correct answer to his question from Rosalyn’s silence. He said fervently, “I know a safe place where you can stay. I’m heading in that direction right now—you can ride with me.”
“What effrontery!” Mrs. Hurdle exclaimed. “Do you really expect a nice young lady to go off into the night with a soldier?”
“I’m speaking the truth,” he insisted, still directing his words to Rosalyn. He took hold of her arm. “I don’t think you know what you’re getting into—”
She didn’t give him time to finish. She’d been roughly handled by far too many men that day. Earlier she’d thought the soldier intended to help her, but now she wasn’t so sure. Angrily, she shook herself free. “I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself. Let me pass.”
He stared at her in disbelief. “Are you going willingly with this woman?”
Rosalyn lifted her chin. “More so than I would ever go with you.”
Mrs. Hurdle pointed an angry finger at him. “You heard her, soldier. Now be off with you.”
He shook his head. “I was trying to help you, but it appears I am too late.”
Still, he did not move. The women were forced to step around him in order to continue on their way.
“Thank you,” Rosalyn said to Mrs. Hurdle once they were out of earshot. “I think you must be an answer to prayer.”
The older woman’s thin lips parted in a smile. “It ain’t often someone tells me that, I can tell you. Call me Aunt Mollie. Everyone does. I run a boardinghouse close by. Would you be needing a place to stay?”
“Well, I . . .” Rosalyn paused, considering. She ought to remain here. Yet she’d already been accosted by two men. For all she knew, the station was filled with base fellows waiting to prey on unescorted women.
They stepped outside, and immediately Rosalyn’s senses were assaulted by the foul-smelling fog that nearly enveloped them. Added to this was the odor of horseflesh and dung, for the area was packed with dozens of cabs, from sleek, two-seater hansom cabs to larger, old-fashioned vehicles with proper doors and windows.
Uneasiness settled over Rosalyn as Mrs. Hurdle led the way toward one of the larger cabs. She could not shake the feeling that, despite its perils, remaining at the station was the better choice. She came to an abrupt halt. “In fact, I plan to take the 11:45 for Bristol.”
Mrs. Hurdle looked at her quizzically. “But I thought you just arrived.”
“I have. But I need to leave as soon as possible.”
Mrs. Hurdle nodded. “I see. You have perhaps left your home suddenly, and now you are beginning to regret the decision?”
“Yes! That is . . . well . . . not exactly.” She sighed. “It’s a rather long story.”
The old woman patted her arm in a friendly, comforting gesture. “You have no one here in London? No friends or family?”
“No.”
“Come home with me,” Mrs. Hurdle urged.
“You are very kind, but I cannot afford to pay for lodging.”
The woman waved a hand. “Then I shall offer this as a favor to a young woman in need.”
Rosalyn marveled at this stranger’s generosity. “Is it far from here? The cab fare . . .”
“It is walkable. However, I am not as sturdy on my pins as I used to be. Let’s take a cab. You can always board a train to Bristol tomorrow. It will be much safer for you to travel by day.”
She couldn’t deny that sounded logical. “Thank you for helping me shake off those men.”
Mrs. Hurdle frowned. “I shouldn’t be surprised if the two of them were in on it together.”
“How could that be!” Rosalyn exclaimed. “Each was trying to chase the other away.”
“I’ve seen it before,” the older woman said with a knowing nod. “The first man makes you uncomfortable, and then a second one comes in like a chivalrous rescuer.”
“Surely not,” Rosalyn protested. After all, the taller man’s military uniform had seemed real enough. But as she thought back on the encounter, an odd realization struck her. The soldier had had an Irish accent, as well. It was far less pronounced, as though he’d been living in England for a long time, but it was unmistakable nonetheless. She would never distrust a person simply for being Irish, yet it might point to a connection between the two men.
Rosalyn turned to look back. The soldier had come outside. He stood next to another cab with his hand on the carriage door, but was making no move to get in. Instead, he continued to watch Rosalyn with an intensity that only increased her discomfort.
She was dismayed to see the Irishman come through the doors, too. He leaned against a pillar, hands in his pockets, casually observing the activity in the station yard.
Was Mrs. Hurdle right about the men and their intentions? How could Rosalyn know for sure? Her thoughts swirled in confusion.
Mrs. Hurdle waved a hand to regain Rosalyn’s attention. “Help me in, will you, dear?”
Instinctively, Rosalyn reached out to help the old woman into the cab. Mrs. Hurdle stumbled while still gripping Rosalyn’s arm tightly, and somehow Rosalyn found herself landing right next to her on the seat.
The driver quickly tossed in Rosalyn’s carpetbag and shut the door. He wasted no time putting the carriage in motion. Through the window, Rosalyn could see the soldier still watching as the carriage moved out of the station yard. His shoulders sagged a little, as if in disappointment. That gesture, coming from such a forceful man, unexpectedly troubled her.
His eyes met hers, and he straightened. He called out to her, but whatever he said was lost in the clatter of wheels and horses’ hooves as the carriage entered the wide, bustling thoroughfare.
CHAPTER
3
THE CAB MADE ITS WAY down increasingly narrow and dark streets. It was, in fact, a greater distance from the station than Mrs. Hurdle had implied. When they finally stopped, they were behind a house in the carriage lane. Mrs. Hurdle paid the cabbie and ushered Rosalyn up a few rickety wo
oden steps.
The heavy door opened onto a kitchen. A plump, middle-aged woman turned away from the stove and greeted them heartily as they came in. Wiping sweat from her brow, she smiled as she looked Rosalyn up and down. “Looks like you’ve brought home some company, Mrs. Hurdle.”
“I found this young lady at the train station. She’ll be spendin’ the night with us. Go and make sure the small room is clean and ready.”
“Right away, madam,” the other woman replied and quickly departed.
“It’s too small for a regular lodger, but I think you’ll find it comfortable enough,” Mrs. Hurdle explained.
Rosalyn gave her a grateful smile. “You really have been most kind.”
“Would you like a cup of tea?”
“That would be heavenly.”
Lifting a kettle from the stove, Mrs. Hurdle filled a teapot.
Piano music and laughter drifted in from another part of the house. Seeing Rosalyn start in surprise at a particularly boisterous round of laughter, Mrs. Hurdle said, “Don’t be alarmed. That’s just my boarders enjoying a few parlor games.”
She set a cup of steaming tea in front of Rosalyn. Lifting it to her lips, Rosalyn tasted her first hot beverage since the day before, and for several seconds nothing else mattered.
After Rosalyn had consumed a second cup of tea and a generous helping of beef and bread, Mrs. Hurdle led her to a room where she could sleep. It was tiny, with no windows, and contained only a narrow bed, a simple wooden chair, and a washstand. But to Rosalyn, it was as good as a palace. Tears stung her eyes. “Mrs. Hurdle, I can’t thank you enough.”
The old woman patted her hand. “Your gratitude will be payment enough for me.” She closed the door, leaving Rosalyn alone in the room.
Rosalyn quickly took off her dusty coat and walking skirt and changed into the nightdress she’d packed in her carpet bag. She knelt by the bed and prayed, thanking God for His protection and asking for His guidance. Mr. Müller, the founder of the orphanage, had taught them that God would provide for their needs if they prayed and believed.
Her prayers complete, Rosalyn crawled into the narrow bed. She lay there in the darkness, listening to the other sounds in the house. The laughter was downright raucous now. Mrs. Hurdle’s boarders must have had some unusually energetic parlor games. For the moment Rosalyn seemed safe; and yet the soldier’s words, I am too late, returned to her memory, bringing a whisper of doubt. It also occurred to her that she’d never asked why Mrs. Hurdle was at the station. She tried to set these discomforting thoughts aside and eventually fell into a fitful slumber.
Sometime later—with no windows, Rosalyn had no way of gauging the time—the sound of voices coming from the kitchen startled her awake. A groggy tiredness still enveloped her, but given her uneasy sleep, that was no surprise. She rose from the bed and carefully made her way to the door. The rough wooden floor felt scratchy on her bare feet. She opened the door a crack, just in time to hear a man’s voice say, “Now don’t you go tryin’ to cheat me, Mrs. Hurdle. I found her for you, so you owe me.”
Rosalyn recognized that voice. It belonged to the Irishman who’d accosted her at the station.
“You nearly chased her away!” Mrs. Hurdle accused. “If I hadn’t stepped in when I did—”
“That’s the beauty of it! She went straight into your arms—even though that red-coated pest tried to interfere. We’re a team, that’s all.”
“Well, here’s half a crown,” the old woman said grudgingly. Over his protests, she added, “Don’t argue, Mick. If she works out, we’ll see about raising the amount.”
“But wait—I ain’t told you everything I did tonight. When I do, you’ll say it was far more valuable that I stayed at the station.”
“Oh?” Mrs. Hurdle sounded unconvinced.
Rosalyn’s hand gripped the doorknob as she waited for Mick to say more.
“I watched four, maybe five more trains come in, looking for potential girls for your fine establishment.”
“And yet it looks to me like you came here alone,” Mrs. Hurdle rejoined. “If you think I’m paying you for wasted time—”
“It wasn’t a waste!” Mick insisted. “There was a man got off one train who caught my attention. A fine-dressed bloke he was, and yet he weren’t carrying no valise or carpetbag. Not attended by any servant, neither. So of course I immediately wonder what’s what. I follow him—all casual-like, you know—just to see if maybe his money is in a convenient location.”
“Pickpocketing again, Mick?”
“Well a man’s got to earn a living, don’t he? I ain’t gonna do it on those half crowns you dole out.”
Mrs. Hurdle only snorted. “Go on.”
“So like I said, I followed him. And I see him go straight up to the platform attendant and ask whether he’d noticed a young, unchaperoned lady gettin’ off the train from Linden.”
“Oh, ho!” said Mrs. Hurdle, her irritation now replaced by interest. “Did the man describe the girl he was looking for?”
“He did. Brown hair, medium height, russet-red walking gown and matching jacket.”
Mick spoke with relish, and Rosalyn could picture the two of them nodding together in agreement that he’d just described her.
“But that’s not all I heard,” Mick went on. “It seems your new little boarder is wanted for stealing! But it can’t have been much. She wasn’t acting like she had any money.”
“Ah, you’re growing daft now, Mick. Don’t you see—she took property, not cash. Something valuable but portable. Jewelry, most like. Now she needs to pawn it, which is why she’s come to London.”
Rosalyn’s stomach turned at hearing herself described like a common thief. But given how devious Mrs. Hurdle was showing herself to be, it wasn’t surprising that she’d see the actions of others through the lens of her own deeds.
“We’ll have to take a careful look through her bag tomorrow,” Mrs. Hurdle said, and Rosalyn could hear greedy excitement in her voice.
“Would you pawn stolen goods?” Mick asked in surprise. “Don’t you worry about the police trackin’ you down?”
“Not a chance,” Mrs. Hurdle answered confidently. “I’ll take it to Simon. He can make anything disappear without a trace.” After a pause, she added, “So long as you didn’t say anything to the toff about her whereabouts.”
Rosalyn imagined the woman giving Mick a hard stare or perhaps a poke in the chest.
“Now I ain’t so daft as that,” Mick protested. “I didn’t say nothin’. But I did stick close—long enough to hear the man give his name and the hotel where he could be found. So if we should discover the reward for her capture is worth more than what she stole—”
There was another pause, presumably as Mrs. Hurdle assimilated this information. Rosalyn waited on pins and needles, fully expecting her to ask Mick for more details.
But Mrs. Hurdle only said, “Mick, you’re smarter than I thought. Here’s another half crown. For that kind of money, I expect you not to tell anyone else about this.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Mrs. Hurdle,” Mick answered cheerfully. “But you can trust me.”
“No, I can’t,” Mrs. Hurdle contradicted. “I’ll be watching you. Now, be off. If you plan to spend that money on Brenda, go around to the front entrance like the rest of ’em.”
Heart pounding, Rosalyn gently closed the bedroom door. She had been tricked by both of them! How had she not seen? Why had she been so determined to ignore the warnings of that soldier? She wanted to curse herself for her own stupidity.
One thing was certain—she had to get out of this house as soon as possible. She decided against lighting a lamp for fear of drawing Mrs. Hurdle’s attention. Groping in the darkness, she made her way to the chair where she’d draped her gown. Her fingers fumbled as she blindly did up the buttons.
She heard steps—a light tread accompanied by the tap of a cane—retreating down the hallway. Taking hold of her carpetbag, Rosalyn opened the door, b
eginning with the tiniest crack, to ascertain if anyone else was about. Hearing and seeing nothing, she stepped into the hallway and cautiously made her way to the kitchen. In the light of the banked fire, she pulled out her pocket watch and saw that it was four in the morning. Could she risk roaming this neighborhood in the predawn hours? She would have to.
The kitchen door was secured by a heavy bolt. As Rosalyn reached for it, she could hear noises outside, including loud arguing and the wail of a cat. A pistol shot rang out, followed immediately by a fury of sound—more arguing, women crying, a dog barking. Rosalyn drew back from the door as tremors moved through her.
Suddenly the sound of footsteps came from her right, and she realized that the far corner opened onto a set of narrow stairs leading to the upper floors. Before Rosalyn could retreat, a woman bounded down the last few steps and into the kitchen.
Rosalyn guessed her to be somewhere above thirty years old. She wore a light cotton shift and wrapper, and her feet were bare. Although dressed for bed, her hair was pinned up, and her face was heavily painted with rouge and charcoal. Seeing Rosalyn, she immediately began peppering her with questions, speaking with unnatural energy. “Hello, I’m Penny. Who are you? Are you one of the new ones? Where are you from?”
The last question was delivered with a playful poke at Rosalyn’s ribs, as though goading her to speak. Rosalyn raised her hands to fend her off. “I’m from Bristol, and I’m going back there today.”
Penny laughed, but to Rosalyn it sounded closer to hysteria than amusement. “You sure about that? I’ll bet you’re here because you heard the men like the fresh ones.” She glared at Rosalyn. “Well, they don’t. They prefer someone with experience.” Her mouth widened into a salacious smile. “Someone who can stoke their passions and drive them wild with ecstasy, so that they forget their own names. That’s when they reward you most handsomely—”
Her words confirmed Rosalyn’s worst fears about what this place was. “Come away with me,” she interjected swiftly. “You don’t have to stay here.”
The Captain's Daughter (London Beginnings Book #1) Page 3
