A Little Light Mischief

by Cat Sebastian

  As if by instinct, she turned towards the looking glass that had always hung in the hall, and nearly stepped back in surprise.

  She was the finest thing in this sad room. Her hair was clean and tidy, despite the cart ride. Her pelisse and bonnet were new and fashionable, despite being plain. The face that looked back at her was the same face she seen in the mirror at Eastgate Hall, Molly’s gaze warm and appreciative on her. She had spent three months living soft and eating well, but she had also spent those three months not being afraid. She had been treated kindly and with respect; she had been appreciated.

  She took a deep breath. She could do this. She didn’t wait for the maid to return but went directly to her father’s study and prepared to demand what was hers.

  It took Molly half a day to find the man she was looking for.

  “I’m not a fucking fence, Mol.” Jack Turner was scowling, so maybe nothing much had changed despite the fact that he was now living in a fine house in a respectable part of town. Jack had been the one to get Molly her place as a scullery maid when her mother had wandered off permanently and Molly found herself without anywhere to go. Jack had been a footman then, and later a valet, which were facts it was hard to remember when she saw him in this prettily papered study.

  “You really can’t talk that way to a lady,” said the other man in the room. He was handsome, every bit as pretty as the wallpaper and about twice as grand as the house itself. She’d dearly like to know how Jack Turner came to keep this kind of company, but that would have to wait.

  “I’m really not a la—” she started to protest.

  “I beg your pardon, Miss Wilkins,” Jack said with exaggerated courtesy and a sardonic smile that was meant for the gentleman, “but I’m not a fucking fence.”

  “I don’t need you to sell it, Jack.” As if Molly couldn’t find her own fence. “I need you to make sure we don’t hang for taking it.”

  “Oh, God, there’s a ‘we’,” Jack groaned. “I should have known. Who are you caught up with? Tell me it’s not Brewster’s gang, because I have no pull left in that quarter.”

  “It’s not like that! She’s . . . good. The man we took the diamond from, he harmed her and this is . . .” What was the word Jack used to use? “Restitution.”

  Jack buried his face in his hands and mumbled something that sounded like, “I’ve created a monster.”

  The blond gentleman cleared his throat. “Usually what Jack does at this point is find what information he can on the, ah, other party, so he can blackmail the man into compliance. What’s his name?”

  “Horace Tenpenny.”

  The two men exchanged a glance. “Tenpenny,” Jack repeated.

  “Do you think he’s the same Tenpenny who hasn’t been paying his servants?” the other man asked. “Because it sounds like this isn’t his lucky day at all.”

  Molly watched as a rare smile spread across Jack’s face.

  “It’ll be a pleasure to assist you, Miss Wilkins,” the blond one said.

  Alice knew her father couldn’t have gotten smaller or frailer in the few months since she had been gone, but he seemed diminished. She could not say she was sorry.

  “What are you doing here?” he growled by way of greeting. He didn’t offer her a seat and that was just as well, because Alice had no intention of sitting. The chairs were probably filthy anyway without her around to polish them.

  “I’ve been thinking about your expenditures,” Alice said. “You get two hundred pounds a year from this living. You spend next to nothing on wages or upkeep to the house. You give nothing to charity. I spent thirty pounds a year on housekeeping. You haven’t had any school fees to pay in ages. Even if you paid fifty pounds a year to the wine merchant”—she cast a disparaging glance at the empty brandy bottle that sat on the corner of his desk—“that ought to leave at least another fifty. So where does it go?”

  “You traveled a hundred miles to ask me impertinent questions about my—”

  She held up a hand. “No, I came to ask you whether it’s gambling or blackmail. Because if it’s neither, then you must have money saved, and I’m not leaving without part of it, or at the very least a promissory note.”

  “How dare—”

  She held up her hand again. “Really, Father, I’ve had a lifetime of shouting. And what you don’t seem to realize is that by casting me out you’ve given me the whip hand. You’re a clergyman, for goodness’ sake. Throwing your daughter out onto the street after she was accosted by a man—”

  “Accosted by a man! That’s what you call throwing yourself at a man like that?”

  For half a heartbeat, she wondered if he actually believed that. Then she decided it didn’t matter because he didn’t matter: she already knew he had neither loyalty to nor affection for her, and she was content to return the compliment. “Yes, Father. I call it that because that’s precisely what it is. And it’s precisely what everyone else will think when I tell them.” She wasn’t entirely sure about this. The sad fact was that women were seldom believed in these situations. But she was willing to call her father’s bluff. “To be perfectly clear, I plan to tell everyone—including Lord Malvern—that you threw me out after Mr. Tenpenny attempted to assault me. I’ll do it in the kindest possible way, you understand, warning ladies not to let themselves be approached by him, counseling mothers not to let him dance with their daughters. They’ll listen to me, because I’m the very picture of respectable spinsterhood. I’ll leave your name out of my story if you give me my dowry.”

  “This is blackmail.”

  “I truly don’t care what you call it, so long as you give me my money.”

  When Alice had arrived at the vicarage, she hadn’t been certain whether her plan would work. She supposed it was possible her father really had drunk all his income or lost it at the card table. But she knew she had to try, to let her father know that he was in her power. Still, she had to school her face into an expression of indifference when her father brought a bankbook out from his desk and handed her a draft for fifty pounds.

  “And the rest?” she asked.

  “I’ll give you fifty pounds next year as well,” he said.

  “You’ll make it out as an annuity. Fifty pounds annually, and then the balance of a thousand pounds to be paid on your death.” She nearly asked for interest. “I’ll take a promissory note to that effect, please. And,” she added, inspired, “understand that I’ll have my eyes on you. You’ll hire a proper servant—not an impressionable child—and you’ll pay her wages and treat her well. If I hear about any of your servants having so much as a paper cut, I’ll be at your bishop’s doorstep within the hour, and if the bishop doesn’t act promptly, I’ll come here myself. You’d much prefer the bishop,” she added darkly, in precisely the tone she had heard Molly use when scolding the young man in the street. “Do you understand me?”

  She wasn’t even surprised when her father assented almost meekly.

  She left the house with fifty pounds, a promissory note, and an underfed housemaid.

  Chapter Nine

  The problem with having spirited away the housemaid was that Alice didn’t know where to go. She could hardly return to Eastgate Hall with a scrawny urchin in tow—Mrs. Wraxhall was kind, but she was not the mistress of Eastgate Hall—but no more could she have left the girl in her father’s keeping. The girl needed feeding, however, so they walked to the nearest inn.

  While the child—Patience—ate a shocking quantity of bread and cheese, and Alice had a medicinal quantity of sherry, Alice formulated a plan. She dashed off a note to Mrs. Wraxhall, assuring her she was well, but in possession of a child who needed bathing and looking after, and that if Mrs. Wraxhall would be so kind as to send Alice’s belongings to—

  That was where Alice’s plan got a little hazy. The London house was closed up, empty except for those servants who had no family to visit during their holiday. Alice could afford one night at this inn, a new frock for Patience, and then the stagecoach
journey back to London, but where would she go? And how would Molly know where to find her?

  There really was only one answer. There was only one place in the world where Alice knew Molly would return. Part of her wanted to make Molly see her out. That way if Molly wanted to abscond with the diamond, then Alice would never need to know about it. Instead she could remember the way Molly had looked at her and know that even for a short time, Molly had wanted her, had valued her, no matter what happened afterward.

  But that was cowardice. Not only cowardice, but an insult to both Molly and herself. Alice had to have faith that Molly would keep her word, that she valued Alice more than she valued a diamond pin.

  Alice finished writing the rest of the letter.

  It was evening the next day when they arrived in London, and it took quite a bit of winding through unfamiliar streets before Alice found the house where Molly’s little girl boarded.

  Mrs. Fitz, carrying Katie on her hip, remembered Alice from her visit last month, and let her into the tiny sitting room.

  “Thank you,” Alice said. “Am I correct that you let rooms? My maid and I need to board somewhere for a fortnight, and the friend I had been living with is in the country.”

  The older woman looked at her shrewdly, taking in the fine wool of her gown and the kid leather of her boots, then examining Patience, who had been scrubbed, combed, and dressed in a clean frock. “You can have my spare room for two shillings a week, supper with me and Katie included.”

  In the stagecoach from Norfolk, Alice had studied advertisements for boarding houses and knew that this price was on the steep side, but not quite highway robbery, so she assented.

  “Just sit there while I fetch you some tea,” Mrs. Fitz said, gesturing to a chair next to the fire. “Your maid can make up your bed.”

  “I can hold Katie, if you like,” Alice offered.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Mrs. Fitz said. “She’s just at the age where she can’t be let alone for a minute.”

  The girl came to Alice willingly, but seemed more interested in untying Alice’s bonnet ribbons than in anything else. Her progress was impeded by something she was clutching in her hand. It was a piece of white linen, or at least it had been white at some point but now was gray with grime. But beneath the dirt, Alice could make out flowers that looked impossibly familiar.

  “She won’t let me take it away to wash,” Mrs. Fitz said, poised in the doorway. “Even though she has four just like it, that’s the one she wants. She sleeps with it clutched in her hand.”

  “Let me see that,” Alice asked, her voice strained. This couldn’t be what she thought it was. Molly had sold her handkerchiefs over a month ago and had given her the proceeds.

  “Elf in tree,” Katie said firmly, not letting go of the linen but letting Alice look at it. It was indeed one of the handkerchiefs Alice had embroidered, the one with the elf in the cherry tree. Alice’s mind reeled. Molly had lied about selling them and must have given Alice her own precious coins.

  “Here’s your tea,” Mrs. Fitz said upon returning to the sitting room. “Goodness, miss, have you taken a turn?”

  “Just a bit of air,” Alice managed, “and I’ll be quite all right.”

  Molly was bone-tired when she turned the corner onto Mrs. Fitz’s street. She had sold the diamond and given the proceeds to Jack for safekeeping. Then she had returned to Eastgate Hall, only to find that Mrs. Wraxhall and Alice weren’t there. The butler, after regarding Molly’s dusty and rumpled clothing and noting that it was highly unorthodox for a lady’s maid not to know such pertinent information as the whereabouts of her employer, told her that a letter had arrived from Mr. Wraxhall, and within the hour Mrs. Wraxhall had left with her servants to meet his ship in Dover. So back Molly went to London. She’d pop in to give a kiss to Katie and then go to Mrs. Wraxhall’s house, if the woman was even there yet—not that she’d have a job anymore, but she needed to find Alice and let her know the money was waiting for her. She told herself that what came after that didn’t matter: Alice was free to do as she pleased. The fact that it had evidently pleased all Molly’s previous lovers to vanish from her life after they had done with her had no bearing on the matter. Alice was different.

  Molly snorted at her own stupidity. Alice was different all right. She was decent and kind and would be ashamed of herself for having shared a bed and a felony with a woman who knew how to fence stolen jewels and launder the proceeds.

  She frowned when she approached Mrs. Fitz’s stoop. Someone was sitting there. Really, this was not the kind of neighborhood where she expected women to be lounging around in doorways. At least, not women in gray pelisses. Her eyes went wide.

  She ran the rest of the way.

  “What are you doing here?” Molly demanded. “You’re supposed to be in Dover.” Before she could think better of it, she had clasped Alice’s hands and drew her to her feet.

  “I’m getting the money from my father.” Alice squeezed Molly’s hands. “He’s returning the money that my mother meant me to have. I’ll get fifty pounds a year.”

  “What?” Molly reeled but didn’t let go of Alice. “How?”

  “I was quite threatening. You’d have been proud.”

  Where on earth was the shy, self-effacing girl who had come to London a few months ago? “You’ve gotten quite good at blackmailing people.”

  Alice let out a shaky laugh. “I’m not letting anyone treat me like I’m not worthwhile anymore. I deserve better. I have what’s rightfully mine and I’m going to live the life that I choose.”

  “And you came here to tell me.” It was . . . fine. Molly told herself that she didn’t want more. If Alice wanted to go be the fine lady she was, then that was only right and proper. “You’ll also have the money from the diamond. That’ll be enough to set you up nicely.” She tried to let go of Alice’s hands but Alice’s grip was too strong.

  “Half the money from the diamond,” Alice corrected. “And I didn’t come to tell you. I came to see—” She sucked in a breath and Molly found that she was doing the same. “I came to see if you’d like to set yourself up too. I mean, with me. Despite what you think, I expect Mrs. Wraxhall isn’t going to sack you for this. But I thought that maybe you’d want to try to figure something out with me? It doesn’t have to be a boarding house. Whatever it is, Katie would come, of course. It could be—”

  “I’d love to run a boarding house with you. Or anything you liked. Anything, Alice. I was trying to tell you that the other day.”

  “I know that now, but I just couldn’t make myself believe it was possible.” She pulled Molly a bit closer so the brims of their bonnets were nearly touching. “You’ve made me feel like I deserve good things. And you’re the best thing of all.”

  Molly didn’t go in much for tears, but she was crying now and there was no use pretending otherwise.

  Epilogue

  One year later

  The calluses had returned to Alice’s fingers, and her hands were a bit red from the harsh soap she used to scrub the stairs. At the end of a day of cooking, cleaning, and looking after Katie, she and Molly collapsed wearily onto the bed in their little room at the top of the house.

  Alice had never been happier.

  The winter was bitterly cold, but inside the boarding house it was warm. They spent too much on coal, because nobody was getting chilblains in any establishment Alice ran. It was Saturday, so after supper Alice had collected the coming week’s rent from their lodgers and was counting it out on the kitchen table. She liked to see the rent, touch each coin with her fingers, as if to prove that she had earned that money with her own work. And she had the further satisfaction of knowing that she was doing something good: their boarding house offered safe and clean rooms to women. When a woman came to the door and looked hungry and desperate, Molly lied outright about the cost of a bed and offered it for a penny a night.

  The kettle whistled, so Alice rose from the table and set about making two cups of tea. By the
time she finished, Molly had come in from feeding the hens and wrapped her arms around Alice’s middle. She mumbled something that sounded like “bollocks on this weather” into Alice’s neck.

  “We’re in the kitchen,” Alice protested, trying to sound stern and failing utterly.

  “I’m going to do filthy things to you in the kitchen. Right next to that nice hot stove.”

  Alice snorted. “Right now what you’re going to do is sit next to that stove and warm yourself.” She loosened Molly’s grip with the intention of turning to face her.

  “No,” Molly wailed, clinging onto her like a limpet. “You’re so warm. Don’t let go of me. I love you. Don’t you love me too much to let me freeze?”

  Laughing, Alice managed to get Molly closer to the stove. “I do love you. And you can do whatever you like to me later,” she whispered.

  Molly pulled back, raising an eyebrow, and Alice felt an answering warmth. “That a promise?”

  “Always,” Alice whispered, brushing her lips against Molly’s temple.

  Acknowledgments

  As always, I’m grateful for the support of my agent, Deidre Knight. This book would not have seen the light of day without the guidance and enthusiasm of my editor, Elle Keck. Many thanks to everyone at Avon, especially the art department for creating a cover that makes my heart grow three sizes every time I look at it. And yet more thanks to Margrethe Martin and Michele Howe, who read and offered feedback on an early version of this novella.