by Shana Galen
“Oh, Mr. Gaines is not here,” Raeni said, standing.
“This isn’t for Mr. Gaines,” the woman told her, entering and setting the tray on the small table in the center of the room. “This is for you, compliments of Mr. Gaines.”
“For me?” Raeni was confused, and she knew that look in the other woman’s eyes. She was wondering exactly what Raeni had done to earn Mr. Gaines’s favor. “There must be some mistake.”
“There’s no mistake,” the woman said, her voice firm. “Now you go on and eat it. Mr. Gaines is sure to ask if you ate what he sent, and I don’t want to be the one to tell him no.”
Raeni saw no point in arguing. She was hungry and food had been sent. She’d worry about what that meant later. She sat at the table, lifted her utensils, and began to eat.
“Where are you from?” the woman asked. She was about thirty, of medium stature, with light skin and honey brown eyes.
“Jamaica,” Raeni answered before she thought better of it. She should have lied and said Barbados or Haiti. What if her father’s men came here asking for her? She’d been relieved to leave her position in the coffee room, where she might be easily spotted, but now that she was hidden away, she couldn’t forget to be careful.
The woman watched Raeni eat for a minute. “You’re not a runaway slave. You must be the daughter of one of the planters.”
Raeni nodded, unwilling to say anymore.
“I know your kind,” the woman said. “Rich fathers who bring them to London to show them the sights. How did you end up here? Why aren’t you in your town house or riding in the park?”
Raeni stared at her food. After a few minutes of silence, the woman nodded. “Keep your secrets then. If you ever need a friend, I’m Mary.”
Raeni nodded again, then moved by the woman’s offer of friendship, added, “My name is Raeni.”
“That’s pretty.” Mary went to the window and looked out. “You were smart to find employment with Mr. Gaines. He’s a kind man.” Mary nodded at the tray of food. It was more than Raeni could finish, but she was making her best effort.
“I can see that. He’s been very tolerant with my mistakes.”
“As long as they’re honest mistakes, he is a tolerant man.”
Raeni thought of what she’d seen when she’d come into the office earlier. She hadn’t meant to intrude on him, but the door had been open, and she’d tapped on it lightly. When there had been no answer, she’d moved just inside the door and spotted Mr. Gaines behind the screen. It was angled so that anyone sitting where she was now would not be able to see behind it. But from the other side of the room, she had caught a glimpse of his shirtless back. He had broad shoulders that tapered down to a lean waist. His skin was dark and lovely except that it had been covered in raised scars.
She’d gasped because she knew how men—and women—obtained scars like that.
“Was Mr. Gaines born in London?”
Mary furrowed her brow. “I believe he comes from Wapping. He has stores and an inn there.”
Raeni didn’t think Gaines came from Wapping any more than she came from Mayfair. He’d been a slave somewhere at some time. And he’d been whipped. More than once.
“Well, I’ll leave you to your dinner and your filing,” Mary said when it became obvious that Raeni didn’t intend to tell her any more.
“Thank you, again,” Raeni said. “Please tell Mr. Gaines thank you.”
“I’m sure you can tell him yourself.” Mary left the room, leaving the door open behind her. The sounds of the men working in the storage room floated up to her, reminding her a little of home. Not that London was anything like home. London was damp and cold, while Jamaica had been all sun and wet heat. She’d been born the third child of her father and his slave mistress. As such, she’d lived in a sort of between world, not a slave but not free. She’d overheard the story of her birth. Her father had planned to name her Jane, but when he’d taken a look at her, he’d slapped her mother then walked away. Where Raeni’s brothers had been light-skinned, she was dark. Her father had barely looked at her the first five years of her life. Her mother had been allowed to name her, and she’d chosen Raeni. Her mother said it meant like a queen.
Her older brothers had been educated by tutors, not an unusual occurrence in the West Indies. Raeni had been allowed to learn along with them, and her father, pleased that though her skin was dark she was intelligent, had allowed her to help him with the running of the plantation.
Like the filing she now did for Mr. Gaines, she’d filed her father’s papers as well. All of her father’s affairs passed her fingertips—shipping schedules; orders for food and material; bills of sale for sugar cane or for men, women, and children. She hadn’t liked to look at those. She hadn’t liked to think of her own mother being bought and sold like a bolt of muslin. Her mother had always treated Charles Sawyer like a king, but when he wasn’t looking, Raeni could see the flash of resentment behind her eyes.
Raeni hadn’t understood it when she’d been a child. Her father was generally kind to her mother. But when she’d become a woman herself—when she’d seen her own bill of sale slipped in among so many others—she had understood.
Whether because of her memories or the sudden onslaught of food on her empty belly, her stomach roiled and she pushed away from the table. There was no point in thinking of her mother or her home. It was across the ocean and might as well be a different world. Raeni was here now and she would make her own way—as a free woman.
Three
Raeni woke early, the hard floor of the church making her back ache. She was not alone. An assortment of women and children slept on the floor. Some were black, some white, and two came from a place called China. She knew this because she’d seen sailors who looked like them in the harbor in Jamaica, and her father had told her they’d sailed from a place called China.
Raeni realized she had woken because of a small child’s cry. His mother lifted him into her thin arms, her dirty blond hair falling over her forehead as she tried to calm him. He was probably hungry. Though the church caretaker allowed this needy group to sleep on the floor of the choir room, he could not afford to give them much to eat. Raeni usually gave any food passed to her to one of the children. She reached into her pocket now, withdrawing a piece of bread she had saved from Mr. Gaines’s tray, and handed it to the mother.
“I can’t take this, Raeni,” Alice, the child’s mother, said.
“It’s for George,” Raeni insisted. “I have a position now. I can buy more.”
Alice took the bread and gave it to George, who stuffed a bite of it in his mouth and ceased crying. “How will you buy more? Surely you haven’t been paid yet.”
“I’ll be paid Saturday, and that’s not long.” It was two days away. Surely, she wouldn’t make any more mistakes before then. And when she was paid, she’d take her earnings for the four days she’d worked and buy food and a night at an inn. There was one not far from the church, and she could have her own room for a shilling or two. It was an extravagance she probably could not afford, but she was desperate for privacy and a soft place to sleep.
“And now I had better get up or else I’ll be late.” She had to walk almost an hour to reach Bond Street, and she liked to give herself plenty of time in case she wanted to slip down a side street and away from the groups of men she often saw. Upon arrival, she’d quickly learned London was a dangerous place. She hadn’t been here a day before she’d had her purse stolen. She hadn’t even known it was gone until she’d reached for it and found her pocket empty.
She’d held onto her valise of clothing and keepsakes a little longer. But one day when she’d been tired, she’d set it down and turned to look at a man who played an instrument with a small monkey who danced. When she’d turned back, her valise and all she’d had in the world was gone. Now she owned the blue serge dress she wore and this turban and that was all.
As though she had read her mind, Alice said, “What about your dress?”
She fed George another bite of bread.
Raeni considered the dress as well. She’d cleaned the spilled chocolate and milk as best she could, but she couldn’t afford to have it laundered and she didn’t have any way to really clean it here. “I suppose it will have to do,” she said. The stains were mostly on the skirt and she could pull the fabric to hide them somewhat.
“Here, take this.” Alice lifted an apron from her small pile of things and handed it to Raeni. The once-white apron was gray from use and many washings, but it would cover the stains. Raeni took it gratefully.
“Thank you. I’ll bring it back tonight.”
An hour or so later she was almost to Bond Street Coffee & Tobacco. She had arrived before it opened, so she stood across the street and pretended to read an old copy of The Midnight Cryer she’d found on a bench. In reality, she studied the shop. Bond Street was still relatively quiet at this hour, although carts full of goods disturbed the quiet when they rumbled past.
Someone had arrived even earlier than she and washed Mr. Gaines’s stoop and windows. Everything glittered in the morning sun. Although it was autumn now, it had not turned cold enough to kill the flowers in the boxes and they were an orange and yellow contrast to the white exterior. Her gaze lifted to the first floor window. She wondered if Mr. Gaines was in his room now, lying on his chaise, one powerful arm slung over his head.
She shook her head. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but the sight of him shirtless had affected her—not simply because of the scars he bore from the lash. She was filled with more lust than sympathy. She’d seen men without shirts many times, and she had always admired the male form. But something about Mr. Gaines was different. Her belly tightened and her cheeks heated. She wanted to touch his hard biceps and run her tongue over the powerful ridges of his shoulders. Even more than that, she wanted to step into the comfort of his arms and know she was safe.
Perhaps the thought of safety made her a bit more cautious because her gaze fell on a man at the corner near The Greedy Vicar. He was white and well-dressed, and he seemed to be watching her. Raeni’s entire body went rigid with fear. How long had he been watching her? Had he followed her? Had he been following her? She risked glancing at him again, and now his attention seemed directed at Bond Street Coffee & Tobacco.
She had the overwhelming urge to run and keep running. She’d let her guard down and now one of her father’s slavers had found her. He’d grab her, stuff her on a ship, and take her back.
And she would die before going back.
She took a step back and then another. She had to find somewhere else to hide. London had seemed so large and crowded. She’d thought it would be impossible for anyone to find her, even if she wanted to be found. But somehow he’d managed it. She took another step back. Her carelessness had led him right to her place of employment and—
She stepped into a hard, unyielding shape she thought was the stone of the building behind her until she realized stone would not have been so warm or smelled so lovely. Raeni spun around and looked into the expressive eyes of Mr. Gaines. With a shocked gasp, she jumped back and almost toppled over. Mr. Gaines caught her arm and countered her backward momentum by pulling her toward him. She landed right where she had moments ago longed to be—in his arms.
Her gaze met his for a long moment, their mouths inches apart. She felt the hand on the small of her back tighten just a fraction and watched as Mr. Gaines’s attention drifted down to her lips. He licked his own lips before taking a breath and stepping back from her. “Miss Sawyer, I apologize for startling you.” His voice was deep and steady, while her own throat had closed up and she could barely take a breath.
“It’s my fault, sir,” she said breathlessly. “I did not see you there.”
“What were you backing away from?” he asked, his gaze sweeping the street. Her own gaze flew to the man she’d seen outside The Greedy Vicar, but to her relief he was no longer there.
“I...” She tried to think of some plausible explanation. She could not tell him the truth—that he was harboring a fugitive. He had already overlooked so many of her failings. She shuddered, thinking what would happen if her father’s man really had found her. But now that the man in question was no longer in sight, she realized she had probably overreacted. She had only been in London a fortnight. Even if her father had sent men after her the day he realized she was gone, it would have taken time to secure passage on a ship, to cross the ocean, and to determine she’d stayed in London when her brothers had gone to the countryside to study at the school where places had been secured for them. The man she’d seen could not have been her father’s.
“You’re cold,” Mr. Gaines said, misinterpreting her shudder. “Come inside and have some coffee to warm up.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble.” Raeni couldn’t help but think Mrs. Price would be none too pleased to see her in the coffee room again.
“I think it’s too late for that, Miss Sawyer,” he said. But he said it with a smile, and she could not help but smile in return. He held out an arm and she took it, allowing him to escort her across the street. Bond Street Coffee & Tobacco had two doors leading inside. One was to the shop, which sold coffee beans and tobacco from all over the world. The other was the door where she had stood the day before, welcoming patrons into the coffee room. The two sections of the establishment were divided by a low wall that did not run the length of the ground floor but gave each section some semblance of separateness.
Mr. Gaines withdrew a key from his pocket and put it in the lock for the coffee room door. When he had the door open, he held it for her, allowing her to step inside first. The room was still shadowed as the sconces hadn’t yet been lit, and the dark scent of roasting coffee wrapped around her, drawing her in. She drew in a breath, inhaling the rich aroma and feeling the last of her sleepiness fade away.
“It’s an intoxicating scent, is it not?”
She turned to see Mr. Gaines smiling at her.
“I would have thought you had tired of it by now.”
“I don’t think any man can ever tire of the scent of newly roasted coffee. Why don’t I fetch us two cups?”
Appalled, Raeni shook her head. “I should go upstairs and begin filing. I made some progress yesterday.”
“I saw that, and I was pleased. But there is still almost an hour before the other workers arrive. Cook always brews a pot of coffee for me to enjoy when I arrive, and there’s plenty to share.”
“But sir—"
“I insist, Miss Sawyer. Now sit down. I will return in a moment.”
She looked at the table and chairs he’d indicated. “Surely I should be the one to fetch the tray and serve,” she said.
“I have seen your skills at serving, Miss Sawyer. Forgive me if I prefer to do it myself.”
She might have felt chastised if he hadn’t smiled and winked when he said it. And so she sat on the edge of one of the chairs and looked out the front window. Every few minutes a servant from one of the wealthy houses in Mayfair would pass by, basket full of bread or fruit or whatever they’d been sent to collect. Their steps would slow as they passed the shop and she could all but hear them inhale deeply.
Mr. Gaines returned, balancing a tray easily on one arm, and deposited an array of cups and plates and saucers before her. He did it with an easy grace, and she gave him a questioning look. “Surely you didn’t think I started out as the master of a shop,” he said. “I began as a server and worked my way up, saving and scraping until, with a little luck, I was able to rent my own space.”
“I doubt very much it had anything to do with luck,” she said, her eyes widening at the assortment of dishes placed before her. He’d brought a sampling of most of the offerings from the kitchen. She would try not to salivate while he ate his breakfast.
She lifted the cup set before her, grateful for the coffee to fortify her this morning and ignoring the gnawing in her belly.
“Have you tried the cinnamon cake?” Mr. Gaines a
sked, lifting his own cup of coffee and breathing the scent in before sipping it.
“No, sir, but I would not dream of eating your morning meal.”
“Oh, I’ve already dined, Miss Sawyer. This is for you.”
Her gaze snapped to his, and he held out a hand in a gesture for her to go ahead. When she hesitated, he said, “And do not tell me you have already supped. I will not believe it.”
“But, sir, you cannot keep feeding me.”
“Someone must, and it appears that privilege falls to me. Besides, I cannot have my new clerk fainting in the middle of filing.”
Raeni felt her cheeks heat. “I do apologize for that, Mr. Gaines. I think I moved too quickly.”
“No need to apologize—unless you do not intend to eat any of this food. Then I will be most put out.”
Too hungry to argue further, Raeni ate until her belly ached. Mr. Gaines was quiet, seeming content to merely sip his coffee in silence and watch her dine. He also watched the passersby and after one group paused to peer inside before moving on, he set his cup on the table. “I must confess I was rather unprepared for the number of patrons to the coffee room since we’ve opened. I instructed Mr. Miller to hire more servers and brought two of my waiters from Wapping until we can hire Londoners.”
“But why should you be surprised?” Raeni asked, dabbing her mouth with a napkin to remove any traces of cinnamon. “The aroma alone will attract people, and of course they are drawn to the pleasant aspect.”
“I suppose because it took some time for my coffee room in Wapping to turn a profit,” he answered. “But I’m learning that London is not Wapping.”
