Isobel nearly snapped the stem of the goblet between her fingers. “He came for me?”
“Aye.” Fanny nodded. “Said he showed up at Temsworth’s estate in London and saw ye walking in the gardens with yer duke. Arm in arm. All laughing and close and such.”
“When?”
“From the way Monsieur spoke,” the madam said, “it sounded as though you had been married but a little while. A matter of weeks, perhaps. He talked of a plan to steal you away and have the marriage annulled but then cast it aside when he witnessed your happiness.”
“Married a matter of weeks.” The memories of how Temsworth had brutally trained her to behave those first few months of marriage almost made her retch. “By the time Alasdair spied me in the gardens, I had already been well disciplined on maintaining the appearance of a delighted, adoring wife whenever others happened to be around, or I suffered the consequences. Temsworth and I never walked in the gardens alone—nor was I ever allowed in the gardens without him. Only during dinner parties or when guests visited. It was one of his games to break me and show me any attempts to escape were futile.”
Fanny snorted out a disgusted huff. “Why did ye not kill that bastard in his sleep? Poison him or something?”
“Merde!” Madam Georgianna made the clucking sound of an indignant bird. “Fanny!”
A sly look arched the redhead’s brow as she shook a finger in Madam’s direction. “Dinna Fanny me. Ye were thinking it same as I.”
“We were never alone.” Those dark memories plagued Isobel as well. The duke’s perversion of performing in front of others was but one of the many degradations she had endured.
“Never?” Madam repeated, leaning forward with an incredulous scowl.
“Never.” Isobel took another sip of wine, then pulled in a deep breath. “One of his proclivities.”
“Proclivities, my arse. The bastard knew he deserved a long, slow killing.” Fanny shook her head as she rose from the bench, toddled over to the bureau, and poured herself another. She turned and lifted her glass in the air. “Coward was afeared ye’d kill him for sure if ye had the chance.”
“Be that as it may…” Madam Georgianna interjected with a delicate flutter of her hand to end Fanny’s rant. “You are here now. A roof. Food. Safety. Perhaps fate brought you here for a second chance at life.” She fixed Isobel with an indulgent look. “Talk with the man, ma chére. Give both him and fate a chance to make amends for your years of suffering.”
What could she say to make them understand? These two women, who should better understand life and men more than anyone she had ever met. Why could they not see? A disturbing thought came to her. Would they turn her over to Alasdair? Would they betray her? “Ye promised me safety, aye?”
Fanny and Madam shared a knowing look, then nodded in unison.
“Ye swear ye willna tell him of my wee apartment in the corner of the alley?” Connor and Auntie Yeva’s safety came first.
“’Course not,” Fanny said. “He already asked about yer auntie and the boy, and we told him we wouldna say.”
Madam Georgianna bowed her head.
“Guess I should not ha’ said that.” Fanny shrugged. “Sorry.”
It was just as she feared. Alasdair would stop at nothing now that he’d found her and knew she had left the duke. “Ye must ban him from the premises, or I willna feel safe.” She stepped closer. “I beg ye. Blacklist him and Ian. At least until I’ve saved enough to travel north and settle, then ye can lift the ban and allow them back inside.”
Madam held up a hand. “Non, we will not block them. Monsieur Alasdair has been of great legal aid to us, and Monsieur Ian is a regular client who has never given us any reason to deny his visits with Lettie.”
“Aye,” Fanny agreed. “And now that Lettie’s feeling so poorly, the man’s been nothing but kindness itself. Helps her bring in enough to pay for her tonics when all the rest of her men have switched to other girls.”
Isobel had no doubt Ian possessed genuine feelings for the ailing woman who had been moved to the most remote room in the château to prevent her bouts of consumptive coughing from disturbing others. Isobel had known Janet, Ian’s deceased wife. Lettie could pass for her twin. “Please…I dinna have enough saved to set out for the Highlands. I canna leave, yet I canna stay here.”
A knock on the door interrupted them. Fanny ambled over and cracked it open. “Have Marjie sort out the sitting room, Del, and tend it for Isobel, aye? Ye get too many requests to cover it yerself. Ye’d lose a lion’s share of money. Besides—I think yer London earl is still in town.”
Isobel strained to make out the conversation on the other side of the door. Del had one of those deep, sultry voices made for keeping secrets.
“Absolutely not. Call Einrich and Adalbert,” Fanny said. “No admittance to the likes of him no matter how much gold he waves in yer face.” Fanny shut the door and pressed her back to it. “Temsworth’s carriage is here. Parked ’round front. Right at the end of the lane. He sent his valet to the door.”
Terror surged through Isobel, more for Connor and Auntie Yeva than for herself. What if her husband or his footman entered the close? What if they caught sight of Connor playing outside in the alleyway?
Madam Georgianna gave Isobel a serious look. “Fate again, ma chére? If not for Monsieur Alasdair’s arrival this morning, you would have answered the door to your husband’s valet. Methinks you have much to consider and should grant Monsieur Alasdair a short audience—if only to appease fate itself.”
“Speaking with Alasdair is the least of my worries. I fear Temsworth or one of his servants will discover Connor. Please send Adalbert to warn Auntie and guard them. Please, I beg ye.”
Madam shooed Fanny toward the door. “Send Rosie to warn Yeva to keep the boy inside and the curtains drawn until we say otherwise. Have both Adalbert and Einrich lock the gate to the alleyway, then flank both the front and rear doors, oui?”
With a bob of her head, Fanny shot out the door.
The madam turned back to Isobel. “If you were to accept Monsieur Alasdair’s protection, your son would be safe within a gated estate. Secure and guarded rather than hidden in an apartment in an alley.”
“I promised when I escaped that I would only move forward. Alasdair is my past.” Isobel refused to back down. If the woman forced her hand, she would do whatever it took to protect Connor and get him to the Highlands. It had taken her ten years to recover her strength and take action. She’d allow nothing to stand in her way now.
“There are times when the past bears revisiting, child.” Sadness and knowing showed in the depths of the madam’s eyes.
“Not my past,” Isobel whispered. The only way she had survived—then and now, was by never looking back. To remember the past held the danger of madness. Nay. She needed enough money to make it to the Highlands. There was only one type of employment that would render her access to enough funding in a short amount of time. Forgive me, Mama.
She straightened her shoulders. The madam was the first woman she had ever met who was as tall as her. “I want to start receiving clients like the rest of the girls.”
Madam Georgianna’s dark lashes fluttered. “What?”
Isobel cleared her throat. “I need money, Madam Georgianna.” She lifted her chin. “Ye said a woman with looks such as mine could earn her weight in gold in no time—especially with yer clientele.”
She shook her head. “I think not. You are overwrought and would regret such a decision.”
The door flew open, and Fanny blew into the room, a hand pressed to her heaving bosom. “Adalbert says the duke’s valet left without a fuss, and the carriage drove away.”
“That was too easy.” A sense of doom tightened in the pit of Isobel’s stomach. “Temsworth never gives over that easy.” She turned back to Madam. “I canna stay here, and I need more money before I can move Connor and Auntie to the Highlands. Make me one of yer girls. Please. I swear I willna hold ye responsible for
this decision. It is my choice alone.”
“What?” Fanny clicked the door shut and slumped back against it. “Nay, lass. Talk with Master Alasdair first. This is not an easy path ye’re thinking to take.”
“I have had no easy path since I was a lass, Fanny. This is but another stepping stone in my effort to secure a better life for my son. I feel certain it canna be any worse than what I endured with Temsworth.” Isobel turned back to Madam. “If ye’re not going to loan me the money outright, then I ask ye do this for me. Allow me to earn the high wages ye mentioned when ye first met me.” Isobel smiled. Madam Georgianna never loaned money. Considered it poor business and didn’t hesitate to inform those asking that she wasn’t the Bank of Scotland.
Madam’s gaze slid to Fanny, and the women shared their often-seen look of silent communication. She rose from her seat and shifted with a deep intake of breath. “I see you have made up your mind and refuse to be dissuaded?”
Isobel nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“Very well.” With a dramatic resettling of her trailing skirts behind her, she gave a single, imperious nod. “You will start tomorrow evening. Go home today and spend time with your son.” She ushered Fanny out the door and followed. “I pray you do not regret this decision, ma chére.” Then she closed the door behind them.
“I shan’t.” Isobel prayed for the strength to do whatever life required for the safety of her family. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, flinching against what Alasdair would think when he found out. What did it matter how he felt? He had given up that right long ago.
She drew in a deep breath, yanked open the door, and hurried down the hall to the back staircase. She couldn’t hold Connor safe in her arms fast enough. Retrieving her arisaid from the peg beside the rear door, she wrapped the plaid about her shoulders but didn’t bother belting it. There was no need. The living space she shared with Connor and Auntie Yeva was but a few steps across the alley. The irony of the small flat’s location brought a bitter smile. Alasdair had walked right past it if he had entered through the back entrance.
She hooded the shawl up over her head and shielded her face as she exited the building. She still didn’t believe Temsworth had left the premises so easily. The man thought the world belonged to him, and others had been put there for his pleasure alone. To make the duke want something even more, one only had to refuse him. And then there was Alasdair. She wouldn’t put it past him to lay in wait either.
A glance around the private alleyway assured her no one lurked. She hurried to the shuttered lean-to attached to the rear of the brothel. Thankfully, the place looked more like a gardener’s shed than living quarters. Isobel tried the door, then smiled. Locked. Just as it should be. She rapped on the door, then placed her mouth close to a crack in the wood patched with a remnant of dark cloth stuffed into it. “Auntie, it’s me.”
Wood thumped against the opposite side of the door, then it creaked open a bit. “It is safe now?”
“Aye, Auntie. For now.”
The door opened wide enough to allow Isobel inside.
“Mama!”
She glanced around the dirt-floored room. The dim interior was lit by a single candle sputtering inside a dented lantern on the table in the center. Threadbare plaids draped across a rope partitioned off the sleeping area at the far end of the small space. She pushed the makeshift curtains aside, but the straw-filled pallet where they all slept was empty. “Connor?”
“Can I come out now, Auntie? Please?”
“Yes.” Auntie fumbled with the wooden latch on the tall cupboard beside the single window of the room. The wizened old woman smiled as she bent and peered under the lowest shelf. “You are a good boy, Connor. You listen fine to Auntie.”
Connor rolled out of the cabinet, sprang to his feet, and charged into his mother’s arms. “Did Einrich kill the bad men, Mama? I wanted to help fight, but Auntie made me hide.”
Isobel pressed a kiss to the top of her son’s head. She breathed in the familiar, little-boy scent of him and tightened her hold. “Einrich didna kill the bad men, but he did scare them away.” Connor idolized both Einrich and Adalbert. She hugged her son closer. “And I’m verra proud of ye for obeying Auntie Yeva.”
“I canna breave, Mama.” The boy wriggled free of her grasp and stepped back. “Can I go outside now?”
The thought of Connor out in the open, vulnerable as an unsuspecting rabbit beneath a sky filled with hawks, struck fear to the bottom of her soul. Isobel shook her head. “Wait a bit, aye?” She took hold of his small shoulders and steered him to one of the three rickety chairs around the table. “Let’s have a bit of bread and milk first. I’ve not seen ye since yesterday eve. Ye hadna risen before I left this morning.” She tousled his hair, his tangled locks as black as her own. Isobel found comfort in the fact that the Armenian side of her ancestry appeared strong in Connor. Thanks be to God, he looked nothing like his father. Mama would have been so pleased.
“I dinna want milk and bread.” Connor gave her a dark-eyed scowl as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I wanna go play with Jemmy. His mam lets him outside whenever it’s not raining, and Auntie said it’s not raining.”
She pointed at the table and gave a warning look. “I dinna care what Jemmy’s mam allows him. Ye will do as ye’re told, or rue the day, aye?”
Connor dropped his gaze to the floor and kicked at the dirt with the toe of his boot. “Aye, Mama.”
“Nice bowl of milk. Fresh today. Mistress Rosie brought it,” Auntie said as she placed a small, chipped bowl filled with the creamy liquid on the table. She shook a finger at Connor. “Should be thankful. We could be hungry today rather than blessed with food.”
Isobel fetched the crusts of bread left from the day before, motioning for Connor to sit as she placed the board of leftover bread on the table. “Sit.”
“Ladies first.” Connor held tight to the back of her chair and lifted his chin.
Pride filled her. “There’s a good lad. Minding yer manners. Well done, Connor.” She nodded for Auntie to sit opposite her, then took her seat and smiled at Connor.
“Wish we had some jam,” Connor said as he climbed into his chair.
“Someday, Connor.” Isobel held out her hands for them to take. “Say the blessing now, aye?”
Connor took her hand and bowed his head. “Thank ye, Lord, for food, a place to sleep, clothes, and my best friend, Jemmy. Amen.” He lifted his head, then grabbed hold of their hands again and jerked his head back down. “And thank ye for Auntie and Mama. Amen for certain this time.”
Isobel bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling. “Thank ye, Connor. Well done.” She tore a crust of the stale bread into bite-sized pieces and added them to Connor’s bowl. “Eat yer fill, son. There’s more if ye wish it.”
Auntie shook her head as she dipped a crust into her own bowl of milk. “Is all we have here on this table.”
Isobel pushed her bowl to the center of the table. “He can have mine if he’s still hungry when he finishes that bowl.”
“You must eat.” Auntie pointed a dripping crust of bread in Isobel’s direction.
She willed her aunt to understand. “I have little appetite after this morning.”
Auntie shrugged and continued with her meal.
“Tomorrow, I will nay go to work until later than usual.” A sense of dread filled Isobel. Auntie had not approved of Isobel’s employment arrangements but had grudgingly come to accept the situation as the only means to keep Connor fed.
“Who is to clean the parlor before visitors arrive?” Auntie’s dark eyes narrowed. The dear old woman was not a fool.
Isobel laced her fingers together and placed her hands on the table. Courage almost left her when it came to meeting her aunt’s sharp-eyed gaze. “I do not know. All I know is that within a few days, I hope to have enough money to get us out of Edinburgh and to the Highlands.”
Auntie smacked a hand down on the table, rattling the spoons and bo
wls. She fired off a stream of Armenian as she rose from the table and bore down on Isobel, shaking a finger in her face.
“Ye’re in trouble now, Mama,” Connor said out of the side of his mouth as he nudged her under the table.
It was at times like this that she was thankful Temsworth had forbidden Connor be taught Armenian. His lessons in the language from that side of her heritage hadn’t begun until they’d escaped the duke’s vile clutches. However, anyone, whether they spoke Armenian or not, would understand Auntie Yeva’s irritation. Isobel held up a hand to stave off the verbal onslaught. “I have no choice. Ye know as well as I that he’ll be back. We must leave soon, and that’s the only way I can get the money.”
“The bad men will be back?” Connor stared at her, fear shining in his brown eyes and milk dribbling down his chin.
Isobel snatched up a rag from beside the washbasin on the stand and wiped Connor’s face. “Dinna fash yerself, son. We’ll be long gone before the bad men return.” She turned and gave a cold look to her aunt, willing her to understand and say no more in any language. “Mama will see to it. I promise ye.”
Chapter Three
“And what will ye do when that limb breaks and yer arse hits the ground?”
Alasdair ignored Ian and shifted to what he hoped was a sturdier branch. The sprawling oak next to the back wall of the garden was his best hope for watching Château Delatate’s side of the alley during the day. He couldn’t see the entire area between his estate and the brothel, but at least he could watch the main gate leading to the street on this side of the alleyway. The fact that he couldn’t spy the exit at the other end worried him something fierce. He pointed in that direction. “Dinna ye worry about my arse. Go to the far end of the alley and watch the south gate, aye?”
Ian shook his head. “This be a fool’s game, Alasdair. Ye spent the entirety of last night propped against the gate, and now ye’ve taken to perching in a tree like the devil’s own raven. This isna like ye. Climb down and act like the level-headed man ye’ve always been.”
The Judge (Highland Heroes Book 3) Page 3
