by Louisa Trent
“This is outrageous! Bribery is what this is. Hand over the lad, and I leave,” I told him, raising my voice beyond the level of strict decorum. “I shan’t go to the police.”
“And where will you house the boy – that asylum?”
“Better than here,” I scoffed.
“He is learning a trade here.”
“Picking pockets is not a trade.”
“Perhaps not. But accurately reading people is an essential skill for any trade, one he is learning. Quickly, I might add.”
“His breeches were falling off him! What do you have to say about that, sir?”
“His trade requires he look half-starved. A hungry waif. Hence, the over-sized pants. The sympathy angle, you understand. Well-heeled gents agree to play his shell games that way. He needs all the practice he can get there. Unlike at the Asylum, where starving inmates have too-little flesh on their bones, the lad eats well and often here.”
“Our orphans eat! We spend a fortune each month on foodstuffs of every manner and description.” I argued. “We only photograph the new arrivals, those who come to us in a deteriorated condition. The sympathy angle, you understand,” I said repeating his exact same word choice. “Thin children bring in more money from prospective donors reading the society pages.”
He threw back his head and roared with laughter. When his guffaws had subsided, he said, “So you do understand the necessity for William’s overly large breeches.”
Refusing to budge on the point, I obstinately folded my arms under my nearly non-existent bosom. Not that he had complained about their proportions during our escapade…
I slanted him a look. He wanted verbal combat, did he?
Well, he would get it.
Now. From me.
Before I would have turned tail and run at the mere thought of verbal confrontation. nO more.
I really should come up with a comparison graph, and entitle it: “Before and After Losing My Virginity”. There was a tremendous difference between the two.
“Listen,” he said trying another tactic with me, “William he is not only healthy here, but happy. He has a home. And please, do not tell me that orphanage is a home. Have you ever been warehoused in such a place?”
“Why, no but…”
“I have.”
I knew it! I had been correct in my assessment of him from the very beginning. All orphans wore much the same expressions, surly combined with optimistically hoping to belong somewhere – snapping at the hand that fed them, while awaiting any sign they could stay put with a family, not within the walls of an institution, regardless of how benign, even nurturing, those facilities.
“I spent the majority of my childhood in a place just like the one you represent, Miss Malone, cramped and damp hellholes all of them.”
“Save for the cramped aspect, that does not describe us. And come next year, when we are digging ground for a new wing, that will not describe the Asylum either. As soon as we come up with the rest of the funding, we start.”
“So that you can take in more kids to make miserable.”
At my fierce stance, he held up a hand. “William stays…if he chooses to stay. I would like you to stay…for I have an overriding need for a nice woman like you in my life.”
“Am I your penance for all the evil you have done in the past? Or am I to be the scapegoat, even the whipping boy, for all the evil done to you?”
“Neither. You are to be my salvation.”
“Pardon?” I asked, disbelieving my ears.
“I have already started to put things to right. But I require you to bring me the rest of the way.”
“And if I do not, you will ruin my reputation, I suppose. Well, I will have know…outside my fallen woman’s impact on the orphans, my reputation matters not a whit to me.”
“No?”
“No. Absolutely not,” I repeated, my decision adamant.
“Then maybe we can negotiate.”
“Me? Negotiate with a common thief like you?”
He shot me a narrowed look, an assessing look, as if to see if he could trust me. Or not. He must have decided he could, because he dropped some of his initial aloofness and said in a concentrative way. “Not so common a thief. To pull off a successful con requires talent. Not everyone can learn the tricks of the trade. This place offers exclusive training. Orphans line up to get in here and learn how to do it right.”
“And what is right?”
“Staying out jail for one.” He took a breath. “Conning is a skill of the intellect, not of violence. A game of chance, like gambling. After wronging Daisy, I stepped up my safeguards so the patsy will always remain unharmed…beyond a little damage to his money pouch. We no longer steal here.”
“William grabbed my purse and took off at a run with it. That is not conning. That is robbery. What if the reticule contained real money, not newspaper clippings? And what if I had been dependent on that money? I would have been out on the streets, like these poor unfortunate prostitutes you see in this area of town.”
“Willy is just a kid, and childish habits driven by a need for survival die hard. And another thing – hold your sympathy for whores. Most are shrewd business women, self-employed and independent. Not many women can say the same. Except maybe rich ladies such as yourself, women of inherited wealth.”
In my shock, I blinked. Blinked again. I was, not however, deprived of speech. “That is a warped point of view, sir. I vehemently reject that entire idea. Those women – prostitutes – are exploited by whoremongers and brothel owners, alike.”
“What about mistresses? They come out ahead in the deal, do they not? Furs and jewelry, and sometimes their own houses. No one exploits them. They do what they do to get ahead, financially.”
“That is not my understanding. Most mistakenly love the man – usually a cheater – with whom they are involved!”
“I doubt love exists. I know for a fact survival does. Life is all about survival. I am trying to teach William how to survive in a hard and cruel world.”
This was the man with whom I had my first carnal experience?
Bad enough the coupling had been sordid and furtive, lacking all sense of romance and, yes, decency, and predicated on lies, but my partner was also a worse cynic than even myself. That was going some.
My parents must be rolling over in their graves. If they were alive, they would think I had lost my mind and my moral compass. I could hear their heartbroken entreaties now for me to stay away from this criminal. And, what was worse, not only had I done that with him, I had fallen under his spell while doing that. I, who should have known better, had been charmed by a charmer. He had literally charmed me of my virginity.
How much lower could I possibly sink?
“Unless, of course, Miss Malone, you show me the error of my ways by staying. If your niceness rubs off on me, then, naturally, I would reconsider all my opinions, particularly the one involving William and the Asylum.”
“Why?”
“I told you – you have a beneficial effect on me.”
If I was seeking his sort of torment, I would tear my hair out by the root, strand by strand.
What did I have to do to escape being defined by the word nice?
I had lied to him. Misrepresented myself – as a peeper, of all far-flung things. As a widow as well. I had let him…let him…rut on me within earshot of the charitable soiree I had sponsored. He had seen me at my very worst and he still thought me nice?
That just showed how un-nice he was. The devil would have been nicer than him, comparatively speaking.
“I mean to take that child home with me tonight,” I said through chattering teeth, half lingering shock, half the chill of the rainy evening seeping into my bones.
“Let me make you a hot cup of tea,” he volunteered. “It will warm you.”
I resisted his attempt at solicitousness. “And have you drug me with God only knows what so you can take advantage of me as you did before and have your w
ay with me again?”
“Did I take advantage of you before?” he asked soulfully before turning towards the stove and putting the kettle onto boil. “Strictly speaking, did I have my way with you or did you have your way with me?”
“A little of both,” I admitted to his back, because truth was still my first choice. Although, I did have a sticking point against revealing too much with my honesty:
That I had been a virgin spinster that night.
I tossed my head, and my sodden bonnet – a very becoming navy-blue boater with a whisper of matching veiling tacked up in back, purchased during my recent shopping spree – scattered rain drops down my chin.
I was told my chin could be recalcitrant at times, and on more than one separate occasion by various private tutors. Although my family was on much the same financial level as other Boston Brahmin families, I was not allowed to rub shoulders with other wealthy girls in a classroom situation, where we would share the same teacher in a private home setting. My parents thought me too good for such an education…
And why was I going over all this now, at this improbable time?
“It would never work. I cannot make you nice” I said, as snippy as can be.
“Of course, when you do agree, kindly know this…William would have to consent to go to the Asylum. The boy is not a puppy you found at the pound, you know. I cannot just hand him over to you as if he were.”
“I know what is best for William,” I practically spat.
“You are a single lady with no experience with children. And yet, after what was no more than a happenstance occurrence tonight, you think you know what is best for William. A tad arrogant, no?”
“I am devoted to children. I read to them all the time, bedtime stories in particular. At the Asylum.”
“Wear white gloves when you do?”
“Unfair, sir! I do what I am qualified to do, which is read. I have no experience caring for children, orphans or not…”
“And what if this experiment of yours turns out to be a mistake?”
“How dare you! This is not an experiment. Indeed, it is my life’s calling,” I lied. For it was not my calling. I had no such thing. The orphans…the Asylum…kept me occupied, busy when I had nothing else to do during the long and dreary days. If the endeavor also served a higher purpose, that was purely accidental.
“So – here is what we will do, Miss Malone. Convince me of any asylum’s suitability, and I will put a good word in with William for your place.”
“What exactly would your good word consist of? What sort of recommendation?”
“Not a recommendation. Unlike yourself, I am not convinced what I offer him here is worth less than what you offer him there. I am not nearly as arrogant as you in that respect. As a former asylum inmate…”
“Resident, not inmate,” I primly corrected.
“I have practical knowledge of these places, remember? When a child needs to escape in order to leave, that makes the child an inmate.”
I sniffed. “Semantics. Will is a minor. We cannot allow children to run about on their own, willy-nilly. They may fall into the wrong hands. Like yours,” I added belligerently.
“Now, no going all-huffy-puffy on me, Miss Malone.”
“How would you advise him, then?”
“What I would say is this – conning can be a hard way to make a living and he should try something else before fully committing to it.” He handed me a cup of herbal tea.
The fragrance and warmth soothed my frazzled nerves as I sipped, standing up in his kitchen, dripping rainwater all over the neat-as-a-pin oilcloth floor. “Sounds reasonable.”
“Good.”
“Wait! What do I have to do, sir, to get you to agree to do that much? I wager some sort of carnal bribery is involved.”
“I told you already…stay with me here. No bribery. Stay because you would like to stay for as long as you decide. Now what shall I call you during our time together?”
“Miss Malone,” I said standing at near military attention. I would not be taken in again by his charm.
He arched a tawny brow at me. “No first name?”
“None required here. We should keep this conversation on an impersonal footing, sir.”
“Very well. Impersonal it shall remain. What I started to say is this – though William is quick-witted and nimble of hand, both traits required for running street games, I will cease training the lad in the art of the con. There are no free rides in life and so he can work off his room and board in caring for my horses and carriages.” His eyes twinkled. “And that new automobile I am fixing to get someday soon. I will have a word with the stable master about showing him the ropes. Stable lad is the only other position for a kid like him, so he might as well prepare for it. The animals and carriages are housed two streets over, so my future influence over him…and yours as well…will be negligible during the duration of our agreement.”
“Conditions?” Taking the necessary two steps, I settled the empty cup on a nearby work table. “What conditions? If you think you can kiss me…”
“Kiss? Think in broader terms, Miss Malone. I am a grown man, with appetites to match. Do you recall when I said there are no free rides in life – apart, of course, from those given to wealthy heiresses?”
“You said you had done your research, sir.”
He smirked. “I have.”
“So you will know I lost both my parents to come into that inheritance. I would give up every cent for their return to me for just one brief hour.”
“Forgive me. That was callous. I never had parents to lose, never knew them, and I would not give up anything to know them now.”
“Why say such a dreadful thing?”
“They let me go. See? I have need of your niceness in my life.”
“I accept your apology, sir. Have any others to make, perchance?”
“No.”
“I see,” I said somewhat crestfallen. I thought perhaps he would mention what happened between us during the soiree. That he would offer to make some sort of reparations. Obviously, he felt there was nothing for him to make up. And damn it, considering the murky circumstances, I would have to agree.
Still, some contrition would have been the nice thing to do. Like the tea, some sorrow on his part would have soothed me.
He wiggled his tawny brows at me in what I could only describe as a knowing manner. “When, of course, we become better acquainted, and your niceness performs its magic, I might just feel differently. About everything.”
I dropped my gaze. “Yes…well…I thought we were anonymous to one another. I can see now that was shortsighted of me. The anonymity was only one-sided. I had no idea who you were. But how could you not have known me? My so-called good deeds get written up in newsprint all the time. No photographs, of course. Those, I will not allow. But my name is there. Those society page stories about me must have brought you there that evening. After all, image is everything, and a saintly image brings in guilt donations from people who are not quite as saintly as I am purported to be.”
“Wrong.”
“What do you mean – wrong?”
“Do I seem the sort to read society pages?”
Fuddled and not masking it, I frowned. “Though gentlemen deny doing so, some do read the articles.”
“Not me. Besides, I am only a fake gent. I never heard of you until I started doing some research on you after that night.”
“But surely, you received an invitation? Everyone needed to present one at the door to gain admittance. That was a prestigious gathering.” I closed my eyes. “Good Lord. You stole it!”
“No. One of the lads found it outside a brothel. You should maybe reconsider your esteemed guest list.”
Smirking, I opened my lids. “Why bother attending? You might have been found out as a fraud.”
“No name on the outside envelope, no identifying information inside. I flashed both quickly at the butler who answered the door, and made myself at h
ome. As to why I bothered – I went to better myself. To see how the half lives. You know, by rubbing shoulders with society. And then I saw you. First arriving, and then peeping out from behind the potted plant. I figured you for a prostitute running a scam.”
“You are the one running a scam, sir. If I agree to do this, I suppose, I will have that new wing on the asylum, right?”
“Wrong again. The only thing I agree to is having that man-to-man talk with William.” He shrugged. “And I would have done that, anyway. But you, Miss Malone, will have the satisfaction of knowing you tried to make a better man out of me with your niceness.”
My mouth fell open, then shut tight, then snapped open again so I could speak. “You are a rogue of the worst sort, Mr. … Mr. … ”
“Ignatius. Malcolm Ignatius.”
Chapter Twelve
I started to laugh, then chortle, then guffaw with pure glee. Or malice, I knew not which. Nothing held back, I laughed like I had never laughed before in my life. Perhaps, my letting go was a safety valve against the terrible strain I had been under of late, a release in the here and now so I would not explode later down the line.
Holding the stitch in my side, I gasped, “That cannot possibly be your real name.”
“Real enough for you to cash the sizeable check I donated in that precise name before leaving the soiree that night.”
“Oh. I never handle donations. Ill-gotten gains, were they? If you own brothels,” I said severely, “I shall have to refuse the sum on principle…”
“No brothels. Honestly earned money. I have gone semi-legit. I plan to be out completely soon, street cons included. See, there was this girl…”
“From my understanding, there usually is, sir.”
He rubbed the cords at the back of his neck.
They must be tight, I thought. Did I make him tense?
“Listen,” he said, his vocal cords losing their mellow resonance. “I treated the girl shabbily. Used her. Not sexually. But I knew she had a tendre for me and I manipulated those soft feelings of hers to my own business ends. I deeply regretted my actions afterwards.”
