Page 150 of Rakes & Reticules
That night, after a supper of bread, cold meat, and cheese—which Violet stuffed into her mouth like a squirrel storing nuts—they curled up together in the small bed. She had a good start on a dress, and the girl’s tattered clothes had been washed and hung to dry. She’d cut the old sleeves and hem shorter, removing the ragged edges so the gown didn’t look quite so bad. There was nothing to do for the stains, but at least the child would smell better.
It was the first night she did not dream of the gallows. Instead, she was running in a field of violets, laughing and swinging a little blonde girl in a circle. They fell onto the soft grass—
“Mrs. Brown!” Thump, thump, thump. “Mrs. Brown, I hate to bother you.”
Dottie woke with a start. “Coming, Mrs. Clatterly. Just a moment.” Had she overslept?
Violet stirred and made a snuffling sound, her eyelids fluttering, then rolled over as Dottie rose from the bed. She opened the door to find a frazzled landlady.
“I’m sorry to bother ye, but Mr. Clatterly’s leg is acting up again. When it gets this bad, he’s got to stay off it until the swelling goes down.” She pushed a gray curl under her mobcap and shook her head. “I’m in a pickle. Is there any way you could take over the kitchen this morning while I stay out with the patrons? I can find some extra help later today, so I won’t trouble you tomorrow.”
“Of course, ma’am. You’ve been so kind. I’d be happy to help out.”
“Oh, you’re an angel, you are. Once you’re dressed, I’ll show you what I’ve got started. Then I’ll ready the public room for the early customers. I have several who come to take breakfast.” She scurried away, then returned. “And please help yourself too. Thank you, again.”
Though a bum leg wasn’t ideal for Mr. Clatterly, it was the perfect opportunity to install Violet as a scullery maid. Once she had a stool so she could reach the sink, the girl washed dishes with gusto. There was a constant smile on her face, making her brown eyes twinkle.
Mrs. Clatterly took to her instantly. “Where’d you find this pretty little thing?”
Dottie was ready with her story. “My late husband’s sister had some… debts. I’ve written to relations, but if you don’t mind her staying with me until we hear from someone? She doesn’t mind helping out.” Though she hated to lie, she couldn’t say she’d found the waif when she said goodbye to her husband at the gallows.
“No trouble at all. In debtor’s prison, is she? Poor thing. Horrible places, I’ve heard.”
Dottie said a quick prayer of thanks for finding the Clatterlys and began chopping carrots for the day’s soup. By the time she’d finished with the landlady’s work, she was running late and hurriedly packed her cart with her berry tarts and pasties.
“I’ll be back soon,” she told Violet, who nodded with a smile.
She wondered about her new companion and whether she’d ever spoken. Had something happened or was she born that way? Dottie would ask her tonight. Perhaps she was just extremely shy. She’d known a girl at the school who rarely spoke, and when she did, it was in a whisper.
The weather was cooler today, so there were more people strolling the graveled paths of St. James Park. She had sold half the tarts and most of her shortbread when she spied a familiar gentleman approaching on horseback.
The handsome man from… The thought of Newgate made her stomach clench, and she turned her head to avoid meeting his eyes should he look her way. But as theclip clopof horses’ hooves grew nearer, she took a deep breath.
CHAPTERTHREE
Early September 1820
St. James Park, London
Sam had promised to meet Walters that afternoon. Sir Harry Walters, the first ragamuffin O’Brien had taken in, was bringing his fiancée for a promenade. Walters wasn’t comfortable mingling with thetonat Hyde Park, so he agreed to St. James. He told Sam they could enjoy a break from the heat, keep his promise to escort Lady Matilda Bancroft for a Sunday stroll, and pass on some information for another case. Sam, however, expected to find not only the couple, but a “friend” who’d just happened by. Lady Matilda seemed intent on finding him a wife since he'd mentioned it may be time to think of the future.
He leaned down and patted his gelding’s neck. “Well, Jack, let’s see what tortures await us along The Mall, shall we?” As he urged the bay horse forward, a costermonger caught his attention. The woman selling cake seemed familiar... The moment he recognized her, his heart began to pound. The beautiful woman from Newgate! She’d taken his breath away in the instant he’d passed her, even with her red-rimmed eyes. A girl, perhaps her daughter, had held her hand. What had she been doing there? Had a family member or friend been on the gallows? He doubted it had been for entertainment since she’d obviously been crying.
That same odd feeling engulfed Sam again—as if he should know her. Or did know her. Orwouldknow her.
“Well, let’s take a closer look.” Before he reached her cart, he dismounted and spotted the tarts and shortbread. Tarts were his favorite. It seemed fate meant for them to meet.
“Good day, ma’am,” he said, eyeing the sweets. “What kind of—” Cornflower blue eyes met his, and his lungs seized for a moment—“eyes do you have?”
“The last time I looked they were blue,” she quipped, arching an auburn brow.
“Tarts. I mean, tarts.”Beefwit! Stop acting a green boy.
She smiled, lighting her up her already perfect heart-shaped face. “The last of the berry and some fine shortbread. What’s your preference?”
You.
“A tart, please. I’ve been partial to those and plum pudding since I was a wee lad.” He took the tart, the sugar sprinkled on top glistening in the afternoon sun, and handed her coin as he took a bite.
