Page 153 of Rakes & Reticules
“Are you happy here, sweeting?” she asked the child.
Violet nodded, her smile slipping as fear crept into her brown eyes.
“No, I haven’t any intention of sending you away. You are welcome as long as you’re happy.” She put her mending on her lap. “Do you know if you have any other family?”
The girl shook her head.
“You had a brother. And a father. Did you know your mother?”
Another shake of her head.
“Well if you do want to stay, you’ll have to begin lessons.”
Violet gave her a questioning look.
“There are printed words on those pages that you could read. They will tell you the story better than the illustrations and add to the meaning of the pictures. Some of them are songs we could sing together.”
Understanding lit up Violet’s eyes, and she nodded.
“Without speech, it will be more difficult, but we’ll manage. I was a teacher before I married.” She sighed and smiled down on her daught—
She’s not your child.
Dottie watched Violet, her flaxen locks trailing the pages, her eyes searching between the illustrations and the words with renewed interest.
But she could be.
Dottie had become attached to the child in such a short time. Fate had crossed their paths for a reason. She believed that with all her heart. Perhaps even the horror of Robert had led her to this purpose. Dottie spoke her mind, said her thoughts out loud now because someone was there to listen. She also began singing again while she worked and had been silently thrilled when Violet had hummed along this morning.
The pair had quickly fallen into an evening routine. First, they would finish chores with Mrs. Clatterly in the kitchen, then retire to their room. There, they would count the money she’d made that day—Violet separated the coins into piles by size while Dottie counted, then added the total to her ledger. When there was a large enough pile, Mrs. Clatterly gave them a banknote for the silver and copper. Finally, they ate a light supper together before sitting in front of the small stove. Dottie had always ended her evenings before a hearth. The stove was not lit, of course, since they had no need of heat this time of year. But the habit gave her a feeling of security, going through the motions of a schedule she’d followed for so many years. She hoped it would do the same for Violet.
“We’ll start with your name. Everyone should be able to sign their own name,” she told Violet.
The next day was Sunday. Mrs. Clatterly came into the kitchen as Dottie wrapped the pastries for St. James. “Oh, ma’am, I wanted to thank you for Violet’s shoes. I hoped to get her a new pair next week. I’ll settle up with you when I return this evening.”
The landlady waved a hand at her. “Absolutely not. The lass has been working hard, and we ain’t no workhouse here. She’s earning those shoes, she is.”
Dottie’s eyes burned with emotion. “You are too kind, ma’am. I appreciate it. We both do!”
“Now be gone or you won’t get a good spot. The heat’s finally let up, so them highborn folks won’t all be flockin’ to Gunter’s or Farrance’s for ices today.” Mrs. Clatterly smiled at Violet. “Well, my girl, let’s get Mr. Clatterly something to eat. He’s grumpy as a bear when his stomach is empty.”
Humming a bawdy tune she’d heard the other night in the tavern, Dottie made her way along Friday Street, wrinkling her nose at the briny scent of fish, and turned left onto Cheap Street. It was a beautiful sunny day with a slight breeze, and she made the walk in less than an hour. It was early for anyone to be on the promenade yet, but she’d wanted to be close to the main entrance. She settled on her stool and began to read the book she’d brought along, but her mind kept wandering to the gentleman she’d met last week.
Dr. Sampson Brooks. A physician.
“Good day, Mrs. Brown,” a deep male voice said, interrupting her daydreaming.
She looked up to see the man of her thoughts smiling at her and inspecting her pastries. “Good day to you, Dr. Brooks,” she replied with a warm smile.
“You remember my name? I’m impressed.”
“As you remembered mine. I, too, am impressed.” Her cheeks heated, and she silently scolded herself. She was too old to be acting like a young miss. Love and romance were in the past for her.
“I’ve a party to go to this evening and thought to bring some of your delicious goods with me. What have we today?” He looked very handsome in his beaver hat, deep blue riding coat, and shining Hoby boots. As he moved his head to look at the pastries, the sun brought out golden streaks in his brown hair.
“No tarts today, I’m sorry to say. But I have Shrewsbury biscuits and rout cakes,” she said, pointing and realizing she still had the book in her hand.
At Dr. Brooks’s look of surprise, she quickly set it on her stool. “The currants in the rout cakes are fresh and plump.”
