A Woman Made for Sin (20 page)

Bernard began to cough into his hand and stood up, mumbling, “Should have already
left. See you this evening, Henry, Evette.”

Tommy immediately followed. “Thanks, Henry, Evette. Tell Stuart I’ll catch up with
him later.” He tittered, barely swallowing the last of his food as he practically
sprinted out the door.

Millie forced herself to take another bite as she wondered about the strange exit.
Neither Bernard nor Tommy had said good-bye to her. Millie wondered if it was just
an oversight or if they had felt uncomfortable around her, as she was still essentially
a stranger. Turning to Evette, she shrugged and said, “I guess they are in a hurry.”

Evette blinked. Did Millie really not understand what had just happened?

Henry, on the other hand, shook his head and muttered, “Sending this ninnyhammer tae
work in a drinking den is like leading lambs to the slaughterhouse.”

Before Millie could defend herself, Stuart returned to the kitchen and slammed his
father’s half-empty plate down on the working table, spilling some of the contents.
Glaring at Millie, he said, “You ready?”

Seeing Stuart’s frustration, Millie knew it had to be due to his father, but also
realized that with little provocation, she could become the recipient of his anger.
With a quick nod, she grabbed her pelisse off the bench beside her and said, “Have
a good day, Evette, Henry,” and then quickly ran to follow Stuart, who was already
heading out the front door.

They walked one block to a very busy street, but before continuing, Stuart stopped
and pointed back to Sasha’s front door. “Know where youse are?” he asked, not surprised
when Millie shook her head. “That,” he began as he pointed one way, “is Rosemary Lane.
Leads to where the Cits live. This,” he said, pointing in the opposite direction,
“is Cable Street, an’ it’s where you’ll be goin’. It’s busy, so watch yer step, but
there’ll be people about ter witness anythin’, so youse should be safe enough. Once
we’re past Wellclose Square, look for Ollmanders. That’s Pell Street. Clive’s is at
the end of Pell where it runs into Ratcliffe.”

Without warning, Stuart started walking again, and not for the first time in her life,
Millie cursed her short legs and sprinted to catch up. “Why would I need witnesses?”

Stuart stopped and crossed his arms. He was younger than she by several years, but
the look he gave her made Millie feel like she was the youth and he the adult. “Not
all blokes down ’ere are bad, but enough are. Youse gotta know that. So at night,
down backstreets like Pell, just wait for the linkmen to light the alley up, is all.”

Stuart resumed his pace, but this time Millie was prepared and managed to walk beside
him. She had no idea what had happened back at the house to put Stuart in such a foul
mood, but she knew from Evette that his father was an invalid and depended heavily
on his son. From the few times they had met before, Millie knew the young man to be
smart, impudent, and willing to exploit a person’s weakness to take their money. However,
she was also beginning to suspect there was far more to the boy than a sassy mouth
and a constant eye for easy money.

“I saw the book you had last night. The one by Adam Smith.”

Stuart said nothing and continued down the street, leaving Millie to try to keep up
while avoiding people on the uneven sidewalk. “I . . . I can help you while I am staying
with Madame Sasha. That is, if you are willing. I can help teach you to speak and
act properly. You could then get work as an assistant, or in a shop—somewhere that
would provide a good income.”

“Givin’ me a noose an’ callin’ it help,” Stuart scoffed. “I’ve seen how gentry helps
blokes like me. Youse make us servants an’ then think ter own our lives day an’ night.
No, thanks. I don’t wanna be ruled like that.”

“That is simply not true, Stuart. My husband and I have the highest respect for those
in our employ. Elda Mae—you met her—she is more like a mother to me than my lady’s
maid.”

Stuart shrugged. He had met Elda Mae on occasion and had heard the old woman speak
in an honest manner that would have resulted in her dismissal in most houses. Then
again, Millie had proved only this morning that she was clueless how she oftentimes
demeaned those around her. If anyone needed to be educated, it was Millie, not him.

“I’m not saying work in a house, or for a family,” Millie pressed. “I’m only suggesting
that with improved speech and an education, you could get employment that would allow
you and your father to have a better life.”

Stuart glared at Millie and increased the length of his strides. “That book was me
father’s, not mine. Neither one of us asked for your help an’ that’s cuz we don’t
want it. We have a home. We aren’t starvin’. Just because the left side of his body
don’t work, don’t mean
my father
can’t be the one to teach me.”

Stuart’s anger was practically tangible, and despite his words and hostile stare,
Millie could see that some piece of him longed for what she had offered. She would
not push the matter right now, but neither would she give up trying to find a way
to help the lanky youth.

They continued on in silence as the shops along the street took on a maritime flavor.
At least one out of every four shops was stocked with gear either for a ship or for
those who worked on them. The clothing stores were far different from those on Piccadilly.
Here the attire was made to last and withstand harsh climates. Bright red and blue
flannel shirts filled the windows, along with canvas trousers, pilot coats, large
fur caps, and an occasional brass-buttoned jacket for naval officers.

Soon they reached the store Ollmanders, whose name and a picture of a sail hung on
a large sign outside their door. Instead of selling clothes or cases of tinned meat
and biscuits, ropes and lines smelling of tar were stacked by the door and in the
windows. Stuart pivoted right and headed down Pell Street, which was far narrower
and less crowded. Suddenly, Millie fully understood what Stuart had meant about the
safety of the crowd. The smells of the docks were becoming stronger, and she could
see masts in the distance through the clouds of black smoke streaming from the tall
chimneys.

Stuart came to an abrupt stop. Millie looked up and saw a faded sign with the words
“Six Belles” painted on it. She peered inside and could see chairs on the floor, mugs
everywhere, and a floor that would quickly make her dress hem look like she had taken
a long walk through the mud. Millie licked her lips and wondered again about the wisdom
of her plan. “Stuart, what should I do? What should I say? I must get this position
. . . I . . . must.”

Stuart inhaled and was about to say something very curt, but stopped himself. He had
expected that as soon as they got here, Millie would demand to go back. But she was
making no such requests, and yet he could tell she was truly scared. The woman must
be in real trouble, though he could not imagine what could make a noblewoman run away
from her rich man and work in a tavern. But then again, he never did understand the
upper classes. She was just proof that all of them were a bit mad and such people
should be avoided, not pitied.

“Listen, I likes youse and your friends. None of youse are ’igh and uppity like a
lot of the gents I come across. But this ain’t ever gonna work. Whatever your problems
are an’ whatever reason you gave Madame Sasha to convince ’er to let youse live with
us, you gotta go back and tell ’er youse changed your mind. With what you’re wearin’,
youse won’t even get to speak before Clive is gonna know who youse are. And
nobody
crosses Clive. If ’e thinks that youse are lyin’ to ’im, no tellin’ what ’e is gonna
do. You’ll be lucky if ’e only throws you out.”

Millie tensed her jaw. Stuart’s speech was exactly what she needed. Unlike its intended
objective, Millie felt her resolve to see her plan through gain strength. Stuart expected
her to fail. Most likely, everyone in the house did. Little did they know that nothing
ever quite motivated her like someone believing her incapable of achieving a goal
she had set her sights on.

Millie jutted her chin in the air. “I’m wearing a day dress. It is simple and appropriate
for any woman of any station. Now, will you please introduce me to Mr. Langdon?”

Stuart took three steps back and shook his head. “I ain’t introducin’ youse to no
one, especially
Mr. Langdon
. Just bringin’ youse ’ere is goin’ to ’urt my reputation the moment Clive throws
you out. You,
Lady Chaselton
,” he quietly hissed, reminding her that he knew the truth, “are on your own.” And
with that he turned and left. In seconds, Stuart had disappeared into the crowd, which
Millie suspected was intentional so that she could not follow him.

Taking a deep breath, Millie stared at the closed doors. It was now solely up to her.
No more reliance on others for help. They had got her to this point, but now it was
up to her to convince Clive she was somebody he should hire. But as soon as she learned
of Aimee’s fate, she intended to end this farce and get her life back.
And never again will I jeopardize it
, Millie silently vowed.

Brushing away a tear, Millie pushed the handle of the lopsided door and entered a
public house for the first time in her life.

The large room smelled of smoke and spilled liquor mixed with the distinct scent of
the pine tar worn by seamen. To her right, attached to the wall, was a large painted
plank with a dozen large, worn circular nobs that served as hooks for sailors’ coats
and hats. Just beyond the rack was a serving area consisting of a well-used counter
with several mugs lying haphazardly on its surface. Behind the ale-soaked surface
were three casks, and on a shelf above them were several bottles of liquor. Millie
noticed that to the far side of the serving area was the establishment’s only other
door. She suspected that it led to a room where most of the liquor was stored.

In the corner was a single padded chair facing a fairly sizeable stone hearth, and
despite the chair’s obvious well-used state, it appeared to be the tavern’s only comfortable
place to sit. To her left was a large bay window that let in a surprising amount of
light considering the layer of grime covering every pane, which Millie decided was
a good thing. For though she could not really look out and see who was coming, neither
could onlookers glance through to see just who was within.

With the exception of six brass sconces, nothing ornamental was anywhere to be seen.
The tavern’s main decorations were the scars along the walls from brawls involving
thrown furniture. The interior of the room was full of tables, benches, and scattered
chairs, most of which were either skewed or toppled over.

A whistling sound caught Millie’s attention and she took a step farther inside. Instinct
told her to look down and see what had made her leather-soled boots stick to the floor,
but Millie kept her eyes on the closed door beside the bar. A second later a massive
bald man with wide-set eyes bounded through the doorway, carrying a crate of whiskey
bottles on his left shoulder. He had several small scars scattered along his scalp
and was smiling, which made him appear friendly—but only for a moment. That impression
changed the instant he saw her. His whistling stopped and his face turned to stone.

Millie began to blink and felt her pulse race. “Are you Mr. Langdon?” she asked, returning
his direct gaze. She straightened her back, suspecting any sign that she was either
meek or mild would end any hopes of her being hired. Her height might make her look
otherwise, but she was far from helpless.

A dark eyebrow rose upon hearing his rarely used surname. “Call me Clive,” he instructed,
praying the little thing he was looking at was not the woman Sasha had mentioned when
she had stopped by last night. Damn woman looked like she belonged in Mayfair. “And
ye better not be the chit I was told tae expect,” he added, visibly raking her with
his lapis-colored eyes. He had seen many pretty women in his time, but this one, with
her delicate features, chocolate-brown hair, and unusual colored eyes, had them all
beat—easily.

Clive set the crate down on the counter with a small grunt and reminded himself of
the very firm rules he had about women working at his place. The first of those rules
was by far the most important—no whoring in his establishment. He had allowed it at
one time and every night had become a nightmare. Drunks he could handle. Thieves,
angry dockworkers, disgruntled watermen—there wasn’t a sailor he could not manage
or find some means to persuade to behave when all he was after was a drink. But men
lusting for a woman were pure trouble. And the woman standing before him was the complete
embodiment of how Clive defined trouble. “Tell Sasha that I changed me mind.”

Millie took a step forward, reminding herself that this gruff man ran one of the few
public houses where patrons were not allowed to assault the women who worked there.
Clive owned a tavern that seamen and dock laborers from all over the Thames frequented.
Working here was her chance, probably her only chance, to learn just who had taken
Aimee. “Mr. Clive, I understand that you may have reservations about hiring someone
of my stature, but I assure you I am strong and able.”

Hearing her fancy talk, Clive snorted and began taking bottles out of the crate and
putting them on the shelf. He knew from the onset to be suspicious about Sasha’s request,
but she was impossible to refuse. Saying no to this female, however, was well within
his ability. “I don’t have reservations, woman. I would if I was offering ye anything,
but I ain’t. So take yourself back out that door and trouble someone else.”

Millie removed her gloves and began to unbutton her pelisse, refusing to give up.
“Mr. Clive, you are a businessman, and the fact is that while I admit to desperately
needing this job, you are short a server. I can do the job and as a fair man, you
should at least offer me the chance to fail.”