Val could smell the gin on his brother’s breath. “Don’t be so downtrodden. You could meet someone. A lovely girl. Someone to—“
“Someone to what? Share my life with? I like women, Val. I always have. I like variety and I like my freedom. I don’t give a damn what Father says. I don’t plan to marry anytime soon. So, to hell with duty and obligation. Those words stick in my throat.” Rowland said passionately.
“Far be it from me to come between you and Father. No doubt you’ll make your way and do as you please. You always do,” Val said.
Rowland smiled at this. “I damn well do, little brother.”
He gulped down the last of the gin and left Val exactly where he had found him; seated before the roaring fire engulfed in the warmth of the red leather chair.
???
“You shouldn’t be here,” Annette shook her head at the woman in the dark blue hooded cloak. “It’s dangerous.”
“Is it really?” Caroline asked throwing the hood back to reveal her glistening golden wheat colored hair. “If I shouldn’t be here than you shouldn’t either.”
Annette looked away. “I live here.”
Caroline regretted the words. “Annette…“ she was about to apologize but stopped. She knew Annette would not appreciate it.
The women who worked the streets were tough and savvy, and empty words were just that, empty.
“Come,” Annette pulled her along the dark street and into a small public house. It was almost deserted as they took two chairs and a table in the back.
Caroline had never been inside a public house and she knew that only prostitutes and loose women entered such establishments. Respectable women did not enter such a place. She ducked her head down and looked up at Annette.
“I’ve brought you some money,” Caroline said softly. “It will keep you off the streets for at least a week.” She passed the small pouch to the woman and stared at her in the dim light.
Annette looked old and haggard. Her hair, once golden and vibrant, was now sweat stained and brittle. Her figure was scrawny and her bones jutted out. Her eyes were sunken in and listless, and her mouth turned downward in a perpetual scowl.
Caroline had begun visiting the darkest parts of the city, in part thanks to her sewing circle friend Stella, whose employment at the workhouse had enabled her to make friends with the people she helped. Stella often walked the streets giving out copies of the Bible and preaching the good word. She had a good heart, but failed to realize that people needed more than prayers to get them out of the East End of London.
Caroline had traveled with Stella several times, walking the dark streets at night and meeting the women affected the most by poverty. They sold their bodies out of necessity and Caroline was touched by them. Many had children and she wanted desperately to help them.
On one of her outings, she had met Annette Gardiner. Annette was very skeptical of Stella and called her a Bible pounder and avoided her. When Caroline had come out into the night on her own, Annette had approached her and talked to her sternly.
“You shouldn’t be out here,” she told her boldly. “Not the way you look anyway. Some man might come along and want you to perform for him.”
Caroline felt her cheeks warm even though she wasn’t entirely sure of what Annette meant. “I want to help,” she said instead.
“Hmph! We all know the help you provide. A Bible ain’t no good to help pay the room fees and it won’t get my boy his milk neither.” Annette folded her arms across her chest.
“Oh. You have a child?”
“A boy.”
“What’s his name?” Caroline asked.
“Richard. But everyone calls him Dickie.”
“That’s sweet.”
Annette nodded but her arms remained crossed over her slight bosom. “So. Where’s the Bible?”
“I’m sorry?” Caroline asked.
“The Bible. You haven’t brought it out yet. I must say you are pretty slow at it. Most come up to us holding it out like it’s a talisman to protect them from us.” Annette rolled her eyes.
Caroline smiled. “I don’t have a Bible.”