The Artist and the Rake (The Merry Misfits of Bath 4)

Four years later

“I can assure you, sir, that I have no idea how that brooch got into my reticule. I certainly didn’t put it there. I have never stolen anything in my life.” Lizbeth frowned at the expensive piece of jewelry that was to be used for a special-order hat.

In the three years she had worked at the hat factory, she’d been a hard worker and been rewarded with a raise in pay each year. She was one of the few who did. But now she was being accused of stealing a brooch!

“Well, young lady, it’s plain as day that you intended to take this brooch home.” The guard who checked them at the exit door each evening waved the item in her face and glared at her.

A slight bit of fear rose in Lizbeth’s middle. Surely, they understood it was a mistake. Being on her own, this job was her only means of support.

For nearly the first year after she’d arrived in Bath, she managed to live on the funds she’d gotten from the sale of her house and Papa’s final solicitor fees. Minding her pennies, she’d been able to devote all her time to her art. However, she soon learned that with the size of the city of Bath, obtaining an art show for an unknown artist was much more difficult than it had been in her little town.

Her rent took a good portion of her money, plus food was more expensive, and any extra pennies were spent on art supplies. When her funds ran out, she reluctantly put her dream aside and took a job in the hat factory, always hoping one day she would not be so exhausted from working long hours and be able to return to her passion.

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nbsp; Lizbeth tried again, her mouth growing dry with anxiety. “I must once more explain to you that my reticule was on a shelf with the other ladies’, so anyone could have put it in there, thinking it was their own.”

The guard shrugged. “Don’t matter to me. It’s your bag, so you’re the thief.” He pointed to the chair across from him. “Sit there.”

Her stomach cramped and her heartbeat sped up. If she lost this job, she would be homeless in no time. She’d been foolish to spend the extra money from each week’s wages on art supplies. A lot of good that would do her when she was painting on the street. Or, she thought with a gulp, in a jail cell.

Lizbeth looked up as Mr. Longhorn, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose strolled down the corridor with the guard. “Miss Davenport?”

She stood, amazed that her shaky legs held her up. “Yes.”

“Come with me, please.” He turned and walked off, not even looking back to see if she followed. Of course she did. She had no choice.

Once they were in the manager’s office he waved at a chair in front of his desk and took his position behind it. “It appears our guard caught a thief.” His smile was as fake as paste jewelry.

“No.” She wiped the sweat from her upper lip. “I know the brooch was found in my reticule, but I didn’t put it there.”

Mr. Longhorn’s brows rose. “Indeed? I suppose it walked from where it was stored to be used on a special order right into your possession?”

Lizbeth sighed. “I already explained to Mr. Fester at the door. All of our reticules are stored on the same shelf. Anyone could have put it in there.”

“For what purpose? Just to get you fired?”

Her heart skipped a beat. That answered the question about whether she would keep her job. “No. I’m thinking perhaps someone was going to steal it and put it in my bag by mistake.”

Mr. Longhorn tapped his pencil on the desk and stared at her over the top of his glasses. “Since you might have a point, I will not contact the police. However, you are fired.” He waved at the door. “You may leave now.”

“Wait a minute!” She held up her hand, desperation in her voice. “If I had intended to steal it, why would I put it in my reticule knowing it’s searched every evening as we leave?”

“That is not my concern, Miss Davenport. The evidence is right there.” He pointed to the cursed brooch sitting in the middle of his desk.

Her shoulders slumped. With no job and no reference since she was being fired for stealing, it might have been better if Mr. Longhorn had turned her over to the police. At least then she would have a roof over her head and food.

She gathered her dignity and left the room, walking down the corridor on shaky legs past the guard, Mr. Fester, who handed over her reticule and nodded in her direction like it was any other night, and not a disaster for her.

The air was cool, and the sky gray as she left the building for the last time. Her spirits were as low as the weather. Whatever would she do? She tried her best to keep the tears from falling but was unsuccessful. She wiped her cheeks and took a deep breath. She’d gone no more than a few steps when an older woman approached her.

“My dear, you look so distraught. Is there anything I can do to help you?” She eyed her with sympathy which was the wrong thing to do since that only opened up a flood of tears.

“I’m afraid not. I was just fired from my job.”

The woman sucked in a deep breath. “Oh, no. How terrible for you. That is an awful thing to happen. I am so sorry, my dear.” She paused for a minute. “I don’t mean to be forward, but may I offer you some tea? My name is Mrs. O’Leary. I own a boarding house for young women only a few streets from here.”

Since her brain refused to work, only allowing the word fired to repeat over and over again in her head with a sickening cadence, Lizbeth nodded numbly and allowed the woman to lead her along.