Christmas Charity (Fair Cyprians of London 5)

A spurt of anger quickly turned to indignation. Charity knew she shouldn’t engage him. “Of course I do!”

“And does he know who you are?” Cyril sent her a narrowed eyed look that made Ch

arity’s ears burn.

She shook her head. “I’m not about to sink my pride and go to him again. A girl from a brothel? Do you think he’d want anything to do with me, now? He certainly didn’t when I was a child.” She shrugged. “And while I’d rather not have to sell my ring, I’d do that before I let you touch me. Why, I’d rather sleep with a snake!”

“Harsh. Very harsh. I’m surprised Hugo fell for you with a tongue like that.”

Charity sucked in a quick breath. His mention of Hugo was like a whip of pain and disappointment. “Hugo was nothing but kind and gentle with me. I never had cause to speak to him as I do to you.”

Hugo nodded. “Yes, most interesting. The way you and my cousin dealt with one another, I mean.” He cleared his throat. “The letters that were in the reticule you dropped in my drawing room were a lesson in humility. For me, that is. Tender and loving. I’d never seen sentiments like it between two people. Which is why I thought I could do with a bit of help in my own plans to court a certain young lady. One who would, I’m sure, be far more responsive to the kinds of sweet nothings you and Hugo bandied about with such carelessness.” He looked thoughtful. “She certainly didn’t exhibit the aversion towards me that conjures up comparisons with disgusting reptiles. I believe I have a chance.” Cyril looked pleased with himself. “A few pretty notes would go a long way, I think.”

“You can write your own letters.” Charity started walking to the gate, even though it meant passing him. Her heart beat harder but he could hardly force her into anything against her wishes, out here in the open. “I’m not doing anything for you,” she said over her shoulder, “and I certainly wouldn’t want this poor, unsuspecting young lady to think you better than you are. It would be deceitful.”

Cyril followed her, arresting her with a hand on her arm.

Charity turned, making no secret of her disgust.

“Think of it as putting me in my place,” Cyril laughed. “Wouldn’t you love to give me a lesson in humility? Maybe you could make me a better man. After all, how am I supposed to know the kinds of sentiments that come from a good and generous heart when no one has ever shown me?”

Charity shrugged. “I don’t think all the teaching in the world can help you with that.” She put out her hand. “But I would like my letters back, thank you. They belong to me.”

Cyril bowed. “I shall deliver them tonight.”

“And I shall have Rosetta accept them on my behalf.”

* * *

Six days later, Madame again summoned Charity to her study and Charity went, hoping against hope it meant that Hugo had managed to get a letter sent with even some small means of maintenance that would satisfy Madame for now.

“Emily says you’ve been looking for alternative accommodation?”

“It went no further than that, Madame. I was hoping…” She tried again. “I thought perhaps Hugo might have sent something.”

Madame shook her head. “I’ve received nothing. However, that doesn’t mean correspondence and succour hasn’t been delayed.” Her tone gentled. “I don’t believe he has forsaken you, Charity. But practicalities must be attended to. Hugo’s cousin, Mr Cyril Adams, is here. Now, I am well aware of your feelings towards him but he says he has received news from his father. He thought perhaps you might be interested in seeing him.”

“Madame!” Charity stared wildly around the room, then down at her threadbare blue dress.

“You can borrow something finer,” said her employer as if that were a matter of concern, but Charity shook her head.

“I’m not entertaining this Mr Adams or...anyone else. I’ll leave if I have to. If you want me to. But Madame, I have three days remaining here.” Since her last terrifying encounter with Madame she’d made sure to work out how far her rent would last — to the last minute. Madame would know it, too.

“Which is why you’d do well to speak to Mr Adams and find out what his father has to report. His father is with your young man, after all. I thought you’d be only too eager to hear what he has to say.

Of course she did. But not when he’d find other ways to put Charity at a disadvantage. “Tell him to come back when...I have gathered my wits. I have questions, yes, but I’m not yet ready to see him.” Charity thought of what she must achieve in the interim so that he would be under no illusions that he could pressure her. She needed a plan that would see her safe and secure. So that regardless of what Cyril offered her or however much he coerced her, she could refuse. Yes, in the morning, she’d find a lodging house or work as a milliner. There must be something she could do that would bring in a little money. Just for as long as it took Hugo to send something. She knew Hugo would be true to his word. It was possible he might not come home to her in two years’ time but she did believe three months was too soon for him to have given her up.

Madame came round from the desk and ran her fingers through Charity’s hair as she slowly circled her. “You could be one of my most popular girls, Charity. You have the looks and bearing. I’ve had interest you know. Not just from Mr Adams. Mr Cyril Adams,” she amended, her tone thoughtful. Slowly she contoured Charity’s bare arms from the wrists up to her decolletage. Charity held her breath. It was just what Madame had done the first night Charity had arrived on her doorstep, late at night, having been sent by, as it transpired, a procuress Charity had met on the coach during the last leg of her long journey from Dorset.

Barely eighteen, Charity had ceased to be useful when her aunt had succumbed to her various maladies and her grandmother had taken in a fourteen-year-old distant relative to look after her in her old age. She’d said it was time for Charity to make her own way in the world.

Little did Charity know what was in store for her when she’d arrived, friendless, in the vast city. She’d thought she’d found a safe haven at Madame’s.

Madame was speaking again, Charity realised. But in the brisk tone she usually did. She sounded distant, her thoughts far removed from Charity’s concerns, it seemed. “My daughter arrives tonight from France where she has been educated most of her life.”

“Oh!”

“You did not know I had a daughter?” Madame smiled. “I haven’t seen her in many years. It’s true I’ve missed her but this was no place for her to grow up. Not when I have such plans for her. I’ve provided well for her and she is a beauty with her rich, auburn hair and her creamy skin.” Madame’s hands were stroking Charity’s neck. “I’ve become fond of you, Charity, since you’ve been here. You’ve touched me with your innocence, reminding me what it must be like to have such faith in the goodness of others. Of that one important person. I’d have liked my Arabella to be soft and innocent like you but she’s not. She’s proud. She doesn’t want to be here, of course. Doesn’t want to see her mother, and that pains me.” She took a hank of Charity’s long, loose hair in each hand and drew it away from her head, assessing Charity as if she were an object.