Christmas Charity (Fair Cyprians of London 5)

Charity couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Cyril was the very reason Hugo has had to leave the country!” she burst out. “I loathe the man. I want nothing to do with him!” She clasped her hands to stop them shaking. “In fact, I will have nothing to do with him. Ever!”

For six weeks, Charity heard no more of Mr Cyril Adams. Until one evening, Madame summoned Charity once more and bade her take a seat opposite her impressive wooden desk in her study.

Coins and bills littered the table top and an overflowing pile of receipts spilled out of a silver box.

Yet despite her apparent carelessness with her wealth, Madame knew how much she was worth to the last penny.

“You have one week’s rent paid in advance and then you’ll need to start paying your way, like the other girls,” she said. “That is, unless your sweetheart follows through on his promise to send more my way. I’ve heard nothing from him. Have you?”

Charity swallowed with difficulty as she shook her head. “I hadn’t realised,” she whispered.

She slunk back to her room and looked through her wardrobe and her jewellery. When she accepted how little she could recover from her poor selection, she sat on her window seat and stared into the dark street.

In truth, she didn’t care about her poverty.

But her heart ached for Hugo and the fact she’d received only one letter from him, two days after he’d left. It was now mid-February and the weather was as cold and gloomy as ever. The days were getting a little longer but each day still felt like a grey prison.

Madame said she had one week left. What did she mean by that? She couldn’t force her to work for her as one of her girls. But if Charity refused, then she’d have to find another roof over her head.

Was her interview a veiled threat for the fact that beggars couldn’t be choosers? She knew she could make money from Charity.

And, as far as Madame was concerned, money was the only currency that had any meaning.

Charity drew her knees up to her chin and hugged herself closely. She’d held firm to the belief that Hugo would not let her down. Perhaps it had made her complacent.

Now she realised she’d have to make her own plans.

Finding alternative accommodation would have to be her first priority if Madame threw her out into the streets in a week. And it looked like she would, if Charity refused to entertain a paying guest.

But where to start looking? Rosetta had said she’d accompany Charity on her rounds but when the time came, she’d had too late a night to bear her company, so she said.

So, Charity went alone, ill-equipped to drive a bargain with a lodging house keeper. In fact, she was ill-equipped to do anything, she realised. Her whole life had been managed by others.

Halfway through the park on her way to an address that had been recommended to her she was horrified to be accosted by a familiar voice.

Turning, she found Cyril grinning at her as he blocked the entrance gate.

“How very fortuitous. Do you know how hard I’ve been trying to get an audience with you?”

“We have nothing to say to each other,” Charity said coldly. She wasn’t afraid of him out here, in the open.

“A little bird tells me you’re fast running out of money and looking for cheaper lodgings.”

“And no doubt you have a plan to help me? Except that I don’t entertain plans concocted by thieves and swindlers.”

Cyril smiled pleasantly. “I’d set you up, you know. Very happily, in fact. You have just the degree of fire I like in a girl. You put up a fight when you’re driven but you’re essentially a sweet little thing. Meek and mild and pleasing. You’re a beauty, too, of course. You’d have to be. I’m a man of discerning tastes.”

“And I’m a woman of discerning tastes which is why I wouldn’t deal with you if you were the last man alive. I’d sell the clothes off my back before I had to spend a single minute in your company.”

He laughed. “I do like the image that conjures up.” Then, glancing at the ring on her right hand. “That’s worth a pretty penny. Sell that for a month’s board and lodging and when your time is up I’ll come knocking.”

Charity stared at the ring and shook her head. “I can’t.”

“Not for any price? Surely Hugo would rather you sold the tokens of his regard rather than your body.”

Charity jerked her head up. “My father gave it to my mother and I’m not selling it.”

Cyril raised his eyebrows. “Ah yes, you did mention he was a man of means and good breeding. Discerning taste, too, it would appear. Forgive me if I remain sceptical. He’s a figment of your imagination otherwise you’d petition him, wouldn’t you?” He paused. “That is, if you knew who he was.”