He felt her squeeze his fingers and trusted that his sister had his best interest at heart. What would happen if polite society learned of his friendship with a pickpocket? What if his colleagues at the Bank learned of their cohabitation? Eyebrows would be raised, as would questions regarding his ethics.
Bankers traded on their reputations. Should he and Eliza run afoul of the wealthy powers that be, his career could be ruined.
“Everything is aboveboard,” he vowed. “On that, you have my word.”
“Very well.” She sighed, sipping her forgotten cup of coffee. The milky brew must’ve gone cold. “I trust you.”
Mark sighed, too. He felt as though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, for Eliza would have a companion during the lonely hours while he was at work. Perhaps she would not miss him so very much. “Then you’ll go to her this afternoon?”
“This afternoon? Youareserious about this!”
“I am serious about Miss Summersby. I’ve seen fortunes come and go, and I should hate to imagine her windfall wasted on unscrupulous landlords and bad company. I have already promised her the use of your clothing, for she owned nothing but the rags on her back, and they weren’t fit for wearing. If you could offer your support and a friendly, feminine ear, I believe she would follow your example.”
Her mouth formed a familiar grim line that he recognized from his looking glass. “You’ve thought of everything, yet I’m afraid you’ve overestimated my powers of persuasion. Miss Summersby sounds like a clever and capable young woman. She is probably very stubborn.”
He grinned at that. “One doesn’t survive on the streets otherwise.”
Ann softened. She saw how much this favor meant to him. “Oh, Mark, what if I’m not up to the task?”
“All I am asking is that you pay a call on Eliza this afternoon. Don’t corner her, don’t frighten her, and—for God’s sake—do not run her off. Do you think you can handle that?”
She smiled at him as he rose from the table. If he didn’t leave soon, he would be late for the opening of the Bank. Ann escorted him from the breakfast room and out onto the landing. Little Geoff was snug in his nursery, and she had a few free hours to plan menus and reply to her correspondence. Surely, she could steal a moment to drop by Green Street.
“I do admire you, Mark, for your benevolence toward this girl, whoever she is. Your kindness does you credit, even if your colleagues should judge you harshly for simply doing the right thing.”
“Then let’s keep this our little secret.” He bowed over her outstretched hand. Her fingers were soft. Her nails were neat, clean, and manicured. She’d never known hard work or even a hardship.
Mark had provided his sister with a life of comfort, contentment, and fulfillment. He hoped that—together—the two of them could do the same for London’s most fortunate pickpocket.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Eliza reclined on the Chesterfield sofa, nibbling at a box of bonbons, which had appeared with the day’s delivery of periodicals. The gift was Mark’s doing, of course—simply because she’d never tasted chocolate before.
He was thoughtful, generous, andgood.
She wished she knew a way to repay him for his kindness.
For now, however, Eliza ate her sweets, read her magazines, and vowed to make no trouble for anybody. The housemaids bustled about their work. The footmen kept to themselves beyond refilling her teapot. Mr. Pearson wound the clocks and observed the goings on at Green Street. The old butler’s stern and silent presence haunted the perimeters of every room, keeping an ‘eagle eye’ on Eliza in his employer’s absence. While most of the staff had grown accustomed to their guest—some going so far as to be friendly with her—Pearson endeavored to uphold the dignity of Sir Mark van Bergen’s household.
Ignoring him, Eliza flipped another page ofThe Sphere.She was horrified to read about the war in South Africa. Although the stories they’d printed were tales of patriotism and heroism under the most extreme conditions, she did not condone the fighting abroad when so many young men were starving and dying in the streets where she’d lived.
Couldn’t something be done at home rather than sending soldiers to fight for resources that they would never see? Must they die to line the pockets of folk who’d otherwise crossed the street to avoid them?
The Boer War was a nasty business, and she closed the magazine in disgust. Outside, carriage wheels rattled in the street. Voices sounded on the pavements, oblivious to the bored young woman safely ensconced behind the drawing room draperies. Eliza longed to get out, to go walking, and to engage her mind in something worthwhile. At the very least, she wished for someone to talk to.
She devoured another bonbon and took a long, bracing sip of tea. If only she was educated and articulate enough to write a letter to the editors ofThe Sphere, The Gentleman’s Gazette,or evenThe Illustrated Mail.Perhaps she might offer a fresh perspective of life in the streets of their great capital and the violent reality toward which good folk turned a blind eye.
She could compose something anonymously, and then ask Mark to look it over. She certainly had the time to spare…
Mr. Pearson materialized in the drawing room doorway. He cleared his throat and announced, “Mrs. Sidney Cooper.”
Eliza had never had a caller. She didn’t know whether to stand or sit. Should she curtsey? Should she cower? After all, she had been warned to keep out of sight. She feared that Mrs. Cooper would have nothing nice to say.
The lady swept into the room. She wore an Easter bonnet of peony blossoms and ostrich plumes, and a visiting ensemble of blush pink silk with a shiny gold brooch pinned against the fashionably high collar of her frock.
Her hands, clad in dainty lace gloves, extended toward Eliza.
“Don’t worry. Mark sent me,” said Mrs. Cooper. “I am his sister, Ann.”
