Because you cannot go back. You have made your bed and now you must lie in it.
Plagued by restless melancholy, she went to look out the window…and froze.
Stationed across the street was a child in a scruffy cap. By all appearances, he was a crossing sweep, cheerfully wielding his broom and accepting a coin from a passing couple. Pippa, however,knewthat adorable bespectacled face. It was one of the mudlarks from last night…and there could only be one reason for his presence outside her cottage.
“Devil take you, Cullen.” She balled her hands. “Haven’t you interfered with my life enough?”
Because of him, she’d lost Hastings. Because of him, Charlie had discharged her from duty. Anger charged through Pippa in a cleansing, powerful rush.
I am no longer the naïve chit you once knew, Timothy Cullen. You wish to play with me?she thought with grim anticipation.Then let the games begin.
6
“Here is the information you requested, Fanny,” Cull said.
He placed the packet of documents on the desk before settling into the velvet armchair that faced it. As usual, his favorite drink was waiting for him on the mother-of-pearl inlaid side table. He picked up the glass and took a sip, enjoying the mellow burn. In line with everything else at Corbett’s, the most exclusive bawdy house in London, the whisky was first-rate.
Fanny Grier, the proprietress of the club, insisted upon quality. She and her husband Horace owned the pleasure house and several others. Their strategy of offering the best, along with a reputation for discretion, had proved an unbeatable combination. The pair could have retired years ago, but Fanny enjoyed the challenge of her work.
A former prostitute, Fanny had fought for her success every inch of the way, and she deserved to be proud of her achievements. Seated across the mahogany desk in the luxurious office, she looked like any other wealthy matron. Her grey silk gown and jewelry were tasteful and expensive, and her silver-streaked dark hair was styled in an elegant twist.
Putting on her spectacles, Fanny reviewed the documents Cull had brought. Truth be told, he could have sent a mudlark to deliver the information, the way he did with other clients. But he’d known Fanny for over a decade, and she’d done him a personal favor years ago that he would never forget. He would be forever indebted to her for helping his sister through a dark crisis. He was honored to call Fanny and Horace his friends.
Besides, it was good for Cull to get out of the Nest. Since his accident, he’d spent too much time holed up in the mudlarks’ compound. The Griers’ office was one of the few places outside of his own home where he felt comfortable without his mask. Where he knew he would not draw undue stares or looks of revulsion.
Fanny set down the papers. “A thorough job, as usual.”
Her accent was polished by elocution lessons. She was a great believer in advancement; in fact, she’d been the one to introduce Cull to the tutor who’d taught him his letters and how to speak like a gentleman. That had been before Cull’s scarring, when he’d still had a secret dream of courting Pippa. When he had still believed that he could one day be worthy of her.
“Based on your reports of their financial situations, I’ll be denying three of last month’s applicants,” she went on. “You’ve saved me a good deal of trouble, Timothy.”
Fanny was one of the few who called Cull by his Christian name, and he didn’t mind when she did. It was what his mam had called him; if the blue ruin hadn’t killed her, she would be about Fanny’s age. Cull felt the familiar pang, thinking about the sacrifices his mother had made.
If only he’d been able to support their family, then she wouldn’t have had to resort to whoring. Maybe she wouldn’t have turned to the bottle for comfort. Maybe she would still be alive; maybe she would have prevented Maisie from falling prey to disgrace…
Cull pushed aside the old guilt. While his mam and Fanny had a lot in common, Fanny had been wiser in her choice of a mate. Horace Grier was a stand-up fellow, whereas Cull’s sire had been a heartless cad who’d deserted his woman and children.
“It’s what you pay me to do,” Cull said.
He focused on the whisky and plush surroundings. While he wouldn’t trade the Nest for the finest mansion in Mayfair, he appreciated the finer things in life. And Corbett’s was all about the finer things.
As if reading his mind, Fanny said, “Supper will be brought in shortly. I’ve asked Monsieur Georges to prepare your favorite dishes.”
Cull’s stomach gave a happy growl at the mention of the French chef’s delectable creations. There was a reason why he scheduled his meetings with Fanny around mealtimes.
Fanny shook her head. “I’ll never understand why you don’t get rid of your dreadful excuse for a cook.”
“One doesn’t get rid of Mrs. Halberd,” Cull said, suppressing a shudder.
The cook had been with the mudlarks since before Cull’s time. The old battle axe had a mean temper; as a boy, he’d had his ears boxed by her more than once. He would rather face down an army of cutthroats than her and her wooden spoon, and the idea of ousting her was laughable. Besides, there probably wasn’t another cook alive who would be willing to put up with a house packed with mischief-loving urchins.
“You’re lucky her food hasn’t killed you.” Fanny snorted. “You should be living better.”
“As the old prince used to say, we mudlarks got a roof over our heads, food in our bellies, and each other.” Cull shrugged. “A fellow doesn’t need more than that to survive.”
Fanny went to pour herself a whisky from the sideboard and returned with a fresh one for Cull, who’d risen when she had. He minded his manners around Fanny, who deserved respect. She leaned against the edge of the desk and waved him back into his chair; the meditative sip she took conveyed that she had something on her mind.
“At some point, a man ought to do more than survive,” she said. “You’re a wealthy cove, Timothy. With the sums your customers are paying, your coffers must rival that of Croesus. Yet I don’t see you spending any blunt on yourself. You could use new clothes and a haircut.”
