“I didn’t think you were,” Diana said.
Madeline’s gaze focused on a splash of sunlight on the wall as she said in a voice empty of expression, “I earned those the only way a woman can, though most would say it isn’t honest work. My sister didn’t want me corrupting her household.”
It took Diana a long moment to understand what Madeline meant. Even then, she could not connect what she knew of prostitution with this frail woman whose slim hands knotted on the quilt, who waited bleakly to be condemned.
The idea of selling one’s body was alien and repugnant, yet Madeline herself was neither of those things. Diana held silence until she was sure her voice would be composed. “Who is your sister?”
“Isabel Wolfe.”
“Really?” Diana knew the name, though they had never met; the Widow Wolfe would cross the street if she saw Diana coming, as if proximity would contaminate her virtuous self. Studying Madeline’s face, Diana shook her head. “I see little resemblance. Is she much older than you?”
Madeline stared at her, surprised by the mundane question. “Only three years older.” She sighed. “It’s hard to imagine now, but she was pretty once. She was always rather . . . righteous, though not so bad as she is now. But I can’t blame her for not wanting a whore in her house.”
Though the words were said in a matter-of-fact voice, Diana could see the tension in Madeline’s body.
Did the older woman think her hostess had not comprehended the earlier oblique reference and was making sure there was no misunderstanding? It was an act of courage and honesty, and Diana warmed to both qualities. She sensed no wickedness in Madeline, no matter what her past. Actually, Diana was fascinated to meet someone who had lived in such an unimaginable way.
Diana would have asked more questions, but her guest’s face was gray with fatigue. Rewrapping the jewels in their velvet, Diana said dryly, “Perhaps you can’t blame her, but I can. For a woman who prides herself on her virtue, your sister failed the test for Christian charity rather badly. Someone should remind her of Jesus and Mary Magdalene.”
The tension went out of Madeline’s face. “You are very kind not to condemn me.” She released her breath in a slow sigh. “I will leave as soon as the roads clear.”
Diana frowned. Madeline Gainford was in no condition to travel. Beyond that, Diana was powerfully drawn to the older woman and wanted to learn more about her and the mysterious world from which she had come. “Where will you go?”
“I don’t know. Perhaps I’ll rent a house in a south-coast village, where the weather is milder. I won’t need it for long.”
Diana was moved by pure impulse, impossible to justify but so powerfully right that it could not be denied. “There is no need for you to leave.”
Madeline stared, her face openly vulnerable and her brows knit with puzzlement. “Would you have me, a . . . a fallen woman, under the same roof with your child? I am nothing to you.”
“Ah, but we have something in common. Your sister will cross the street to avoid me.” Diana gave a smile of melting warmth as she reached out and clasped Madeline’s hand. “We are all outcasts here. You may stay as long as you wish.”
The older woman closed her eyes against the sharp sting of tears, torn between accepting and refusing the offer. Madeline had been turned away by her own flesh and blood. Was it really possible that she had found the sanctuary she sought in the house of a stranger?
In the end, she did not have the strength to refuse what she wanted so desperately. Grasping Diana’s hand as if it were a lifeline, Madeline whispered, “God bless you.”
Chapter Two
Taking a break from her gardening, Diana sat back on her heels and viewed her former patient with pride. It had been over a year since Madeline had appeared from the storm. Instead of wasting away, she had gained in strength and spirit. Now Maddy was a glowing, attractive woman in the prime of life, an integral member of the household who cheerfully performed her share of the chores.
Today she knelt on a square of tattered carpet and helped Diana transplant April seedlings in the garden. Diana had the odd fancy that the older woman had also been transplanted, from an unwholesome spot to one in which she could flourish.
Madeline was now so much a part of the family that it was hard to remember life without her. Geoffrey had immediately accepted the newcomer as an honorary aunt, put on earth to dote on him. Edith had been wary at first, but she and Madeline shared a rural Yorkshire upbringing and soon they were friends in spite of their surface differences.
Diana felt the recklessness of spring tingling in her veins, and on impulse she decided the time had come to ask the older woman about her past. With Geoffrey napping and Edith in Cleveden, they had the privacy such a discussion required. Over the last year, Maddy had talked freely of the snares and delights of London, of fashion and politics, manners and mores, yet never of her own career as a woman of ill repute.
Hesitantly Diana asked, “If you don’t mind talking about it, could you tell me what it was like to be a . . . a ladybird? I can’t even imagine. . . .” Suddenly bashful, she leaned forward and thrust her trowel into the earth for the next Brussels sprout plant.
Madeline glanced up, her brown eyes bright with merriment. “I’ve wondered when you would ask. When I first came here and told you what I was, not only did you not condemn me, you looked as fascinated as if I were a . . . a pink giraffe.”
Diana blushed, digging deeper than necessary. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Once again she had betrayed her ignorance of how normal people acted.
“Surely you know by now how difficult it is to embarrass me.” Madeline chuckled. “I don’t mind talking in the least, if you really want to hear, but I thought it best to wait until you raised the subject.” She considered where to begin. “For me it was not a bad life: I was lucky and never had to walk the streets. I was one of the company of Cyprians, the Fashionable Impures, and was usually kept by one man at a time.”
She moved her carpet three feet to the left and started on a new series of holes. “Actually, I’ve bedded fewer men than many of the great society ladies, but they are respectable and I am not, because they sold their bodies with vows in front of a priest.”
“How did you come to be a . . . a Fashionable Impure?” Curiosity was rapidly replacing Diana’s discomfiture. This was a priceless opportunity to learn more about the mysterious half of the human race that was not female, from a woman who must surely be an expert.
“In the usual fashion,” Madeline said wryly. “At sixteen I got in the family way with a lad from the next village. I couldn’t believe he would betray me, but he was only seventeen, too eager for life to want marriage. When I told him my condition, he ran away to the army.” She shrugged. “Besides, his family didn’t like me. They said it was my fault for wearing my dresses too tight and chasing after the lads.”
