“Please, Vella, don’t apologize. I’m afraid I’d fallen asleep.” Gabby strode over to her, clutching a handful of coins. She stood near the hearth but not directly in the firelight. “I have—” Gabby pulled up. “What on earth happened?”
Vella lifted a palm to her cheek as if she could hide the swelling.
“Did your father do this to you?”
“No, ma’am.”
She gasped. “Thomas!”
Vella’s shock was reassuring.
“Then who?”
Tears spiked her lashes. “Oh, my lady, I couldn’t possibly…”
“I’m afraid I must insist, Vella.” Gabby took her by the arm and led her to the settee, then went to the sideboard and poured out a small glass of Huntley’s best brandy. She pushed the glass in Vella’s trembling hands. “Drink this, it will steady your nerves.”
Gabby waited patiently through her violent fit of coughing.
Once it had passed, Gabby took the glass and set it on the table. “Now, I will have the truth. You are safe here.”
Vella cast Gabby a fearful side glance. After a significant stretch, she let out a soundless breath. “The madam accused me of talking too much to my betters. I fear she was correct.”
“Oh, my dear. I’m the one who approached you, not the other way around.”
Tears dripped down Vella’s face, but she made no sound. “She went through my bag. Took my last shilling. Papa will surely finish me off.”
Outrage coursed through Gabby. “Not if I have anything to say about it.” She fairly growled.
“Oh, my lady, there’s naught you can do. There’s naught anyone can do. She is much too powerful.”
Gabby took her hand and squeezed. “You know, Vella. The Hope Street house is in great need of a good seamstress. The post is yours if you are interested. You can live there if you choose, too.”
“Oh, ma’am. I don’t belong there.”
“How can you know that?” Gabby said gently. “It’s a place for women exactly like you. Women who haven’t anywhere safe to flee.” Gabby gave her a teasing smile. “I warn you, however, the gowns you’ll be making will not be the fancy frocks you are accustomed to doing.”
She scrubbed her sleeve across her face. “Oh, ma’am, do you mean it? I’ll work my fingers to the bone, I will.”
“Working one’s fingers to the bone is not a requirement, my dear.” She patted her on the knee. “Now. I believe you should stay here tonight. I shall take you directly to Hope Street tomorrow, myself.”
“You would do that? For me?”
“Certainly. In fact, based on your reaction. I feel inclined to insist you stay.”
“Thank you, Lady Huntley,” she whispered again.
Gabby squeezed her hand. “Of course, dear. Is Thomas waiting for you?”
“No, milady. I-I walked. Madame Bovine—”
“—took all your funds,” Gabby said grimly. “I shall deal with the modiste myself as well. Don’t worry about a thing. I have money for your Thomas, but first we must get you settled for the night. Wait here for one minute.” Gabby rose from the settee and froze. Huntley stood just inside the closed door.
He dipped his head, a dangerous expression on his face. “Is there anything I may be of assistance with, wife.” His lips were curved, it wasn’t the pleasant one she had grown accustomed to.
She lifted her chin, gave him an overly bright smile, while strolling to the hearth. “Thank you, Huntley. Please inform my maid I have need of her.”
His laconic departure allowed oxygen to filter in.
