He couldn’t argue with the prices, or with the generosity of old Butterfield himself. Whenever Doug came late, as he did this day, a small cluster of needy folk waited at the door for closing time, hoping to beg the day’s leftovers, or at least to get bread for as few pennies as possible. One former soldier, his empty sleeve a testimony to his service, always caught Doug’s eye, but he avoided glancing into the man’s face when he slipped a coin into the soldier’s good hand for fear of the gratitude—or worse, shame—he might see there.
He saw her in the shadows when he shifted to pull himself down, the woman who had appeared with the others three days this week. Something about this particular woman made her stand out; something offended his sense of order. She didn’t fit. Her eyes, on the rare occasion she lifted them, were huge in her pale face and haunted. While her companions dressed in a jumble of homespun and rags, the dress she wore every time he spied her—faded and old though it might be—had once been of high quality. She might have gotten it from a former employer, but he doubted it. The ribbon that pulled her hair back from her face—always neatly combed—appeared to be lace. It didn’t fit.
One other thing bothered him. The woman was heavy with child. He’d seen enough camp followers to know the signs. She would birth that baby in a week or two. Or sooner.
* * *
Rough stone cut into Esther Hopkins’ back where she leaned against the building, sharp edges distracting her from the ache that had plagued her for two days. The cold wind cut through her ragged shawl, the better one having been sold weeks ago. Her eyes stared at the filthy pavement while her mind wandered uselessly across the familiar landscape of her misery, never coming to a conclusion, never finding a way out.
A boot dropped to the pavement at her feet, pulling her out of her distraction. Another followed it and seemed to teeter unstably. The sight drew Esther’s eyes up a pair of legs, trim in buckskin trousers, past a plain brown waistcoat and simple cravat, to a leathery brown face. The faces of tenants who worked the land and spent their days out of doors on her father’s estate had a similar appearance. It wasn’t the sun-browned face that made her breath catch in her throat, however. It was the piercing blue eyes fixed on her person.
Those eyes studied her as if they could plumb her soul. Perhaps, the stranger found her wanting—most people did. Many days she did as well, but for some reason, this man’s disapproval bothered her more than most. She had seen him before and witnessed his kindness to Corporal Browning. A longing to receive that kindness for herself stabbed her heart.
The tall man steadied himself on his cane, blinked to clear his vision, and turned away. Esther shivered as if he took the warmth with him. She sagged against the wall, praying she could hold on. She hadn’t eaten that day, hadn’t eaten much in three days if she were honest, and weakness threatened to lay her flat. Foolish that. She hoped to extend the few remaining pennies from the money Wilfred left her. It didn’t matter. It would all be spent soon enough, and she would starve unless she could find more work. The mending she took in had been meager all along, and lately, there had been even less. Living in the dismal room above a jumble shop made it difficult to approach customers with enough coin to pay.
She wrapped her arms around her belly to comfort the baby within.It won’t be long now. The sun has almost disappeared.
The babe responded with feeble movements.He must be hungry as well, Esther thought. On the other hand, she wondered if the odors emanating from the unfortunates who clustered around her waiting were as unpleasant for the little one as they were to her. Usually, one or two others joined her here; today there were eight.
When one particularly rank man bumped against her, pushed by his fellows, Esther’s mouth filled with saliva and she gagged back the urge to vomit.
“Sorry, Missus,” he said.
He hadn’t bathed in many weeks, but he had smoothed his hair and tucked his shirt as if doing what he could. They all did what they could to get by.
Esther wondered what her sister would make of this wretched knot of humanity. Imogene would likely cover her nose with a scrap of perfumed lace, hurry past holding her skirts away from them, and demand the coachman take her away immediately.
Would I have behaved that way once? She feared she would have on the rare occasion she might have found herself in a neighborhood to see such a sight. The protected daughter of an earl rarely had so unpleasant an experience.
A bitter laugh escaped her.Seeing such a sight is unpleasant? How about living in such a way?
A large woman bustled out of the bakery carrying two parcels wrapped in string, letting the door slam behind her. The smell of fresh bread made Esther’s stomach clench and the eyes of the man on the other side of the door widen, longing naked in his face. The woman wore simple clothing of rough material, but it was clean. She may have been poor enough to seek end-of-day bargains, but she stood above the wretches clustered at the door and seemed happy to let them know it, raising her chin, and pursing her mouth. She reserved a particularly nasty glower for Esther and yanked her skirt away.
“Ignore her, Missus,” the man who had bumped Esther said. “She’s no better ’n any of us.”
Esther nodded gratefully, no longer able to speak.
That woman had to be the last customer. It won’t be long now—the last, that is, except for the kind man with the fierce eyes. I hope I have the strength to stand when Butterworth comes out.She feared the walk home would be too much for her if there was no bread today.
The bell jingled again, signaling the door opening, and the tall man stepped out. He carried two wrapped packages under one arm and leaned heavily on his walking stick with the other. Cinnamon, cutting through the sea of unpleasant odors, assaulted Esther’s senses. Memories rushed through her: pleasanter times followed by immense loss. The man stopped abruptly, staring at her, and the brows over his sharp blue eyes drew together as if he didn’t like what he saw.
Esther felt the world tip and darkness invade the periphery of her vision, closing in until she could see only his face, and then nothing.
CHAPTER2
Anyone with eyes could see the damned woman was ready to drop. Doug wondered how desperate the creature had to be to stand on a public street in such a condition. Temptation to unleash curses at whoever left the woman in this position rose to his lips but died there when her head leaned sideways and she began to slide slowly down the wall. He thrust the bread and Aunt Edna’s buns into Corporal Browning’s good arm, dropped his cane, and pulled her into his arms, easing her way down and almost upending the both of them in the process.
He winced when he went down on his good knee, the other leg out at his side. “You there—get Butterfield. Tell him to bring water.” The man he pointed at ran to obey orders.
A young woman in a filthy dress knelt down on the other side of the woman. “She’s close to time,” she murmured. “Easy to faint when you don’t eat.”
Sounds like she speaks from experience.
“Corporal, hand me that box.” There being no immediate response, he looked at Browning who gripped the box of sweet buns as if it was his last hope.
Perhaps, it is. Doug looked back at the prone figure of the woman. “Take one for yourself and give me one for the lady,” he said in his orders-of-the-day voice. “Share the rest. Keep the bread.”God knows I can buy more.
The woman who had knelt to help leapt up, grabbed two sweet buns, and ran off. Doug ignored the scuffling behind him, Butterfield shouting for order, and the sound of the crowd dispersing. Having ascertained that her pulse still pumped life into her frail figure, he folded his coat and put it under the woman’s head. When a dirty hand appeared in front of him holding most of a sweet bun, he glanced back to see Browning clutching the remnants of the bread under his shirt, the remains of a bun on his cheeks.
