What will he say when I reappear with a babe in my arms?A hungry, crying— She cut off the thought and the black fear it brought.
She stitched rapidly, and began to recite the first verse that came to her mind, “The man for wisdom's various arts renown'd…”
Laughter, a desperate brittle thing that owed nothing to humor, escaped her. Her father mocked her love of books; he called it worthless. What would he think if he knew she used it as a shield, a wall to keep the darkness at bay.
If she kept her hands busy and her mind full of poetry, she couldn’t think about the baby, fearing it would not survive. Fearing it would. She kept the words of the Odyssey coming, “…had wrought the destined fall of sacred Troy…”
She had eaten well enough the first several months, but now, the poor mite starved along with its mother. Unless she found a way to earn more, she would never be able to feed it. Then what? She forced her mind to the poem. “Wandering from clime to clime…”
A sharp knock brought her heart to her throat, and she stuck herself with the needle. She dropped the pieces of coat so that she wouldn’t add to its stains. Sucking a finger, she lumbered to the door, praying Smalley didn’t want money, praying she brought more work. Esther couldn’t think who else it might be.
A half-grown boy stood at her door clutching a dented tin jug. “You Mrs. Linder?”
Esther remembered it was the name she gave her landlady before she could deny it. “And if I am?”
“Then, this is for you.” He thrust his burden at her.
She gaped at the jug in her hands.Milk! Glorious angels in heaven! Milk. She opened her mouth, questions crowding one another out.
“He sez you’re to drink it and not—” the boy scratched his head as if to remember. “—not be a damned fool.” He grinned at her. “His words, missus. And I’ll bring more tomorrow. He paid for a week.”
“Who?”And how do you know my name?
“That sergeant fellow. Right stern man he is—I’d do as he sez. Oh—” He reached in his pocket. “—this too.” He held out a bit of something the size of a small apple wrapped in a cloth. Esther put the milk on her table. Before she could think to ask why, when, or how, he thrust the object into her hand and ran off.
She didn’t move from the open door. She stared down at the piece of cheese in her hand, mouth watering, and went over what had just happened.That sergeant fellow… Yesterday’s stranger? I’m nothing to him. And how did he know to call me Mrs. Linder?
“I warned you no men, girlie.” Mrs. Smalley had dragged her bulk up the stairs and stood on the landing. “Came asking questions about you last evening. Thought I’d believe he was one of those charity folk, but I’m smarter than that.” She curled her lip. “Odd to take an interest in one in your condition, but you can’t account for some men’s likings. Can’t blame you for accepting what he offers, neither, but no foolishness on these premises, you understand me?”
Esther blinked at the woman, trying to make out what she meant. The grim line of the landlady’s mouth didn’t budge. Her meaning dawned slowly, and Esther felt burning rise up her neck.
Nothing comes without a price. He will want something in exchange.Esther knew a sudden urge to pour the milk out, but she squelched it. Need overrode her revulsion. When he came expecting payment, she didn’t have to give it.
“Warning understood, Mrs. Smalley.” She shut the door in the woman’s face.
CHAPTER3
Doug left his trap and pony in the hands of his newest employee, limped across the works’ yard, and laughed when his whistle startled Joey Morris just coming out of the warehouse. The boy picked up the keg of tallow he dropped, grinned back, and marched off toward the production room. Doug passed him to duck under the door to the warehouse.
“Spratly, my man. Do you have good news for me?”
“Aye, Mr. Morris. Shipment came afore dark as we hoped.”
“Did you order more?” Doug demanded, sending Spratly’s brows high.
“Your meeting went well,” the foreman guessed. “Will the assembly rooms be moving from beeswax to whale candles?”
“Not yet. The Master of Ceremonies—smug bastard that he is—put us in our place his very self. His nose twitched as if I pushed tallow under it. ‘The Assembly Rooms’ chandeliers are the finest in the world,’ he said. ‘We burn the finest beeswax supplied by Merriam’s Soap and Candle Works.’” Doug grimaced over the competitor’s name.
“That’s not the end of it, though?” Spratly asked.
“His manager, Fowler, started to show me out, but he listened when I talked.” Doug ticked off the points he made on his fingers. “Spermaceti burns clean without the smell; if the color isn’t as dainty, well, who can tell so high above the floor, and…” He leaned forward with a wink, “It costs a third as much.” The two men studied each other in perfect accord. “He took my sample, gave it a sniff, and his eyes sharpened. I could see the accounting going on in his head. We’ll save them a fortune.”
“So, we have a contract.”
“Not yet. He took the sample to try, and said he’d speak with the Master. I suggested he burn a few and see if the stuffy old bounder notices.”
Spratly barked out a laugh. “He won’t look close enough to see.”
