Page 48 of Give Him a Chance

Chapter Nine

May 21, 1841

“But—”

“I’m sorry, m’lady,” said Mr. Forthright with what was evidently a doleful heart. “But there’s nowt I can do.”

Lucy sighed as she dropped into an armchair in the hotel lobby and looked up at the man who was twisting his hands. “I know, Mr. Forthright. You have done your best.”

Though it was exasperating.

Of all the people in Brighton she had hoped could help her, she had presumed—incorrectly, as it turned out—that Mr. Forthright would be the one person to assist. And certainly it wasn’t his choice; there was no choice. The man couldn’t risk his job just to do her a favor.

But still. It was galling.

“An’ I knows I owe you everything, m’lady, after you wrote that letter to the judge and got me freed even when I didn’t do nothing,” Mr. Forthright said wretchedly, twisting his fingers in knots before her. He lowered his voice. “But if I rents to a lady, my boss will ask why and it’ll all come out, and none of them know—”

“I know, I quite understand,” Lucy said quietly, lifting a hand to stop the man’s apologetic flow. “The last thing I would want is for you to lose your job.”

Even if she wanted to scream.

After all, Mr. Forthright had never been charged with anything, just thrown into Brighton prison because he looked vaguely like someone who had been spotted perhaps skulking around a house at night. Which was not quite a crime, anyway.

Lucy had written to Judge Bonner at once and secured the man’s release, and by some miracle, his place of work had never heard about the debacle. People had lost their positions for less, she knew, and the man had six children.

But still. Just when she needed to rent a room for her Prison Reform Society event, the Regency Hotel would not rent to a lady…and the assistant hotel manager himself could not assist her.

Lucy sighed as a family of four entered the hotel, chattering away happily, the scent of salt in their hair. “I suppose I shall have to think again.”

“There’s plenty of church halls in Brighton, m’lady,” Mr. Forthright said eagerly, clearly desperate to help her one way or another. “You might find somethin’ else.”

“No.” Lucy shook her head with a rueful smile. “Not that it is not a fantastic idea, Mr. Forthright, but I have already been to speak with all the vicars, parsons, reverends, and ministers I can find in Brighton. None will have us.”

Or perhaps, more accurately, none would haveher. It was exasperating to find that although none of the men to whom she had spoken today had had any issue with the Prison Reform Society as an organization, the fact that it would be she, a woman, organizing the event… Apparently, that was in some way against God.

As though, Lucy thought bitterly,there aren’t numerous women in the Bible who got on and sorted things out!

“I truly am sorry,” said Mr. Forthright pitifully.

Lucy looked up to see his genuine expression of remorse, the contrite way he hung his head, and sighed as she rose to her feet.“Nonsense, Mr. Forthright. You have been very helpful. Thank you for seeing me without an appointment.”

It could not have been more clear that relief swept through the man with the breath he exhaled at her imminent departure—which Lucy was working hard not to take personally. It was not easy, though, as she stomped out of the hotel to meet with the waiting man.

“No good?” Bernard said, evidently seeing the stormy look on her face.

Lucy was tempted to utter a rude word, but as she knew so few, that was sadly a lost cause. “No good.”

Percy should have been accompanying the two of them, their mother had insisted, but the man had sloped off to do something or other with a few friends.

“Just keep your head down so no one can recognize you,” her brother had said blandly at the very first stop of the day.

“It’s not always that easy,” Lucy had told him. “I’ll be meeting with a number of gentlemen—I can’t walk in alone, or even with a man who isn’t my relation.”

“Sure, you can. Just tell everyone he’s me—I don’t exactly have a face men of business recognize.” He’d chuckled. “Or just tell everyone he’s your pet.”

Lucy had rolled her eyes, but her brother had left before she could retort. He’d been referring to something their mother had said right before they’d left, how she’d felt better about Lucy doing this work on behalf of the Prison Reform Society with Bernard along with her and Percy.

“After all, he is a sort of pet,” the Countess of Lindow had said blandly, even as Lucy widened her eyes in silent censure as Bernard tried not to laugh. “You may as well use him as a sort of guard dog. We know he can keep ruffians at bay.”