Well, not quite empty. Lorenna felt the purse at her waist, the weight of the scant few coins reassuring to her. She knew she had enough to pay for food and lodging for the rest of the month, but if she didn’t have luck finding work soon, she would have no choice but to go home.
And if she went home, she’d have to proceed with the wedding.
The thought spurred Lorenna on, and she walked with more purpose. It was long past suppertime, and the sun was starting to sink in the sky, the odd star twinkling already. She paused to look at the construction work in the distance, the large metal skeletons taking her breath away. There had been nothing like this in Virginia, and though she had heard stories of the city, she had not been prepared for what it was really like.
She never wanted to leave.
“Excuse me, miss.”
Lorenna gasped as a tall man swept past her, knocking her shoulder and disappearing into the alehouse a few doors ahead. She glanced around the empty street, wondering why he had felt the need to be so improper as to touch a young lady who was on her own. But, she rationalized, straightening the wisps of red hair that had escaped her neat bun, she was in New York now. Things were different here.
Lorenna gathered her skirts again, walking a few steps toward the next block, where her lodgings were. She reached for her waist once more—it had become something of a comforting habit to her—and realized the purse was missing.
“No,” she breathed as it dawned on her why the man had made contact. “No!”
Panic rushed over her as she ran back to the alehouse, hesitating at the door. There would be only scoundrels and harlots inside, but that was where the thief had gone. If she wanted her purse back, she would have to confront him. She hesitated, thinkingonce again of the reality of going home, then took a deep breath, straightened her skirts and pushed open the woodendoor.
The smell hit her first. Sawdust and stale beer mixed with pipe smoke and the odor of a dozen unwashed bodies. The lone front window was so heavily encrusted with grime that the dying sun beyond couldn’t fight through, and the candles in each alcove did little to light the way, though she could see the outlines of the customers, men in their dandyish garb and women with dresses cut too low to be modest. The place was dark and smoky and, to Lorenna, the epitome of sin. She crossed herself discreetly and willed her eyes to adjust so she could find the man.
“Drink?” A buxom woman with a thick Irish accent anda mouthful of broken teeth called to her from behind the bar. Heart racing, Lorenna approached her.
“No, I…I’m looking for a man,” she started, flushing with embarrassment as the barmaid gave her a salacious look. “I think he stole my purse,” she finished defiantly.
“Wouldn’t surprise me round here.” The barmaid sniffed. “Well, if you got no money I can’t serve you. Off you go now.”
“I…” Lorenna’s words died in her throat as the barmaid shooed her away.
This woman wasn’t going to help her, and she could approach every man in here, but the truth of the matter was that she had no idea what the thief looked like. She had no more money, save the pennies she hid back in her room for an emergency. This was it.
It was over.
“Don’t be so unfriendly, Anne.” Lorenna turned her headto see a dark-haired man sitting at the bar, a short glass and a notebook in front of him. He had an accent too, not Irish, she was sure of that, but certainly European. “I’ll stand the lady a drink.”
“Bleeding heart, this one.” Anne grinned again, and Lorenna blanched. She had to get out of here.
“No, thank you,” she said primly, pushing back the tears that threatened to spill at any moment. “I must look for the thief who stole my purse. Good day.”
“He’ll be halfway across the water by now, I should think.” The man nodded in the direction of the Brooklyn Bridge.
“But I saw him come in here, so he must still be around!” Lorenna said, her voice breaking in desperation.
The man made a gesture to the barmaid and collected his things, a look of deep sympathy on his handsome face. “It happens all the time,” he explained, guiding Lorenna to an empty table in an alcove near the bar. “A thief runs into an establishment and then leaves through a back door. By the time the victim realizes, he’s long gone.”
The man pulled out a chair and gestured for Lorenna to sit. She hesitated, but her knees had grown weak, and between the heat and the shock, she was feeling light-headed. She would sit for a moment, that was all, and then she would go back to her room and decide what to do next. The stranger placed his worn leather satchel beneath the table and went back to the bar, handing over a coin and collecting two short glasses.
“Brandy,” he said, placing them on the table as he returned. “For shock.”
“Thank you.” Lorenna eyed the dirty glass. She had no intention of touching it. She would let the man drink his and excuse herself once she was back to her senses.
“Salut,” the man said, holding his glass aloft. “May you have no more misfortune in our beautiful city.”
Lorenna picked up the glass, resolving to toast this man and pretend to drink so she could leave. She had never drunk alcohol before. “Salut,” she echoed, though she was unfamiliar with the word. She clinked his glass and held hers to her mouth. She didn’t swallow, but the brown liquid burned her delicate skin anyway. She put the glass down, licking her lips and enjoying the sweet fire that lingered on them.
Emboldened, she took a sip.
The brandy seared her tongue before it traveled down her throat. She gasped, unsure if it was from pleasure or disgust, and the man began to laugh. She studied him carefully then. He was dressed in a smart, if threadbare, suit and wore his shirt collar in the style favored by artists and liberals, open-throated and topped with a cravat—in his case, one of deep red satin. He leaned back in his chair and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, so she could see that he was lean and finely muscled. She tore her eyes away and took another sip.
“What brings you to New York?” she asked him, gesturing to his bag. “Are you a writer? You had a notebook at the bar.”
