Page 13 of Sweet Hellion

Chapter Six

Emma perused the market stalls, her basket tucked under her arm. Salted fish, butter, eggs, and plum brandy. If she could find some currants and suet at a fair price, she would make a pudding. Worry niggled. Her meager funds wouldn’t last long if she overspent, not to mention, the infirmary didn’t need her to scrub floors the next two days. Still, they had sent a fair bit of mending.

She caught sight of clusters of beautiful currants two stalls down and started toward the stall, but slowed when she noticed the woman in the stall to the right staring. Emma ran a hand over her hair but found her chignon tightly in place at the base of her neck. Was something wrong with her clothes? The woman whispered something to a younger woman to her right.

Emma reached the vegetable stall and stopped in front of the currants. Despite the fast beat of her pulse, her mouth watered at sight of the succulent fruit. It had been so very long since she’d had pudding. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt to indulge just this once. After all, Rhys deserved more than bread and thin stew after all his hard work.

After a fair bit of haggling, she purchased the currants, as well as suet, then turned and sauntered along the rest of the stalls. Mrs. Muir, who sold eggs, cheese and butter at a stall just down the way locked eyes with her, then abruptly turned away. Confusion gave way to a sense of déjà vu and Emma recalled another day much like today when she’d passed three acquaintances on the street who had looked at her and immediately begun whispering. She’d quickly realized that they had learned of her indiscretion with the vicar. But she hadn’t been indiscreet, so what—

“Emma? Emma, lass?”

Emma stopped, turned to face Mrs. Babcock and smiled. “Good day, Mrs. Babcock.”

The middle-aged woman adjusted her market basket more comfortably into the crook of her arm. “A right good day to you, Emma. Got yourself a wheelwright, now, I hear.”

Emma tensed, but nodded politely. “Aye, Mrs. Babcock.”

Mrs. Babcock leaned in close and dropped her voice, “I heard ‘tis Rhys Macleod working for you.” A righteous light lit the older woman’s eyes. “He is a traitor. Deserted his men on the battlefield.”

“That is a false rumor,” Emma said between tight lips.

Mrs. Babcock gave her a pitying look. “I know you are lonely. We all…understood about Vicar Ramsay.”

“Indeed?” Emma said before catching herself.

Since her indiscretion, not a single gentleman had approached her. The stares and whisperings had died, but her social life had never been the same.

“But this man,” Mrs. Babcock was saying, “well, for you to throw yourself at a man who deserts dying men on the battlefield is like harboring the enemy. I understand, of course. You are young. But others are talking. You know how cruel people can be.”

“Indeed, I do,” Emma replied coldly.

The woman blinked, then her mouth thinned. “There is no need to take that tone with me. You may recall, I warned you about the vicar. If you had listened to me then, you would not be easy prey for men like this traitor.”

“I am surprised that you believe such vicious gossip, Mrs. Babcock. To find a man guilty before hearing his side of the story…” Emma lifted a brow.

Mrs. Babcock straightened. “You cannot deny that the two of you are living together—alone.”

“I am a ruined woman. What difference does it make?”

“It is time you face the truth,” the older woman said. “He will cast you aside just as Vicar Ramsay did. Sell the shop and move into my boarding house and be content working at the infirmary.”

This was not the first time Mrs. Babcock had insisted Emma move into her boarding house. Emma had thought Mrs. Babcock was looking after her, but now, there was something about the older woman’s demeanor—

“You need time to consider your actions.”

Emma jarred from her thoughts. Consider her actions?

“If you continue down this path, Mrs. Worsley will have no choice but to discharge you from the infirmary. As you can imagine, no respectable man would consider you as wife. Now, if you were living at my boarding house where I could vouch for you, that would put an end to all the gossip.”

“Discharge me?” Emma blurted.

“You cannot blame her, Emma. She has the infirmary’s reputation—and her own—to consider.”

Emma whirled and walked away.

“Well, I never…” Mrs. Babcock began, but Emma kept walking.

Mrs. Worsley will have no choice but to discharger her? Emma’s head whirled. Rhys had been with her but one day. How had news traveled so quickly? She’d been devastated when people had shunned her after her affair with Joseph, but she hadn’t been completely surprised. Only doxies allowed a man other than their husbands to bed them. But Rhys had been here a single day. How had Mrs. Worsley heard the news?