Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked Book 2) Read online

  Despite what she’d told him, the incident had frightened her. The word on that board had been directed at her and her alone.

  It was probably Feeny. But what if it was not him? What if—

  No. She wouldn’t allow herself to think it. Impossible. Even if she is still in London, she has no way of knowing where I am. I’ve not been in public without a veil over my face since my return from France, and no one here knows my old name.

  Setting aside her anxiety, she tried to apply cool logic to the problem of the hostile message. Precautions were being taken. The staff were aware of the incident and would be on the lookout for any unfamiliar faces lurking about. MacCallum had agreed to henceforth post a watchman during the afternoon respite. Mrs. Sloane and Katie were now assigned to wait while the men left the premises each evening and lock the gate behind them to ensure no one entered.

  She went back to her room and checked to be sure the knife she’d hidden just beneath the mattress’s edge was still there. Its cold brass hilt was a comfort against her fingers. Pulling the knife out, she removed its sheath and tested the edge to be sure it remained sharp. Plain it might be, but it would serve in a moment of need. God willing, she’d never need it.

  Replacing the blade, she went about readying herself for the evening meal. Downstairs, the soft voices of her students chatting amongst themselves soothed her. She’d decided against telling everyone about the message and had cautioned Janet not to speak of it. They were already nervous enough with MacCallum’s crew being about.

  MacCallum. She hadn’t missed the eagerness in his eyes today. She needed to remain in the man’s good graces, but didn’t wish him to mistake her politeness for interest. The last thing she wanted was a determined ox of a Scot embarking on a fruitless pursuit of her hand.

  In retrospect, perhaps having Mr. Woodson with her today when they’d spoken hadn’t been a bad thing, after all. She hoped another young lady caught MacCallum’s eye soon, before he could convince himself he was smitten with her.

  The next two weeks flew by without further incident. Construction progressed. Coralline wrote to say how well she liked her new position with Lady Dibley. Another employment opportunity was offered to Suzette who, after a long talk with Janet, accepted it with the promise to keep in touch as often as possible. It was a tearful farewell, but in the end, Jacqueline knew it was the right thing for them both.

  It became her custom to peek out of the hall window at the time MacCallum’s men were due to leave and see if Mr. Woodson was there in the alley. He always was, and not once did he leave before the last of the crew had gone, when he knew the gate had been locked. Every time she saw him emerge to begin his delayed journey homeward, her heart clenched a little inside her chest.

  I must do something to repay his kindness. Sensing it would make him uncomfortable for her to openly acknowledge his sacrifice, she said nothing of his new habit. Instead, knowing he’d spend at least half an hour standing in the damp and chill, she decided to stop by his classroom at the end of the day with a fresh pot of piping hot tea. At least he could start his vigil warm.

  So it was that Jacqueline found herself at his classroom door, laden with a tea tray, waiting for his last student to file out of the room. She slipped in and saw he’d removed his spectacles and was massaging his temples.

  “I do hope I’m not disturbing you?”

  Startled, he opened his eyes—eyes that, unobstructed by glass discs, were like twin gems of deepest blue. They crinkled at their corners as he smiled. “No, no. Not at all, come and sit. Please.”

  Setting the tray on a corner of his desk, she waited while he pulled up a chair.

  “To what do I owe this visit?”

  “It’s getting colder in the evenings,” she replied, suddenly nervous. “I thought you might like a cup of tea to help fortify you before your walk home.” It sounded like what it was, a weak excuse. “I also thought to check on your progress with the students.”

  One side of his mouth twitched up a little higher as she poured. “Not receiving any complaints, I hope?”

  “No, not at all.” She handed him his cup, marking how the tips of her fingers seemed to catch fire as his brushed against them during the transfer. “Ought I to expect some?” she asked, busying herself with preparing her own cup to hide her discomfiture.

  “I hope not.” He took a sip and sighed with apparent pleasure. “The bargaining piece I added to the curriculum seems to be going well, but many of the girls are painfully shy. They dislike negotiating prices for things. They fear offending the seller. I hope they won’t be so easily intimidated when in the marketplace. They’ll be robbed blind.”

  “Give them time,” she replied. “Perhaps I ought to see if Sally can come and speak to them. Though she means it not, Elsie can sometimes appear stern and disapproving. Sally is nearer their age and cheerful of demeanor. They might be more receptive to her efforts.”

  He shrugged. “I see no reason not to try.”

  Satisfied that she’d managed to convince him of the legitimacy of the visit, she helped neaten his classroom while they continued to converse. His unassuming manner appealed. He spoke to her as an equal, never once becoming patronizing as so many men tended to do when speaking with women. Their talk centered on the students, of course, but it was nonetheless pleasant.

  I’ve done the same thing with every teacher here, she reasoned when her conscience poked her.

  But none of their smiles made her feel all warm and cozy inside. None of them left a burst of tingling sensation in her skin whenever they brushed fingers. None of them made her heart’s rhythm quicken with a look.

  What nonsense, she told herself, shoving such thoughts aside. Soon enough, he would decide there was no need for him to continue watching for the mysterious author of the nasty message. Already, her own upset over the incident had begun to fade. Perhaps it had been only a vulgar prank by some passerby, after all.

  She left him with the tea and a promise to continue their discussion the following day.

  When she arrived with tea the next evening, a chair was already placed beside his desk and a place cleared for the tray. His bright smile of welcome told her he’d been looking forward to the visit almost as much as she.

  If she took care to refresh her appearance before her visit, it was because she didn’t wish to present herself in a disheveled state to a subordinate. And if she found herself smiling in anticipation, it was only because she looked forward to resting after a long day’s work.

  It became her custom to stop by every evening, even if it was for only a couple of minutes to drop off a hot pot and say a few quick words, though most days it was more. At first, Agnes had looked askance at her daily request for tea immediately following evening dismissal, but by the fourth day, Jacqueline found it ready and waiting, laden with those sweets favored most by their newest teacher.

  After two more weeks without incident, another girl was brought to the school. Her arrival was per the usual—a quiet drop-off in an unmarked carriage during the wee hours.

  One of the two servants accompanying the child handed Jacqueline a packet bearing the seal she’d come to associate with her business partner—a sword bisecting a pair of wings.

  “Do you have any messages for me to take back?” asked the courier.

  “Yes. Tell your master all has been quiet since my last communication. The culprit has not returned.”

  Nodding, the manservant and the woman accompanying him took their leave.

  Looking at the little girl, Jacqueline offered her a gentle smile. “What is your name, cherie?”

  “Penny.” The girl’s brow puckered. “Penny Stratton.”

  “Well, Penny, you are going to like it here, I promise.” She marked the girl’s thin face, rumpled, none-too-clean garments, and hollow stare. An almost painful surge of maternal affection filled her, and she marveled at its fierceness. No matter how many she took in, it was the same every time.

  She’d nev
er be a mother herself, but there were plenty of children in London who needed a surrogate. Carefully, Jacqueline wrapped an arm about the child’s bony shoulders. “Come and meet Mrs. Sloane, and we will get you settled.”

  Introductions were made, and her young charge transferred into Mrs. Sloane’s care.

  Taking the packet she’d been given back to the receiving room, Jacqueline broke the seal and read. According to Tavistoke, six-year-old Penny was the fatherless daughter of a young brothel worker who’d fled with her child upon being told Penny would have to start “earning her keep.”

  A shudder of disgust made her hands tremble. It went without saying that Tavistoke would go after the brothel proprietor. She’d lost count of how many such wretches he’d taken down for similar offenses over the last two years. Avenging angel, indeed. Breathing deeply, she calmed herself and read on.

  Penny’s mother had accepted Tavistoke’s offer of a fresh start and honest work in the countryside. As people would question the child’s legitimacy no matter what lies she told, she’d chosen to send Penny here, where she would have the chance to improve her lot. Good-byes had been said, and Penny understood that henceforth it must be as if she were an orphan.

  Setting the paper down, Jacqueline fought back tears. Her heart ached—for both mother and child. Penny’s mother obviously loved her—enough to risk her life in order to save her daughter not once, but twice. Running away hadn’t secured her child’s future. A little girl with neither a father nor an education was destined for drudgery, at best. At worst…

  Determination filled Jacqueline. Penny’s mother had made the ultimate sacrifice and parted with her to guarantee her a better life. She’d see her sacrifice wasn’t made in vain. Folding the letter, she slipped it into an empty folio, tied the cord, affixed a label, and placed it on the shelf next to the slim volumes belonging to Emma and Rose.

  Gliding her hand over the long row of leather spines, she marked how they graduated in size according to how long each girl had been with her. Each contained records concerning a student’s progress, health, and achievements. Each represented one precious life placed in her hands.

  Penny would be positioned with peers from a similar background, girls who must, for the safety of all involved, live as if their mothers were deceased. Just as they’d done, Penny would adjust. In a few days, after her assessment and once she understood the rules and the reasons for them, she’d choose a new name for herself and begin classes.

  Until then, she’d need to be kept away from Mr. Woodson.

  Part of Jacqueline hated not confiding in him, but she still wasn’t certain she could trust the man—not with everything. Just a little more time. It was better to be sure than to take a foolish risk.

  …

  Will awakened from another dream about her. If he closed his eyes, he could still see her with her dark hair free of its customary restraints, her eyes heavy-lidded with desire, her full lips parted in a sultry smile.

  Damn me for a fool.

  No matter how hard he tried to dismiss his nocturnal fantasies and find oblivion, sleep eluded him. Relaxing was impossible after such a dream, due in no small part to the granite state of his nether region. Resigned to wakefulness, he rose and donned his robe and slippers, determined to make good use of the time. Careful to walk softly so as not to disturb his downstairs neighbor, he went to the hearth and stirred the coals.

  Going to the oriel window, he stared down the dark street, following the line of lampposts, examining each pool of light beneath. The only movement was that of a stray cat looking for a meal. In his own neighborhood, traffic hardly slowed after dark. Here, all was quiet.

  With the exception of one carriage. He heard it before he saw it pass beneath his window and watched its progress down the street. Instead of trundling on out of sight, however, the conveyance slowed and then stopped—in front of the school.

  Who would visit at such an unseemly hour?

  It was hard to see in the dim light cast from the lamps on either side of the door, but he spied a tall shape proceeding up the steps—a man, for certain. Was it Dr. Horton? Had one of the children fallen ill?

  The front door opened, and more light spilled out into the night, briefly silhouetting the caller. After a moment, the man hurried back down the stairs to the waiting carriage, only to return shortly with two smaller figures in tow—one a child, the other a woman.

  They were let in.

  Will was tempted to dress and go down to get closer. But Mrs. Hayton had a habit of being awake in the wee hours, and he’d already tested her skill at detecting stealthy footsteps in the hall. There was no getting past her unnoticed, and he wasn’t in any mood to be answering questions.

  A quarter of an hour later, the school’s front door opened again. Two adult figures exited—but no child. The pair boarded the waiting carriage, and it departed.

  How he wished himself in a position to follow it! Presumably they were returning to their master. Or mistress.

  And who might that be? Suspicion ran rampant. Where did the girl come from? Why was she left there in the middle of the night? How many other such clandestine comings and goings have I missed?

  He hadn’t seen any new faces since his arrival, but that meant nothing. There could be dozens hidden away, quartered separately. The students might not even know. Their innocence would be the perfect facade behind which to hide a—

  Trouvère’s face suddenly appeared in his mind’s eye, quieting the cynical line of thought. His heart told him the woman he’d come to know would never do such a thing. Her gentle soul was incapable of it.

  Horton’s testimony echoed in his memory, too. His friend believed in this school and trusted her. The students regarded her with genuine love and respect. Those leaving went to good places. Coralline had indeed gone to work for Lady Dibley, and he’d followed up on Suzette’s placement, as well.

  The persistent pessimist inside him was difficult to silence. Just because a few end up legitimately employed does not mean they all do.

  Stop it. His head ached, caught in a vise between two opposing impulses. He’d dig a little deeper tomorrow and find out what was really going on. Trouvère’s office would be a good place to start.

  The following morning he rose early and was through the door before Mrs. Hayton had a chance to do more than look askance at him. His plan was to grab a quick breakfast in the dining hall before the other teachers arrived, and then, while they and the headmistress ate at their leisure, he’d sneak into her office.

  If asked why he was leaving, he’d say he was going to evaluate the upcoming levels tests.

  It worked beautifully—except that he found absolutely nothing of significance in the twenty or so minutes he spent rifling through her desk and files. He even picked the lock on a sealed cabinet, to no avail. The only items kept in it were medicinal.

  With great frustration, Will went on about his usual routine for the remainder of the day. No new face appeared in his classroom, but he marked a decided shift in demeanor among his students. Covert glances were traded between peers throughout the day, and quiet chatter came to a halt as soon as he was noticed.

  By lunch, he was certain of one thing: the headmistress and her staff weren’t the only ones keeping secrets. The students knew about the midnight arrival. On his way to the library after the start of the afternoon free period, he caught part of a hushed conversation that confirmed his suspicion.

  “Janie told Flora the Archangel himself brought her in, just like he did Emma and Rose,” the girl facing away from him was saying as he rounded the corner. “He’s still—”

  Rachel, the one facing him, elbowed the other girl hard, bringing the conversation to an abrupt halt.

  Will froze as the speaker turned toward him. It was Isabella, and her face went white as chalk on seeing him. They both stared up at him with eyes full of apprehension. The Archangel… All the hair on the back of his neck lifted. It was an effort, but he hid his excitement behind
an expression of nonchalance as he urged the pair out into the pale sunshine for the remainder of the period.

  There is a connection! But the nature of that connection had just been called into question. He’d come looking for an evil man who sold women and children into a short and terrible existence for profit, but Isabella had said the Archangel had brought Emma and Rose here.

  I need to know everything, and I need to know now. His reason for going to the library forgotten, Will retraced his steps down the hallway. It was time to confront the headmistress and learn the truth. But as he passed the entrance to the school’s front reception hall, he paused. Her office hadn’t contained the information he sought. Perhaps it was kept someplace else? Going in, he looked around the foyer.

  There to the right was the door to Mrs. Sloane’s rooms. He’d long wondered why the woman quartered there, separated from everyone else. Now he suspected it was so that she could admit new arrivals in the dead of night without the whole place being awakened.

  Sloane was currently outside monitoring the students.

  On the opposite side of the foyer were two more doors, one bearing a plaque marked RECEPTION and the other EXAM. The latter was likely for Dr. Horton’s use. Will went to the other one and found it locked. Pressing an ear to the door, he listened. Hearing nothing, he knelt and took out the little wallet of special implements he always kept on his person.

  Grimacing, he selected the appropriate tools and went to work on the lock, thankful for having taken lessons from a former thief-turned-Taker. He was soon rewarded with a gratifying click.

  In another life, I might have made a decent thief. Pocketing his tools, he went inside. It was dim, but the light streaming in from the high, narrow window was enough to see a desk at one end of the room. It held the standard writing implements, as well as several neat stacks of papers. Glancing through, he determined them to be of no significance. The cabinet behind the desk, however, looked more promising.