Once a Courtesan (Once Wicked Book 2) Read online

  What a sight he was! “I’m sorry I did not think to warn you about what happens here when it rains—the street turns into a river,” she told him. “We are to dismiss in a few minutes, but I shall have a fresh pot of tea sent to your room.”

  “You’ll have my undying gratitude for it.” Shaking his head, he laughed a little and looked down at himself in dismay. “I’ll go and attempt to, ah, dry out a bit in front of the fire before the girls arrive, shall I?”

  Shoes squelching faintly with every step, he departed. His stockinged calves were wet through and spattered with mud clear to the bottoms of his breeches.

  Does the man not own a proper cloak or boots? Surely Lord Mulgrave paid him fair wages…

  Another great sneeze echoed back as he passed through the door.

  Shaking her head, Jacqueline ordered a pot of tea sent to his room as well as an extra bucket of coal. If he caught a head cold, she would be out one mathematics teacher for a week or more.

  During the second class, the new builder she’d hired came to consult with her concerning the continuation of the school’s expansion.

  Thanks to Lord Tavistoke, the previous builder had been found guilty of fraud and forced to return his fee as well as compensate the school for the repairs needed to correct his poor workmanship. She sent a silent prayer of thanks to heaven that she’d discovered the fault in the mortar before the blackguard had finished, or the walls might have come tumbling down atop her girls in the first hard rain. The new workers were to pull down the defective walls and rebuild them correctly.

  “Good morning, Monsieur MacCallum.” She suppressed a momentary urge to panic as he entered her office. The Scot was an intimidating mountain of a man, but Tavistoke had vouched for him. “Have you made a decision?”

  MacCallum stroked his flaming red beard. “Aye. I’ll take the job. Mah boys will rebuild it proper, but I’ll nae use tha’ other fellow’s brick. If the mortar was poor, the brick is likely second rate as weel.”

  He had a point. “Agreed. What will be done with the old brick?”

  A shrug lifted one massive shoulder. “Use it tae border the garden. I wouldnae recommend it for aught else.”

  His answer pleased her. The contract was signed, and MacCallum agreed his men would come on the first clear morning to begin work.

  Jaqueline breathed a sigh of relief after he was gone, not only because he made her nervous, but because the expansion would mean housing for another forty girls. The prospect of almost doubling the school’s attendance was daunting, but it needed to be done. The dining hall and classrooms were spacious enough to accommodate the increase, and the teachers were willing to take on the extra work.

  All save one, and she was certain he wouldn’t complain. Not at the wage he was being paid.

  On her way back to her classroom, which was currently being supervised by Suzette, she decided to check on Mr. Woodson. She heard him from down the hall, his baritone a sharp contrast to the overwhelmingly feminine voices drifting on the air. He sounded better than before, less stuffy. Peeking in, she smiled at the students who spied her there but held a finger to her lips.

  The fire had been stoked, and the room was quite cozy. A teakettle sat warming on the hearth, and beside the grate had been placed a chair over which were draped the gentleman’s scarf, hat, and gloves. Not wishing to disturb the class further, Jacqueline moved on.

  A thunderous sneeze issued from the room just after she passed, to which the class replied in chorus, “God bless you, sir.”

  She suppressed a grin as he muttered thanks in a clogged voice before blowing his nose and resuming instruction.

  At lunch, she watched Agnes present him with a large, steaming bowl of chicken soup. The way her cook’s face colored at his profuse thanks told Jacqueline he’d made a devotee.

  By the third sneeze, she could stand it no longer. “Monsieur, if it’s still raining this evening, I must insist on having our carriage convey you home.”

  “That would be most appreciated,” he said, taking off his spectacles to clean them. His deep blue eyes were even more striking without their obstruction. “I was rather hoping it might clear, but the sky looks to be set on rain. Tomorrow I shall endeavor to dress more appropriately. It was sprinkling when I left home, but by the time I arrived here, I half expected to see Noah’s ark floating down the street.”

  The jest elicited several chuckles from around the table.

  “Perhaps it might be prudent to leave a pair of dry shoes and stockings here. Thus, should the weather catch you unawares again, you will not suffer from the damp,” she suggested.

  “I shall certainly take it under consideration,” he replied with a grimace. “There is much to be said for having dry footwear.”

  “I rather hope the rains ease soon,” she said, addressing the others. “The new builder has accepted the terms and will begin work as soon as it does.”

  The announcement was met with mixed reactions. Most of the ladies showed grim acceptance, but Moira’s face turned ashen.

  “The man I’ve hired is a Scot by the name of MacCallum,” Jacqueline added quickly to allay her fears. “He came very highly recommended.”

  “Doubtless he’ll do a better job than that Feeny fellow,” interjected Agnes as she plunked down a plate of fresh, hot rolls in the center of the table. She shook her fist. “If I ever see his rat face again, I’ll put this through it, the little cheat!”

  Woodson frowned. “Begging your pardon, but might I inquire as to what you are planning to build?”

  Shooting Agnes a quelling look, Jacqueline told him of their plans for growth. His brows shot up as she spoke.

  “Impressive,” he said at last. Glancing around, he nodded. “It will be tighter, to be sure, but there is adequate capacity. May I assume you’ll need more books?”

  She bit back a sigh. “Indeed.” It wasn’t a task she looked forward to addressing. Fortunately, the need was not immediate.

  “I’d be delighted to oversee their purchase on the school’s behalf, if you like.”

  His offer was so unexpected that she caught herself smiling before she could help it. “Your assistance would indeed be most welcome, monsieur.”

  His face colored a little. “It’s the least I can do. After you told me of your trouble attaining the copies currently in possession, I’d like to help in any way possible.”

  She could see he meant it. And she knew why. But it wasn’t enough to convince her he was worthy of her confidence. From the corner of her eye, she saw Mrs. Sloane approaching. “Please excuse me,” she told her tablemates, rising.

  Dr. Horton had arrived.

  …

  Will watched his words’ effect on the women—on the headmistress in particular—with hope. Her hazel eyes had warmed briefly but then became guarded again. He turned to see what had attracted her attention and saw Mrs. Sloane, the school’s gatekeeper, headed their way. Before she could reach the table, Trouvère rose and went to meet her. They left together.

  He was half tempted to get up and follow them out—not to eavesdrop, but to go back to the classroom and sit before the damned fire. His bloody feet were still damp, and this room was none too cozy. Still, he couldn’t curse the rain. Because of it, he’d managed to garner the sympathy of everyone here.

  Never had he met a more maternal flock of females—not even his mother and sisters. The moment he’d dripped his way through the front door this morning, the women here had been all fuss and sympathy. The cook now doted on him, and the teachers were on their way to accepting him as one of their own. Even the headmistress, though she tried to maintain her distance, was showing signs of softening.

  The students were warming to him, too. A sneezing, bespectacled man was about as threatening as a kitten. It had been Miss Janet Fairfield who’d suggested hanging his things on the back of a chair by the fire to dry them out. And it had been Miss Amelia Wilcox who’d freshened his cup of tea after a bout of coughing.

  In
deed, he was beginning to feel much more optimistic about how things were going. Last night, Mrs. Hayton and company—even Mr. Watlow—had inquired about his first day and offered their congratulations and encouragement. If Mr. Sharpton seemed a bit wistful whenever he mentioned the lovely headmistress, Will could understand why. She was damned beautiful.

  Again, he reflected on her unattached status. A widow with her looks should’ve received at least half a dozen marriage proposals the moment she’d come out of mourning. Yet he’d seen no sign of suitors. And he’d seen no mourning ring or brooch, though many women who chose not to remarry often wore theirs to the grave.

  She must have married quite young, if indeed she’d ever been married at all. She could be no more than twenty-four. And yet her eyes at times seemed those of a far older person, one who’d seen terrible things. He knew the look, having come across it often enough in his work.

  Work. I need to stop thinking so much about her and start thinking about my bloody job.

  Trouvère and her staff seemed genuinely dedicated to the girls’ well-being, but it wasn’t enough to allay all suspicion. What of the mysterious benefactors? Who were they?

  He remembered how carefully Trouvère had chosen her words in answering his inquiry. They preferred anonymity, she’d said. She was hiding someone’s involvement, and her wariness told him it was someone significant.

  The line she’d fed him about the benefactors not wanting to negate their heavenly reward was pure rubbish. Who among the ton wouldn’t want their peers to be aware of their connection with this charity, and why? What did they stand to lose by making known their generosity? He didn’t like not having the whole story.

  Rising, he took out his watch. There were a few minutes left before the students were dismissed. As he passed the doorway to the foyer, a man’s voice filtered through. One of the mysterious benefactors, perhaps? He paused, straining to hear.

  It was a voice he recognized: Horton.

  Damn. I ought to have written him last night and warned him! With all haste, Will ducked into his classroom. If he were seen now, his true identity would most assuredly be revealed, and it wouldn’t do to be exposed for a fraud.

  He must contact Horton as soon as possible and bring him into his confidence. As the school’s physician, the good doctor would be privy to information currently inaccessible. Information on the girls’ origins, at the least. Possibly more. His specific interest lay in their end destinations. Where exactly did they go when they left here?

  On edge, he waited for his students to begin arriving. The knot in his gut eased with each passing moment as the girls entered and quietly took their seats.

  But his relief was short-lived.

  Just as the last one sat, the headmistress appeared in the doorway—with Dr. Horton.

  Rising, Will went to meet them, his heart heavy with dread. The look of surprise and consternation on his old friend’s face as he was introduced as “Monsieur Woodson” instead of “Danbury” and under the label of a mathematics professor would’ve been hilarious had the situation been less dire.

  “Well-met again, Horton,” Will said quickly before the other man had a chance to speak. “It’s been many a long year since last we spoke. Here you are a respectable physician, and here I am a humble schoolteacher, yet our paths have once again converged. How strange is fate! I look forward to renewing our friendship.”

  Horton peered at him as if unsure what to make of him. “As do I, Mr.…Woodson.”

  The name had been spoken with hesitation, but the headmistress appeared not to have noticed. “How delightful it must be to find an old friend here. Now you need not feel quite so alone among us females.”

  “Indeed,” Will said, dredging up a smile. He looked Horton squarely in the eyes. “Perhaps you might like to come and visit me at my new lodgings?”

  “I’d be delighted,” replied the other man at once. “I don’t suppose this evening would be too soon?”

  Will felt the tension leave his shoulders and thanked God the man had decided to play along. “Not at all. I’m at Number 16 Dover Street. I’ll inform Mrs. Hayton to expect you.”

  It took every ounce of resolve to once more concentrate on instructing his pupils as the pair left. He worried what Horton might say once out of sight. She’d said he was new to the school, but that didn’t mean the two weren’t in each other’s confidences.

  I’ll know before the day is out, I suppose. There was nothing to do but soldier on in hope.

  To his relief, the rest of the workday passed without event. If he was a little disappointed by the fact that Trouvère didn’t appear at the end of it to question him on his progress, it was outweighed by his gratitude toward Horton, who had, apparently, held their friendship in high enough esteem not to tell her the truth.

  The walk home was just as sodden and miserable as this morning’s journey—he’d declined to take advantage of the headmistress’s offer to use the school’s carriage—but this time he had the prospect of dry clothes and a hot fire awaiting him. Mrs. Hayton clucked and squawked over his lack of self-care, shooing him up the stairs with such fierce admonishments that he nearly forgot to inform her of his anticipated guest.

  Half an hour spent huddled before a blazing hearth did him a world of good, as did the small brandy he employed to warm his insides. Dinner was a quiet affair. With the rain not having let up, everyone was in a contemplative mood.

  Horton arrived just as they were retiring to the salon. Will introduced him to everyone and then brought him upstairs.

  The man began asking questions the instant the door closed. “Good God, man,” he exclaimed in a hoarse whisper. “Woodson? And teaching girls mathematics? What the devil are you on about?”

  “First, allow me to thank you for not revealing my true identity,” Will said, taking a deep breath. “Secondly, you ought to know that the school is under investigation at the behest of some very powerful people.”

  “What in heaven’s name for?” asked his baffled guest.

  With clever wording and careful omissions, Will explained he was investigating a tip tying the school to a child-trafficking ring. The expression of growing horror and disbelief on his old friend’s face as he spoke came as a profound relief.

  “I cannot think her capable of such heinous conduct!” exclaimed an indignant Dr. Horton. “My mentor sang her praises with such frequency that I at one point thought him in love with her—the news of his impending marriage to one of her teachers came as a complete surprise. Whitehall recruited me to move back to London and continue his good work here, for pity’s sake.”

  “So Whitehall was sold on the place, then?”

  “Indeed. And for good reason! Whomever told you these lies is either much mistaken or holds malicious intent.”

  “As I understand it, the source was quite adamant in his claims and presented evidence to support them.”

  “Did you see this evidence with your own eyes?”

  “No,” Will admitted. “But there are questions that need answering. I’m to ascertain the truth of the situation.”

  But Horton only shook his head in vehement denial. “You’ll find nothing but the best intentions and a tried remedy to some of London’s most shameful misery, I assure you.”

  That uncomfortable feeling came over Will again. “Is there a chance—any chance at all—you might have been cozened into believing a cleverly crafted façade? It wouldn’t be the first time a good man found himself unwittingly working for a monster wearing the guise of an attractive woman. Her compassion may seem genuine, but a gifted actress can make men weep.”

  Horton’s face darkened ominously. “Dr. Whitehall spent two years working closely with the staff and students here, work of the sort that allows neither blindness nor detachment. I would think he, of all people, would know if anything like what you’ve described was going on. I tell you, he would not have stood for it. Not for a moment. As for Madame Trouvère, I trust her completely.”

&
nbsp; “But you’ve known her for only—”

  “Completely.”

  Despite his friend’s growing agitation, Will persisted. “Why?”

  “I’m bound by both a personal vow and my Hippocratic Oath not to disclose that information.” The other man drew himself up. “Rest assured my reasons for granting her my explicit trust are incontestable.”

  Frustration made Will’s head throb. “You understand I’m doing this under orders from—”

  “Then you must inform your superiors it was a mistake at once.”

  “Why?” he demanded. “Why such urgency?”

  Horton’s eyes implored him to comprehend. “Because every moment the school remains under suspicion, the lives of those living within its walls are at jeopardy.”

  Now Will’s curiosity was well and truly aroused. “You speak as if some imminent danger exists.”

  “It does.” Horton swallowed hard. “But I’m bound not to speak of it, at least not outright.”

  “Go on,” Will prompted after a moment, his hopes rising. Horton’s discomfort was an almost tangible thing, and for a moment he feared the other man would renege.

  After a long moment, however, the doctor went on, though clearly reluctant. “I must assume you are likely either aware or suspect that the students come from…unfavorable circumstances.”

  “I am,” Will confirmed. “I’ve never seen a more fearful lot of little girls.”

  “It grieves me to say their fear is well-founded,” murmured Horton, eyes ablaze. “I’ll not break my oath by relating the details. That’s for Madame Trouvère to reveal when she determines you trustworthy. But I will tell you that her school is the only thing standing between those children and a life of such horrors as you cannot begin to imagine.”

  Will didn’t have to imagine. He’d seen enough of London’s underbelly to know what went on in her shadows. Although moved by the man’s impassioned speech, he had a duty to fulfill, and his vow as an officer of the law was just as sacred as any sworn by a physician. “You wish me to stand down, but I cannot. Understand—I’m charged with removing all doubt. If I fail to do so, they’ll only send someone else. There can be no ambiguity. I must definitively prove either innocence or guilt.”