Dance of Seduction (11 page)

Morgan’s wistful words of three days ago leaped into her memory from out of nowhere, striking her to the heart. They reminded her powerfully of Johnny and Tim. Had Morgan’s family also abandoned him in his youth? That might explain why he’d returned to his criminal way of life even after he’d made something of himself in the navy.

The thought of a young Morgan scrabbling in the streets like her other children tugged at her sympathies. It was indeed a pity she hadn’t been around when he was a boy. She might have provided him with enough encouragement to
break him free of the world of crime that so often sucked her children in for life.

Well, Morgan might be past saving, but the Perkins boys were not. Clara refused to believe Lucy had meant to be so cruel to her brothers. But there was only one way to find out for sure. She must speak to the girl before Johnny got around to telling Tim what Lucy had said.

Turning on her heel, she strode out into the hall. Samuel was already waiting for her, since it was nearly time for her to head for home. “Ready to go, m’lady?”

“First, we must stop at Tufton’s Tavern,” she told him. Lucy worked as a taproom maid at the tavern nearly every night. “I must speak to Lucy about her brothers.” Snatching up her pelisse, she headed for the door. “Has the rain stopped?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then we’ll walk.”

Samuel’s eyes narrowed, but he knew better than to question his mistress’s whims. He merely fell into step beside her as they left the Home’s airy halls.

In the aftermath of the spring storms, mud clogged the streets, but the sky had cleared to a brilliant gold-and-red spectacle of sunset. Thanks to the heavy rains, the London air, generally thick with coal dust and fog, was clear and cool. Clara breathed it in eagerly as they strode toward the tavern, passing all the street sellers who’d come out to do business after the rain—the lavender girl with her crisp purple tufts and the orange-woman proffering citrus. With such scents of spring lingering in the air, it seemed almost a shame to descend into the cloying stupor of the tavern.

Tufton’s Tavern was a long-standing institution in Petticoat Lane, part cookshop, part lodging house, and a large part alehouse. Having nursed many a thief and scoundrel at its gin-soaked teats, it was respected more for the quality of
its ale than its cleanliness. After Clara pushed open the door and her hand came back with a greasy film, she had to resist the impulse to head straight for soap and water.

Wiping her hand on her apron, Clara paused just inside the door to scan the low-ceilinged room crowded with tables and settles. Candle and pipe smoke mingled with the smell of small beer and boiled beef to create a miasma that nearly choked Clara every time she came here, which thankfully wasn’t often.

When her gaze landed on a familiar dark-haired man at a table in the corner, her heart tripped perversely. Morgan was here, in close conversation with two scruffy-looking men. She spotted the plate of mutton before him, and a smile touched her lips. What else would a wolf dine on but sheep?

He certainly looked every inch the wolf tonight, with his rakish clothing and his unruly hair tumbling thickly over his collar. When he reached to rip bread from a loaf with the casual violence of a man absorbed in his meal, her breath caught in her throat.

Next time leave your watchdog at home. That way I can take my time about ravishing you…I won’t have to risk destroying your gown by ripping it off
.

A delicious shiver skittered along her spine. Even knowing he’d spoken the words only to frighten her off, she couldn’t help dwelling on the vivid image of him freeing her of her gown and sliding those sleek, knowing fingers over her belly, trailing kisses over her breasts and—

“If it’s Lucy you want,” Samuel broke in, “She’s over there.”

A blush staining her cheeks, Clara jerked her gaze from Morgan to Samuel, who watched her with clear suspicion. Grimly, the footman pointed across the room.

There stood the seventeen-year-old Lucy, serving pots of beer to a table of half-drunken men who eyed her with blatant
admiration. No great surprise there. Taller than most girls, she always looked pretty, even in her thin, multi-patched gowns. Her hard life never seemed to dampen her determined good cheer, as evidenced by the jaunty pink feather stuck in her upswept hair. She’d probably bought it in a pawnshop for tuppence, but she wore it like a crown while she chatted with the customers as if she hadn’t a care in the world.

Which she didn’t. Lucy had foisted her two cares off on Clara. And while Clara didn’t mind receiving them, she did mind watching Lucy treat her brothers with such callous disregard.

Paying no heed to the whispers of curious patrons, Clara set off across the room. Samuel followed so close behind that he bumped into her when she stopped just short of the table where Lucy stood with her now empty tray.

“Good evening, Lucy,” Clara said.

Lucy spun around, eyes wide. “Lady Clara!” Her gaze flicked to Samuel, and dark color suffused her cheeks before she jerked her gaze back to Clara. “And what brings you to the tavern this evening, m’lady? Fancy a bit of our fine mutton, do you?”

“Actually, I was hoping to talk to you about your brothers.”

A decidedly guilty look crossed the girl’s face as she shifted the tray to her other hand. “We’re awful busy tonight. P’raps you could come by in a few days—”

“
Now
, Lucy. It’s important.”

Lucy sighed. “All right then. I s’pose Mr. Tufton won’t mind if I sit for a bit with you. As long as you order something, that is.”

Moments later, the three of them crowded with pewter tankards of India ale around a table graced by a single candle stuck in a grimy ginger beer bottle. With a decidedly false smile, Lucy leaned her elbows on the ale-stained table. “So what’s this all about?”

Clara got right to it. “Johnny tells me you no longer want him and Tim to visit you.”

“What?” Samuel growled before Lucy could even respond. He glared at Lucy. “Whyever not?”

Lucy glared right back. “Not that it’s any of your business, Samuel Clark, but this ain’t the sort of place I want my brothers hanging ’round.”

“Never bothered you before,” he retorted. “They used to live here themselves, until they got caught picking pockets off that gentleman and was sent to the Home.”

Lucy tilted her nose up. “Yes, and I expect the boys would never have taken to thieving if they’d lived somewhere better than a tavern.”

Samuel’s skeptical snort echoed Clara’s own opinion, but she merely flashed Lucy a patient smile. “Speaking of the boys, I’ve come because I’m concerned about what your refusal to see them will do to them. Johnny’s very upset, and Tim will be devastated once he hears. They don’t have to come
here
, you know. You could visit them at the Home when you have the time.”

“No, I can’t, I just can’t.” Bending her head, she busied herself with pleating her apron nervously. “It’s better for them in the long run to stay off by themselves. I got prospects that take up all my time and—”

“Wait a minute,” Samuel exclaimed, “I know what you’re up to. It’s that Rodney Fitch, ain’t it? That bloody police officer from Lambeth Street has been courting you, I hear. That’s your ‘prospects,’ I s’pose. You think he’ll stop sniffing ’round if he knows about your two thieving brothers. Wouldn’t do for a man in his position to associate with known criminals.”

Lucy’s head shot up. “For your information, he knows already. And it’s got naught to do with him, Samuel. That’s not what I meant by ‘prospects’ at all.”

“You think he’ll marry you, don’t you? And set you up in
that nice house of his down in Grave Lane. But he’ll never leg-shackle himself to
you
. Fitch might be a dim sort, but he ain’t
that
stupid.”

Clara kept quiet, eager to see where this surprising conversation was headed.

“He ain’t no ‘dim sort’ neither,” Lucy protested. Then the rest of Samuel’s comment apparently registered, and she glowered at him. “And what do you mean, ‘he ain’t
that
stupid’? Why wouldn’t Mr. Fitch marry me? I’m nice enough to look at, I am.”

“I didn’t mean—” Samuel broke off, clearly flustered. “It’s got nothing to do with your looks. It’s only that he’s the sort to dally with a tavern maid, not marry one. Especially when her brothers is pickpockets. He’s an officer of the law; he’ll want a spotless wife.”

Lucy drew herself up with a missish outrage. “Are you saying I’m not spotless?”

Samuel actually blushed. “Aw, Lucy, you know that ain’t what I meant. I only meant—”

“I’m a good girl, and he knows it. And if I was wanting to marry Rodney, I could make him do it, too. Just see if I couldn’t.”

Samuel’s face darkened to thunder. “Rodney? Is that how it is now?” He shook his head. “You’re on the way to being a kept woman, and you don’t even see it!”

“What?”

“First he’ll have you calling him by his Christian name, then giving him a kiss or two, then it’s ‘Aw, ducky, won’t you just let me—’”

“Now see here, you stop all that talk!” A brilliant blush bloomed on Lucy’s cheeks. “I want nothing less than marriage. And Mr. Fitch respects that, he does. He’s a gentleman, unlike
some
people I know.”

All the fight seemed to go out of Samuel. He dropped his
gaze to his ale. “I remember a time when my manners was good enough to please you.”

The naked vulnerability flitting over Lucy’s face made Clara wonder what had gone on between the two before Clara had met Samuel. “That was a long time ago, Sam,” Lucy mumbled. “Things has changed since then.” Settling her shawl about her shoulders like a grande dame, she turned to Clara. “Now if that’s all, m’lady—”

“No, it’s not,” Clara said. But clearly she wouldn’t get far in this discussion if her lovesick footman continued to interfere. “Samuel, why don’t you wait outside for me? I think Lucy and I should talk in private.”

He scowled. “I don’t want to leave you in here alone—”

“No one will bother me. Go on. I’ll be there in a moment.”

Casting Lucy one last mutinous look, Samuel rose and stormed out.

Lucy visibly relaxed once he was gone. “Thank you, m’lady. Sam don’t understand that a woman’s got to do what’s best for her family.”

“You mean, like marry a police officer to ensure her brothers’ financial future?”

The girl’s expression grew shuttered. “Don’t you listen to Sam’s nonsense. This ain’t got nothing to do with Mr. Fitch. I just…don’t want the boys around right now.”

Lucy wasn’t a very good liar, but Clara saw no reason to badger her on the subject. Samuel had already done enough of that. “I don’t really care what your hopes are concerning Mr. Fitch, but the boys can’t afford to wait until your ‘prospects’ come to fruition. They need your support and affection
now
.”

“They’re doing fine at the Home with you, m’lady.”

“They’re
not
doing fine. Did you know that I caught Johnny trying to sell a stolen watch to a fence only three days ago?”

Lucy dropped her eyes to the table. “Y-Yes, he told me.
Explained the whole thing. But I was very firm with him—told him that if he got kicked out of the Home because of such foolishness, he’d be on his own. I made it clear he can’t come here to live, so he won’t slip up again, I promise.”

“You think not? Your brother is very stubborn. He isn’t likely to forget that Captain Pryce still owes him money for the watch, and I’ve already told him that if he returns to the shop for it, I’ll have to evict him from the Home. Those are the rules—none of my residents may engage in criminal acts. Since this is his third offense—”

“I understand, m’lady. But stubborn or no, Johnny won’t break the rules a third time. Especially not after what I told him about that Captain Pryce.”

That gave Clara pause. She glanced over to where Morgan was still huddled in close conversation with his companions. “What did you tell him?”

Lucy’s gaze flitted to Morgan as well. She bent nearer, lowering her voice. “I warned Johnny not to get mixed up with one of the Specter’s fences. It’s too dangerous.”

A chill ran through Clara. “But I thought Captain Pryce was independent of that awful villain.”

“Not anymore, from what I hear.” Lucy was whispering now. “They’re saying that the Specter made an offer to the captain, and the captain took it.”

Clara sucked in a tight breath. “They who?”

She shrugged. “Just people in the tavern.”

“So it’s only a rumor.”

“Well…yes, but I daresay it’s true. ’Round here, if a fence don’t fall in with the Specter, he’s done for.”

Yes, and if Morgan
did
fall in with the villain, he’d no longer be able to keep his promise not to buy from her pickpockets. The Specter would never allow a lackey to make such a decision, and then Morgan would be back to tempting her boys again.

Her heart sank as she glanced over at Morgan and his companions. Were those the Specter’s men with him even now? Had they come to confer with one of their brethren?

No, she mustn’t jump to conclusions. False rumors did abound in Spitalfields, and until she knew for certain, she must keep an open mind.

She returned her gaze to Lucy. “I wish I could be as optimistic as you about the effect your warning will have on Johnny. But the boy has grown very willful of late, and I’m not at all sure he’ll heed it.”

“He will, I promise,” Lucy asserted, her attention now caught by Mr. Tufton, who scowled at her from across the room. “My brother knows better than to get himself kicked out.” She rose abruptly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I got to go back to work.”

Before Clara could even protest, Lucy hurried off. Clara stared after the girl, a sinking helplessness settling in the pit of her stomach. She wanted to believe that Lucy was right about her brothers, but she couldn’t. And what about this Mr. Fitch? If Lucy had set her sights on a police officer conscious of his reputation, what would happen to poor Tim and Johnny if he did not accept them?

In the meantime, how was Clara to keep Johnny from going back to that wretched shop of Morgan’s? Frustrated and anxious, Clara rose and turned to leave the tavern. Then she caught sight of Morgan. He was sitting alone now, and he’d seen her.