Lady Barbara's Dilemma (9 page)

And so, a week or two into July, he found himself again in front of the Cohens. This time it was during business hours, and he introduced himself to the clerk and asked if Miss Cohen was available. The man scurried off to the rear, and in a few moments David was face-to-face not with Miss Cohen, but with an imposing, heavyset gentleman who identified himself as Jacob Cohen.

“And just who might you be, asking after my daughter?”

“I am Sir David Treves, Mr. Cohen. I met your daughter a few weeks ago when I escorted Mr. Goldsmid home.”

“Oh, you’re the fine gentleman Deborah told me about,” replied Cohen, his face softening a little. “We were both grateful to you for your good deed. But I did not realize that you were an acquaintance of Deborah’s.”

“I cannot really claim acquaintance, Mr. Cohen,” David said. It was a new experience for him to be evaluated by a protective father. “But I would like to get to know your daughter better. In fact, I was wondering if I might convince you to lend her to me for an afternoon’s drive to Richmond.”

“I may only be a small tradesman, Sir David, but I know what is due my daughter.”

“Of course, she would bring her abigail.”

“Of course, I have no abigail.” The clerk, having done his duty to his master, had then informed the mistress of the home that she had a caller, and Deborah had just appeared behind her father.

“I am happy to see you again, Miss Cohen,” said David, with a bow. “I was just asking your father’s permission to take you out of the heat and dust of the city.”

“Mr. Tre-ves is the gentleman I told you about, Father.”

“Sir David, Deborah.”

“A baronet?” she inquired coolly.

“Yes, the title went to me, although both Father and Grandfather deserve it far more for their long service to their country.”

“You have been working very hard, my dear,” said Mr. Cohen. “I could spare you for one afternoon. But you would need a companion, nevertheless.”

“I will ask Sarah to accompany me, Father.”

Mr. Cohen’s face brightened. “That would be splendid. And a rare treat for her as well as you.”

“The day after tomorrow, then, Miss Cohen?”

“All right, Sir David.” Her acceptance of his invitation was given in as indifferent a tone as a refusal might have been, and David wondered, as he made his way through the filthy streets, just why he had invited the little redheaded witch.

* * * *

Two days later, as he lifted her up into his curricle, he wondered again. There was no sign of enthusiasm or welcome on her face, although this lack was more than made up for by her little companion. Treves had expected some older neighbor. Sarah turned out to be a scrawny, dark-haired little thing who looked to be about eight or nine. She chattered nonstop as they made their way slowly through the streets, but fell silent when they reached the highway.

“Are you all right, Sarah?” inquired David.

Sarah flushed. “I just never seen so much green before, sir.”

“Sarah has never been out of the East End, Sir David.”

“And you, Miss Cohen?”

“Not often. When my mother was alive, we would occasionally take a picnic to Hampstead Heath. But usually we were too busy to go anywhere.”

When they reached Richmond, David helped both Deborah and Sarah down, while his groom spread rugs on the grass and opened the picnic baskets. As Sarah watched the china plates and linen napkins being set out, her eyes got wide. And when the silver was unwrapped, she gave a little jump and a squeal of delight. “She has never seen silver before?” asked David, after they began to eat.

Deborah seemed to be choking on a bread crumb and took a great swallow of lemonade. “Why, no, I am sure she has seen it, just not so much of it, perhaps.”

“Does she work for you and your father, Miss Cohen?” asked David, after Sarah had finished eating and run off to play under Tompkins’s watchful eye.

“Yes, we have started training her as a kitchen maid. She is our tenth,” Deborah announced proudly.

“Your tenth maid? Surely you are not that difficult to work for,” David teased.

“I can be very difficult, Sir David,” replied Deborah, with a gleam in her eye.

“Of that I have no doubt, Miss Cohen. But not, I imagine, with eight-year-old kitchen maids.”

“Sarah is almost twelve, Sir David.”

“But she is so small.”

“Not enough food and light does tend to stunt a child’s growth, sir. What we have done over the past few years is try to give a few girls an alternative to the streets. I have managed to place all my maids in good houses.”

“Was Sarah on the streets?”

“Not in the sense you mean, Sir David.”

“She would have been a peddler of some sort, then?” he asked, relieved that such a young girl had escaped prostitution.

“You could say she was in trade,” replied Deborah, with a smile that she quickly hid with her napkin.

“What you are doing is quite admirable, Miss Cohen.”

“What I am doing is but a drop in the bucket,” she replied with some bitterness. “But I try not to think of all the other girls out there and concentrate on the one I can help.”

“Well, I didn’t bring you out here to talk of the horrors of the East End. Come,” said David, extending his hand, “let us take a stroll. Sarah will be quite safe with Tompkins.”

“But will I be safe with you?”

“I assure you, I am not the sort to ravish respectable young women.”

“Hmmm. Does that mean that you are the sort to ravish young women who are not respectable?”

David looked down at Deborah. She was trying to keep her face straight, but burst out laughing when he started to sputter a protest.

“That is the first smile you have given me, Miss Cohen. Although your humor is at my expense, I take it as a good sign.”

“A good sign of what, Sir David?”

“Our future acquaintance.”

“You intend to know me better?”

“I most certainly hope so, Miss Cohen.”

“Why, Sir David? I most certainly would not fit in with any of your friends.”

“Why not? First, don’t be so sure that my friends wouldn’t appreciate you.”

“Second?”

“It is your red hair and matching temper that draws me, I must confess. I have never seen such hair,” said David with exaggerated awe. “My family is all dark, like me.”

Deborah blushed and walked faster so that she drew ahead of him on the path. Her hair, which was only loosely bound in back, was glorious in the sun, and her trim figure more than compensated for the plainness of her gown.

David caught up with her at the small duck pond where the path ended.

“Look at the cygnets,” she whispered, pointing out an elegant swan and her two offspring. “We should have brought Sarah with us.”

David had to stand very close to her to remain on the path, and he felt Deborah shiver.

“You are chilly, Miss Cohen?”

“No, no, not at all, Sir David.”

“Do you suppose we could be more than acquaintances, Miss Cohen?”

“Do you mean friends?” asked Deborah softly, her eyes still on the swans.

“I most certainly hope so,” David replied, turning her chin toward him with the tip of his finger.

Deborah blushed and chattered on about how they must get back to Sarah, who would be worried by now. She started out, and David made sure he was next to her as they walked, letting his hand brush hers, and supporting her under her arm when they came to barely perceptible puddles.

When they got back, Sarah and Tompkins had their heads bent over a pair of dice. Her lap was full of the silver, while he had only one spoon left.

“The little wench is a marvel, Sir David.” Tompkins grinned. “You’d ‘ave no silver left if you’d come along any later.”

“Give the silver back, Sarah,” said Deborah sternly.

“ ‘Twas only a game, my dear,” said David.

“All of it, Sarah.”

Sarah grimaced and pulled a small salt cellar out of her pocket.

“And anything else.”

David was about to protest, but when he saw his watch dangling from Sarah’s small hands and his silk pocket handkerchief, he closed his mouth with an almost audible snap.

“Tell Sir David what you did on the streets, Sarah,” Deborah said.

“I lifted things.”

“Lifted things?”

“Yes,  ‘andkerchiefs, purses, and the loike. I were wery good at it, too. Still am, ain’t I, sir?” she added with a mischievous smile. “I were going to give it all back, Miss Deborah, honest I was. I just wanted to see if I ‘ad lost my touch.”

Tompkins, who had been standing there, his eyes open in astonishment, threw his head back and laughed. “Now don’t that beat all, Sir David!”

“Yes, Tompkins, it does,” David replied slowly and sternly. “You were supposed to be watching her, and not teaching an innocent child games of chance.”

“Me teach ‘er! It were ‘er dice, sir,” protested Tompkins as he picked up the rugs and picnic basket and dumped them unceremoniously into the carriage to protest the unfairness of it all. “Hinnocent indeed!”

David reconsidered. “I apologize, Tompkins. Hardly innocent, you are right. Into the carriage, ladies. And Sarah, your hands clasped in your lap all the way home, my girl.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry sir.”

“I am sure she meant to give them back, Sir David,” murmured Deborah.

“That may be so, but I’ll not take any chances.”

Sarah, who had been studiously watching her fingers lace and unlace in her lap, peeked up at David’s face and, satisfied there was more amusement than outrage there, relaxed. She would have hated to be responsible for scaring the ‘ansome gentleman away from Miss Deborah.

The ride back was quiet, Sarah having dozed off after the first mile.

“Tired out from her criminal activities, no doubt,” whispered David with a smile.

“It isn’t funny, you know.”

“I know. It is appalling to think of any child that proficient. I knew petty thievery is common, of course, but this is the first time I’ve seen a child who did it. Sarah is very lucky to be with you, Deborah. I admire you for your charity.”

“And is this picnic one of your charitable deeds, Sir David?” Deborah hated being praised for something she did because it seemed the only thing to do, and so she was all prickles again. And she did not want to think that Sir David’s interest might only be charitable.

“If by a charitable deed you mean one where one puts up with unpleasantness for the sake of congratulating oneself for the sacrifice, then perhaps it is, Miss Cohen. For you most certainly show a genius for unpleasantness,” replied David, stung to anger. He had never met such a hedgehog of a woman, prickling up at the least kindness or easy compliment.

“I am sorry, Sir David. That was unfair of me,” said Deborah with genuine feeling. “It has been a great treat to get out into the country. You have been every bit a gentleman, and I am acting most ungrateful.”

“I don’t want your gratitude, young woman,” growled David.

“What do you want, then?”

“Your friendship.”

“Why? I am sure you have a great many good friends, all of whom move in the first circles of society.”

“I don’t know,” replied David honestly. “I do have good friends. In fact, there is one in particular whom I would love to introduce you to. I think you would like Lady Barbara. But none of my friends has such…”

“Red hair and the temperament that goes with it?”

“Not to mention freckles, Miss Cohen.”

“Of course. My freckles. I should have known they were the attraction all along.” Deborah sighed in mock despair.

“It is your mercurial nature, I think—your ability to blow hot and cold in almost the same instant—that keeps me interested. And seriously, Miss Cohen, I would like to take you out for another drive, if I may.”

Deborah was silent for a few minutes. There was every reason to say no. Treves was way beyond her and only intrigued, no doubt, by that distance between them. And when that fascination wore off, what would be left? Yet she wanted to know him better and, she had to admit to herself, she wanted more brushing of arms and fingers on chins, and even lips on lips.

“Yes, yes, you may call again, Sir David.”

* * * *

When they reached Mitre Street, David dropped Deborah and Sarah off and made them promise to accompany him the next week. Just as his carriage was starting off, he heard someone call from behind him. It was Malachi, his basket full of oranges. David signaled the groom to stop, and the old man caught up to them.

“Be ye headed in my direction, Sir David?” asked Malachi, taking an orange and rubbing it on his sleeve and handing it up to his rescuer.

“Only in that we are leaving the East End,” said David. “But climb in, and we will drop you off as close as we can to the Drury Lane.”

“Thankee, sir.”

David grabbed the fruit basket and placed it on the seat next to him, and then extended his hand. Malachi plopped down and gave him a gap-toothed grin.

“I see ye be courting our Miss Deborah.”

“Hardly courting, Mr. Goldsmid,” said David in his most dignified tones. “It has been so warm that I just thought I would get Miss Cohen into the fresh air of Richmond.”

“But I heard ye say that ye was coming again next week.”

“A drive or two in the country is hardly courting,” protested David.

“So ye say, so ye say. But she be a good woman, our Deborah. Took me in when times were hard. And a fine-looking woman, too.” This last was accompanied by a wink so exaggerated that David could only laugh.

“I am really not looking to get married yet, Mr. Goldsmid.”

“Call me Malachi. And above all, she be a fine Jewish woman.”

“And if I were,” continued David, “whether the young woman were Jewish or not would hardly enter into it at all.”

Malachi was genuinely shocked. “I am sorry to hear ye say so, Sir David. Oh, there’s too many around here marrying any Betsy or Mary. But I would have thought that ye, being a fine gentleman, would want a woman of your own faith. For if their mother isn’t Jewish, then your sons won’t be.”

“I know that, Malachi,” said David. “But I confess to you that I do not care whether my wife is Jewish or Christian, so long as she has the qualities I am looking for.”