Mariel (37 page)

“It's gone.”

The knife moved to rest beneath her jawbone. One quick, upward motion would slice into her jugular vein. She froze. When he demanded the ring again, she whispered, “I told you the truth. I have no other jewelry. My—my lover took it back before he threw me in the street. He was so angry, he forgot to take the rest.” She warmed to her tale as she felt the knife draw back from her. “The bastard!” she spat.

Laughter greeted her faked rage. The tall boy leaned forward and kissed her squarely on the lips. “Thanks, pretty lady. Next time you leave your rich lover, be sure to come this way again.”

She closed her eyes as she sagged against the wall behind her. She wondered if the boys realized the value of the pieces they had stolen. Not likely. They would be cheated by whomever they sold them to. That person would find someone eager to buy such priceless jewelry at a low cost and with no questions about who once owned it.

Gathering up the shreds of her courage, she started again in the direction the carriage had been heading. She did not trust the Muirs to bring her directly here, but she was sure they would seek the quickest way out of this slum.

No one said anything to her, except to growl in her direction. She heard the harsh accents of the area as food and stolen goods were hawked openly on the street. After once asking someone for directions and being told what it would cost her, she did not pause again. No one did anything without a reward. She was not yet desperate enough to trade herself for the promise of directions.

Her legs grew heavy as she tried to avoid the broken cobbles and the debris on the street. More than once, she stepped into reeking wetness. She wondered how anyone could live in this sickening place, but such thoughts vanished as she thought only of placing one foot in front of the other.

Music poured out of a place that stank of cheap rum. She hurried past. A woman alone in a place like that would be easy prey. She was in enough trouble already.

“Miss?”

The scratchy voice in front of her forced her to pause. Carefully, she asked, “Yes?”

“Be ye lost?”

“Yes. I need to find a hansom to take me home.”

A deep but feminine chuckle met her words. “Ye'll not be finding the likes of that here at this time of the evening, dearie. They'll not be coming here after dark.”

“After dark?” she gasped involuntarily. She had lost track of time and had no idea that the sun had set. In the caverns of the tenement houses, the sunset changed little.

“Ye cannot be staying on the street, dearie.” A hand resembling the claws of a bird grasped her arm. “Who be ye?”

“Mariel Wythe,” she said reluctantly.

Fingers grasped the material of her ruined skirt. “This be costly. I be thinking ye have a title.”

“My uncle is Lord Foxbridge of Foxbridge Cloister on the western coast.” She was sure this strange woman wanted the information to garner herself a grander reward for helping her find her way home. Exhausted, Mariel would have promised her almost anything to repay her assistance.

“Lady Mariel Wythe ye be?” The woman chuckled again. “Well, well, 'tis seldom we be getting a fine lady here.”

“Can you help me get home?”

“Not tonight.” She put her face close to Mariel. The reek of perspiration-soaked wool and cabbage made Mariel's stomach churn uneasily. “Ye best come home with me. I'll find ye a bed among my girls.”

“Girls?” She did not want to move when the nameless woman tugged on her arm, but her tired body could not resist. “Your family?”

“Nay, I be speaking of the girls who work in m'shop. They'll not deny Lady Mariel Wythe a bed tonight.” Another jerk on her arm accented the command to follow.

As the woman led her along the street, she stumbled again and again. Exasperated, the woman demanded, “What be wrong with ye, dearie?”

“You are going too fast. My feet can't find the best route this way.”

Suddenly the woman halted. “Feet? Look where ye be going.”

“I can't,” she whispered. She moved backward as she felt a hand flash before her face. Her unease increased as she heard the woman chuckle again.

“Can't see? Shame.” Her satisfied tone did not match her sympathetic words. “Don't be worrying. Kitty'll take care of ye. Come, dearie.”

Mariel wondered how much the woman truly longed to help her as she drew her up steps without bothering to let her know when they started and stopped. She nearly fell more than once on the uneven stairs. They went into a house filled with many female voices. From the sounds, she guessed there was a large room to the left and a staircase leading up on the right. She was drawn past both to the back of the house.

A heavy hand shoved her onto a bench. Before she could protest, someone pulled off her hat. Where they put it she could not hear as the room became crowded with chattering women. Cheap perfume and the rustle of well starched linen and lace could be heard in every direction.

She relaxed, guessing these girls were the ones who worked for Kitty. With the sound of so much lace, she decided this must be a dressmaker's shop. No wonder the woman laughed. A blind, titled lady would be of little use in such an establishment.

“Eat,” urged Kitty when a dish was dropped in front of Mariel. Some of the food splashed onto the oilcloth on the tabletop, but no one bothered to clean it up. A spoon was pressed into her hand. The woman's hand fondled Mariel's hair. “Pretty, ye be, m'lady. Right pretty.”

“I must send a message—”

Kitty interrupted her. “Not now. Eat, m'lady. Eat. Then I'll be taking ye to yer room.” With a raspy chuckle, she wandered away.

She ate the tasteless mush with relish. The other women chattered eagerly, but she did not join the conversation. She wondered how they could have so much energy after the long hours they must spend working over the fine lace and materials their clients would demand.

Kitty returned. She did not urge Mariel to follow the others toward the large room at the front of the house. Instead, she took her up the kitchen stairs. Mariel's fingers moved along the filthy surface of the wall, as she automatically counted the number of steps and the doors along the hallway. Such skills no longer took any more thought than breathing.

A door opened with a squeal of protest. “Ye be using this room,” she said. “The bowl's to yer left. See ye tomorrow.” With another of her scratchy chuckles, she added, “Ain't what ye be used to, m'lady. Enjoy it tonight.”

“Thank you.”

She mumbled something and left. Mariel walked toward where she thought the bed would be. In only three steps she bumped into it. The room was far smaller than she had guessed. It did not take her long to explore it. Other than the bed, and a washbowl on a table with uneven legs, she discovered only the door and a window, which would not open.

Dirt met her fingertips whichever way she turned. She wondered how Kitty could allow such shoddy housekeeping in a place where fine fabrics would be stored. Telling herself this might simply be an unused room, dusty with time, she took off her shoes and reclined on the unyielding bed. She tried not to think about the bugs that might be sharing it with her.

Her foot touched the footboard, and it wobbled. She checked it carefully. The top board nearly fell off in her hands, but she thought it would last through the night. She doubted if she would sleep much.

Ian would not, that she knew. Tears filled her eyes, not for herself, but for the man she loved. If their situations were reversed, she would be mad with fear for him. He would be searching for her, unable to guess where she was. She wished she could reach out to him and Rosie to let them know she was safe. Although her situation was far from ideal, she did not have to worry about the worst element of the street tonight.

Tomorrow she would implore Kitty to find her a cab. Somehow, she would get back to Ian or his mother, even though she did not know the addresses of their houses. Cynthia lived in Kensington. That would help in her search. If she could not find those homes, she would have the driver find Dr. Gillette's office. She could send for them from there. She was not totally helpless. Somehow she would escape alive from the Muirs' plot to enable Portia to worm her way back into Ian's life.

Somehow.

Slapping at a bug determined to sample her, she rolled onto her side and put her hand beneath her cheek. It would be a long day tomorrow. She would be wise to sleep as much as she could tonight. That was easier to decide than to put into action. Her heart continued to beat rapidly while she imagined what she would say to the Muirs when they stood face-to-face again.

She had not been resting long when a sound came from the hall. In astonishment, she listened as the squeak signaled the door was opening. “Who is it?” she whispered when she heard the door close again. “Who is there?”

The sound of heavy footsteps neared, and she rose to crouch on the bed. Her heart beat so loudly in her ears she could barely hear the boots on the floor. When she felt a hand on her shoulder, she screamed in horror. The sound was halted by rubbery lips settling on hers. She was forced back onto the mattress. She heard the bed creak as whoever held her moved to pin her to the bed.

Fear gave her strength. She fought her way out of the stranger's grip and slid off the bed. “Get away!” she cried. “Get out of here, or I will call the police. How dare you touch me like that?”

He laughed. “She said ye be ladylike. Ye surely sound it, me lovely.”

“She?”

The scratch of a match warned her the man was lighting a lantern. She raced for the door. Grasping the knob, she turned it and tugged. She cried in horror when it would not open. Her fingers moved along the wood. A splinter cut into her, but she paid it no attention as she sought a latch. She could not remember one. Her questing hand touched a steel-hard arm over her head, holding the door shut.

When the same moist lips settled on the back of her neck, she redoubled her efforts to rip the door open. A hand reached for the ribbon holding her skirts around her waist. She whirled to press her back against the door.

“Don't!” she moaned. “Please leave me alone. Please.”

He laughed. “Enough of the ladylike, me lovely. Lie down and let me be having ye. Kitty did tell me ye would be a feisty gal, but I want ye now, me lovely.”

Material ripped as she struggled away from him. Running to the washstand, she raised the china pitcher. With a crash against the edge of the table, she shattered it. She held a razor-sharp piece in front of her.

“Get out of here!” she cried. “If you don't leave now, I will …” She did not know what she would do if he pushed her further.

When the door creaked open, she turned expectantly. This must be aid. “What be the problem?” Mariel gasped when she realized Kitty spoke not to her, but to the man.

“She be too reluctant.”

“New girl. I thought ye would like her.”

He growled, “Not enough to risk her cutting into me.”

In a conciliatory voice, Kitty murmured, “Go two doors down. Zola will take care of ye.”

When the door closed behind the man, Kitty crossed the room and knocked the china from Mariel's hand. As viciously, she slapped her across the face. Ignoring the younger woman's cry of pain, she asked, “Why did ye turn that man away? Good man, he is. He would not be too rough with ye this first time.”

“Why should I want to let that man touch me?”

Kitty chortled. “Ye may be a fine lady, but ye are a fool. What did you think this was? A boardinghouse? I don't look about the streets for girls to make hats.” She grasped Mariel's arm as she tried to edge toward the door. Again the back of her hand impacted on the young woman's face. “'Tain't sewing ye'll be doing for Kitty, my dearie.”

“I won't—I won't do that!”

“Ye don't want to work for yer food? Then ye won't eat.”

“I won't stay here!” asserted Mariel. “I won't act the whore for you. If you are smart, you will allow me to leave before my family comes to find me.”

Kitty laughed humorlessly. “Ye think they'll find ye? In all the sewers of London, what makes ye think they'll look here?” She shoved Mariel back on the bed. “Ye ain't no lady no more,
Lady
Mariel Wythe. Ye be working for Kitty.” Her heavy shoes crossed the floor. “Ye think on that, girl. I give ye one hour. If ye turn aside the next customer I send to ye, ye'll be sorry ye did.”

Mariel flinched as she heard the door slam. The sliding of a bolt on the far side told her she had been locked in. One hour did not offer her much time, but she knew what she must do. With a screech to cover the sound of her actions, she pounded both feet against the loose board at the foot of the bed. It popped off with a crash.

Trying to avoid the pieces of the broken ewer, she sought the board. She walked to the window. She measured the distance from it to the board. Again she screamed as she rammed the wood through the window. She prayed Kitty and the other denizens of this house would think she was raging against her fate. If they heard her trying to find her way out, her hour's reprieve would vanish.

Night coolness flowed into the room, bringing with it all the disgusting smells of the neighborhood. She ignored the odors as she used the board to knock out every sliver of glass in the frame. Placing the board on the floor, she went to the other side of the bed and picked up several of the largest pieces of the broken crockery.

It was not easy to concentrate as she held one chunk out the window. At any moment, someone could come to investigate her screams, or worse. Pushing those thoughts from her mind, she thought only of the sound of the china as it dropped from her hand. She smiled as she heard it impact on a surface not far below her window.

She hastily tugged on the end of the bed until it sat beneath the window. Within seconds, she had climbed onto it and was squeezing through the narrow opening. Her clothes caught on the sharp edges. Scratches were etched into her arms as the fabric shredded. She thought only of the need for silence as she lowered herself feet first toward the roof below her window. When she had stretched as far as she could, her toes still did not reach the shingles.