Heartless (25 page)

“I have to do something. It doesn't matter what sort of work it is—I'll take anything I can get.”

Agnes cocked a woolly gray eyebrow. She was a short, stout woman with a tuft of whiskers on her chin and kindly blue eyes. “There is one thing ye might wanna try.”

Ariel's head came up. “What is it, Aggie?”

“They's a mop fair this Saturday, down to the park near the corner. Ye might give that a try.”

“A mop fair? I'm afraid I don't have the faintest idea what that is.”

“'Tis a hirin' fair, don't ye see? Ye go there and whoever's in need of a servant or worker takes a look at ye. If they like what they see, they'll hire ye for a year. Then permanent, if ye do a good job.”

Ariel smiled, feeling a shot of hope. “Oh, Aggie—that's a wonderful idea. Surely there'll be someone there in need of a good worker.”

“I'm sure there will be, dearie.” Agnes handed her another heavy pot to scrub, but the hard work couldn't wipe the smile off Ariel's face. This time she would find work; she was sure of it.

On Friday, Daisy Gibbons returned to her job in the kitchen, and on Saturday, Ariel packed her satchel, left her drafty attic room, and headed for the mop fair. Dressed in a simple brown skirt and white blouse and wearing her sturdiest shoes, she was among the first to arrive. She had considered wearing something a little nicer, perhaps the soft gray wool, one of the two fashionable gowns she had allowed herself to keep, in the hope of finding a position as governess, where she could at least use her painfully acquired education, but something told her that without references her chances would be slim and she would be far more likely to find work if she dressed more simply.

The mop fair was in full swing by midmorning. At one end of the grass a platform had been built, and a crowd of people gathered around it, some of them well dressed, obviously there to hire, the rest attired more simply. On the platform itself, job seekers climbed the stairs to allow potential employers to get a better look at them.

It was a little like purchasing a cow or hog at the farmers' market, Ariel thought, suppressing a shiver at the notion. It was a humiliation she would rather not have to endure, but she didn't have any other choice. For a while she simply watched, noticing that certain workers wore distinctive articles of clothing or carried a symbol that identified the sort of labor they performed. Freight haulers tied a piece of whipcord around their hats; roof thatchers carried a fragment of woven straw.

She wasn't sure what symbol represented ordinary household servants, so she waited a little while longer. She searched the crowd, hoping she might find someone who needed a governess, but no such person appeared. She went up on the platform with a group of young women applying for the position of lady's maid, but they all had experience or references, and she wasn't chosen. She went up twice more, for a job as a cook's helper and later as a housekeeper, but the same thing happened each time. Finally a man came forward looking to hire a chambermaid. Determined not to be disheartened, Ariel climbed up on the platform again.

A well-dressed man with thinning brown hair stood on the ground in front of them, carefully surveying each young woman in need of a job. Ariel had been passed over so many times that she blinked and simply stood there when the man pointed at her and motioned for her to come forward.

She did so hopefully, trying to control her pounding heart. She thought for sure he would ask how long she had worked as a chambermaid, but this time her lack of experience didn't seem to matter.

“How old are you?” he asked instead.

“Nineteen.”

“Where are you from?”

Ariel nervously moistened her lips. She had nowhere to spend the night and no money. She said a silent prayer that he would give her the job. “I was born on a cottager's farm near the hamlet of Greville.”

“Any family here in London?”

Ariel shook her head.

“Then you'll be wanting room and board as part of your employment?”

“Yes, sir.”

He nodded, seemed satisfied. “Get your things,” he said curtly.

“You're giving me the job?” Hardly able to believe her good fortune, she hurried toward the stairs leading down from the platform, her pulse leaping with excitement.

“Lord Horwick is giving you a job. I'm his steward, Martin Holmes.” When she reached his side, he turned and pointed to an open carriage. “Wait for me there. When I'm finished, I'll take you to the house and you can get settled in.”

“Yes, sir.” She made a brief curtsy. “Thank you, sir.” Relief filtered through her. At least she would have a roof over her head and food in her belly. And perhaps Lord Horwick had children or knew of someone who did. In time, if she proved herself, she might still get that job as a governess.

Her spirits were high on the way to the carriage until she heard two women speaking in whispers as she walked past: “Poor gel. She don't know about old Horwick. That old lecher will have her skirts up over her head and a bun in the oven afore she's been there two months.”

Ariel flushed crimson and kept on walking. Whatever sort of man Lord Horwick was, she needed this job. If a problem arose, she would simply make it clear to him that she was a chambermaid, not a strumpet.

A memory of her near-rape by Phillip Marlin arose, followed by a painful image of Greville. She had dealt with far worse than a lecherous, aging aristocrat. If Horwick had anything other than employment in mind, it wouldn't take her long to disavow him of the notion.

*   *   *

Justin leaned against the back of a gold brocade settee in Madame Charbonnet's House of Pleasure. Clay sat in a chair beside him, one leg casually crossed over the other as they watched a parade of beautiful, nearly naked women walk past. Clay had chosen a tall redhead with a slight French accent. She stood behind him, lightly massaging the back of his neck while Clay finished his glass of brandy and waited for Justin to choose.

“How about the brunette?” Celeste Charbonnet suggested. Celeste was a tall woman in her thirties, dark-haired and elegant, with excellent taste in everything from clothes to fine French wines. She had made a fortune out of understanding the likes and dislikes of men, and the women she employed were the most beautiful—and talented—in London.

“Gabrielle has skin as smooth and soft as a baby's, and hands … Such beautiful hands could please the most discriminating of men.” The chestnut-haired woman parading past them was lovely in the extreme, but Justin shook his head.

“Blond, I think, for this evening.”

Gabrielle took the rebuff with a smile. There were a number of patrons in rooms throughout the house. She would have no trouble finding a man to entertain for the night.

His attention turned toward the gold velvet curtains. They parted to reveal a young blond woman, petite but full-figured, smiling seductively, walking toward him in nothing but a nearly transparent swath of lilac silk that fell from her shoulders to the curve of her bottom.

Justin frowned. “Too short. I'm in the mood for someone taller.”

Two blondes came out this time, Norwegian twins. They were beautiful, strong-boned, and elegantly built.

“Two is certain to double the pleasure,” Celeste said. But something wasn't right. The color of the eyes, perhaps. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. He simply knew they weren't the ones to satisfy his needs for the night.

“I want someone more slender, blue-eyed, and more…” Justin stopped midsentence, the words trailing away as he realized with dawning horror exactly what he was doing. He chanced a look at Clay and saw that his friend was frowning.

Justin closed his eyes as Celeste snapped her fingers and another blond woman walked into the room, a lovely little English rose, naked to the waist, wearing white silk stockings and blue satin garters. She was perfect in every way, but he knew she wouldn't do.

She wasn't Ariel Summers.

Justin rose from the settee, cursing himself, cursing Ariel for what she had done to him. “Perhaps this wasn't such a good idea after all,” he said to Clay, who was watching him with a worried expression, ignoring the redhead who now sat on his lap, her naked breasts pressing into his chest.

“Perhaps it wasn't,” Clay said, setting the girl back on her feet and standing up as well.

“Don't let me spoil your evening. There's no reason for you to leave.”

“It's all right. I wasn't really in the mood, either.” He smiled at Madame Charbonnet. “Another time, perhaps.” He dropped a heavy pouch of coins into her long, slim fingers. “So the girls won't forget us.”

“Do not worry, m'sieur. They do not forget either of you. That you need not fear.”

Barely conscious of the lady's words, Justin reached the door and pulled it open. He paused outside to drag in a lungful of air. “Sorry,” he said to Clay. “I didn't mean to disappoint you. I don't know exactly what happened in there.”

“I do,” Clay said gently. “It doesn't matter. We'll come back again some other time.”

Justin just nodded. He had tried to block Ariel from his mind and most of the time he succeeded. Once in a while, like tonight, he remembered the woman he had foolishly believed she was, remembered her gentle laughter, her intelligence, remembered the sweet, innocent girl of her letters. He remembered the woman he had made love to, had trusted as he never had another woman, and pain unlike anything he had ever known knifed viciously into his heart.

His jaw clenched. He took a deep breath and slowly released it. “I'm a bit more tired than I thought. I believe I'll go on home, if you don't mind.”

“No…” Clay said. “I don't mind. Take care of yourself, my friend.”

Justin nodded and turned away, wishing he hadn't come, wishing he hadn't seen the pretty little blonde who reminded him of Ariel—reminded him that she was just as much a whore as the girls at Madame Charbonnet's.

*   *   *

Working for the Earl of Horwick proved to be a difficult job. The house itself was huge and the staff kept at a minimum. The place was old and drafty, always full of dust, and difficult to keep clean. Not only was Horwick a demanding employer, working his servants from dawn till dark, serving them meals that were scarcely fit to eat, but he was also every bit as lecherous as the woman at the mop fair had said.

A disgusting little man, slightly obese, thick-lipped, and smelling of liquor and cigars, twice he had come upon Ariel in the hallway, pressed her up against the wall, and tried to steal a kiss. Each time, she had avoided his unwanted advances and escaped down the passage.

She hated working for a man like him, and over the weeks avoided him as much as she could. She needed to find another job, but she had heard what he had done to other girls who had left him, refusing to give them references and spreading lies about them, making it nearly impossible for them to find other employment. She would have to continue to save her money and bide her time, keep searching for a job on her one day off. Once she found something suitable, she would be able to quit.

“We'll be needin' the beddin' changed in the last four guest rooms in the east wing.” Mrs. O'Grady, the housekeeper, passed by her in the hall. “Lady Horwick will be arrivin' from the country on the morrow. She's plannin' her usual round a' parties and a special ball for her niece's birthday. There'll be relatives arrivin' in droves.”

“I'll see to it immediately, Mrs. O'Grady.” She made a curtsy to the portly gray-haired Irishwoman who ran the earl's house on the skimpy budget he allotted. Ariel liked the stout little woman she had come to think of almost as a friend. She grabbed up the broom she carried and headed upstairs, hoping old Horwick was nowhere around and grateful that Lady Horwick was about to arrive. Surely the fat old lecher wouldn't try any of his tricks with his wife in the house.

Ariel worked all morning and into the afternoon. Unlike much of the house, a number of guest chambers and all of the main-floor salons were lavishly appointed and showed none of the wear evident in the rest of the aging mansion. She had just about finished with the last guest room when the door opened and a short, barrel-shaped man walked in.

“Hello, my dear,” Horwick said. “I've been looking for you. I hoped I would find you in here.”

Ariel's heart sank. “Looking for me? What do you want?”

Horwick frowned. “You're not frightened? If you are, there is certainly no need. Surely by now you must realize how attractive I find you.”

“I have work to do,” Ariel said, carefully backing away from him as he strolled toward her.

“Yes, I imagine you do. I could help in that regard, you know. If you would be a bit more cooperative, your work load could be lightened quite dramatically.”

“I don't mind the work.” Her back came up against a rosewood dresser. Horwick stood a little to the right, so she skirted to the left, hoping to duck around him. “I do the job I was hired for.”

“Yes, you do, and quite admirably, I might add. Perhaps a bit of a raise in your salary would make you a bit more … amiable.”

He moved to block her way again and Ariel stiffened. “I'm a chambermaid, my lord. It would be unseemly for me to become … amiable … with a man of your social status. Now, if you'll excuse me…” She darted to the left, but as rotund as he was, he could move quite quickly, dodging in front of her, spreading his short, thick arms, and catching her like a fly in his web. Ariel shrieked as a blunt-fingered hand grabbed hold of her bottom and he gave it a punishing squeeze.

He chuckled as she tore herself free and bolted for the door, escaping the room as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels, her face flaming scarlet. She rubbed the bruise on her bottom. Damn the old bastard to perdition! The next time he tried that she would … she would … What could she do? She needed this job, at least for a little while longer. She would have to find a way to stay out of his clutches.