Wedded in Sin (7 page)

“Cordwain! That blighter—” Wendy snapped, then she obviously stopped herself from spitting a curse.

“Probably isn’t the thief,” inserted Mr. Morrison. “But we’ll have to visit the solicitor to find out.” Then he touched Penny’s arm, gently drawing her gaze to his. “Go on. You should at least wash your face.” Again, his tone was gruff, but not unkind, which was exactly what she needed to stiffen her spine. Then he undid it all by gently stroking his thumb across her cheek. He didn’t speak more, but his expression was quietly miserable. That was too much for her, and she started weeping again with fresh intensity.

“Oh dear!” Mrs. Appleton cried. But her arms were filled with Tommy and so she couldn’t do anything. That left Wendy to spit a curse for real this time and bustle forward.

“You’ll be wearing a new dress to see that solicitor. I’ve got two that will fit you right and proper.”

Penny shook her head. There weren’t any extra gowns here at all and she would not steal a customer’s dress.

“Shush,” said Wendy as she enveloped Penny in a fierce hug. “You’ll take the gowns. They’re stitched badly and I’ll not have our name on them.” She took a moment to glare at her apprentice. “But they’ll do for you in a pinch. Come on. Tabby, you come, too. You can help pick some of Helaine’s dresses. She’s a lady now and will have all new things afore long, so she won’t mind a bit. Mr. Morrison, we’ll be just a few minutes.”

Penny tried to object, but she was overruled. And truthfully, she didn’t fight very hard. She did need a better gown for a visit to a solicitor, even if he was a lying thief. And even more than that, Wendy’s brusk hug felt beyond wonderful. She hadn’t realized how rigidly she’d been holding herself until her friend bustled her up the stairs. Penny didn’t even have to look to know that Mrs. Appleton and Tommy were following behind. And Tabby, too, apparently.

And then for the next half hour they washed her face, brushed her hair, and sorted through the gowns. They generally mothered her in the way that only a group of dear friends can. And by the end of it, Penny felt stronger. Perhaps even strong enough to face an evil solicitor.

Or at least that was what she thought until she finally made it back downstairs and discovered that Mr. Morrison had disappeared.

Samuel was bored. He knew from experience that
women never took “just a few minutes” to do anything. And even if they did, it only took a few seconds for him to become bored. Or for his mind to start wandering, and once it did that, his body often followed. And that was exactly what happened.

He settled in the front sitting room, just as he’d promised. But that only lasted long enough for all the women to make it upstairs. Then he stood and began inspecting the room he was in. Everything he saw confirmed his suspicion that the dress shop had just recently been in very dire circumstances. But the amount of work in the back room and the piles of receipts on the desk there indicated that the hard times were behind them. Or at least they were for the moment.

But there was something that had caught his eye in the workroom. Something out of place even in the chaos of a women’s dressmaking shop. If only he could remember it. Normally he had perfect recall, but apparently Miss Shoemaker had the unwelcome attribute of distracting him when she was near. Things that would normally be burned onto his memory were inconsequential shadows instead. And this particular shadow drew him out of the front parlor and into the now empty workroom.

He stood there frowning as he surveyed everything. What had been out of place? He wandered aimlessly through the tables laden with piles of fabrics and patterns. He spent a little time inspecting the desk placed to the side, and he couldn’t resist peeking at the books. Yes, the shop was definitely on the financial mend. But the aristocracy were a fickle bunch, and the news had yet to break that the new Lady Redhill was actually Lady Helaine, the daughter of the Thief of the Ton. Who knew what would happen here when everyone started talking about that?

Meanwhile, he wandered on. He stepped through the new apprentice’s tiny area. As small as her corner of the shop was, every part of her work space seemed to be set at maximum distance from her chair. A bottle of buttons, a box of pins, even the thread she used was placed neatly but very far from where she sat. He made his conclusions there, then moved on to the seamstress’s primary work area. That was when he found what had seemed so out of place before. He hadn’t noticed it immediately because it was covered up by a half-made dress. But when he’d first walked into the room, Miss Drew had been stitching and so he had seen the pack of cards half slipped under a pile of fabric. As if someone had been practicing with them when they had been surprised and then quickly tried to hide them.

He picked up the deck and saw that they were relatively new. New enough that one might not suspect that they were marked. He held them up to his nose, not in the least surprised to detect the scent of tobacco and opium. He had already guessed where the seamstress got the pack, but this just confirmed his suspicion that she’d fallen in with the likes of Demon Damon, owner of one of the worst gambling dens in London.

Bad lot that and bad for the future of this little dress shop. He would have to warn Miss Shoemaker to distance herself from these people immediately. Of course, that would be hard given that they were obviously her friends and the only people who would take care of her and Tommy.

Best resolve the situation with her shoe store immediately, then. He was on the verge of grabbing Miss Shoemaker and doing just that when a woman entered the workroom. Sadly, he was so engrossed with thoughts of Miss Shoemaker, that he didn’t hear her entrance until she all but screamed.

“Who are you?” she demanded in a voice that would carry upstairs should anyone up there be listening.

He spun around, dropping the marked deck into his pocket. Cheating offended him as a general rule. Demon Damon went well beyond the usual type of villainy, so Samuel had no qualms about keeping an illicit deck of cards if it in some way tweaked the miscreant.

Meanwhile he pasted on a genial smile for the newcomer. She was a thin woman, dressed in mourning, but of the highest cut and style. He did not recognize her, which meant that she did not frequent the usual rounds of
ton
parties. That told him she was not an aristocrat, but a wealthy cit. And most telling of all, there was the unmistakable odor of the docks about her. She might be well dressed, but expensive wools absorbed scents just as much as the cheap ones did. Given that she had come into the back area as if she ought to be here that told him that she was the buyer for the shop. And therefore a formidable woman if she went toe to toe with ships’ captains as she negotiated for wares.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said with a slight bow. “I am Mr. Samuel Morrison, and I’m here to assist Miss Shoemaker.”

“Miss Shoemaker isn’t here. And that is not her station.”

“No, it’s not. They are all upstairs, I believe. Doing…” He lifted his shoulders in the universal male gesture of ignorance.

“Hmph,” she said, and he could tell that she tended toward the suspicious sort. But then a moment later, she appeared to change her mind. “Come along then,” she said as she jerked her head out the workroom door. “If you’re here, you might as well be useful.”

It wasn’t until they were outside that he realized she was cannier than he’d expected. Her intention was to grill him while she kept him busy with hauling for her. She had a small cart loaded down with bolts of fabric and a few boxes of buttons. He hadn’t really thought of the different types of buttons in the world or that a single box could weigh a ton, but there were and it did. And the woman hefted it as if it were no more than a hatbox. Then she dumped it in his arms.

“So how long have you known Penny?” she asked as she plopped another box on top of the first.

“Ugh!” was all he managed to say and she paused as she grabbed no less than three bolts of fabric to peer at him.

“What’s that?”

He swallowed. “Just met,” he said.

“Really.” A statement, not a question, but there was a wealth of meaning hidden in there and most of it was suspicion.

“Really,” he answered firmly. They started moving toward the workroom door. There was no way he could open the door for her like a true gentleman, not with his arms filled with two ton of buttons, but she paused nonetheless, her brow arched as if in challenge.

He rose to the occasion, though his muscles were screaming as he braced the boxes between the wall and his shoulder to free up one hand for her.

“Mind, don’t drop that,” she said as she sailed inside. “They’re precious, you know.”

“They’re heavy,” he answered, though she already knew that.

“Set them over there,” she said, waving to an open spot on the floor. “And mind you, bend your knees as you squat down. Don’t lean over. My uncle threw out his back thinking he was stronger than he was. But then that’s the way with all men, isn’t it?”

He glanced back at her, wondering if she truly expected an answer. Apparently not, because a moment later, she was shooing him back out the door. And if he didn’t step quickly, she was right there on his heels to keep him going back to the cart.

“There’s more out there, you know. Don’t dawdle. And what did you say you hired Penny for? New shoes? Must say yours could do with a good polishing if nothing else.”

He didn’t have the luxury of looking at his footwear because she was already at her cart and dropping bolts into his arms. These were lighter than the buttons, thank God, but still heavy enough.

“She hired me, ma’am,” he answered, as she no doubt already knew. But he was being tested and he wondered why. “Do you think I am a spy or something? For another mantua maker?” The idea was somewhat ludicrous, but then again, he wasn’t exactly sure how cutthroat the dressmaking business was.

“Hmm? Of course not,” she said, lying. Then her eyes scanned about the street on both sides. He followed her gaze and immediately spotted what had her worried. A fellow of rather large size strolling casually down the street, whistling as he moved.

“The big one isn’t your worry,” he said. “Whistling draws attention and brutes as a rule don’t like doing that unless they’re about to attack.” He carefully set the bolts back down into her cart. “The boy over there, on the other hand, seems to be keenly interested in you.”

She spun around with a gasp, being absolutely idiotic for a smart woman. The moment she turned in the boy’s direction, the child took off. Samuel had no choice but to give chase. It would save him from hauling more fabric, for one. And besides, his curiosity wanted to know why someone was following a buyer for a dress shop.

Sadly, he was so intent on the boy, he completely missed another thug. This one wasn’t whistling, though he did have a fist of iron, which landed right on Samuel’s temple. And that was the last he knew for quite some time.

Chapter 5

Penny felt her hackles rise as a wave of equal parts
panic and fury burned through her. Where had he gone? She needed him! She walked as quickly as she could throughout the shop. She wouldn’t run. She wouldn’t betray to everyone here just how terrified she was at the idea of his absence. It didn’t really make sense to her. After all, wasn’t she always on her own? Didn’t everyone leave her eventually?

On her third pass through the shop, Irene Knopp came trembling into the back room. She was pale, her hands were shaking, and she looked terrified. The sight was so unusual in the normally self-possessed woman that Penny drew up short.

“What happened?” she asked though part of her kept screaming that she had no interest in what was happening to someone else when she had her own crisis to deal with. But Irene was the shop purchaser and a good woman. Perhaps even a friend. And she was obviously distressed.

Irene pulled herself together. She spoke haltingly at first but with growing strength. “There was…I have…Lately I have thought I was being watched. I hear about a new attack every day. London has become very dangerous, and I felt it today. Then there was this man who was whistling, but it wasn’t him. It was this boy, and your man chased him for me. I waited but they haven’t come back. I’m not sure what to do. Do I go look? I thought if we could go together…” She bit her lip. “I don’t like being so afraid, but it has been happening for a while. It’s…unnerving.”

By this time everyone was back downstairs, adding to the general commotion. Helaine’s mother ordered the new apprentice to get tea. Wendy had stopped looking at the new fabric to frown at the door. It took Penny much too long to sort through Irene’s words to realize she had said “your man” as in…as if…

“Did you say ‘my man’?” she said.

“Yes, a tall, gangly sort of fellow with wild hair.”

“Mr. Morrison?”

“Yes, that was his name. I didn’t know if he really was here to help, so I thought I’d best keep an eye on him. I made him carry things. But then there was the boy, and he took off after…”

Penny barely heard the rest. She hauled open the workroom door to scan the alleyway. She saw Irene’s small cart, still with a few bolts of fabric on it. There were the usual number of people passing by, but no Mr. Morrison.