Sylvie Sommerfield - Noah's Woman (7 page)

"Then . . . you want to join them? Become a thief?"

Charity's gaze met Beth's steadily. "If it is the only way I can survive, yes. For now. I intend to find my own future. If it means I must do this for a while"Charity smiled"then I will be better at it than anyone else."

"Then . . . we'll be thieves together."

As Charity embraced Beth, both knew that what

they planned to do was a breach of their own standards. Yet both knew they had very little choice.

Within the next few months Charity and even a reluctant Beth learned to filch a purse from a man or woman with little effort. But Amiee taught much more than that. Charity's acting abilities were polished until she could pass for a lady in any circle.

Since most of the lucrative excursions were made in the late afternoon and early evening when shoppers and theater-goers were prevalent, Charity found her mornings free.

On such a morning Charity discovered Amiee dressing to go out. She realized then that Amiee often made these solitary excursions.

"Off again this morning?" she questioned with an innocence Amiee could see through at once.

"Yes, miss nosy, and if you want to come along, ask. Don't follow me like you did last week."

Charity had the grace to look sheepish. "You lost me within minutes. I wish I could be as good as that as you are."

"You haven't had a couple of bobbies on your heels yet. You will in time. Then you'll keep Piper's lessons in mind and learn to vanish."

"You really don't mind if I come along?"

"No. I'd enjoy your company." Amiee smiled and started for the door with Charity right behind her.

They left the Round, entering a street of houses that was neither shabby nor elegant. Amiee stopped before a large stone, two-storey house. But instead of

knocking, she opened the door and stood at the bottom of the steps.

"Jason! Are you decent?" she shouted. A masculine voice came from above.

"No! But that never mattered to you before. Come on up."

"I've brought a friend," Amiee said as she started up the steps. "And I don't want her corrupted by your questionable pictures."

"Questionable!" The voice came louder as they moved up. "On second thought, send her up and you go home."

Amiee was still laughing as she approached an open door and was met by a man who snatched her up in his arms and kissed her soundly. Then he let her go and turned to look at Charity.

"Well, well," he said softly. "Amiee, where did you get this beauty?"

"You're not going to paint her, so forget it."

"Nobody asked you," he retorted as he stopped to stand by Charity. "Of course, you'll pose for me. I paint angels better than anyone else."

"This is Jason Desmond, Charity. Don't trust him an inch."

"Hello, Mr. Desmond." Charity smiled up into friendly gray eyes.

Jason Desmond was tall, well over six feet. He towered over Charity. His auburn hair was thick and much too long to be fashionable. Still, it suited him. His smile was open, and she liked him at once.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, and no, I won't pose for you."

"Amiee's corrupted you. I'm as gentle as a lamb," Jason protested. "What's your name?"

"Charity. Charity Gilbert."

"Come in, Charity. Let me show you around."

Charity was ushered into a large room which was brightened by skylights. There was one battered couch in the corner; the rest of the room was filled with canvases of all sizes. She moved from one to the other and realized that all of them were incomplete . . . incomplete, but revealing a rare touch of beauty.

"Why don't you finish them?" she asked innocently.

Amiee remained silent, watching Jason, who walked to a table that held a bottle of brandy. He poured a drink, drank it, then turned to face Charity.

"They aren't good enough to finish. Perhaps if I had the right model I just might complete one."

"Jason," Amiee said warningly.

"What say you, Miss Gilbert?" He bowed toward Charity. "Do you want yours to be the first completed portrait by Jason Desmond?"

"No," Charity replied softly. "I might not be good enough to finish. If I posed for an artist, I wouldn't expect him to do half a job . . . unless that was all he could do."

There was a long moment of silence, and then Jason threw back his head and laughed. "Where did you find this creature, Amiee? She's refreshing."

"The same place you were found, my friend," Amiee replied. "Now, you promised to show me the one you just started, the one you promised to finish."

"Won't work. Sorry to disappoint you, but the girl just wasn't right."

"Jason."

"Don't worry about me, Amiee," he said quietly, "and stop mothering me. Let me take both you lovely ladies to lunch."

Before lunch, Jason stopped with them to see a few of his friends. They spent a delightful morning and enjoyed lunch, but throughout Charity was watching Jason and she sensed a feeling of unhappiness in him. On their way home she asked Amiee about him.

"Jason," she said thoughtfully. "Well, he comes from a rich family."

"Rich! Then why ever is he living where he is?"

"Some sort of problem in the family. He's the youngest of six boys, and when his father died, the estate all went to his older brother. It seems they didn't see eye to eye. Jason has just enough money to live on, and so . . . he paints."

"But he doesn't . . . he just starts to."

"Jason has to work out his own problems. One day he'll finish a painting. Maybe then he'll get his life sorted out. Until then"she looked at Charity with a grim look"his life is his business, like yours is yours. And, Charity, he's not quite as . . . gentlemanly as you might think. Be careful."

"I'm not interested in that sort of trouble at the moment, in fact at any moment."

"You have plans, do you?"

"I certainly have. I'm saving every coin, except what I have to contribute to the Round. I'm going to make something of myself if it kills me."

"Just what are you going to make?" Amiee laughed.

"A lady, with my own house and servants and everything I want whenever I want it."

"You think you'll be happy then?"

"I know I will. Just watch me."

Amiee kept her counsel to herself.

That first trip to Jason's was one of many, for Charity and Jason became fast friends. Each time she came to visit, she seemed prettier to him. Each time, he begged her to pose for him . . . and each time she refused.

It was over six months before Beth decided to go along, but she soon learned to enjoy Jason's company, too. He was entertaining, filled with wit and stories of how the wealthy lived.

But as fascinating as Charity found his tales, she was not so distracted that she failed to notice Beth's frequent silences or the way Jason looked at her friend.

The two girls had taken to visiting him several times a week, but on this morning Charity set out alone. She needed a sympathetic shoulder to lean on, and she didn't want to worry Beth. Beth had never really been good at thievery, so Charity carried the burden of providing for them, and now she wondered how they would manage.

"Charity," Jason welcomed her when she arrived at his doorstep. "Come in. You look like a stormy day."

"I feel like one," she said. She walked inside and then saw the canvas Jason was working on. When she moved around in front of it, she stood for a moment in shock. Then she spoke quietly. "Jason, it's beauti-

ful. And . . . you finished it. What a lovely gown. Beth looks like a grand lady."

"She looks every inch the grandest lady. I've not painted anyone more perfect, and I'm rather proud of it. Would you believe that I've not only finished another painting, but sold it as well?"

"Well, at least one of us has some money," Charity replied as she tossed her cloak across a chair.

"I'll share some of it with you."

"Why would you want to do that?" she asked suspiciously. "I don't need anyone to give me money. There are always strings attached."

"There are strings on this too."

"I should have known. Forget it. I'll find a pigeon with a full purse today.

"Not that kind of string."

"What then?"

"Pose for me. Let me paint you and I'll give you whatever you would have taken on the streets. It will only take a few afternoons. Come on, Charity, pose for me."

"In these rags? Do you think I want a picture of myself dressed like this? No, Jason, when I can afford a pretty new gown I'll do it. But not like this."

"I have dresses here. What do you think Beth wore when she posed for me? I have a selection for my models to wear. There just might be one in your size."

"But"

"Charity, I promise I'll do a portrait you'll be proud of."

"All right, all right. Where are these gowns?"

''In the next room. I'll set up over by the big window while you change."

"I don't know what to do with my hair. I certainly won't look like a lady like this."

Charity's hair hung loose to her waist, the front tied carelessly up with a ribbon. It was a riot of gold and silver, with curls framing her face.

"You'll look enchanting. Every lady wears her hair in one complicated arrangement or another. You will look so different that anyone who sees this portrait will fall in love with you."

"Good Lord, I don't want that. I'm doing this for a few coins and for you. Promise me you won't display it." She was terrified that if someone bought it and hung it, Charles Brentwood might see it. He might track down Jason . . . and ultimately her.

"All right. I'd rather keep it anyway. Go and change."

With an exasperated sigh, Charity went to the next room. Closing the door between her and Jason, she began to look for the gowns. To her surprise there was a closet full of them.

She found three close to her size. One dress was white with pink roses embroidered on it. But it was too white for her pale hair. The second was a pale, shimmering lavender, and the third was emerald green.

She chose the lavender one and changed quickly. When she walked back into the room, Jason stood immobile and watched her walk toward him. It was as if when she donned the dress she donned an aura of gentility, for she looked every inch the sophisti-

cated lady. The gown revealed her shoulders and the softness of her breasts and was cut much lower then she wanted, but the emerald had been worse.

"Charity, you are beautiful."

"Thank you, Jason, but we'd better work as fast as we can. If I sit here all day, Amiee is not going to be too happy."

Jason had placed a chair close to the window and draped it with silk flowers. When Charity sat down they made a perfect background against which her skin seemed to glow and her hair to sparkle with life.

He moved her this way and that until he found a pose that pleased him. She sat slightly turned from him, as if she had suddenly seen something that drew her attention. One arm rested on the arm of the chair, and one hand held a single, perfect pink rose. Pleased, Jason went to the canvas he had set up and began to paint.

After two hours Charity became stiff and restless.

"Hold still," Jason commanded brusquely.

"Jason, I'm tired. I've got to move."

Jason sighed, put down his palette and brush, and took up a cloth to hang over the painting.

"Why are you covering it up? I want to see it."

"No. It's bad luck to see a painting before it's finished."

"That's not true." Charity smiled.

"It is so. Ask any artist."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Yes." Jason grinned. "So don't try to peek. Come on, I'll give you a glass of wine and you can rest for a while."

"No, thank you," Charity said abruptly. "I . . . I don't drink spirits." She remembered too well what had almost happened to her resistance the last time she drank. She had no intention of such a thing occurring again.

"Are you hungry?"

"I'm always hungry, it seems. But I have to go."

"Here are the coins I promised. You won't have to go hungry."

"Thank you, Jason," she said softly.

"Charity, would you be angry if I asked you to take a few more of these coins . . . for Beth?" he added hastily. "I . . . I know she's no good at . . . her chosen profession. I don't want to see her get caught." His words were said almost reluctantly, as if he didn't want her to question him.

"All right, for Beth."

"Thank you."

"I'd best go now."

"You'll be back tomorrow?"

"Yes."

"And the day after?"

"Jason, you know I'll only be able to pose as long as your money holds out. When it's gone we'll have to fit this into whatever time I can spare. Beth and I need to bring in money to the Round, at least until we can find our way out of here."

"You're dreaming, Charity."

"Why?"

"I've seen a lot of people end up on the streets. I've never seen anyone find a way out."

"Well then, there has to be a first time, doesn't

there? Beth and I are not going to spend the rest of our lives grubbing for food. One day, one way or another, we'll get out of here."

He looked down into her eyes and after a while he smiled. "Funny, but all of a sudden I have no doubts. I'll expect you tomorrow."

There were several tomorrows, for Jason was putting his heart and soul into this painting. The portrait was near completion, and Charity was relieved. Another day or two and she would be finished sitting. But first, she wanted to see what Jason had achieved.

She sat still, allowing her mind to drift, dreaming of her future, while Jason worked in silence. He had never felt so pleased with anything in his life as he was with the portraits he'd done of Beth and Charity. For the first time in a long while he felt the sense of redemption his painting had originally given him.

Neither he nor Charity was aware that a man had climbed the stairs and walked into Jason's studio. He stood watching both the painter and the remarkably beautiful woman he was painting.

Charity sensed him first, but refused to speak or even acknowledge his presence. After a while Jason became aware of the stranger, too, and stopped working to turn and face him.