The Orphan's Dream (11 page)

‘I'm a parlourmaid, sir.'

‘I already know that, my dear.' He leaned forward, resting his hands on his knees and his pale eyes bored into hers. ‘I'm a very old man, Mirabel. I've travelled the world many times over and I've met people from all walks of life. It doesn't take a genius to see that you are an educated young woman, and that your present position in life is not the one you were brought up to expect. You said you wanted us to be honest with each other, so now you can tell me how and why you came to be living in a house of ill repute.' He reached for his glass and took a sip of wine. ‘I'm agog with curiosity. This promises to be a very interesting evening.'

She spoke haltingly at first but Hubert Kettle was a good listener. He sat back in his chair and drank his wine, refraining from comment while she talked of her sheltered upbringing in Cutler's Castle. Although she tried to protect her father's memory it was impossible to relate the true events that had brought her to Tenter Street without mentioning Wiley's involvement, and the hold he had over her father, which she suspected had contributed to his early demise. When it came to his funeral her voice broke on a sob and she struggled to control her emotions.

Hubert filled a glass with wine and handed it to her. ‘I suspect that there's a great deal more to your story than you feel able to tell me at present,' he said gently. ‘This is an exceptionally good claret. Zilla keeps a supply on hand just for me, so sip it slowly and savour its delights while I tell you about my one great passion in life.'

Resisting the temptation to drink deeply in an attempt to blot out the memory of Wiley with his machinations, threats and downright lies, she treated the wine reverently as her father had shown her. Jacob had developed a liking and deep respect for fine wines, and had taken the time to learn how to appreciate them; something he had attempted to pass on to his daughter.

Hubert watched her with an appreciative smile. ‘I can see that we are going to get on very well, Mirabel Cutler. I'll make a connoisseur of you and I'll introduce you to the wonders of the natural world. What do you have to say to that?'

HUBERT HAD GONE
and Zilla was smiling as she pocketed the money he had pressed into her hand. ‘You've done well, Mabel. He likes you and there'll be a little extra added to your wages at the end of the month.

Mirabel had heard the unmistakeable clink of golden sovereigns as they passed from hand to hand, but she knew that her share of this largesse would be minimal. Zilla was undoubtedly a wealthy woman as well as being clever and even ruthless when the need arose. ‘Thank you,' she said meekly. There was no point in angering her employer. ‘Mr Kettle is a very interesting man. I enjoyed our time together.'

‘Even better.' Zilla put her head on one side, watching Mirabel closely. ‘I might yet make a courtesan of you, Mabel Cutler.'

Mirabel let this pass. She had no intention of agreeing to any such thing, but she had learned that arguing with Zilla was futile. ‘I'll go and change out of my gown. Do you need me again tonight?'

‘I think not. You've done well so you may have the rest of the evening to yourself.'

Mirabel acknowledged the compliment with a smile. ‘Thank you, Miss Zilla.' She made her way up to the top floor where she had been allocated a small room beneath the eaves.

It was hot in the attic during the day, but at night the temperature fell dramatically at this time of the year. Mirabel suspected that in winter she would find ice on the inside of the window, but that was a small concern when compared to the luxury of privacy. Once again she had a place where she could sit alone and dream. Hubert Kettle had fired her imagination with tales of explorers and plant hunters ranging from Sir Joseph Banks to Baron Alexander von Humboldt and David Douglas, and, more recently, the exploits in China of Robert Fortune. Now she had far-off lands and real-life adventurers to fire her imagination. Hubert had started to tell her a little of his own experiences, but then he had seemed to tire and had brought the evening to an abrupt end. Mirabel had glanced at the ormolu clock on the mantelshelf and could hardly believe her eyes. Three hours had passed in a flash, but she could have sat there all night, listening to Hubert's cultured tones.

She took off her silk gown and laid it over the ladder-back chair, which was the only furniture in the room apart from an iron bedstead and a deal chest of drawers. Her head was slightly muzzy from drinking wine, but after facing an uncertain future where hope had been abandoned in the face of bleak reality, she felt ridiculously optimistic. Hubert had introduced her to another world, and she could not wait to learn more. He might be old enough to be her grandfather, but his enthusiasm and zest for life was infectious and she knew she had found a friend.

Hubert's visits became more frequent and once again Zilla sent for her dressmaker. This time Mirabel was measured for an afternoon gown and a mantle. Zilla had chosen the material from bolts of cloth she kept locked away in the linen cupboard, giving Mirabel no choice in the matter, but the fine woollen cloth in a delicate shade of lavender was what she might have selected had her opinion been asked. When it came to the mantle, however, Zilla shook her head. ‘I've changed my mind, Miss Standish. It's an unnecessary expense and I have an old one that could be altered to fit Mabel. I've no longer a use for it.' She swept out of the room.

‘You're quite a favourite, Mabel.' Miss Standish jotted down some measurements on a sheet of paper. ‘I've worked for Miss Grace these past ten years and this is the first time I've known her to be so generous.'

‘How long will it take you to make the gown?'

‘Why?' Miss Standish was suddenly alert. ‘Do you need it quickly?'

‘The days are getting shorter,' Mirabel said casually. ‘It would be nice to have something warm to wear before winter sets in.' She did not add that she wanted to look her best for the interesting man who had so unexpectedly come into her life. Gertie had warned her that Emily Standish was a notorious gossip. She had based this titbit of information on a conversation with Lucky Sue and Gentle Jane, two of Miss Zilla's girls, who had learned from bitter experience that the fitting room did not carry similar privileges to the confessional.

Miss Standish folded the sheet of paper and placed it in her reticule. ‘Perhaps Miss Grace has plans for you, Mabel. You seem to me to be different from the rest of the women she employs.'

‘I don't know what you mean, Miss Standish. But I'm sure the gown will be lovely. Your work is excellent.'

‘As I said, you're not the usual type she has working for her, but it's none of my business. Miss Grace probably sees a little of herself in you.' She paused as if waiting for Mirabel to question her further. ‘She came from a good family, but I expect she's already told you that.'

‘She's been kind to me, that's all I know.'

Miss Standish raised a delicate eyebrow. ‘As I said, you are privileged. Miss Grace had to struggle to survive in a world ruled by men. She married against her family's wishes and her father cut her off without a penny.'

‘I'm not sure you should be telling me this, Miss Standish. It's really none of my business.'

‘Oh, but it is. You need to understand the woman who employs you. To her you are a thing of value, but when your looks fade or should you become indisposed, you will be cast off just as she was.'

Mirabel made a move towards the door. ‘I think this conversation is at an end, Miss Standish.'

‘I'm just trying to help you, and if you've any sense won't put your trust in Zilla Grace. If she ever had a heart it was torn in two when the man she married deserted her and took up with another woman. She was left penniless and destitute with a small baby to care for.'

‘What happened to the child? And who was this man who treated her so badly?' Suspicion clouded Mirabel's mind, and she needed to know if the errant husband was Jack Starke.

‘The baby died and Zilla took to the streets. She made her fortune by selling her body to rich men, while respectable women like myself have to struggle to earn a living.'

‘It seems to me that she's made the best of things,' Mirabel said icily. ‘Why do you associate with her if you dislike her so much?'

‘I too have to live.' Miss Standish picked up the bolt of cloth and tucked it under her arm. ‘Do you know how much I earn a week? If I'm lucky I take home ten shillings for working all hours of the day and often into the night.'

‘I'm sorry, but we all have to make our way as best we can.'

Miss Standish gave her a searching look. ‘It's obvious you were brought up with money, and something dire must have happened to bring you so low.'

‘I think that's my business, Miss Standish.'

‘You won't be so high and mighty when she tires of you and throws you out. You'll learn then what it's like to be a single woman trying to make a living in a world ruled by men.'

‘Most women marry for security. Miss Zilla must have been unlucky in her choice of husband.'

‘He was a ne'er-do-well, unlike my dear Philip, who was killed in the Crimea. I might have had a home of my own and children if my fiancé hadn't given his life for his country.'

‘Who was it who broke Miss Zilla's heart?' Mirabel knew that it was dangerous to pursue the subject but she could not let the matter rest.

‘It's none of my business. You made that quite clear, Miss Mabel. Be careful, that's all I have to say to you.' Miss Standish moved to the door. ‘As you are still the parlourmaid you must see me out.'

Mirabel obeyed her in silence, uncomfortably aware that she had allowed the conversation to stray onto dangerous ground. No doubt there was an element of truth in Miss Standish's story, and it was a sad tale, but also one of triumph over adversity. Zilla had known tragedy but had survived to become a wealthy woman who commanded respect from all who knew her. For a few painful moments Mirabel had suspected Jack of being the one who had treated Zilla so cruelly; then commonsense reasserted itself, convincing her that the pair would not be on such good terms now had he been the villain of the piece.

Gertie's warning had been timely. Emily Standish was undoubtedly a bitter woman, intent on making mischief and she was adept in gaining the trust of her clients. Confidences exchanged in private might easily be passed on to her other clients, and Mirabel knew from experience that the well-to-do ladies who helped in the soup kitchen liked nothing better than to sit and gossip over a cup of tea when their work was done. Should the tittle-tattle reach Cutler's Castle, Ernestine would take grim pleasure in the knowledge that her stepdaughter was reduced to working in a brothel. Wiley would be jubilant, and if it came to his notice that she was being paid to be a companion to a wealthy, well-respected man, there was no knowing what mischief he might try to make.

On her afternoon off Mirabel decided to visit the soup kitchen. She was, of course, under no obligation to the charity, but she felt that she owed Adela an explanation. She arrived to find her seated at her usual table poring over the neat entries in a ledger. ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Hamilton. I've come to apologise for my absence, but I'm now in a position to offer my help.'

Adela looked up and her expression changed subtly. ‘We have a full complement today, Miss Cutler. Your assistance is not needed.'

As far as Mirabel could see there were only two women working in the kitchen. ‘I'm really sorry that I had to leave without telling you,' she began tentatively.

‘We've managed very well, thank you, Mirabel.' Adela averted her gaze, seemingly bent on studying the figures in the ledger.

‘I could still come once a week.'

Adela looked up, unsmiling. ‘I don't think you are a suitable person to associate with my ladies.'

‘You know that I've had to move out of my father's house?'

‘I've heard that you're living in Tenter Street. Is it true?'

‘Yes, but . . .'

‘Then I'm sorry but I have no further use for you. My ladies would not tolerate working with someone who lives in a house of ill repute.'

‘But I'm just a parlourmaid, Mrs Hamilton. Captain Starke introduced me to Miss Grace and I had nowhere else to go.'

‘Jack Starke.' Adela threw up her hands. ‘I might have guessed that libertine was involved in your downfall.'

‘I beg your pardon, ma'am, but I am as respectable a person as I ever was.'

‘Nevertheless, you are tainted by association and it won't do.' Adela rose to her feet. ‘I'm sorry, Mirabel. I believe you were a victim of circumstance, but you must see that I have a position to keep up. Your services are no longer needed. I can't put it any plainer than that. Good day to you.' She marched into the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

Shocked and angry, Mirabel stood for a moment staring at the closed door. She was excluded once again, and through no fault of her own.

In the weeks that followed Mirabel did her best to put her old life behind her. She did more than her fair share of the work in Tenter Street, and she looked forward to Hubert's visits. Although she enjoyed the evenings they spent together, she suspected that these pleasant interludes would come to an abrupt end should he discover how her father had won his fortune. Wiley's threats hung over her like the sword of Damocles. It might be impossible for him to prove that Jacob had murdered Cyrus Pendleton, but if he made his knowledge public the damage would have been done. Hubert was an honourable man, she knew that already, and she doubted whether he would want to associate with the daughter of a murderer.

She had tried to forget Adela Hamilton's caustic words, but they came back to haunt her at night when she lay down to sleep, and in rare quiet moments during the day. The house rarely came to life before noon, enabling Mirabel and the chambermaids to do their work unhindered. Zilla rose from her bed midmorning and Mirabel had the task of taking her a pot of strong coffee, which she drank without the addition of milk or sugar. The chore of carrying ewers of hot water from the kitchen to fill the zinc bathtub in Zilla's dressing room was given to Lizzie, but Mirabel often chose to help her. She was on her way downstairs with an empty pitcher one morning when the doorbell rang.