The Summer Bride (A Chance Sisters Romance) (28 page)

She’d learned that hard lesson from the Taylors, her first position. Two years she’d been with them, loving the little ones with all her hungry heart. Not thinking ahead. Never even considering that one day she’d be dismissed and never see the children again.

They lived in Jamaica now.

She would lose the Mason children now too, but she would not—could not—leave her sister alone in a London hotel—not after what she’d been through. Even if she hadn’t, if Jane had arrived in London unexpectedly, as she’d told
the Masons, they had six years to catch up on; Jane had been a child of twelve when Abby saw her last.

Jane.

She bent and kissed each sleeping child and hurried out to collect the cloak and shoes for her sister, adding a shawl to the bundle, just in case.

*   *   *

G
aslight had not yet reached the more sordid parts of the city. In the evening gloom the alleyway seemed more noisome and full of sinister shadows. Abby trod warily, counting the houses until she reached the high brick wall with the spiked wooden gate.

She stationed herself opposite the gate and waited, watching the windows like a hawk, noting every passing flicker of light, every shadow of movement. Was that Jane? Was that?

The time passed slowly. A distant clock chimed the hour. It was taking much longer than she’d expected. Had something gone wrong?

Something ran over her foot, a flicker of tiny damp claws and a slithery tail. She jumped, stifling a scream. She loathed rats.

She was concentrating so hard on the windows above that the scrape of the bolt on the gate opposite took her unawares and she jumped in fright.

The gate creaked open. A head peered out. “Abby?” A low whisper.

“Jane?”

A pale wraithlike shape slipped through the gap and then her sister was in her arms, clinging tightly, trembling, weeping and laughing. “Abby, oh, Abby!”

“Janey!” Tears blurred Abby’s vision as she hugged her little sister. Not so little anymore, she realized. Jane was as tall as Abby now. She hugged her tighter. “Jane, dearest! Are you all right? How did you come to be in London? I thought Hereford—”

A hard little finger poked her in the ribs. “Oy! We’re not
out of danger yet, y’know. Escape now, happy reunion later!” It was Daisy. “Now quick, where’s them shoes?”

“Of course.” Abby released Jane and as she stepped back her jaw dropped. Her sister was naked but for a thin chemise. “Good God, Jane, where are your clothes?” She pulled the cloak out and threw it around her shivering sister.

“It’s to stop us leaving,” Jane said between chattering teeth. “We can’t go into the streets dressed like this.”

Abby crouched to slip the shoes on Jane’s cold feet, which were filthy from the alley. She wiped them clean as best she could with a handkerchief, her hands shaking with rage and distress. For her sister to be kept in such an indecent state, without even clothes to keep her covered! And in such cold weather!

“Put this on as well.” She passed the shawl to Jane.

“No, Damaris can use it.”

“Damaris?” Abby glanced up and saw another girl hovering uncertainly outside the gate, shivering, her arms wrapped around herself. She too was scantily clothed, but unlike Jane, this girl looked exactly like a woman out of a brothel.

She wore a thin red-and-gold gauzy wrapper that barely reached past her thighs. Her dark hair was piled high, spiked into place with two sticks. Her face—clearly painted—was a dead white oval. Her lips and cheeks were garishly rouged, her eyelids had been darkened and the line of her eyes was elongated at the corners.

“Damaris is my friend.” Jane took Abby’s shawl and tucked it around the shivering girl. “She’s coming with us.”

Abby frowned. Take this painted brothel creature with them?

Jane saw Abby’s hesitation and put a protective arm around the other girl’s shoulders. “She has to come with us, Abby. She saved me. I owe her everything.”

“Come with us? But . . .” It was going to be difficult enough to smuggle Jane into the Mason residence, let alone this . . . this person.

“Damaris is the only reason I wasn’t raped,” Jane said urgently. “She has to come with us, Abby!”

Shocked, Abby stared at the garishly painted girl.
The
only reason Jane wasn’t raped?
Suddenly she didn’t care what Damaris looked like, how much paint she wore, how scandalous her clothing was, what her past was. Whatever she’d done before this moment, she’d saved Jane from rape.

Daisy shifted restlessly. “Goin’ to stand around all night talkin’?”

It jolted Abby to her senses. “No, of course not. Here, Damaris.” She unfastened her own cloak and wrapped the shivering girl in it. She tugged the hood up to conceal her face and hair.

Abby glanced down at Damaris’s narrow feet, pale against the dark mud of the alley. “I don’t have another pair of shoes, but here.” She passed Damaris her mittens. “Put them on your feet. It’s the best I can do.”

“Thank you,” Damaris said in a soft voice. “I don’t mean to be a burden.”

The girl’s gratitude made Abby ashamed of her earlier hesitation. “You’re not a burden,” she lied. “You helped my sister and for that I owe you. Besides, I wouldn’t want anyone to return to that horrid place.” They would manage. Somehow.

She turned to Daisy. “I cannot thank you enough for what you’ve done. I have a little money. It’s not much, but . . .” She proffered a small purse.

“I don’t want your money!” Daisy stepped back, offended.

“But you risked so much—”

“I didn’t do it for money. Anyway, I got me own money. Now, are you lot goin’ or not?”

Abby stepped forward and hugged her. “Thank you, Daisy.” Jane and Damaris hugged and thanked Daisy too; then, with whispered good-byes, they hurried down the alley.

Almost immediately Abby heard footsteps behind them. Had they been discovered? She whirled around. It was Daisy, carrying a small bundle.

“Are they Jane’s belongings?”

Daisy clutched the bundle tightly against her chest. “No, it’s me own bits. I’m getting out too.”

“You?” Abby exclaimed. “But why?”

“Mort’ll flay me alive when he finds out what I did.” She
must have noticed Abby’s hastily concealed dismay, because she added proudly, “Don’t worry about me, miss; I can look after meself. Now hurry! They’ll be out lookin’ for them girls any minute now. Valuable property, they are.”

Slip-sliding as fast as they could down the alley, the girls broke into a run as soon as they reached the street. They turned down the first corner, ran several blocks, turned another corner and kept running. When they had no more breath, they collapsed, panting, against some railings bordering a quiet garden.

A minute passed . . . two. . . . The only sound was their labored breathing. They watched the way they’d come, ready to flee at the first sign of any movement.

But no one came. Nobody was following them. They’d escaped.

“Right, I’ll be off then,” Daisy said gruffly when they’d caught their breath. “Good luck to you.”

But Abby couldn’t let her go like that. “Where will you go? Do you have family in London?”

“Nah, I’m a foundling.” She shrugged. “But don’t worry; I’ll find somewhere.” She went to push past them but Abby caught her by the sleeve.

“It’s my fault you’re in this situation—”

“Nah, I was going to leave anyway.” Daisy pulled her arm out of Abby’s grip.

“Abby!” Jane turned pleading eyes on her sister, but Abby didn’t need any prompting. If she could take a painted prostitute under her wing, she certainly wasn’t going to let this small heroine stump gallantly off into the night, alone and friendless. And bruised.

She took Daisy’s hand in a firm grip. “You’re coming with us, Daisy, for tonight at least. No, don’t argue. After all you’ve done for us there’s no way in the world I’m going to let you wander off in the dark with nowhere to go. Now come along; let’s get Jane and Damaris into the warmth.”

Anne Gracie
is the award-winning author of the Chance Sisters Romances, which include
The Spring Bride
,
The Winter Bride
and
The Autumn Bride
. She spent her childhood and youth on the move. The gypsy life taught her that humor and love are universal languages and that favorite books can take you home, wherever you are. Anne started her first novel while backpacking solo around the world, writing by hand in notebooks. Since then, her books have been translated into more than sixteen languages, and include Japanese manga editions. As well as writing, Anne promotes adult literacy, flings balls for her dog, enjoys her tangled garden and keeps bees. Visit her online at
www.annegracie.com.

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