When Angels Fall (39 page)

“Have ye a halfpence to spare, miss?” A wizened hag held out her palm.

Lissa’s gaze darted to the cabs. Inching back from the woman, she explained, “I haven’t. I’m sorry. My purse was just stolen from me.”

The hag frowned in sympathy. “Oeeeii, ain’t that a shame!” She moved forward, her hand still out. “But
surely you’ve got a little bit tucked away somewhere else, miss. I just want a halfpence . . .”

Lissa stumbled back into a hansom. She did have a few coins tucked in her satchel, but now those few pennies were very precious to her. She most definitely couldn’t afford to give any to this woman. As it was she wondered how she would get along on the meager funds she had left.

The hag pressed forward again and then Lissa didn’t know to what to do. She’d never dealt with beggars. Nodding Knoll hadn’t any beggars. She didn’t know what would put this woman off.

“Move along, Deara, you’re hurtin’ the business.” A man’s annoyed voice sounded from on top of the hansom Lissa was pressed against. Lissa turned her head and the driver was scowling at the woman. He wore a black frock coat and a full gray beard, but even his somber appearance couldn’t diminish the Irish sparkle of his clear periwinkle eyes.

“Jack! You son of a cur! And you’re hurtin’ mine!” Deara spat into the tall wheels of the cab.

The driver ignored Deara’s foul gesture. He got down from his seat, then tipped his top hat to Lissa. He opened the door for her and held out his hand for her satchel. “Get in, miss, and we’ll be off. That’s the only way ta get rid o’ the likes of her!” He nodded his head distastefully in Deara’s direction.

Lissa looked at the driver. She desperately wanted to get into the cab, but with her purse gone, along with Mrs. Parks’s directions, she now didn’t have the least idea where the hansom should take her.

“O’Hurley’s the name, miss. Where ya be goin’ today?” the driver asked.

“I’m—I’m not sure.”

“Was someone ta meet you then?” O’Hurley already looked disappointed over the loss of his fare.

“No, it’s just that my purse was stolen. Right over
there.” Lissa pointed to the wall of the station. “Now I haven’t the name of the hotel that was recommended to me.”

“Nor the coins for a cab, I think.” Disappointed, O’Hurley remounted his hansom. Even Deara wandered off to beg from another passenger.

“Mr. O’Hurley, I don’t know anyone in London.”

Lissa reached into her satchel and dug out the last few coins she had left. “Would you please tell me where I could find a room?”

O’Hurley looked down at her. Though his face remained irritated, he suddenly seemed touched by her plight. His faded blue eyes softened when he analyzed her meager funds. They softened even more when his gaze rested on her beautiful, frightened face.

“Where ya come from, miss?” he finally asked her.

“Nodding Knoll, sir.”

“Well, I want ta give you a bit o’ advice. Take those pennies you have left and buy a ticket back ta Noddin’ Knoll. London is no place for the likes o’ you.”

Lissa cast her gaze downward. Nodding Knoll had never looked so good. She was almost tempted to do just what he suggested.

But then she thought of Ivan.

“I can’t go back, Mr. O’Hurley. I just can’t.” She raised her eyes again and said, “Please won’t you tell me where I might stay?”

O’Hurley, now thoroughly disgruntled, visually counted up her funds. He then shook his head. “The only room you could get with those coins, miss, is a room in St. Giles-in-the-Fields.”

“St. Giles? Where is that?”

“Ya
can’t
stay there, miss. Do ya know what goes on in St. Giles-in-the-Fields? Now take those coins and get yarself back ta Noddin’ Knoll.” O’Hurley began studying the hansom in front of him as if, by taking his eyes off her, she might just go away.

Obviously she wasn’t going to get any more help from him. Lissa put her coins back into her satchel and murmured, “Thank you very much for your assistance, Mr. O’Hurley. I’m sorry I took so much of your time. I’ll inquire about a place to stay with someone else.” She began to walk away, but for some reason whatever she said seemed to stir O’Hurley into action. He called to her and she walked back to his cab.

“Listen, miss,” he began, “if yar goin’ ta be so stubborn as ta stay here in London, the Bell and Garter ain’t so awful. In fact, I go there meself every now and then for a mug o’ stout.”

“Oh, thank you!” Her eyes turned brilliant with new-found hope. “Will I find this place in that St. Giles you were speaking of? Is it within walking distance?”

O’Hurley looked uncomfortable, as if he wasn’t at all used to being charitable. “Well, ya head down Tottenham Court Road—of course, leaving the station ya take New Road—St. Giles is at the east end of Oxford Street—” He looked down and read the utter confusion on her face. He then scowled. “Oh, get in.
I’ll
take ya.”

Lissa looked hesitant. “I’d like to, but I’m afraid you were right. I really can’t afford to take a cab.”

O’Hurley’s scowl deepened. “Go on, get in. I wouldn’t have made a fare no matter, for I was just about ta head out for the day. And don’t it confound all but I’ve a sudden thirst for some stout from the Bell and Garter.”

She looked up at him, a smile of gratitude on her lips. But knowing that her thanks would only irritate him further, she mutely climbed into the open carriage. When he heard the door shut, O’Hurley cursed heartily at himself and headed out of Euston through the great Doric Gateway.

The Bell and Garter was not what Lissa had expected. It was a ramshackle half-timbered structure almost three
hundred years old with a huge yard to the rear for carriages. The inn sat on the east side of Charlotte Street, and much to Lissa’s embarrassment, its sign was a painting of a rusty iron bell, artfully wrapped with a multitude of ladies’ silk garters.

O’Hurley seemed to know a fair number of the inn’s patrons, for when they pulled up several men leaving the yard called in greeting. By the time he had dismounted and opened the door, a small crowd had gathered around.

For some reason Lissa, even in her drab little costume, appeared to be an oddity. It was as if they had never seen a lady before or, at least, not in a very long while. A tingle of apprehension went down her spine as she felt the men’s eyes on her like a pack of winter-starved wolves. As if instinctively knowing it would only offer encouragement, she refused to even look at the men, and she stepped nearer O’Hurley’s side.

“Jack! Haven’t seen you since you lost your arse on Stir-Up Sunday! Come to win it back in a game of craps, have you?” She watched as a tall, thin, aging man who appeared to be the ostler stepped from the gathering. He wore a dingy apron. His trousers looked almost like leggings for they buttoned down each side from waist to ankle.

“Sly! Ya old dog!” O’Hurley smiled wryly at the innkeeper. “Ya won’t get me again! The last time I threw the dice I almost found meself in Newgate for me troubles.”

“Well, you’re welcome anytime, Jack!”

O’Hurley rolled his eyes.

Suddenly the ostler seemed to notice Lissa. For some reason he appeared affronted. He turned to O’Hurley and said, “What have you got here, Jack? You bring your own tart when my girls are—?”

O’Hurley cut him off by waving his hands. He shot Lissa an apologetic glance, then he lowered his voice. “Not so, Sly. This is Miss—ah, Miss—?”

“Alcester,” Lissa volunteered, her face pink from em
barrassment. She knew what a tart was, all right. She’d been called one often enough. Still, she wasn’t sure what the innkeeper had meant by “his girls.”

“You see, Sly,” O’Hurley continued, “I picked Miss Alcester up at Euston. Her purse was stolen. She just came down from Noddin’ Knoll and doesn’t have too many friends here ta put her up, so I knew ya’d be able ta accommodate her on what funds she has left.”

The ostler gave her an appreciative glance. It was so shockingly thorough, she found herself stepping back.

He opened his mouth to respond but O’Hurley wouldn’t let him. He said, “I know what ya’re thinkin’, Sly, so just scrub out that mind o’ yours. Miss Alcester’s a good girl, and she won’t be working for the likes of you. All she wants is a cheap room.”

“And since when have you been the one to help foundlings who come in at the station?” Sly asked.

“I don’t.” O’Hurley scowled. “But seein’ as how she’s here, I think ya can give her a room. After all, for the coins I’ve lost ta ya in craps, I ought to own one o’ them rooms by now.”

The ostler laughed and slapped Jack on the back. “And wouldn’t you like that fine!”

O’Hurley’s whiskered mouth twitched in embarrassment, but he picked up her satchel and walked toward the black battened door that was the entrance to the inn.

Lissa followed, utterly confused.

“What’s the girl’s room ta be, Sly?” O’Hurley asked when they entered the common room. It smelled of stale hops and even staler cigar smoke, but the bar was well polished and the floor swept clean. She reassured herself that that was a good sign. What was not a good sign was the fact that at this time of the morning only a few patrons were about, and oddly enough, most of them were women who either sat boredly shuffling dog-eared cards or joking with the handsome barkeep. Suddenly all her worries con
gealed into a dread, unspeakable thought. With it, everything was beginning to make sense.

“Number Three, Jack.” From a counter beneath the wainscotted stairs, Sly threw O’Hurley a rusty iron key. Lissa followed her benefactor up the stairs to her room.

Number Three’s only charm was the fact that it was clean. The floorboards were waxed and the linens fresh and white. However, the whitewash was gone along with the plaster in several places and the only chair in the room looked as if a sparrow could knock it to the floor. There were two pegs above the bed where she could hang her clothes.

O’Hurley dropped her satchel next to the bed. He watched her as she peered out the only window, a grim set to her mouth.

“That’s Leviticus Cemetery. Jews are buried there, just like in Whitechapel,” O’Hurley told her.

She studied the huge, crumbling mausoleums and shivered, then immediately turned from the mullions. “No ghosts, I hope,” she said, the whisper of a smile on her lips.

“No ghosts.” O’Hurley laughed. “At least none that I’ve heard o’.”

Lissa walked up to him. “Thank you. You’ve really been too kind.”

Immediately O’Hurley looked uncomfortable. He stepped back into the hall and, for the first time, removed his top hat. “Get a good job, miss, and don’t let Sylvester suck ya inta doing his kind o’ work.”

She now understood perfectly what he was telling her. Sly’s girls were unrepentant Magdalenes. And here she was right in the midst of them with nowhere else to go. But nonetheless, she was going to make the best of it. With the last pennies from her satchel, she had paid for her room for a week. When that week was out, she’d be on to greener pastures.

She nodded her head, assuring him. “I’ll be looking
for a governess position tomorrow.” Ruefully she thought of the references Mrs. Parks had given her. Those that were in her purse.

“See that ya do.” O’Hurley nodded. With nothing more to say, he stomped down the stairs.

She closed the door behind him. Instinctively she went to the key lying next to her satchel and locked the door.

Unpacking her bag took almost no time at all for she hadn’t brought much. She had another wool gown, some underclothing, her hairbrush. And the Worth gown.

Gently she unpacked it from the bottom of her bag. She shook it out and, in dismay, she surveyed the damage. It was hopelessly wrinkled, but the wrinkles could be ironed. The tatters at the hemline were another matter altogether. Though the rips were physical proof of her attempt to save herself from Ivan’s clutches, that proof would do her no good now. More than ever she needed to sell the gown.

After hanging it on a peg, she ran her hands lovingly over the rose-colored satin. She knew she should go out right away and try to sell it. But somehow now she was too disheartened to do it. She knew she would have to part with it eventually, and she would, when the time came. But not now. Not today.

Drained, she moved to the bed and curled up on it, not even bothering to remove her shoes or crinoline. Feeling incredibly lonely, she hugged the pillow to her breast. She tried to make plans for tomorrow, but soon her solitude led her down paths she didn’t want to follow. She didn’t want to return to Nodding Knoll; she didn’t want to return to Ivan. Now suddenly she could think of nothing else.

In disgust, she tossed on her bed and stared morosely through the soot-covered window. Beyond she saw the crumbling mausoleums, and soon she almost wished that
ghosts did inhabit the graveyard, for surely even they would be better company than her terrible thoughts of Ivan.

By the end of her week at the Bell and Garter, Lissa was not even close to finding a position as a governess. She’d found many families in need of one, but they always wanted references in Nodding Knoll. While she was able to offer Mrs. Parks and the Bishops as references, she was always a little afraid that somehow the gossip about her would find its way to London and destroy her chances for a position. Worse than that, however, was the wait. Most told her they would check on her and she would have word in a fortnight or so, which seemed an interminable amount of time.