“Yes, I…” His mouth numbed, hands stilled. “Millie…”
“Jack? I’ve never seen yer look so worried. What’s the matter?”
How to say it? What to tell her?
“Millie… Erm, I think I might’ve fallen in love.”
“Ooohhh!” The shriek was louder than a disgruntled peacock and a bundle of lavender cotton engulfed him. “Who is she? Is she pretty? Of course she’s pretty. Is she Cornish? A smuggler? Tell ole Millie all about it?” And she sat back with a huge grin.
“You’re not old,” he retorted.
“Old enough to be yer mother, dearie.”
“Which you are in all but blood, my precious Millie.”
“Oh, go on with yer.” But she blushed and grabbed a biscuit from the table.
One of Father’s discarded mistresses, Millie had never revealed her age and a gentleman was ever polite, but deep grooves to her eyes and brow spoke of a life hard and filled with pain.
Whilst Father had slept off his debauchery in Millie’s room, a far too young Jack had oft sat on the theatre steps twiddling his thumbs. Millie had noticed the lonely boy, fed him bread and butter, talked to him about plays and gifted him a set of marbles. He still had them.
As a dancer in the opera, she’d delighted the audience, fleet of foot and fair of face. Jack had thought her an angel.
Then one day, there’d been an argument, Father shouting, Millie crying. A clout, the stairs behind her, and she’d tumbled down them like a rag doll, landing at Jack’s feet.
Broken.
She’d never danced again.
Father had found new prey, and Millie had been tossed from the theatre without livelihood or recompense.
As soon as he’d been old enough, Jack had searched her out, finally finding… He closed his smarting eyes.
“Jack?”
“Old memories,” he merely murmured.
“Only useful if yer use ’em wisely,” she said, sharp but knowing. “Life ain’t gonna change in the theatre but I can use my memories to make sure the girls are safe here, whether it be from disease, cruel fists or strained ankles. The stage manager might think my job worthless, but luckily our handsome patron sees the benefits.” And she winked.
“Some flashy marquess with black hair and dark eyes? I think I might know him.” He winked back.
“So…” Millie budged near. “…where’s this beautiful girl of yours and when’s the wedding? Don’t fret, I’ll sit at the back – don’t want to embarrass yer.”
He thumbed his hatband. “Millie, I…I left her.”
“Where? At the shops?”
He cleared his throat. “In Cornwall.”
With hands aflutter, her brown eyes blinked. “Why in the name of The Beggar’s Opera would you do that?”
He looked away. “Milli–”
“Lawks a mussy, Jack, spit it out.”
“I thought…” He stood to pace, scarcely manging three steps before meeting the wall. “I’m too likehim, Millie, heartless, so I left, thought it for the best, but being apart is torture. I see her everywhere and I’ve never felt such…loss.”
Her rouged mouth hung open. “Yer dunderhead, whatever made you think you took after that old goat?”
