Page 59 of A Sham Engagement

All three nodded, eyes wide.

“What d’you want to go there for?” asked the first girl, who appeared to be the oldest and their ringleader. “That’s not a nice place for a lady like you.”

“It’s a matter of life and death. I need to help Lord Broxbourne. Jack. My betrothed. He’s gone there on his own. Well, with only Benjamin Sharpe to keep him safe.”

The girl, the one with the mousey hair, set down her empty cup of cocoa and drew her fingers across her lips to wipe them. “Lord Jack? What’s he gorn there for? Has he gorn barmy in his old age?”

Elenora ignored the suggestion that Jack was old, even though it was what she had at first also thought. He’d ceased to be that a long time ago for her. “To rescue his son who’s been kidnapped by some terrible villains.”

The girls exchanged anxious glances, betraying no surprise that Jack possessed a child. “What d’you think you’re goin’ to do?” one of the other two, a younger girl with a good crop of spots, asked. “You’re a girl for a start, an’ you don’t know the rookeries like we do.”

Stupid question. “I want to help him, of course.”

“By doin’ what?” the first one put in, sounding incredulous. “A girl like you… goin’ to The One Tun…” She pulled a dismissive expression. “You don’t know what you’d be gettin’ yourself into, down there. Those streets aren’t for the likes o’ you.”

“I don’t s’pose you’ve ever been further than your own front door, or Rotten Row in Hyde Park, at the most.” This came from the third girl, smaller than the other two and sporting a decided squint that made her look shifty. Or perhaps she was shifty.

Elenora bristled. These girls clearly were taking a dim view of her abilities, no doubt due to her appearance. If only she’d been wearing her old clothes from Penworthy, although even they were much smarter than the girls’ workaday apparel. “I came here on foot from Portland Place, Lord Broxbourne’s house, quite safely.”

“Not on your own you didn’t,” the first girl said. “I saw you comin’ in orf the street. You was with his lordship. And anyways, these streets’re nothin’ like the Devil’s Acre.” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s he to you, then? You his doxy?”

This was not going as Elenora had envisaged. The girls sounded somewhat less than helpful. Aggressive, even, and this last felt like an insult. “He and I are engaged to be married.”

Eyebrows rose en masse.

“He’s got himself leg-shackled at last, has he?” The first girl gave a snort of laughter. “Well, if you’ve got him ready to be yoked, you’re to be admired. We didn’t none of us think we’d ever see the day.”

The little squinting girl leaned over to her friends. “She is very pretty.” Her hushed whisper carried.

Elenora looked from face to face. “Will one of you, or perhaps all of you, for safety’s sake, please take me to the tavern where Jack has gone? Please? I beg of you. He’s been gone too long, and I’m very worried.”

The first girl looked upwards at the ceiling. “Ma Sharpe’ll be mad with us if we do.”

Her two friends nodded.

A light glinted in the girl’s gray eyes. “But if we all go, that’d be four of us, countin’ her ladyship here. Ma can’t be mad with all of us at once, an’ she won’t be mad with’is lordship’s lady friend.” She grinned. “His intended.”

“And I’ll tell her I made you do it,” Elenora said, hoping she’d be given the chance to do so, and this wouldn’t be the last time she saw the house in Betterton Street and Martha Sharpe.

The three girls stood up as one, the first girl their spokesman. “We’ll do it, miss. Together. Because you’re marrying our Lord Jack. And because we want to help him like he’s helped us. Not one of us’d be here now if it weren’t for him.”

Her friends nodded.

Elenora held her hand out. “Thank you, but first we need to get to Jermyn Street and persuade my brothers to come with us. And I’m not a ‘her ladyship.’ My name is Elenora. Ellie, in fact, to my friends.”

The first girl took her hand and shook it with vigor. “Ivy’s my name, and these two’re Rosie and Peg.” She glanced upwards at the ceiling again. “We’d best get out of here now if we’re going to. Before Ma finishes gettin’ those little heathens upstairs to say their prayers. Can take her a while. Come on.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Jack covered the light on the lantern, just in case, and groped his way across the dirty yard he found himself in. Thank God for his top boots. His feet were sloshing through mud and… other detritus he didn’t like to try to identify. The smell was appalling. All around the yard, buildings leaned over it as though desperate for their sagging roofs to meet in the center. Something ran across his foot, using it as a stepping stone through the mud, and made him jump. A rat, or possibly a cat. It was gone before he could identify it. Thank goodness.

The dim light of a distant oil lamp illuminated the gateway that led out into the street where the tavern stood. That people lived in such squalid conditions horrified Jack, but he had to push that out of his head. He’d seen it all before, of course, but that didn’t prevent him being shocked to the core by it every time. By the iron spike of the lamp, a woman lounged, her skirts dragged up to her thighs to reveal blotchy skin above filthy, gartered stockings. “Want someone to give you a good time?” she wheedled. “Only a shillin’, milord.” She sounded very much the worse for wear.

Shaking his head, Jack looked past her toward the tavern door. It banged open on its ancient hinges, and a drunk came staggering out to lean up against the opposite building where he let flow a stream of steaming urine. Where were Warren and Benjamin? Had he missed them? Surely Warren would have gone to inform Reuben Sharpe of his mission before leaving the alehouse? Not that Sharpe could accompany him. Jack doubted if the man could walk six feet in his condition.

Jack slunk into a shadowy recess and waited. The woman by the lamp post heaved a sigh and moved off into the fog, her halting footsteps echoing through the night. Josie’s pinched little face danced before his eyes. At least he’d saved the girls at Mrs. Sharpe’s from a similar fate to that poor woman’s.

He didn’t have long to wait. Only half a minute later, Warren and Benjamin emerged from the tavern, the boy carrying another lantern. Without a second glance, Warren headed straight toward Jack, who had to flatten himself back into the shadows, glad he’d hidden his own lantern’s light. They passed within six feet of him, oblivious to his presence.