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He shook his head, despite the thought flitting into his mind that it would be a novelty to take tea with a beautiful woman like this one. In his busy life, he rarely had time to do more than squire his sister to the events where she wished for a male escort.
“Will your sister be anxious that you’re gone so long?”
He jerked his head up, surprised at such a reasonable question. In her fashionable, figure-hugging princess-line polonaise, she could have been anyone his sister associated with. Her accents, too, were polished. Yet, she was no one his sister could ever know. This woman had traded that right by choosing vice and its ill-gotten gains over respectability.
“I’m afraid she will.” He sighed. “I’d just stepped out of the carriage to investigate a hold-up in the traffic, when the thief dashed past and opportunistically made off with the bonnet which my sister had just removed. Of course, I took off after her.”
“A man of ungovernable passions, by the sound of things.”
Through narrowed eyes, he took in her gentle humour.
She was smiling at him. “I sense that you’ve never been in a house like this, and you’re uncomfortable. Yet your actions suggest you are prone to acting on impulse, nevertheless.” She raised an elegant hand when he opened his mouth to protest. “I’m not about to make any offers, have no fear of that, Mr…?” She looked at him inquiringly.
“McTavish.”
“And I am Celeste. And here is Madame Chambon with, it would appear, the person who is responsible for abducting your sister’s bonnet.” With an incline of her elegantly coiffured dark head, she withdrew from the room.
And Hamish found himself face to face with the large-bosomed, fearsome red-headed Madame of the establishment, whose grip upon the elbow of a bedraggled creature reassured him she would not be escaping justice. Lucy’s pink-ribboned bonnet dangled from her hand.
“Mr McTavish, I am sorry for the ills you and your sister have suffered this afternoon.” She huffed out a breath and gave the personage a shake. “I found her hiding in the cupboard beneath the stairs. This is yours, I take it.”
Madame Chambon relieved the person of the bonnet and handed it to Hamish. “Rest assured she will be punished. Unless you would like to hand her over to the police, personally?”
With Lucy’s bonnet safely in his possession, and the embarrassment of his surroundings weighing upon him, not to mention the amount of time he’d been absent, Hamish shook his head.
He stared at the girl. Her face had a greyish hue to it, which he recognised from the malnourished poor he’d had occasion to administer to when they’d come to him asking for dispensation or favours. He was generally sympathetic to those who had so little, but he nevertheless had stern words for the girl.
“Hard work will be rewarded, but theft cannot be condoned,” he said, frowning. “I’m sorry for your poverty, but it does not give you license to take what does not belong to you.”
The young woman gave a slight toss of her head as she said proudly, “The bonnet was about to drop to the ground, sir. I merely snatched it up for safekeeping.”
The effect of her performance was incongruous. She was like a shopgirl—no, a gin-sodden slattern for no shopgirl would present herself with the dirt ingrained in her skin and her hair in greasy strands—trying to imitate a duchess.
Hamish was still trying to reconcile the modulated syllables that spilled from her mouth when Madame Chambon stepped forward. “I trust Celeste offered you refreshment, Mr McTavish?”
“She did, thank you.” He was impatient, anxious to leave.
Madame cleared her throat. “You did not wish to…” she hesitated, her smile cloying, “spend a little time in her company?”
Horrified, Hamish shook his head then immediately added, for fear of causing offence, “Celeste was charming, but I…no.”
“Perhaps you are not so fond of brunettes.” A thoughtful frown creased the woman’s forehead. She was still clutching the arm of the thief, and now she pushed the creature in front of him. “Celeste’s composure can be intimidating, I agree. Perhaps you prefer to…dominate.”
Hamish tried to hide his horror
while his nostrils quivered with disgust. “No, I would never…” He checked himself. “I must go.”
“So, you do not care what becomes of the baggage?
Half-turning, Hamish sent a distracted look at the young woman. Her earlier dignity had deserted her, and now her frightened eyes looked much too large for her pinched face, and her mouth trembled.
“I’m happy to spare her prosecution, if that’s what you mean?”
“Please, sir!” The young woman put out her hand suddenly, and Hamish stepped back. “Please…help me.” She dropped her hand, and Hamish looked at her, in shock and surprise, before Madame laughed and said, “These thieving rings grow more brazen by the day. Listen to how she’s refined her accents for her pretty pleas.” She sighed. “I think they are lost on a kind sir who has exhausted his charity for one day, girl. Good day to you, Mr McTavish. It’s always a pleasure to assist handsome young men.” Madame began walking him up the passage, still grasping the young woman by the arm. “You know where to find us.”
* * *
Hamish stepped onto the street from a side entrance feeling lightheaded and disoriented by the bright sunlight.
