AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Not that she had other options.
This had to work. Ithadto.
Pen stepped up into the rear of the townhouse, walking along the main hallway, buried in the shadows. While the house Mrs. Flagton had rented was overly large, it was drab with very little light making its way inward. The interior cast a shadow of doom upon Pen whenever she was trapped inside. Luckily, Mrs. Flagton had her going on endless errands.
Trips to the drapers, buying fruit from costermongers, visiting the tea and confectionary shops, the hatter, and the shoemaker. Not to mention the long trek to the fish market for fresh fish they could not get in Belize.Mrs. Flagton hated to leave the house, while the trips outside had been Pen’s only saving grace in the last several weeks.
“Where have you been?”
Pen’s hand jerked out of her pocket, her fingers instinctively clasping together in front of her belly.
Percival, Mrs. Flagton’s son, stepped out of the study and moved in front of her, blocking her path down the corridor. He was good at that, creeping about and pouncing upon her.
Her lips pulled back in a strained smile. “Your mother requested that Ivisit the same fishmonger at Billingsgate Market that we got that flounder from last week. She wanted more, as she said it reminded her of her childhood in Portsmouth.”
Percival’s eyes travelled down her body and back up. Slowly. Leering. The man hadn’t matured past the fourteen-year-old lecher that liked to stroll into her bedroom when she was bathing. He was three years younger than her, but that hadn’t stopped him. If anything, it had emboldened him. He’d kept at it for weeks until his father beat him for it. That was the point at which she had been moved into Mrs. Flagton’s room. Not that she minded. She knew sleeping on the thin mattress in Mrs. Flagton’s room for all these years had kept her safe from Percival.
He cleared his throat. “Where is it?”
“The fish? His boy will deliver it to Cook later this afternoon. I got it for a good price, as requested.” It truly was fortunate she was so good with numbers and bartering or Mrs. Flagton would never let her leave the house.
The edge of his right lip twitched in a spasm. If he didn’t believe her, he wasn’t going to press her on it. “You’ve been going on my mother’s errands much of the time since we’ve been in London. Perhaps your chores would be faster if I accompanied you.”
“Do you not have too many meetings with the solicitors to be concerned with the menial tasks I do?”
“I can excuse myself.”
“Your mother wouldn’t like that.”
“My mother?” He scoffed. “There will come a day when you cannot hide behind my mother anymore, Penelope. That day is coming soon.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
His snarl shifted into a smirk. “The old bat isn’t well—or haven’t you noticed?”
She hadn’t noticed. Mrs. Flagton was the same as always. Stiff. Cold. Demanding. Righteous. But she’d kept her son’s hands off of Pen and that alone was worth it. Just like her dead husband, Mrs. Flagton was puritanical to her marrow, and she expected it out of everyone around her.
A shiver of ice ran down Pen’s spine. She thought she’d have more time. More time to escape this house. To escape Percival.
“And the first thing that will go when she dies is her opinions on me touching you.” He stepped forward as his hand lifted—slowly so as to not draw attention—his palm moving inward and upward to graze her breast.
Pen snatched his arm at the wrist, wrenching it away from her body before he made contact. “Then I’ll go—I’ll disappear.”
He snickered. “You’ve got nowhere to go. No one to run to. And the second you set foot out of this house I’ll send a constable after you—”
Her head snapped back. “You wouldn’t—for what? I’ve done nothing wrong.”
He snapped his arm away from her hold and leaned toward her, his slimy breath invading her pores. “For stealing my mother’s jewelry. That alone should get you the noose.”
Pen’s jaw dropped. This was new. He’d never threatened such a thing. He’d never dared.
Avoid.
Avoid him like she’d always done. Always been forced to.
“You must excuse me, your mother is expecting me.” Her head down, she shoved her way past him in the hall. Her hand unconsciously went down to clutch the tightly folded paper through her skirts.
It was something—even if it was only the slightest hope—it was something to hold on to.
