“Annie, shush,” Bethlyn warned, and hoped that no one had heard the girl. “Are you well cared for? Where are you living?”
“I’ve a room near the market. I’m eating fine, I suppose, but the money from selling fish ain’t as good as the money I made before — but I never liked that other life.”
Poor child, Bethlyn thought, to be so young and having to make her way alone in the world like this. Perhaps there was something she could do for her.
“Can I get anything for you, Annie? Do you need some money?”
Annie became thoughtful. “I could always use some money, Miss Beth, because then I could pay the leech and get some medicine for Pearl.”
“You still keep in touch with Pearl?”
“We been staying together, trying to make a new life. She had a job at a pub, but she got awful sick last week and ain’t been able to work. We ain’t got enough money to buy the medicine.” Annie lifted her hands in a gesture of helplessness, and her voice quivered. “I’m feared Pearl’s going to die and leave me alone, Miss Beth.”
Pity clutched at Bethlyn’s heartstrings for this child and her valiant attempt to put her past behind her and care for her friend. “Take me to Pearl.”
“Oh, I can’t. I’d lose my job here if I leave,” Annie protested, her strawberry locks bouncing around her red and chapped cheeks.
“From what I can see, this isn’t much of a job. Don’t worry, Annie, I’ll make certain you get a much better position. Now, come along. I want to see Pearl.”
Annie looked disbelieving, but she left her job, much to the aggravation of her employer, and got into the carriage with Bethlyn,
“My, but this is grand,” Annie exclaimed with wide eyes. “Are you able to afford this by whoring?” she whispered to Bethlyn.
Bethlyn laughed, not offended by Annie’s remark. “No, dear, I’m married to a wealthy man. My husband’s name is Ian Briston, and I no longer call myself Beth, but Bethlyn. In fact, I was never a doxy.”
“Pearl told me she didn’t think you were. You weren’t like the rest of us. That nasty Della didn’t like you too much. I’ve seen Della parading down the street once with a British soldier. She had on real silk and the prettiest pair of shoes I ever did see. Her hair was all done up, too. I told her hello, but she pretended not to see me.” Annie sniffed the air disdainfully. “I guess she’s too grand now for the likes of me, but even in her pretty clothes, Della will always be a doxy.”
“You know, Annie, I believe you’re right.”
The two of them dissolved into giggles. When the carriage halted at Annie’s boardinghouse, Bethlyn immediately noticed it was in a rough section of town. Seedy looking characters and heavily rouged women lined the streets and alleyways. Some of the people stared at her like she was a leper, and more than one pair of shifty eyes took a more than passing interest in her purse.
The stench inside the boardinghouse nearly choked Bethlyn as they made their way up a flight of stairs to a doorway which led to a small alcove-type room. On a cot Bethlyn discerned the figure of Pearl, covered by a thin, moth-eaten blanket, a vain attempt to ward off the cold.
“Look who I brought,” Annie said, and went to Pearl’s side.
Pearl lifted sick eyes to Bethlyn, and it took some seconds before recognition dawned. “Well, my goodness, what a fine lady you are, miss.”
Pearl tried to rise, but Bethlyn moved to her side and gently pushed her back on the cot. “I met Annie at the market, and she told me you were ill. I’d like to help you if I may.”
“Aw now, ain’t that kind of you, miss, but we can manage somehow. No needs to bother a lady like yourself.”
“I insist on helping you,” Bethlyn said, a note of persistence in her tone. She glanced around the small, poorly furnished room. “First thing to do is move you to better surroundings.” Turning to Annie, she ordered her to fetch the driver and to then gather their things.
“Where are we going, miss?” Annie asked, biting at her lower lip, seeming almost a bit puzzled and frightened by this sudden change in her life.
“We’re going to Edgecomb.”
~ ~ ~
After settling Pearl and Annie in the servants’ wing and sending for a physician to care for Pearl, Bethlyn joined Molly in the parlor for a cup of tea. She knew this respite would be short-lived, because she must oversee the preparations in the kitchen and still dress before guests began arriving for the Christmas Eve party that night. Sipping her tea she watched as some of the servants dusted the furniture and tied red ribbons around the marbled pillars in the foyer while others bustled in and out of the dining room and parlor.
“Sally told me we have new servants,” Molly said.
“Yes, I’ve decided that Sally needs some help with the washing and the pressing. Annie can help with that, and Pearl, when she’s well, can help cook.”
Molly nodded in an absent fashion, and Bethlyn realized that she probably hadn’t even heard her.
“You seem rather glum considering that in a few hours this house will be filled with guests.” Bethlyn reached for Molly’s hand. “Is something wrong?” she asked in concern.
Molly’s eyes clouded with tears. ‘‘I’m so unhappy, and I don’t know what to do. Hans may be transferred to New York, and I’ll never seem him again. I couldn’t bear to be separated from him.” Her voice caught, and she gave a tiny sob.
Bethlyn didn’t know what to say. She’d never met Hans, but somehow she knew he was a decent man despite his German mercenary status. Molly loved him and that was reason enough to believe the man was honorable. However, she thought his transfer might be the best for all of them. Ian would never accept Hans as Molly’s choice. Perhaps the separation would be a blessing for Molly, Her face always possessed a faraway look, her eyes dreamy with thoughts of Hans. Luckily Ian had been too busy with business matters lately to notice his sister’s preoccupation. Once Hans departed Philadelphia then Molly would be forced to socialize more and maybe she’d meet someone else.
“Molly, you’re very young. I know this hurts you, and I feel for you, truly I do, but you’ve hardly had the chance to try your wings with other young men, to flirt. I can tell you from experience that flirting can be very nice.” Bethlyn smiled at her.
Molly shook her head in disgust. “I’m not a flirt like that horrid Peggy Shippen, nor do I want to be. I want to marry Hans and have his children. I … want … to be a wife. Can you understand?”
Bethlyn understood very well, and her heart went out to Molly. “Yes, I know how you feel.”
Molly nodded, her curls bouncing atop her head. “Good, so you can smooth things over tonight with Ian before the guests begin to arrive. I’ve invited Hans to the party to meet him. Once Ian sees how much we love each other, he’ll approve of Hans and not believe me to be a child who needs coddling.”
Bethlyn suppressed a groan at this news and gave Molly a considering look. “I hope you don’t intend to do anything ill-advised if Ian and Hans don’t get along.”
“Whatever do you mean?” Molly asked innocently.
Bethlyn meant an elopement, but since Molly apparently hadn’t thought of the idea, she wouldn’t mention it, either. “Never mind,” she said, and stood up. “I’m certain Ian and Hans will like each other very much.”
Heading towards the kitchen, Bethlyn didn’t think they would.
~ ~ ~
Shortly before the guests arrived, Bethlyn was already dressed in a royal blue velvet gown, her hair atop her head, and a long, swirling curl hung enticingly over her milky white shoulders. She quickly informed Ian about Molly and Hans while he dressed, not missing the arch of his brow or the subsequent frown which followed. He didn’t say a word to her when she’d finished; he couldn’t, in fact, because the first of their guests began arriving. But she could tell he was displeased and a bit uneasy at the idea that his sister wanted to marry a Hessian officer, and she knew the reasons why. Politics and Captain Hawk.
Splendidly attired people milled about the festively decorated rooms, laughing and talking. The scarlet uniforms of many British soldiers were very visible in the throng, and soon General Howe arrived with John Andre by his side. The general made glowing comments about Bethlyn’s loveliness, and Andre was only too quick to agree. Ian stood beside her, the polite host, the seemingly loyal subject of the king, as Howe commented on the sudden inactivity of Captain Hawk.
“The bounder must have come to his senses and realized he’ll never win, just as Washington will after this winter is over and his ragtag band is reduced from the cold and starvation,” Howe commented and proposed a toast to a British victory.
Ian agreed and lifted his glass with what Bethlyn perceived as perverted pleasure in his eyes.
Soon Peggy Shippen swept Bethlyn away to discuss the latest fashions, to play the coquette with John Andre. The whole time, Bethlyn watched the doorway for Molly’s beloved, sensing Molly’s impatience. The girl was so much in love that Bethlyn hurt for her, fearing the outcome of the meeting between Ian and Hans.
Her thoughts didn’t dwell on this much longer when Marc and Mavis arrived. She delighted in seeing her childhood friend, not having seen her in weeks, surprised at how fast she progressed in her pregnancy. Envy pricked at Bethlyn, She wanted a child so much, but again this month she’d been disappointed. Ian had been so gentle and understanding when a tear slipped from her eye as she told him that this month she again hadn’t conceived. “Next month,” he had said, and she wanted desperately to believe him.
Cynthia, however, arrived in a swath of silk and lace, her British officer, who was now her husband, by her side. Her face glowed with love and true happiness, and Bethlyn decided that she was glad Ian had had Cynthia’s companionship, no longer jealous of a woman whom she considered her friend.
Still, Hans hadn’t arrived. Molly paced the foyer, forgetting everyone else. Bethlyn tried to persuade her to give up her vigil and join the party, but Molly refused. As she was about to rejoin her guests in the parlor, a knock sounded on the door. Molly waited expectantly as a servant opened it, but her face fell in disappointment while Bethlyn’s mouth dropped open in mute surprise when Della entered her home.
Into the foyer stepped Lieutenant Holmes, the rake who’d attacked her in the garden at the Shippen House, and on his arm hung Della, attired in a flowing black velvet cape trimmed in red fox, which she removed to expose her ample bosom, covered by her fashionable red satin gown. She fingered the double strand of expensive pearls at her neck, exceedingly pleased at Bethlyn’s reaction to see her again.
Holmes had the grace to flush as he introduced his companion to Bethlyn and Molly, the humiliating incident with Ian in the garden still vivid in his memory.
Bethlyn composed herself and gritted her teeth. She and Ian had invited Holmes, as much as they disliked him, and all the staff, to bring an escort. But Della?
“How do you do?” Bethlyn inquired in cold civility.
“I do very well, thank you. Now, don’t pretend you don’t recognize me, Mrs. Briston.”
“I didn’t know you and Mrs. Briston were acquainted,” Holmes said.
“We met a while ago,” Della told him, a malicious smile splitting her lips.
Retaining her composure, Bethlyn managed to tell them to enjoy themselves, making her way into the parlor on unsteady feet. Della in her house! Dear God! She searched for Ian, finding him standing by the fireplace with General Howe, and she smothered a groan. What if the woman mentioned that Ian Briston’s wife had been on
Nightingale
as Hawk’s lover. Heaven help all of them if she did.
Bethlyn rushed to Ian’s side, hoping to warn him of the potential danger that Della posed. Her eyes implored him. “I should like to speak with you alone,” she whispered when Howe turned to take a glass of champagne from a servant.
Ian started to excuse himself from the general, but suddenly Lieutenant Holmes and Della approached them. The only indication Bethlyn had that Ian might be concerned by the woman’s presence was the slight arch of an eyebrow.
Holmes introduced Della to Howe and then to Ian.
Bethlyn held her breath as Ian took her hand and inquired how she fared. Did she recognize his voice? Bethlyn decided that she didn’t, the soft gravelly voice of Captain Hawk quite unlike the melodious, deep tones of Ian Briston,
“Trammel,” Howe said to Della. “Did Holmes say your last name was Trammel?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could you be related to the Trammels from Bath? Sir Nigel Trammel? A fine fellow, has a huge house there with indoor plumbing.”
“No — no, sir.”
“Then you must be related to Lord Pinckney Trammel from Manchester.”
High spots of color suffused Della’s cheeks. “I ain’t, I mean I’m not a relation.”
Bethlyn almost felt sorry for Della’s discomfort. She wondered if Della even knew who her own father had been, much less if she might be related to the aristocracy. Howe let the matter slip after casting a probing eye at Della. Bethlyn’s sympathy for Della quickly evaporated when she began to openly flirt with Ian, forgetting Lieutenant Holmes who stood uneasily beside her.
Finally Howe suggested Ian and Holmes join him in a game of whist in the library. Ian’s parting glance to her contained confidence and sparked her courage a bit, but moments later when she’d have abandoned the woman to see to the needs of her guests, Della purposely blocked her path.