Page 80 of The Marriage Method

The housekeeper and cook gaped at the girl with twin expressions of incredulity.

“It is.” Nell set a reassuring hand on Miss Brent’s thin shoulder. She gave it gentle squeeze. “I’ve been looking for you for several days, my dear.”

Miss Brent’s face cracked. “I didn’t have any fare to take the train. A woman at the station took my pocket money and my ticket, and she—”

“We know,” Nell said. “You have been exceptionally brave, and done so well on your own. But you’re not alone any longer. Miss Flite and I will take care of you now.”

Effie entered the kitchen, closing the door behind her. “The sooner we can get you out of Whitechapel the better,” she said. “It’s not safe for you here.”

Miss Brent instinctively drew closer to Nell. “Are you taking me to the charity school?”

Nell slipped a protective arm around her. “We are,” she promised. “But first you must speak with the police and tell them what happened with the woman at the railway station.”

“The police!” the housekeeper exclaimed in tones of horror.

“I was ever so hungry,” Miss Brent said. “And she had tea and cake from the refreshment stand. I didn’t see as how it would do any harm to—”

“We’ll speak about it later,” Nell said. “For now, Miss Flite is correct. We must go. But before we do—” She addressed the housekeeper. “I assume this young lady is owed three days’ wages?”

The housekeeper went rigid. “This person appears to be no young lady at all.”

“Yet she was working diligently enough when I entered the kitchen,” Nell said.

“I wouldn’t know,” the housekeeper sniffed. “You shall have to speak to the mistress about it.”

“We will.” Nell urged Miss Brent to the kitchen stairs. She’d been working here under false pretenses, it was true, but she’d still been working. Whatever she’d earned was hers to keep.

The cook scowled. “This is all very well, but what about supper?”

“I’ll send Polly down,” the housekeeper replied tersely. She followed Nell, Miss Brent, and Effie back up to the parlor where a shocked and appalled Mrs. Davenant made a tremendous show of doling out Miss Brent’s wages from her strongbox.

“An orphan girl,” she muttered as she counted the coins. “Upon my word.”

“I’m sorry I lied to you,” Miss Brent said, looking suitably chastened.

“And well you should be,” Mrs. Davenant retorted, handing her what she was owed. “Preying on my charitable instincts with a false name and a false history? Taking advantage of my kindness? For shame, child.”

Nell didn’t allow Miss Brent to linger, either to apologize again or to explain. It was already approaching six o’clock. Nell needed to get the girl to St. James’s Square. With a final word of thanks to Mrs. Davenant, Nell and Effie shepherded Miss Brent out the front door.

The sky was darker than the hour merited, storm clouds gathering to block out the sinking sun. Rain was imminent. Nell could smell the dampness of it saturating the crisp evening air as she headed down the street with Miss Brent.

Effie walked a length ahead of them. “Where is the dratted carriage?” she complained under her breath.

Nell searched for it along with her, scanning the crowded roadway.

There were even more people out than there had been when they’d entered Mrs. Davenant’s house. Street markets, it seemed, grew busier in the evenings. Some of the sellers were already setting out their naphtha lamps.

Nell continued on, Miss Brent safe under her arm and Effie several steps ahead. They were so focused on finding the carriage that none of them noticed the hulking brute of a man emerging from the shadowy alleyway until it was too late.

“If it isn’t my little hellcat,” he said. “Thought you could scratch me and get away with it, did you?”

Nell’s stomach dropped. Good lord. It was Silas!

He stepped in front of Nell and Miss Brent, as enormous a figure as Nell remembered him being at the brothel. The same angry scratch marred his brutal features.

Miss Brent recoiled in fear. “Miss Trewlove!”

Nell pushed the girl behind her. “Stay back,” she commanded. “I’ll handle this.”