Page 18 of When We Touch

“Oh, m’lady!” cried a woman called Bess. “’Ow do we get our blokes to use ’em?”

“Insist,” Maggie said.

“ ’T’won’t be easy!” Katy said. “Why, Lordy! I never heard ’ow such a thing meself until this very day!”

“Believe me, they’ve been around for . . . well, for a very, very long time.”

Bess sniggered. “Wot if they don’t know ’ow to get ’em on!”

“Between you, you’ll figure it out,” she said dryly. “And neither is feeding more children an easy effort. Abortions can be deadly—especially those you try to bring upon yourselves, or those performed by many a supposed physician in these quarters,” she reminded them sharply. “Now, really! I’m certain most of you all are well aware of methods of prevention, and condoms—in some form or another—have been in use for more than a thousand years.”

She went on to talk about emptying chamber pots more frequently, and speak about the virtue—and good health—to be found in a modicum of cleanliness, though she knew that soap, as well, was a luxury these women could not afford. But though she had secured the condoms with what had been left of her own allowance, she had gotten Charles to provide the soap to be given away that day. She realized a little uneasily that she hadn’t told him a thing about her speech, and certainly hadn’t discussed condoms with him. It had been a Herculean task to bring the conversation regarding “precaution” to Father Vickers, but he, at least, during his time in the area, was aware that although such a discussion was a ghastly sin in a social arena, it made the utmost sense in the East End. She wasn’t sure which one of them had blushed more when they had first determined on the effort.

God told Adam to go out and be fruitful, but certainly, the “fruit” of the East End usually perished before it became anywhere near ripe.

“Thank you all for listening to me,” she said, finishing her speech. Nathan had once told her that what the poor often needed more than anything was simple respect. And so, she always thanked her audience, were they toothless, penniless, or even flat-out drunk with gin, lolling on the ground before her.

The women rushed toward her, thanking her, touching her. To this day, she had to grit her teeth to endure the stench and the creeping sensation that sometimes touched her flesh. But endure she did.

And when they began to filter away, eager for their handouts given to them by employed members of the parish, she walked back toward the side door of the church, where she knew that Mireau and Father Vickers would be waiting, watching, as they always did, when she spoke. Father Vickers always saw to it that some of the local police were about as well, for her protection, if need be. They came, she knew, even when they were off duty. She had been the wife of one of their own.

Yet that day, as she walked toward her friend and the good reverend, she was startled to see that a third man was with them.

Dismay filled her.

It was none other than Sir James.

He stood with his arms crossed over his chest, a greatcoat concealing whatever manner of dress he wore beneath, a deerstalker hat adding to his impression of dominant height. His eyes—an ever-changing gray, she now knew—were narrowed. Disapproving? No, out-and-out condemning.

Her heart fluttered.

What? Had he appointed himself her watchdog? Naturally, he would report her every movement to Charles. He was spying on her!

That last gave her the impetus to brave out the situation. Yet even as she mentally squared her shoulders and lengthened the determination of her steps, she felt weak in the knees, and knew that a flush was coming to her cheeks. Good God, the man had been listening to her talk about condoms!

“Sir James. What a surprise to see you here,” she said flatly.

He arched a brow, his mouth grim. And not a pleasant surprise at all, he seemed to imply in silence.

Aloud, he said, “You’re quite an amazement, my lady. Your knowledge and occupations seem to be limitless.”

She waved a hand in the air. “Sir Charles is very aware of the depth of the problems we face in society.” She longed to bite her lip. She owed him no explanations.

“Perhaps you won’t mind my seeing that you are out of the area safely. Father Vickers has been adding to my awareness of the dangers to be found here. If simple cutthroats, rapists, and thieves were not enough, it seems there may well be a madman on the loose.”

“I come here frequently. You might notice the number of policemen about.”

“Yes, and despite that number, you are surely more aware than most that murder occurs here with an appalling frequency,” he said.

“Seriously, Sir James,” Mireau tried, “the police have a special interest in Maggie.”

“Yes,” he returned to Mireau, his eyes remaining hard upon Maggie’s, “and still, it would comfort me greatly to see you both back to Mayfair.”

“My dear lady, it cannot hurt to have another strong protector at your side,” Father Vickers said nervously.

“I’m always quite willing to protect Maggie!” Mireau said, a trifle indignant. But he was aware, of course, that he was lean himself. Not quite skinny, of course, but lean. Sir Jamie was assessing him and they all knew it. And again, Maggie thought, his look was definitely one of skepticism, if not his usual gaze of contempt.

“As Father Vickers said, it doesn’t hurt for a lady to have a second protector in this area. Father, it’s been a delight to make your acquaintance,” Jamie said, and offered an arm to Maggie. “Shall we? Unless you’ve further business here. I’m more than willing to wait, if need be.”