Beginning, Previous Section, Section III, Next Section
Mr. Morgan was nonplussed by the sight of the Callahan carriage standing in the middle of the road, exactly where Georgiana had left it. After inspecting it thoroughly, he said,
"It will take some work. The axle is broken." He looked her up and down and sighed resignedly. "Where is your driver?" Georgiana pointed to the tavern across the street. "May I ask what your plan was, to leave these things here while you wandered around London by yourself?"
"To find a hack," she replied quietly, looking firmly at the ground.
"Well, we'll see about the carriage, first. If we can somehow repair it, we can always steal a horse or two later."
"I should hope not!" she exclaimed, looking up at him in shock. He grinned and winked at her, and she finally understood. She smiled. "Why do we not simply steal a carriage?"
"Because we would have to travel for miles to find a suitable one, of course. We cannot have Miss Darcy seen in a carriage that was built ten years ago, or worse!"
"You sound like my Aunt Catherine." She giggled.
"Then I hope I never meet her," he retorted, and he slid himself underneath the carriage in one swift move.
Georgiana waited for him to come out again. When, after a few minutes, he was still making noise, she ventured a tentative query.
"Is there anything I can do to help?"
"Not unless you want to ruin your gown."
"I do not regard it."
His head appeared from under the carriage to stare at her. She stood directly over him, her looks conveying her sincere desire to help.
"You don't regard it, do you?" he said rhetorically, and began looking around for a job of little consequence to give her. "Well, gad, girl," he said, exasperated, when he could find nothing for her to do, "you should regard it. That is a very fine gown." He slid back under the carriage.
"It is more than a year old and the lining is full of holes," she informed him haughtily. She heard him laugh. "I assure you, it is not a consideration when faced with the prospect of spending the night outside my own home."
"But your home is not in London at all, cherie," he said mildly.
"You know perfectly well what I mean."
There were a few more noises and Georgiana could hear him trying to stop verbal explosives. He crawled out again and stood, wiping his hands on his trousers.
"Yes, I know what you mean. But there is nothing you can do; indeed, there is nothing I can do without the proper tools. I have a friend who might have them, but he is in Newcastle on business. So you see, cherie, you are quite stuck."
Georgiana took the news quietly. She gazed at him frankly while he delivered the verdict, and when he was finished, blinked once and said,
"Then I will have to walk home, I suppose. Unless, of course, you can think of a place I can stay for the night."
"Well," he said, smiling sheepishly, "I'd offer you a place at my house, but..."
At that moment, a man came out of the tavern and saw them standing there. He chortled and sauntered drunkenly up to them.
"How-do, Morgan. Didn't take you long, did it?" He nearly fell over, but Mr. Morgan caught him and helped him stand again.
"You're drunk, Osborne."
"No, I ain't, either. Who's this?" He turned his gaze on Georgiana, who took an instinctive step backwards. The man smirked. "She's a pretty one. You do have good taste, I'll give you that."
"What are you doing here? Is Williams here to take you home?"
"No. Williams is off at Will's place, visitin' Katie.
Morgan's eyebrows rose and he was momentarily speechless.
"Oh, you didn't know? Aye, Katie, she went home again today, and Howard Williams is her newest suitor." The man hiccoughed and looked morose. Morgan laughed and patted him on the back.
"Your time will come, Osborne. Probably after Williams. Katie likes to drop one friend for the other."
"Well, I'm thinkin' her next one won't be mine, that's all."
Morgan snorted.
"Well, there's no telling. Why don't you go home?"
Georgiana's aristocratic nose was offended by the drunken man, and she could not help being thankful to Mr. Morgan for conducting him away speedily.
"Do you know everybody in London?" she asked with a shy smile that might have been mistaken for sauciness.
"Nearly. In any case, nearly everybody in this neighbourhood, and the neighbouring neighbourhoods."
"Who is Katie?"
"She's a woman who likes men," he said nonchalantly. "Most of them like her, too. She goes home to her father's house every time she gets herself in a fix. I just didn't know she was going today."
"He must be a forgiving father," she said, amazed.
"He indulges her--can't think of refusing her anything. What are you thinking of so seriously?"
"I was thinking of my dilemma," she said, motioning with her hand to the broken carriage. "I must have somewhere to stay tonight, but I cannot think where."
"You may stay with me."
Georgiana was shocked speechless for all of twenty seconds.
"No, that is absolutely out of the question," she stammered, suddenly becoming entirely too conscious of their closeness. She blushed furiously and stepped back.
"What did you have in mind?" he challenged.
"P-perhaps I could stay with a friend of yours. Do you have a sister?"
"Yes," he said hesitantly. "But she is not in London."
"But I cannot--you know I cannot stay in the same house as an unmarried man. You are not married, are you? If you were, it would be quite different." She held her breath as she realized how much she meant that last sentence. He did not answer immediately, but ran one hand through his hair, and sat down next to the carriage.
"I am not married. I have a room to myself. However, I assure you that you will be safer with me tonight than anywhere else."
"Have you no female acquaintances? Any married friends at all?" she pleaded. He shook his head.
"None who will speak to me. I apologize for my bad habit of angering people. I must say, I am quite accomplished at it, though."
"I wish you would not talk of such trivialities at this moment," she nearly snapped. He blinked at her, then smiled slowly.
"You see that? My talent at work again."
Georgiana sighed and came to sit next to him, holding her chin in her hands despairingly. He left her to her thoughts for a few minutes, then said cautiously,
"I know it must be distasteful to you, but I would not suggest it if I did not think it necessary. There is no other solution."
Georgiana wrapped her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and wished herself back at Pemberley, in her own room, with Anita snoring in the next chamber.
"I do have a fireplace," he prompted. She had to chuckle, though she still did not like the lack of options. After thinking it over one more time, she looked at him and nodded.
"Very well. You may take me home with you."
He smiled and leapt to his feet to help her up. As they walked, Georgiana's mind tried to tell her it had not made itself up yet about whether to trust him or not. It did occur to her that he may have invited her for some evil purpose of his own, but she did not think that very likely. She had nothing on which to base her faith in his intentions, except his apparent reluctance to be in her company, and eagerness to send her home earlier in their acquaintance. However, she could not stop herself from making one more attempt to be home that night.
"Would it be so impossible to walk me home tonight?"
"In a word, yes; particularly if you live in the area I think you do."
She gave him her address. She wasn't sure if he heard her, because no sooner were the words out of her mouth, than he tripped on a rock. He regained his balance before he fell completely, but was a bit longer in regaining his composure. Georgiana thought he must be inordinately unused to tripping, and took unexpected pleasure in the thought that perhaps he was embarrassed because she had seen it.
"I was not wrong, I see. Yes, it is entirely impossible."
"Can I expect you to escort me tomorrow?"
"I think not. That is, I don't think... I mean, I have business that needs to be done tomorrow."
"But I don't know anybody else who could take me. And I'm sure Mrs. Annesley--that's my companion--will compensate you for any trouble."
"I confess I haven't thought about what will be done with you in the morning."
"That is not very heartening. Am I to make my own way home, then?"
"Perhaps your cousin will come looking for you."
"Very likely he already is. But he has no way to know where I am, and there is little chance of running into him unexpectedly." She turned to give him a petulant look, and was surprised to find him chewing on his fingernail. She smiled instead. She couldn't help thinking he was delightfully childish. Unfortunately, he noticed she was looking at him, and immediately dropped his hand.
"Very well, m'lady. You may count on me as your personal escort." He stepped in front of her and bowed grandly, pretending to wave a feathered hat.
"Thank you. And I don't think you will feel so very out of place, after all. I have some neighbours with whom you would fit right in." She giggled. He blinked and pretended to place the hat back on his head, while watching her with the oddest gaze. As she took his arm once again, she thought she felt a distinct shiver run through him.
"You must allow me to give you another coat, though. I cannot be easy, knowing you are freezing."
They had been walking for nearly five minutes when Georgiana noticed that he seemed to be leading her in a circuitous route. She questioned him about it.
"Well, you see, cherie, it's not altogether unlikely that you would run across an acquaintance or two of your own. You wouldn't want to be recognized tonight, particularly in my company," he added under his breath.
It took her a moment to think why. In her time with him this evening, she had almost entirely forgotten how they had met, all the little things she had learned of him. Realizing how close she had come to going back on her resolve not to fall in love with him, she quickly stepped away from him and looked down.
"Oh. Then may I ask why you would insist on bringing me home with you, if you know what would be said, when earlier this evening, you were all consideration regarding my reputation? Or was that only because the police were involved?"
He looked away from her, frowning.
"I am taking you home because you need a place to stay for the night, and there is nowhere else. I am careful for your reputation, simply because I know what people say about me. Not because it is true."
"I understand." She sighed, taking his arm once more and keeping her eyes on the ground as they continued their trek. "Reputations can be difficult to overcome, and much of the time, they are based on rumour more than fact."
He laughed nervously.
"That is certainly true, I suppose. I will be honest, though, and tell you that at least half of my reputation is fact." He grinned. "And of course the worst half is fiction."
"I'm not entirely sure of my reputation," Georgiana said, faltering at his confession. "Obviously the respectable people of my acquaintance could not tell me what they think of me to my face, particularly if it is bad. And my brother does not let me associate with people who are not respectable."
"That is a pity," he said, somewhat less cheerful. "I'm afraid my meeting with him will be less than friendly, if that is the case."
"Your meeting with my brother?" She gazed up at him with wide eyes.
"Of course I must inform him of what a charming sister he has," he said in a serious voice, then looked at her and smiled mischievously. She looked away immediately, completely taken aback. After it became apparent the conversation was not going anywhere, he made another attempt. "What do you think people say about you?"
"I'm afraid they might think I'm proud. That is what they say about my brother, I'm sure."
"I see." He did not sound as if he doubted that opinion. "And what is the truth?"
"Well, I certainly cannot help it if I'm too shy to talk to people I've never met before," she said petulantly. He laughed.
"You, shy?"
"Well, certainly. Especially at parties and other social obligations. If I happen to see someone with whom I have an acquaintance, I can talk fairly well. But I only do that because it is expected of me. I would much rather remain to myself."
"I never would have thought it of you," he said, shaking his head in mock incredulity.
"No, you thought I was proud, too. When in fact, I only wanted to go home." She risked a look at him, hoping she could actually will her eyes to twinkle the way Elizabeth's did when she looked at Fitzwilliam. He laughed and looked down at her again.
"Then I must thank you for opening my eyes to the truth just now. Imagine, I may have gone another hour thinking you were proud."
"Have we almost reached your house?" she asked abruptly. He nodded and pointed to an upcoming alley.
"It's just down that alley. A few more steps, and you may rest."
She allowed herself to be gladdened, though she hated to give up their fascinating conversation of a few minutes before. She balked, however, when they came closer to the alley, and nearly caused another fall when her feet stopped moving.
"It's so dark."
"That's what happens when the sun sets, cherie. There is nothing to fear."
"I've been thinking about what you asked me earlier. What if somebody truly wants to harm me? Do you think those men are still lying in that alley?"
"If they are not, then they have gone home. I didn't mean to frighten you. In the last few years, I've seen quite a few wicked things, and sometimes I imagine there is more than what appears. I'm sure you were right; that they wanted your money and nothing more."
"That is not exactly the assurance I wanted, Mr. Morgan. That is an extremely dark alley, and I don't see any houses where you could possibly live. How far would we have to walk to get there?"
"Not long at all. I walk down this alley every night, Miss Darcy. Nothing has happened to me here."
"There has to be a first time for everything," she said pessimistically. He shook his head in amused exasperation.
"Some things do come under the category of `Never,' cherie. I wouldn't ask you to do something if it would place you in danger."
She smiled sheepishly and indicated her desire to keep moving.
"I'm sorry," she said. "Here I am, complaining of the dark, when you risked your life for me not three hours ago."
"Not to worry. I'm sure there are certain people in the world who are allowed to have their petted fears."
"By that I assume you mean rich people."
"Perhaps." He chuckled.
"It sounds odd, coming from you, though. It is difficult to reconcile your way of speaking with your appearance."
"What do you mean?" He was bewildered.
"You look like ... well, if I may borrow your own words, a gutter rat. But you speak like a gentleman." She was astonished to see she had actually unsettled him. It was too dark to tell if he was blushing, but she saw him scratch his ear and heard him clear his throat in embarrassment.
"Perhaps I am a good mimic," he said finally, and seemed perfectly willing to let the subject drop.
"But who would you be mimicking?" She smiled. "I did not go to Eton."
"What makes you think I did?"
"Oh, nothing. It is just one of the many things about you that baffles me. I cannot think how you could have gone to Eton."
"And I cannot think how you ever came to the conclusion that you were shy."
"Oh, but I am!"
"Yes, and I am an Italian."
"I think I must be extraordinarily tired, frankly. I have never talked this much to anybody in my life."
"Perhaps that would explain it," he mused. "I would like to think that it has something to do with my own remarkable company, of course. But I suppose exhaustion would do that to anybody. Here we are."
Georgiana looked at the building Mr. Morgan had claimed as his living quarters. It looked more like a shop.
"You are a baker?" She could not stop the corners of her mouth from turning up.
"No. I live upstairs. The baker married an heiress of sorts, and lives in her house now. I rent the place."
"Oh. Well, that is good. I couldn't imagine you elbow deep in unbaked bread."
"It's called dough, cherie." He winked and began to lead her up the stairs.
"Um, Mr. Morgan?" She planted her feet and refused to move.
"What now?" he groaned.
"Are you expecting company?"
"No."
"The door is open." She nodded towards said door worriedly. He cursed and quickly apologized, then bolted up the stairs. He came back a few seconds later, looking sheepish. She was sitting on an overturned crate and shivering violently. The preceding conversation had brightened her eyes and enlivened her spirits, but now the worry and fear had returned.
"No visitors. Fewer objects to block our progress as we enter the room."
"Did you make sure nobody was hiding under anything?"
"Yes."
"Are you absolutely sure?"
"Positive. Come, we must get you upstairs."
"Why?"
He rolled his eyes and sighed heavily.
"You still don't trust me."
"I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize. Tell me what I should do to convince you of my trustworthiness. Would you like me to opportune one of the women who live down the street to keep us company?"
"Oh, yes, please! That is, if they will leave their husbands."
He laughed.
"They don't have husbands, cherie. Most of them never have, though some of them have children."
"Oh." She could feel her cheeks burning.
"I'd like to make an agreement, cherie."
"Don't call me that," she snapped. "You have no right."
"What?"
"Cherie. It is much too familiar. We hardly know each other."
"I see." He sat down next to her and put an arm around her shoulders, spirits rising despite himself when she laid her head on his shoulder. "Well, I shall wait until we know each other better, then. What shall I call you in the meantime?"
"I shall return home, and happily, first thing tomorrow. It is not likely we shall ever meet again. And I'm sure Miss Darcy will do well enough."
"Ah. Very well, then, Miss Darcy, you forget that this is the third time we have met. At this rate, we shall be close acquaintances before Christmas."
"You expect to do that in a month?" She could not resist a snicker. "You have a very high opinion of yourself. Why do you suppose we keep meeting like this?"
"Well, ignoring the fact that we have never met precisely like this, I would have to say it was blind luck. Very good luck, at that." She smiled. "I'd like to make an agreement, cherie. I mean, Miss Darcy."
She sat up and fixed her shawl around her shoulders once again.
"What is that?"
"I want you to trust me."
"What is your part of the agreement?" He bent down and retrieved something from his shoe. He placed it in her hand and closed her frozen fingers around it for her. "What is it?"
"It's a knife." He opened it for her. Georgiana gasped and held it away from her. "It is the only weapon I have with me tonight. There are none upstairs. I had three this morning. You saw how I lost my gun; the robbers took my other knife. I want you to keep this one."
"Why?" she whispered.
"If I am unarmed, and you have a knife, how am I supposed to succeed in those wicked intentions of which you so ungraciously accused me?"
She blushed, highly ashamed of herself.
"I do trust you. You don't have to give me this. Indeed, I do not want it." She tried to force it back on him, but he raised his hands in refusal.
"No. You take it."
"But it must have cost you something dear."
"It did not. If you must know, I won it."
"Oh, dear."
"But that is not the point. I want you to have it, so that you will have no occasion to suspect me. I will keep you safe tonight, and see you safely home tomorrow. If I do not keep that promise, you have my permission to stick that thing directly into my heart."
She smiled uncomfortably at that image.
"I could never use it."
"But you must keep it. After all, a lady needs protection. And I don't think it would ever taste blood if it stayed with me."
"Oh." Her face suffused into a smile once more at that revelation.
"Yes, it is veritably starving, poor thing. Much better to lend it to a kinder mistress."
Georgiana giggled as he stood and helped her to her feet. She stumbled forward. He caught her capably, but immediately set her away from him. She swayed slightly, pouting somewhat. He cleared his throat and with a jerk of his head for her to follow, once more climbed the stairs.
He held the door open for her to enter. As she passed by him, her gaze never left the floor. She thought she sensed him looking away also, but she dared not look up to be sure. She was terribly confused by his behaviour thus far. One moment he was all friendliness, even flirtatious; the next he would be brusque and sarcastic. A small sigh escaped her.
"I hadn't expected a robbery, of course," he said apologetically.
"I'm sure it looks very ... nice."
"Tell the truth, cherie. It's horrid, I know."
"No, no. It's very ... clean."
He snorted and went to build a fire.
"Yes, it is that," he said.
"But ... it's only one room."
"Well, as to that," he said, sitting back on his heels, "we could put a sheet across one side, and pretend it's a wall. Not that it would make much practical difference, but it might make you feel better."
Georgiana shuddered. He frowned at the tiny flame and began looking around the room for something to add to it. After searching under the bed for a few minutes, he finally found what he was looking for. He uncorked the bottle, poured a little into two glasses, and poured the rest onto the fire. They both winced and stepped back as the flame ignited. Then he smiled and gave her one of the glasses.
"No need to waste it all. Drink slowly. It might warm you faster than the fire."
They were silent for a few more minutes. He sat down in front of the fire, staring into it and ignoring Georgiana. She stood awkwardly in the same position, wondering if she should join him, or lie down on the bed. Could he be meaning for her to sleep on the floor? Surely they couldn't share the bed. As if reading her mind, he said flatly,
"Go to bed, Miss Darcy. The sooner you get your rest, the sooner you'll be home."
"Am I to take the bed, then?"
"Of course. You didn't think I'd make you sleep on the floor, did you?"
"Oh, dear. I am very sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Morgan." She felt the need to apologize and thank him all at once, but had no idea how to adequately go about it. He shrugged dismissively, then turned around to look at her.
"Do you need to change your clothes?" he asked.
She paled and laughed nervously.
"No! I mean, into what? I didn't leave my house today thinking I would be spending the night in a ... a...."
"Oh, that's right. Well, I might have something you could wear. You must not be looking forward to sleeping in that dress."
"Indeed, I'm not looking forward to anything about this night," she muttered. He didn't seem to hear her, but began rummaging through the drawers of a dresser in the corner. Finally, he came up with something. He shoved it at her, unable to look at her as he did so.
"Your mother's?"
"No. My ... cousin's. I .. Well, I'll just step outside for a few minutes, while you change." He practically ran out of the room.
Georgiana hurried into the thing, but was less than satisfied with the results. It was warm, to be sure, but at the same time it managed to leave her feeling exposed. She scurried into the bed and covered herself entirely with the blanket before she gave him leave to come back. He opened the door tentatively, peeking into the room. He immediately ducked back out when he saw her. Georgiana blinked, perplexed. A few minutes later he came back, his arms full of firewood. He didn't look at her, but walked over to the fire and dumped it all there at once.
Georgiana's cheeks felt as though they were on fire. It wasn't right that he was so uncomfortable in his own home, but what could she do about it?
"I ... thank you for the .." she cleared her throat. "For everything, Mr. Morgan. I am much warmer in this. It is much more, I mean, much less revealing."
"Don't mention it."
"If you like, I could pull the blanket over my head. Then you wouldn't have to stare at the fire all night." She smiled teasingly.
"I think it's time to go to sleep," he said desperately. She nodded, though he still did not risk a glance at her, and obediently laid her head down on the shockingly thin pillow. Instead of curling up next to the fire, however, as she thought he would, he took his make-shift bed over to the door.
"Won't you be cold over there?" Georgiana asked shyly from under the blanket. He laughed shortly and shook his head.
"Mr. Morgan?" she said tentatively.
"Yes?" came the reply.
"Where does your family live?"
"Why do you ask?"
"You said they don't live in London, and it is obvious you were not raised here."
"They live in the north."
"North of where? London? Edinburgh?"
He sighed audibly and Georgiana heard him turn over.
"Derbyshire?" she asked almost hopefully. She would like it very much if they had been neighbours all along."
"No, Yorkshire. Near the coast."
"Oh." She was silent for a few more minutes. "I've never been to Yorkshire."
"Perhaps you will go someday."
"I should like that, I think. I'm sure it is a lovely place."
"It is." He sat up restlessly, leaning his head against the door. Though he was sitting facing the bed and Georgiana, his eyes stared into the fire.
"Why did you come to London?"
"You are a very curious chit." He tried to rub a growing headache away.
"Why?" she persisted.
"Not all families are as friendly as yours, cherie."
"Yes, but..."
"Go to sleep."
Georgiana did as she was told. She did not sleep peacefully, however. It seemed to her as though she woke every five minutes. Despite the late hour, people and animals were constantly making noise in the streets below, and though she was able to go back to sleep through that disturbance, she could not ignore the incessant banging on the door of the bakery that had begun approximately ten minutes ago. She shut her eyes more tightly, hoping they would at least do what she wished, but finally she gave up and opened them.
To her astonishment, Mr. Morgan was also awake. He had moved from his place at the door, and was apparently trying to make himself as invisible as possible in the corner. This assumption was proved incorrect, however, when he answered the racket with a tattoo of his own, beat on the floor.
Georgiana was almost indignant. He had no way to know she was already awake. What did he mean by making such a racket? She appeased herself by reasoning that he must assume she would have been roused by the first racket.
Exactly ten seconds after the conversation of rackets, the door swung open and the shadow of a man appeared in the doorway.
"Blimey! What 'appened?" he said. "An' 'ow'd you get back in bed so quick like?"
"I'm over here, Sam," said Morgan from his corner.
"Oh." Sam chuckled and lowered his voice. "Ohh, you got a fire. You must like this one." He hurried over to the fireplace and stretched his hands out. He was a handsome man, tall and fair, with an engaging grin. However, Georgiana could not see this part of his face at the moment, as his back was to her and she was trying to keep her eyes shut for appearance's sake. Morgan stood slowly and came to join him.
"When did you get back?"
"Just now. I mean, I've been in Lunnon for ... a couple hours, I guess. I 'ad to stop by Patty's 'ouse, o' course."
"Oh, of course."
"So, what 'appened 'ere?" Sam looked around and whistled. "You, my friend, 'ave been 'ad. Who did it?"
"Katie."
"Oh." Sam shut up for a few minutes, obviously scared off the topic by that name. "Well, at least it weren't robbers, like I thought." He brightened. "I 'ad thought we'd 'ave to go combin' over the country again, lookin' for trouble, an'... You know, Matt, Will ain't gonna like this." He gestured at Georgiana.
"He won't hear of it, will he, Sam?"
"Well, not from me, of course!" Sam protested indignantly. "But 'e'll 'ear it from som'un else, certain-sure. There ain't many people 'ere don't know at least who you are, and most o' them are friends of Will."
"Believe me, I've thought of that."
"Right. Sorry. So, why'd she go? I don't s'pose she caught you with this chit an' lit out."
"She's gone to Will's house, I suppose. You can find her tomorrow and ask her yourself. Did you find anything in Newcastle?"
"Nothin' but a few papers and a angry colonel."
"Where are the papers?"
Sam dug around in his pockets and finally produced a crumpled wad.
"I would've brought the colonel, too, but I didn't think you'd appreciate it." He grinned. Morgan took the papers and put them on the desk. "Ain't you gonna read 'em?" Sam was wounded.
"Not in this light, no. Good-night, Sam."
"Hold on, there. Wait.... Aye, I thought I saw somethin' there." He turned his friend's face to the side and shook his head. "All right, Matt. Who did this? Business or pleasure?"
"Neither."
"Got anythin' to do with the chit you got in your bed over there?" he jerked his head in Georgiana's direction.
"You know me too well. And it's none of your business." He opened the door for Sam. "It's three o'clock in the morning, Sam. I'll see you tomorrow, and we can discuss whatever's in those papers."
"Well, it ain't as if I woke you up," Sam sniffed. "I got a cold doin' your work, while you're 'ere, forcin' Katie out so you can 'ave your fun with this....'oever that is." He looked at Georgiana again, then grinned. "Lucy?"
"No."
"Peg? There's a way to stop 'er from rattin' on you."
"No."
"Mary Hinkley? I 'eard she was actually untouchable, but I'll tell you she's not. An' she likes you, too."
"No! Sam, she's fifteen!"
"So? Peg's goin' on twenty-eight. I figured, if she's ten years older than you, what's ten years younger? An' Charlotte was only 'leven when you found 'er."
Georgiana was finding it difficult to keep quiet, but there was no way she was going to blow her cover now. She had to hear the rest of this interrogation.
"Sam, if you weren't being so offensive, I'd give you a few pointers in mathematics."
"I thought I got it right." Sam pouted. "Say, was it that new girl at Madame Flo's? Lily?"
"Sam, I'm telling you, leave now unless you want a bloody nose."
"A new one, then? Don't tell me you got friendly with Bertha! She's old enough to be your mother!"
"I haven't `gotten friendly' with anyone, Sam. Now leave."
"Well, then, who is that?" Sam was obviously frustrated. He sat down on the ground, apparently with every intention of going to sleep in front of the fire. "You can tell me, Matt. I ain't gonna go 'round blabbin' everything I hear. I kept your secret 'bout Josée, didn't I?"
"I think Katie knows about Josée, and I certainly never told her."
"Well, I didn't tell her!" Sam sniffed, then blinked. "Leastways, I don't think I did. A man can't remember ever'thing, you know. What makes you think she knows?"
"Good God, Sam, she named her daughter Josie! Why do you think she did that?"
Sam was stumped.
"Thought she liked the name."
"You would. I'll see you tomorrow, Sam."
"I ain't goin' anywhere. You got a nice fire, 'ere."
"Samuel Higgins!"
"Well, Matt, I already told you. All you gotta do is tell me who's in your bed. As your friend, I think I got a right to know."
"It's my cousin."
"So's Katie. A better lie would've been to say it's Josée. Though there ain't no carriage down there, so I don't guess I'd 'ave believed you."
"It's not Josée. It's my cousin, Melisande."
"You ain't got no bloody cousin named Meli-whatever."
"Yes, I do."
"No, you don't."
"How would you know?"
"Fine, fine. I can take a 'int."
"Of course you can."
"I can! Humph! Just think o' that! Won't even tell 'is own best friend who 'e's.... Say, Matt..." He turned suddenly, halfway out the door, and said in a concerned voice, "When this one goes 'ome, you ain't gonna do nothin' stupid, are you? No runnin' away an' gettin' drunker than a bishop on Sunday?"
"No. I'll be fine."
"Good. 'Cause I ain't got no intention o' watchin' your back 'til you get your 'ead back on your shoulders again. It's bloody tedious. Then.... you're not in love with 'er?"
"No."
Sam grinned.
"That's right. An' William ain't my boy, neither."
"Sam!"
"Right, right. I'm leavin'! Good night, Matt! Cousin. Ha! That's a good one!"
The door slammed shut before Sam could finish his tirade. Georgiana hid her face in her pillow as Morgan pounded his own pillow into submission.
Georgiana was ready to go home early the next morning. She had not been able to sleep well, but was unsure if this should be attributed to the uncomfortable bed or the disturbing conversation she had overheard. It hurt to find that her rescuer was such a rake, and she was thankful that the night had given her time to harden herself against his charms. She was mortified when she remembered just how charmed she had been.
She struggled into her dress, nervously keeping an eye on him as he slept. She congratulated herself on having remarkable timing; as soon as she was dressed, he woke up.
Neither of them spoke. He stood stiffly and went to poke absently at the fire.
"Good morning," she finally ventured.
"Is it?"
"Yes, it's very nice," she said, confused. "It is cold, though. I hope I do not catch a cold, walking home."
"Perhaps I should hire a hackney cab to take you home, then." He turned around to look at her now, but quickly dropped his gaze and stuffed his hands into his pockets. Her heart stopped beating for a moment as the morning light made apparent what had caused Sam such alarm.
"I can't pay for it," she said, still staring at the bruises on his face.
"I can. I think it would be best. Your family is doubtless worried sick. No good can come of people seeing us together, and I don't especially fancy being interrogated by your--whoever has charge of you."
"Of course you don't," she murmured. "That would be highly embarrassing." She thought sardonically of how convenient his excuses sounded, now that she knew the truth about him. Of course he would not want to be asked any questions.
"For both of us," he nodded, then smiled. "I'm glad we agree. It is never pleasant to be in disagreement with an agreeable young lady."
"I'm sure you are a better judge of that than I. It must be very difficult to refuse any young lady her desires. Especially for one so amiable as you."
"Well, some are easier than others, I admit." The fact that he did not seem to catch her meaning only increased her irritation. "I have not met any lady in some time whose wish I wished to make reality more than yours."
"In that case, sir, I must hold you to your promise of last night, to escort me home. I have no wish to be driven in a hack, unaccompanied."
He made a face.
"Very well, but you'll forgive me, cherie, if I don't stay for tea."
"You led me to believe last night that it would take a longer time than that to reach my house. If you are asked to stay for anything, it will be for supper."
He held the door open for her and, bewildered, watched her walk down the stairs. What had happened to the friendly girl he had rescued last night? Had she really been so correct in her claim that her behaviour had been caused by exhaustion? He did not believe it. He could not believe such a drastic change was possible. She had been left to her own thoughts for a long time; perhaps they had confounded her, as much as his own had done him. Well, if her charming self had buried itself under a shell of abrupt politeness, it was up to him to bring it out.
"We must hurry, if you don't mind, Miss Darcy. I have an appointment to keep this evening."
She gave him an odd look, then focused her gaze back on the street ahead of them.
"It's going to rain," he tried again.
"I hope not."
"I'm afraid so."
"Oh, dear."
"Indeed." This was getting him nowhere. He watched as she adjusted her coat, shawl and bonnet nervously. "Did you sleep well?"
"Tolerably, thank you. And yourself?"
"Not a wink."
"Oh. I'm sorry for taking your bed."
"Please don't mention it. There are worse places to sleep than a wooden floor."
"Yes, if you truly sleep. But then, I'm sure you're used to sleeping anywhere you please." She blushed furiously, and he narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
"Now, what am I supposed to make of that remark, I wonder," he mused out loud.
"Oh, please stop talking," she said, turning her head away.
"Have you really turned shy after a night's sleep? I had not credited it, but I'm beginning to doubt my own judgements."
"I don't want to talk, sir," she said, beginning to breathe quickly. The glance she tossed him caught him off guard. Could she be angry about something? It was more than likely, considering all his past experiences with people, female or otherwise.
"What have I done?" he asked quietly. She shook her head.
"Please, don't mind me. I am only..."
"Angry with me. I can see that, though I don't know why."
"Perhaps it is because you won't let me finish my sentences," she retorted. A young woman across the street began calling his name, and Georgiana smiled as naturally as she could muster. "There is one of your admirers."
"Georgiana," he began, reaching out to take her by the arm. Her eyes widened in shock and before either of them knew what was happening, she had slapped him.
"Hello! That 'ad to 'urt! Matt, why wouldn't you answer me?" The young woman had crossed the street to where they were standing, and now looked from one to the other. She eyed Georgiana from head to toe and smirked. "Another swell admirer of yours, Matt? Or is this the famous Josée?"
"I don't have time for this, Peg," he said lowly.
"Then make time. Introduce us."
He glared at Peg, but she only smiled sweetly back. He took a deep breath and said,
"Very well, then. This is...."
"I am his cousin," Georgiana interrupted. "Melisande." She tossed her chin up and glared at Mr. Morgan.
"Oooh! A cousin!" Peg cooed, looking Georgiana up and down again. "I always did know there was more to you than this, Matty Morgan. Well! I just came to tell you to watch out. Jim Gorfey's down at Joe's, lookin' for you. An' Tom's nose is broken, so Jim's double mad. Oh, an' Lucy and Joe was both arrested last night."
"Thank you," he said, glancing at Georgiana again, who had gone pale. "You'd better get back to work now."
"Aye, I s'pose so, though I'm sure I could work just as well 'ere, if only Melisande 'ere would get on 'ome." She winked broadly.
"I'm sure you could. But it might be a challenge to find a client. The streets seem deserted. Good-bye!" Grabbing Georgiana's elbow, he dragged her around the corner.
"What a vulgar woman," she said, mostly to herself. "What are we going to do about those men?"
"Why didn't you tell me you were awake last night?"
"Tell you? With all the racket you and your friend were making, the wonder would have been if I were still asleep!"
"Then you heard the entire...." He stopped and swore.
"I wish you wouldn't waste time with such language, sir. If you'll remember, we have two murderous villains looking for you, and I have to go home before my companion summons my brother and sister home. Poor Max will probably have all my cousins looking for me."
He passed his hand over his eyes wearily, then nodded.
"You're right. To Richmond we go." He did not take her arm this time, but walked briskly ahead of her. She stomped clumsily through the snow that had frozen stiff and turned grey. Her nose and fingers were beginning to burn with cold, and she batted her arms at her sides miserably in an attempt to keep them from freezing. The clouds above them had only to empty on them to make her suffering complete.
He broke the silence first.
"There's something you have to understand about Sam, cherie. He is a wonderful friend-- he has saved my life more than once--but his main object in life is to enjoy himself, and he only knows two ways to do that: women and liquor. And of course he assumes everybody else is the same."
"That was very obvious from his conversation. How long have you been friends?"
"Nearly four years."
"Four years." She was stunned. All those women in four years! She could think of nothing to say. She would not have been able to say anything if she could think of it. As they turned the corner, they came face to face with Jim Gorfey.
Jim's eyes glinted maliciously. He ignored Georgiana and focused on Mr. Morgan, pushing him into the brick wall with one hand and balling the other into a ready fist. Morgan immediately ducked to the ground and darted between Jim's legs, tripping the big man. Grabbing Georgiana's hand, he steered her into the building and out the side door, utterly confusing the elderly couple who resided there.
"You certainly know your way out of a situation," Georgiana commented, breathless. He chuckled grimly as he spotted a policeman coming their way. The officer's eyes lit up when he saw them, and as he started towards them, Morgan turned once again in the opposite direction. Unfortunately, Jim was just lifting himself from the ground, and he saw them cross the street. He joined the chase.
Georgiana tried to take her hand out of Morgan's, but he only tightened his grasp. This annoyed her, for she was certain she could run faster if she had both hands free. As it was, she didn't think her feet had actually touched the ground in a whole minute. She tried to grind to a halt when she saw the water of the Thames ahead of them.
"Where are you taking me?" she squeaked.
"Wherever they can't find us," he answered shortly.
"There are some more policemen," she said, beginning to hiccough dreadfully. A group of policemen were standing casually on the other side of the bridge. She was sure they would help them. She was surprised again when Mr. Morgan steered away from them. "They would have helped us!" she protested loudly. A sudden splash of rainwater filled her nose and mouth, and she spluttered in helpless indignation as she realized it could get no worse now. In less than five seconds, she was completely drenched.
"Do you want your brother to know about this?" he asked, pushing her into a deserted building on her left.
"No, but..."
He closed the door behind them.
"The policemen would, no doubt, have taken you home, explaining everything to your companion, or whoever it is has charge of you. Your cousins would learn of it, the neighbours would talk about it, and it would be in the papers by morning. Here. Dry yourself off." He handed her a blanket that had been draped over a pile of what looked like straw.
She smiled gratefully at him and made a hood of the blanket. Clasping the edges tightly under her chin, she sat down on the hard floor and tried to stop shivering.
"I'm glad one of us was thinking. Thank you."
He was staring out the window at the steadily-pouring water. He smiled slightly when he saw two officers slip in a puddle, then ducked out of sight when they looked towards the building.
"Mr. Morgan?" she said tentatively. "Where are we?"
"One of Sam's haunts. He told me about it one day when he was boasting particularly loudly." He smiled ruefully. "He said his friends thought it romantic. I say it's convenient."
"You're soaked through." The remark was made as if she had said the sky was cloudy. He sank to the ground, his back against the wall, and ran a hand through his hair.
"Yes. If my father could see me now." He laughed bitterly. "I wonder if he'd laugh or cry."
"You do make an amusing sight," she said, attempting to lighten the mood. He smiled at her.
"So do you, gypsy. You won't catch cold, will you? Maybe you should..." He cleared his throat, blushing slightly, and looked away. "He probably wouldn't acknowledge me."
"Are you quite all right?" she asked. She was beginning to worry; he had been more cheerful last night. Today he seemed downright gloomy.
"Yes, quite." He jumped up and began pacing the room. "It would be terribly hard for me to explain how a girl in my care suddenly died of pneumonia. Here you are, likely catching your death, and the rain won't stop. I should probably brave the storm to get you some clothes." He stopped and dropped down beside her. "Would you like that?"
"Not if it would mean you catching your death." She shivered. "Is this the only blanket?" He nodded. "Then why don't we share?"
He looked startled, but managed to say somewhat sardonically,
"Aren't you afraid I might try something?"
"I'm not afraid of you, Mr. Morgan. You are too obliging to be fearsome."
"I have seen many fearsome obligers," he muttered as he huddled into the blanket with her.
"You speak as if you wanted me to believe what your friend said about you."
"Not precisely. I am simply warning you about your naivete. Tell me, how does a girl like you, Miss Georgiana Darcy of Pemberley, come to be so ignorant of the world? That does not often happen in families who are constantly in the public eye."
"How did you know about Pemberley?" she asked, looking at him sharply. He shrugged.
"Doesn't everybody? But answer my question."
Georgiana frowned and thought about it for a moment. She had to admit she was ignorant. After all, she had managed to get into this scrape without much trouble.
"I suppose I've been protected. My brother takes very good care of me..."
"Protected? I thought that was what I was doing now, by being candid with you. There's a fine line between protecting and stifling, cherie. I should hate to see you taken advantage of."
"My brother doesn't take advantage of me!" she protested.
"No, I'm sure he doesn't. But other people do, and your naivete makes it easier for them."
"I would rather think the best of people, than live in a pessimistic gloom," she commented, while at the same time she was wondering why she did not feel insulted. He smiled as if he was wondering the same thing.
"I'm not a pessimist; I'm a realist."
"Then think about the odds. Do you consider yourself normal?"
"In an odd way, yes."
"And would you think of doing what those men tried to do last night?"
"No, of course not."
"Then if normal means the way most people are, and you are normal, and you would not think of it, then that makes me think that most people would not think of it."
His smile widened as he listened to her, watching her eyes brighten with each conclusion. She had to look away and took a moment to wonder how one thin blanket could warm her so fast.
"Fascinating," he murmured. "However, although it is a nice theory, last night proves it to be useless in real life."
"Two men out of thousands," she said, still flushed. "Although I would rather not talk about it. All I want is to go home, have a hot bath and a cup of tea, and go to sleep."
"Do you always refuse to think of unpleasant things?"
"I don't see what good it would do to dwell on them."
"But they do bear some thinking of. Or would you rather ignore reality?"
"Ignore seems wrong. But sometimes," she added softly, "when someone you care about is not precisely what you think they are.... it is not pleasant to have that reality thrust upon you."
"No, it is not," he agreed quietly.
"In some cases," she went on, as if talking to herself, "it can be better to know. I don't think the truth should be told merely for the sake of being right, though. It is best to be as kind as possible. I had rather be told out of love than spite." She waited for him to answer, but he did not. She began to wonder if perhaps she had said too much on a serious subject for him to handle. It came as a relief when he finally said, in a subdued voice,
"Would you care to give me an example, cherie?"
"Well, let us say that a man is unfaithful to his wife...."
"Is that the only example you could think of?" he asked uncomfortably, shifting away from her slightly. She poked him with her elbow.
"With his wife's sister," she went on, then looked at him to be sure he was listening. "She has another sister, who loves her very much, and who knows what the husband is doing. Should she tell the wife?"
"That is hard to say," he conceded.
"Do you think the wife should know about it?"
"There is nothing she could do about it," he shrugged.
"But what if all her friends know?"
"Then the husband is to blame for not considering her feelings."
"If he was considering her feelings, he would not...." she tried to find a sufficiently- discreet word, but could not, so took it from there, "in the first place!"
"You're right, of course," he laughed a bit nervously. "You'll pardon me, Miss Darcy. I was so busy trying to find the answer you wanted to hear, I forgot the right one."
"Well, if you're only going to tell me what I want to hear, why should I talk to you?" she huffed, and turned away. He laughed again, more lightly, and reached out to turn her to face him.
"Are you absolutely certain you're shy? Is this the timidity you told me you possessed last night?"
"I--I suppose I feel strongly on the subject."
"As you should. I am glad you do. I suppose you feel the same thing applies to the other sex, as well."
"Of course. Why should it not?"
He grinned, quite pleased.
"I feel the same way. Two people should not enter into such a binding commitment as marriage if they do not intend to be true to it. It does happen, but it should not."
"Yes, exactly." She smiled warmly.
"Do you think it is possible to fall in love in less than a day, Miss Darcy?"
"Are you changing the subject, sir?"
"Not at all. We have just established that we two feel the same way about a very important issue. I have also found that I like you very much, indeed. Of course, there is the problem of your wealth, but I am willing to overlook that. I am not a narrow-minded snob who must only marry someone of his own status. I'm sure you will learn well enough the things my wife must know. What do you think?"
She stared at him in horror, then burst into laughter.
"I almost thought you were serious!"
"Well," he said, chuckling a little and scratching his ear nervously, "of course the manner must be ludicrous if the answer is uncertain."
Georgiana stared, wanting to believe it was a joke, yet not daring to. She tried to scoot away from him, regardless of the blanket they were sharing, but he caught her hand in his.
"I was serious in wishing it, cherie. But I was not serious in asking. There are certain things that would have to be done, in order for me to be considered acceptable, and I don't think I could do them just yet."
"I understand," she said, unable to look away from him.
"Understand me, Georgiana? I would be greatly surprised if you did; I rarely understand myself."
And he kissed her.
Georgiana's eyes widened in shock. This was the last thing she had expected him to do. He broke away almost immediately, but it was too late: their peace was shattered. Suddenly the intimacy of the situation dawned on both of them.
"Why did you do that?" she squeaked. He looked equally horrified. His words came out in a rush.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to.... Oh, God, look at you. You need to get home."
Completely discomposed, they both tried to stand at once, only to trip on the blanket they were sharing. As they disentangled themselves, Georgiana began to giggle hysterically. Soon, the giggles were mixed with sobs. They had been so comfortable only moments before, and now it was ruined. Why?
Mr. Morgan's reaction to her tears was not encouraging. He reiterated his apology in the most desperate terms, momentarily forgetting the urgency of getting her home, and seemed about to cry himself, before he remembered his mission and dashed out the door.
Georgiana was very angry with herself for letting him go like that. She should have talked to him, wrested an explanation from him. Now he would take her home, and they would never see each other again. She did not know why that thought pained her so much, but it did. She barely knew anything about him, and yet, she could not bear the thought of parting with him. It was strange.
She reminded herself that he would be back soon with her transportation. Until then, she should try to make herself presentable. She could question him when he came back. Perhaps he could arrange a way for them to be thrown together somehow. It had happened three times already, after all. She could not think of anything herself, but she had enough faith in his ingenuity to know he could think of something.
Using the window as a looking glass, she tried to make something out of the mess that was her hair. It was useless without Anita, she soon realized, so she gave up and went back to thinking of Mr. Morgan.
What did he mean by that ridiculous proposal? He could not be in love with her....could he? Certainly not with all the other women he was accustomed to seeing. Most certainly not after such a short time. She was beginning to see unhappy parallels between her recent experiences, and those of Romeo and Juliet. She had always hated that play, precisely because the title characters met, fell in love, married, and died, in such a short amount of time. It was impossible! She was certainly no Juliet! And Mr. Morgan, with all his foul tempers and cynical views, was just as certainly no Romeo.
What, then? Was it possible that he was simply acting out of habit? She had to roll her eyes at that thought. Again, the idea of being categorized with all those other women was simply too incredible to even be thought of. But was there another way to explain it?
Just as her mind was beginning to wander down that disturbing trail, the door opened, and a policeman entered. He was a big man, and rather stupid-looking. He glanced at Georgiana, then twice around the room, as if he was expecting somebody else to be there.
"Where'd 'e go?" he asked brusquely. Georgiana blinked at him. "Morgan," he clarified. "I know 'e was 'ere..."
"Well, uh...he left," said Georgiana.
"And where did 'e go?" said the policeman impatiently. Georgiana hesitated. Why was a policeman looking for Mr. Morgan?
"Has he done anything?"
"Nothing illegal. That is, nothin' I can prove. It's jus' a little family matter." He smiled, as if to reassure her. Georgiana did not like this man at all.
"Mr. Morgan has no family in London," she said, shrinking back from him a little. He raised himself up taller and put his hands on his hips.
"Oh, no? Is that what 'e told you, then? Look-y here, missy. I was sent by Will Morgan to find Matt Morgan to bring 'im 'ome before Katie Morgan has her baby."
Georgiana's eyes dimmed.
"What?"
"You 'eard right. And what's more, it's 'er third baby."
At first, Georgiana could not believe it. The policeman insisted it was urgent that he find Mr. Morgan at once, so he could not stay and explain everything to her. He did offer to escort her to the police station, however, where arrangements could be made to deliver her safely home. Georgiana did wonder if she should stay and wait for Mr. Morgan to come back, but decided that when he did, Calloway-for that was the policeman's name--would just take him away again, anyway. In any case, she wanted to hear more, so she accepted his offer.
The whole story was soon made clear to her. Three years ago, Mr. Morgan had married Katie, the daughter of Will Morgan, who had something of a reputation as a private investigator, as well as some other things which were not fit to be mentioned in the company of ladies. The first child had been born very shortly after the wedding, which had caused many rumours, the most likely of which, in Calloway's opinion, was that Matt had seduced Katie in an attempt to weasel his way into Will's more shady businesses.
"If she was Will Morgan's daughter, though, then how do they all have the same name?" Georgiana asked in one last desperate attempt to discredit the whole story.
"Oh, Matt's some sort of cousin to Will. Came to live with 'im after 'is parents met with a untimely death, about four years ago."
Georgiana sank into a reverie, too timid to try to damage the policeman's implacable demeanour by recalling aloud that Mr. Morgan had told her that both his parents, as well as a sister, were still living somewhere in Yorkshire. She had not yet decided whom to believe, when she suddenly found herself in the police station.
The noise was terrible, as was the smell. It was impossible to focus on anything; everything kept moving, only to be replaced by something more bright, more impressive, more gaudy. After a few moments, when Georgiana had time to adjust herself to the unfamiliar atmosphere, she realized that the place was filled mostly with prostitutes, most of whom looked on Calloway, and, by extension, Georgiana, with absolute hatred. Some of them taunted him over the shoulders of their own captors.
"Oh, Calloway, same time tonight, sweetie?"
"Who's the new girl, Tommy? Ol' Jennie ain't gonna like it when I tell 'er about this!"
"Shut up!" Calloway roared as another, older, policeman approached him.
"What are you up to now, Calloway?" he asked.
"Ah, sir, this young lady needs some 'elp getting' 'ome."
"But what are you doing, Calloway?"
"I was, ah, lookin' for Matt Morgan."
"Oh, really? Why?"
Calloway squirmed.
"'Cause Will asked me to."
Everybody in the room laughed.
"Will asked 'im to!"
"Wants to drag Matt 'ome like a naughty puppy!"
"Don't you have more important things to do, than go huntin' for Will Morgan, Calloway?" the older policeman asked wearily.
"But Mrs. Morgan..."
"You can call 'er Katie," said one man loudly from the other side of the room. "Everybody else does!" They all laughed coarsely. Calloway flushed. Georgiana began to wonder if she had been forgotten. The older policeman looked at Calloway with disdain.
"Do you work as a policeman, Sergeant, or as a lackey for Will Morgan? We have nothing to do with the Morgans, unless they break the law, or have one broken against them. Do you understand me?"
"But 'e's broken many laws, sir, and I..."
"Really? Prove one of them, and maybe I will talk to you about it again."
The older man walked away. Calloway stood there for a moment, his jaw jutting out in a stubborn pout, then ran after him. Georgiana was left in the hall. She had realized almost as soon as she entered the place, that it had been the wrong decision to come here. If anybody recognized her, her reputation would be ruined. She was jolted out of her confusion when a man shouted,
"'Ere, what are you doin' 'ere, Princess?"
She turned around and froze in horror at the sight of Tom Gorfey barreling his way towards her.
"Where's Morgan?" he roared.
"Hold on a minute 'ere," said another voice, which had enough authority that, had it not been female, Georgiana would have mistaken it for another policeman. "What do you want with 'im, Thomas Gorfey?"
"Stay out o' this, Lucy. I got business with the princess."
"You mentioned a Morgan. If it was Matt Morgan, his business is my business. What do you want with 'im?"
Tom looked confused. He stared at Georgiana, then at Lucy, who was standing protectively in front of her, her hands balled into fists.
"Now c'mon, Luce, lemme talk to the princess," he whined. Lucy looked over her shoulder at Georgiana, who was still watching, wide-eyed and pale.
"I don't think so, Tom," she said thoughtfully. "You go find your brother. I'll talk to the princess."
Tom reluctantly left, and Lucy led Georgiana to a corner of the room that was less crowded than the rest. She saw that the girl was near tears, and offered her a handkerchief. It reeked of cologne, but Georgiana took it anyway. She remembered Sam mentioning Lucy last night, and the recollection made her trust the woman, despite the inevitable jealousy.
Lucy was a tall, buxom woman, with a sharp, pretty face that she used to watch everything around her, even as she smiled and flirted with all the men. After a few minutes she said,
"I think Calloway forgot about you, dearie. But don't worry. They'll let me go soon, and I can 'elp you get 'ome. Unless you 'ad somethin' to do...."
"That won't be necessary, thank you."
"Then 'ow will you get 'ome?"
"I don't know," Georgiana said in a small voice. Lucy looked at her sympathetically.
"Do you need money? I can loan you some..." She stopped at Georgiana's vehement shaking of her head. "Was Matt gonna 'elp you?"
"He said he went to find a hack, but...."
"But what?"
"I don't think he's coming back."
"Why not?" Lucy was bewildered. "Didn't 'e say 'e'd be back?"
"Yes, but....I don't think he'll be back." Georgiana was beginning to regret accepting this woman's help. It was too awkward.
"You can trust Matt to do what 'e says 'e'll do," said Lucy, quietly but firmly. "Even if 'e doesn't know where you are, 'e'll find you. 'E's a good boy."
"Good," Georgiana muttered. "Do you know him very well, then?"
"Aye. Better than anybody, maybe even that Sam Higgins what 'angs around 'im all the time."
"And you can still sit there and tell me he's a good boy."
Lucy studied her for a few minutes before smiling knowingly.
"I see. Calloway told you 'bout how Matt ended up marryin' Katie."
Georgiana sniffed.
"Among other things."
"He's in love with Katie, you know. Or 'e thinks 'e is."
"Well, he is married to her," said Georgiana, willing to laugh if she could.
"No, not Matt; Matt hates Katie. Always has. I mean Calloway; 'e's in love with 'er." Georgiana remained unresponsive, so Lucy continued. "A lot of men think they're in love with Katie. Stupid girl ought to make them pay for it, if you know what I mean. But she lets 'em in free. Very bad for business. Makes 'em less willing to pay. But that's not what I was tryin' to tell you."
"It doesn't matter. I don't need to know anything."
"Oh, really?" Lucy shook her head and looked away. "Are you in love with Matt, love?"
"I think not. We only met last night!"
"Only last night?" This shocked Lucy so much that she was speechless for a whole minute.
"In any case, he is a scoundrel. How could I possibly be..."
"Well, that's why I asked--you were actin' all angry at 'im, and..."
"Well, I am angry," said Georgiana fiercely. "I don't have to be in love with him to be angry at him. Not married, indeed!"
"'E told you 'e wasn't married." Lucy's eyes widened. "Then who told you the truth?"
"The officer who brought me here. Calloway."
"Oh, dear. You do know that Calloway hates Matt, right? So anything 'e told you....it's because 'e doesn't like 'im."
"It sounded more like facts than opinions to me," said Georgiana. "I don't see why you are defending him to me."
"Why, do you think I'd be jealous?" Lucy laughed shortly. "A little, I admit, but I never thought I 'ad a chance with Matt in the first place. 'E's my friend, and if 'e's in love with you, I don't want 'im to get 'urt."
"He should have thought of that before he decided to be unfaithful to his wife."
Lucy looked sadly at her, then shook her head and looked away.
"You know," she said a little angrily, "Matt really doesn't need another person to hate 'im. I ain't sayin' you should forget about everything, but you could try understandin' 'im a little better."
"I have been trying to understand him since I met him, but it's no use. He is a walking paradox."
"A pair o' what?" Lucy gasped in surprise. Georgiana went on.
"In any case, it is unlikely that I shall ever see him again, so I do not see why you think my opinion matters so much."
"Because I know 'im," said Lucy. "If 'e's in love with you, 'e'll try to see you again. That's just the way he is. And if you throw Katie in 'is face as soon as you see 'im....well, it won't be pretty."
"Are you saying I should pretend everything is all right, if I ever see him? Are you saying he would hurt me?" Georgiana asked. Frustrated, Lucy stood up and began pacing.
"No. He'd never do that. It's just...well, Matt never even liked Katie. But when Will found out she was pregnant, and Katie told 'im it was Matt's, well, 'e made 'em get married, you understand. An' Katie keeps dallyin' with other men, while Matt tries to keep out of 'er way, an' now 'e's finally in love with someone-"
"You don't know that," Georgiana objected weakly.
"All I'm sayin' is, 'e won't like to 'ear about Katie from you. 'E tries to forget, you understand. If you bring it up, it'll destroy 'im."
"I doubt that," said Georgiana.
"And then 'e'll come cryin' to me," said Lucy ruefully.
"Then at least you'll be happy," said Georgiana absently. Lucy laughed. Georgiana smiled half-heartedly. She still had not decided what she should do, either about Mr. Morgan, or about getting home. Calloway had completely disappeared, as had most of the crowd, and she was decidedly confused about what Lucy was doing here, unrestrained, when she had supposedly been arrested last night. Her head was starting to hurt from trying to unravel it all.
She looked up and almost shouted in joyful surprise to see Mrs. Annesley coming into the station. She did not care how she came to know where she was; all that mattered was that she was going home now, and soon everything would be back to normal.