On a Cold Dark Sea(4)

“Have no fear—I am quite unharmed.” He had a musical voice, the words sliding up and down in register.

Charlotte bobbed her head. “Good day.”

The man took a step sideways, just far enough to block Charlotte’s path.

“Where are you off to in such a rush?”

The first flicker of worry tickled Charlotte’s chest. Her success depended on speed: getting what she wanted and getting away. The longer she spoke to this man, the more time he’d have to realize what she’d done.

“My mother, she’s sick,” Charlotte said, with genuine apprehension. “I’m off to the doctor for her medicine.” She heard the flimsiness of the lie as she said it.

“Your poor mother, at death’s door.” The man sighed melodramatically. “Is that why you need this?”

In a single swift motion, he grabbed her upper arm and twisted it, bringing Charlotte’s right hand up and forward, still clutching his leather billfold.

Charlotte had an arsenal of weapons: her shaky voice; her terrified expression; her feet, if he’d let go long enough for her to make an escape.

“Sir, I swear on my mother’s life . . .”

“Let’s not bring your mother into this, shall we?” the man asked cheerfully. “Or your ten starving brothers or sisters, or the old lecher who’s made an assault on your virtue. I can see from your dress that you’re not destitute, and from your delightful figure that you’re not starving. So tell me, why exactly did you make a play for my money?”

She looked into his face, a face that looked more curious than angry, and decided on a tactic she’d never tried before. Honesty.

“For the fun of it.”

The man burst out laughing. “How charming! You’re very good, you know. Most fools wouldn’t have realized what happened until you were long gone.”

“You’re not a fool, then.”

His smirk acknowledged the compliment, but he still hadn’t let go of her arm. A tightly coiled energy seemed to hum through him, as if his thoughts and emotions ran at twice the speed of everyone else’s.

“Let’s say I have some experience in your line of work,” he said. “I should haul you off to the nearest copper. Do my duty as a good citizen.”

Charlotte already knew he wouldn’t. She remembered what her mother had said about men taking advantage of innocent girls, and she wondered if that was what this gentleman had in mind. She was more curious than scared. How did men proposition girls they thought were in their power? How would she trick him into letting her go?

He released Charlotte’s arm and opened the billfold. It was empty.

“I’m afraid your little escapade would have proved disappointing,” he said. “I keep my funds far more secured.” He flapped open the left-hand side of his jacket and waved a finger toward the bottom corner, where the small seam of a hidden pocket was barely visible. As if he were daring her to try again.

“It would be a shame to squander such talent,” he said. “I have a proposal that could benefit us both.”

Charlotte could have run. She didn’t.

“There’s a gentleman of my acquaintance who owes me rather a lot of money,” the man said. “I had a good run at cards, and he was unable to meet his obligations. I have his signature on a paper, stating what he owes, but my attempts to collect have been unsuccessful. I have been pondering alternative methods of pursuing my claim, and I believe you could prove most helpful.”

He explained his proposed solution and Charlotte’s role in it. It would take only a few minutes, and she’d walk away with a pound once the debt was collected. But it meant trusting this stranger to do what he promised.

“No later than quarter to ten,” the man said. “He always goes to the ten o’clock church service. Pious bastard.”

Charlotte nodded.

The man swept off his hat and bowed. “Then it’s time we were acquainted. Reginald Evers. At your service.”

“Charlotte Digby.”

Like an apprentice at a master’s knee, she wanted to ask him how he’d started pickpocketing. If he’d ever been caught. But he was already stepping away, back to his mysterious, no-doubt-disreputable life. Even before he was out of her sight, Charlotte began to miss him.



On the day they’d arranged, Charlotte wore her shabbiest dress, the one she reserved for housecleaning. She told her mother she was headed out for a walk before it grew too hot, and when she reached the street corner in Kensington, she unfastened her top two buttons. Reginald had instructed her to look for a round red-faced man and his equally rotund wife, and Charlotte recognized them as soon as they came strolling along, arm in arm.

When they were nearly in front of her, Charlotte called out, “My darling! How can you be so cruel?”

The man and woman stopped abruptly, their confused stares mirror images of each other. Charlotte stepped toward them, her hands dramatically clutched.

“You said you’d take care of me and the baby! You said you loved me!”

The wife’s face shifted to anger. “Who is this?” she demanded, glaring at her husband.

“I don’t know! I’ve never seen her!”

Even to Charlotte, who knew it for the truth, his words sounded unconvincing. Perhaps he was thinking of another woman he’d wronged. She scrunched up her face to hide the fact that her sobs were not accompanied by actual tears. She heard footsteps behind her, then Reginald’s voice.