The Raven Prince (Princes #1)(21)

“You certainly have been leading an exciting life lately,” Rebecca whispered.

“Really?” Anna busied herself with her gloves and bible.

“Mmm-hmm,” Rebecca murmured. “I had no idea you were considering the world’s oldest profession.”

That got Anna’s attention. “What?”

“They haven’t actually accused you of it yet, but some are coming close.” Rebecca smiled at the lady behind them who had leaned forward.

The woman drew back sharply and sniffed.

Her friend continued, “The town gossips haven’t had this much fun since the miller’s wife had her baby ten months after he died.”

The vicar entered and the congregation quieted as the service began. Predictably, the homily was on the sins of Jezebel, although poor Vicar Jones did not look like he enjoyed delivering it. Anna had only to glance at the ramrod-straight back of Mrs. Jones sitting in the front pew to guess who had decided on the subject matter. At last the service came to a dreary close, and they stood to exit the church.

“Don’t know why they left her palms and feet,” James said as the congregation began rising.

Rebecca looked up at her husband with fond exasperation. “What are you blathering about, darling?”

“Jezebel,” James muttered. “Dogs didn’t eat her palms and the soles of her feet. Why? Hounds not usually that particular about their victuals, in my experience.”

Rebecca rolled her eyes and patted her husband’s arm. “Don’t worry about it, darling. Perhaps they had different dogs back then.”

James didn’t look very satisfied with this explanation, but he responded to his wife’s gentle nudge toward the door. Anna was touched to note that Mother Wren and Rebecca arranged themselves on either side of her with James guarding her rear.

As it turned out, however, she did not need such a loyal barricade. For while she received several censorious looks and one cut direct, not all the ladies of Little Battleford were disapproving. In fact, many of the younger ladies were so envious of Anna’s new position as secretary to Lord Swartingham that it seemed to transcend her problematic championship of a prostitute in their eyes.

Anna was almost through the gauntlet of villagers outside the church and was beginning to relax when she heard an overly sweet voice at her shoulder. “Mrs. Wren, I do want you to know how very brave I think you are.”

Felicity Clearwater carelessly held her small cape in one hand, the better to show off her fashionable frock. Orange and blue nosegays tumbled over a background of primrose yellow. The skirt parted in front to reveal a blue brocade underskirt, and the whole concoction draped over wide panniers.

For a moment, Anna thought wistfully of how nice it would be to wear a gown as fine as Felicity’s; then Mother Wren bridled beside her. “Anna had not a thought for herself when she brought that poor woman home.”

Felicity’s eyes widened. “Oh, obviously. Why, to endure the displeasure of the entire village, not to mention the scolding from the pulpit she just received, Anna must not have had a thought at all.”

“I don’t think I shall take the lessons of Jezebel too seriously,” Anna said lightly. “After all, they might apply to other women in this village, too.”

For some reason, this rather weak rejoinder made the other woman stiffen. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.” Felicity’s fingers ran blindly across her hair like spiders. “Unlike you, no one could fault me for the company I keep.” Smiling tightly, Felicity swept off before Anna could think of a suitable riposte.

“Cat.” Rebecca’s own eyes narrowed rather like a feline.

Back at the cottage, Anna spent the rest of the day darning stockings, a talent that she’d by necessity become expert at. After her own supper, she crept up to Pearl’s room and found the woman much better. Anna helped her sit up and eat some porridge thinned with milk. Pearl was quite a pretty woman, if worn looking.

Pearl fidgeted with a lock of her pale hair for several minutes before finally bursting out, “Why’d you take me in, then?”

Anna was startled. “You were lying by the side of the road. I couldn’t leave you there.”

“You know what kind of a girl I am, don’t you?”

“Well—”

“I’m a trollop.” Pearl said the last word with a defiant twist to her mouth.

“We thought you might be,” Anna replied.

“Well, now you know.”

“But I don’t see that it makes any difference.”

Pearl appeared stunned. Anna took the opportunity to spoon some more gruel into her open mouth.

“Here now. You aren’t one of them religious types, are you?” Pearl’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Anna paused with the spoon in midair. “What?”

Pearl agitatedly twisted the sheet covering her knees. “One of them religious ladies that grab girls like me to reform them. I heard that they feeds them nothing but bread and water and makes them do needlework till their fingers bleed and they repent.”

Anna looked at the milky gruel in the bowl. “This isn’t bread and water, is it?”

Pearl flushed. “No, ma’am, I suppose it isn’t.”

“We’ll feed you more substantial fare when you are up to it, I assure you.”