A Rational Proposal (Furze House Irregulars Book 1)(24)
She stopped, alarmed at the loud thumping of her heart in her ears. “This is foolish,” she said, striving for calm. “I can only be a turn or two away from a main thoroughfare. It is simply this wretched mist confusing me. If I could but make out my surroundings, I’d be out of this fix in a trice.” But the tall terraced buildings, their top storeys indistinct in the fog, crowded her reason and made a mockery of her senses. Which way to go? Would she still be here, frozen, when the mist finally cleared? She heard brisk footsteps of somebody who certainly knew where they were and spun towards them thankfully, discerning the shape of a woman approaching. “Pray excuse me, but could you help me, please? I fear I am lost.”
“You must be, if you’re down here alone. Wait, I know your voice, don’t I?”
“Is... is that Molly Turner? I met you in Bow Street... goodness, was it only yesterday morning? I was so glad when you were acquitted.”
“Bless me, you gave me your fichu! Well, it’s turn and turn about as they say. I’ll see you safe, miss. Where was you wanting to get to?”
Oh, the relief. Verity thought she had never been so glad to hear a friendly voice before. “That is very kind. I don’t wish to take you out of your way. If I can but find a hackney cab, I can take it to Grosvenor Street.”
“That’s a simple matter. You walk along with me. I’m on my way to the theatres. The custom is always good there, even as early as this, and there are generally a few coaches looking for a fare. It’s a bad day to be out, that’s for sure. I’d rather be in front of my own grate myself, but work is work and I’ve no money for enough candles for my sewing, so needs must, eh? The nippers will be all right with Ma, sorting tomorrow’s laundry. It’s not what I like, but there. You’ve got to eat, haven’t you?”
“Yes indeed,” said Verity, having only the haziest idea what Molly was talking about, but wanting to sound sympathetic in case she offended her and suddenly found herself alone again.
Molly set a good pace. The mist deadened their footsteps and the damp seemed to creep around the edges of Verity’s cloak as they hurried along. She suspected if she asked what sort of work Molly was heading for, she might well be embarrassed by the answer, so instead said, “Do you do much sewing? I always start with good intentions, but then I become impatient and my stitches get longer and longer.”
“I do it when I can see to, miss. It’s soothing, and there’s a satisfaction in seeing something made good again. The way I came to it was this: Ma’s taken in laundry all her life and we children got put to the tub as soon as we could see over the rim. Well, sometimes there would be a seam gone in a shirt, or a hem pulled that needed a stitch or two. It’s all extra pennies, isn’t it? I realised early on that if I did the mending nice and neat I’d be given more of it and less of the scrubbing, and that would mean I’d be sitting down, not standing, and it’d be a deal kinder on my hands than having them in water all the time.”
Verity was impressed by the cheerful practicality of her companion. “That is very true.”
“Ma’s hands and her cough are shocking. I’d dearly love to get her out of London and into the country air somewhere, but there, it’s what we’ve always known and it’s a reasonable life so long as folk pay up. Can’t boil the copper without coin for coal, can you? It’s a funny thing that the richer folk are, the longer they leave their bills before settling up. That’s what I like about the evening work, you get your money straight away and sometimes a bite of supper too. They don’t want those sort of dockets being sent to the house, do they?” Molly seemed more amused than embarrassed.
“Er, no.”
Molly chuckled. “I lost my patience with the longest-running of Ma’s laundry bills one day, and started going around to the back doors of the big houses and asking to speak to the butler in person. Amazing how it brought forth the readies.”
All the time they had been talking, Verity had been aware of other pedestrians in the fog, most muffled to the ears, some walking past with head down against the mist, occasional silent figures skulking around corners like oozing patches of murk. Now a bigger shape loomed out of an alley, turned at the sound of Molly’s laugh and made straight for them, the scent of ale on his breath.
“What have we here, eh? A pretty pair for plucking, I say.”
The man’s voice was rough, and Verity instinctively shrank against Molly.
“You don’t want to bother with us,” said her new friend comfortably. “We’re on a different path tonight.”
“Is that so? Who’s to say it’s not mine? I might walk that way myself.” Verity could hear the leer in the man’s words and had to guard against the nausea in her throat. She gripped her parcels to stop her hands shaking.
Molly, however, lost not an ounce of confidence. “It wouldn’t be very smooth, I’m afraid. Our way is paved with flint.”
“That’s different. I’ll leave you then.” The alteration in the man’s attitude was palpable as he swerved away, heading instead for a narrow opening where a dim light indicated an ale-house and noise came faintly through the fog.
Molly let out a silent breath and picked up her pace.
“What did you mean by that?” Verity asked, scurrying alongside her, curious about the deliberate phrasing she’d used.