through his system. He stood absolutely still, and when his muscles began to protest, he slowly, gingerly lifted his drink to his lips, but did not sip.
"Oh, good show, old boy," cheered Penworthy. "You would think we were discussing the weather."
Marcus drained his glass.
Penworthy merely laughed with good humor, then let his gaze wander back toward the fire as if patiently waiting for Marcus to take the lead.
Unfortunately, Marcus felt completely inadequate to the task. Fantine was Penworthy's daughter? A thousand questions crowded into Marcus's mind. Why was she living in the rookery? How could a man as decent and caring as Penworthy allow his own flesh and blood, and a woman no less, to exist in such a state? And to actually give her assignments that might endanger her life... It boggled his mind.
"Sit down, my boy," Penworthy urged. "That is fine French brandy, and I have no wish for you to waste it if you faint."
"I do not faint!" he cried, insulted to the core.
"Of course not," the older gentlemen reassured him as Marcus found his seat. "Fantine and I managed to come to an unusual bargain. We began trading information. She wanted to know about me, and I about her. So we traded questions and answers. Though it took a month's worth of visits—and at least half my food stock—I finally pieced the sordid truth together."
For the first time in the entire bizarre conversation, Penworthy sighed, betraying a regret that seemed to come from deep within.
"I had been very young, and Fantine's mother was a beautiful actress. Gabrielle Delarive. A petite woman with the most amazing agility. She was under my protection a very short time." Penworthy glanced up. "She was too expensive, you understand."
Marcus nodded. Penworthy's taste had always been exquisite. Any woman who caught his fancy would no doubt cost well beyond the means of a young man-about-town.
"I never even knew she was pregnant. Or at least, not until much later. I suppose I consoled myself with the thought that it could have been any number of gentlemen who had done the deed."
"Are you sure it was not?"
Penworthy shrugged. "Fantine says her mother named me as her father. That is enough." Then he glanced up, a self-conscious twist to his lips. "Besides, she has my eyes, I think. And my arrogance."
Mentally, Marcus constructed Fantine's face, analyzing it feature by feature to compare with his friend. Perhaps there was a family resemblance. Her bronze eyes were certainly as brilliant and lively as Penworthy's.
"I wished to care for her immediately. I cannot tell you how much I have longed for a child. I could never tolerate the thought of a wife, but I have missed the children. She was like the answer to my prayers."
"But where was her mother?" Marcus asked.
"Dead. Of the pox. Fantine was ten when her mother's death pushed her out onto the street."
"At ten years of age?" Marcus could hardly comprehend it, and yet he knew it happened every day.
"Even then she was smart. She knew there was no future in whoring." The older gentlemen glanced up. "Her words, not mine. So she dressed as a boy and picked pockets to survive, but even that was difficult. She could not ally herself with any one leader for fear that her sex would be discovered. So she remained independent, playing one leader off against the other."
Marcus nodded. "I saw her technique last night. She would mention Hurdy just to throw Ballast off balance."
"Those two have been fighting over the dockside territory for years. Their rivalry is easy to exploit."
Marcus twisted in his seat, not wishing to be distracted into discussing the previous night's events. "Did you let Fantine live here?"
Penworthy looked up, and for a moment Marcus thought his eyes were haunted. "I could not take her in here. You understand what it would look like, what it would do to my position."
Marcus frowned, thinking back. So many years ago, Penworthy was rapidly growing in political influence, rising up toward
"Oh, good show, old boy," cheered Penworthy. "You would think we were discussing the weather."
Marcus drained his glass.
Penworthy merely laughed with good humor, then let his gaze wander back toward the fire as if patiently waiting for Marcus to take the lead.
Unfortunately, Marcus felt completely inadequate to the task. Fantine was Penworthy's daughter? A thousand questions crowded into Marcus's mind. Why was she living in the rookery? How could a man as decent and caring as Penworthy allow his own flesh and blood, and a woman no less, to exist in such a state? And to actually give her assignments that might endanger her life... It boggled his mind.
"Sit down, my boy," Penworthy urged. "That is fine French brandy, and I have no wish for you to waste it if you faint."
"I do not faint!" he cried, insulted to the core.
"Of course not," the older gentlemen reassured him as Marcus found his seat. "Fantine and I managed to come to an unusual bargain. We began trading information. She wanted to know about me, and I about her. So we traded questions and answers. Though it took a month's worth of visits—and at least half my food stock—I finally pieced the sordid truth together."
For the first time in the entire bizarre conversation, Penworthy sighed, betraying a regret that seemed to come from deep within.
"I had been very young, and Fantine's mother was a beautiful actress. Gabrielle Delarive. A petite woman with the most amazing agility. She was under my protection a very short time." Penworthy glanced up. "She was too expensive, you understand."
Marcus nodded. Penworthy's taste had always been exquisite. Any woman who caught his fancy would no doubt cost well beyond the means of a young man-about-town.
"I never even knew she was pregnant. Or at least, not until much later. I suppose I consoled myself with the thought that it could have been any number of gentlemen who had done the deed."
"Are you sure it was not?"
Penworthy shrugged. "Fantine says her mother named me as her father. That is enough." Then he glanced up, a self-conscious twist to his lips. "Besides, she has my eyes, I think. And my arrogance."
Mentally, Marcus constructed Fantine's face, analyzing it feature by feature to compare with his friend. Perhaps there was a family resemblance. Her bronze eyes were certainly as brilliant and lively as Penworthy's.
"I wished to care for her immediately. I cannot tell you how much I have longed for a child. I could never tolerate the thought of a wife, but I have missed the children. She was like the answer to my prayers."
"But where was her mother?" Marcus asked.
"Dead. Of the pox. Fantine was ten when her mother's death pushed her out onto the street."
"At ten years of age?" Marcus could hardly comprehend it, and yet he knew it happened every day.
"Even then she was smart. She knew there was no future in whoring." The older gentlemen glanced up. "Her words, not mine. So she dressed as a boy and picked pockets to survive, but even that was difficult. She could not ally herself with any one leader for fear that her sex would be discovered. So she remained independent, playing one leader off against the other."
Marcus nodded. "I saw her technique last night. She would mention Hurdy just to throw Ballast off balance."
"Those two have been fighting over the dockside territory for years. Their rivalry is easy to exploit."
Marcus twisted in his seat, not wishing to be distracted into discussing the previous night's events. "Did you let Fantine live here?"
Penworthy looked up, and for a moment Marcus thought his eyes were haunted. "I could not take her in here. You understand what it would look like, what it would do to my position."
Marcus frowned, thinking back. So many years ago, Penworthy was rapidly growing in political influence, rising up toward
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