bright.’
More gloves were fetched. She fingered them, bit her lip as she considered the colour, and asked if there was anything with more buttons, fewer buttons, a brighter blue, a softer pink, sending the shopkeeper scurrying to every box and drawer he had in the shop. When she’d almost exhausted his stock, she said, ‘And maybe some in plain white cotton,’ and he headed into the room at the back of the shop.
As soon as his back was turned, she scooped up three pairs of gloves that were lying on the counter and shoved them in her pocket. Still wearing the divine saffron gloves, she hurried from the shop. She was part-way down the street when she began to run, then heard a cry of ‘Stop, thief!’ behind her.
She grabbed the hem of her gown and held it high, pelting down the street, round corners and up alleyways as she hadn’t done since she was a girl, chasing the chickens to come and be executed. Her chest heaving, she dashed into an open doorway and hid behind the door. The thief-taker galloped past. She peeped out through the crack in the door, making sure no one else was in pursuit.
Her breath came hard and fast and her heart hammered against her ribs. She flopped back against the wall, her fist pressed into her side, and fought to breathe.
‘Hello, my dear.’ A voice spoke out of the shadows.
Rachel whipped round. ‘Who is it?’ she whispered.
‘Only me, dear.’ The woman stepped into the light. A brightly painted bawd with a brown hairpiece pinned to grey tresses, her mouth a scarlet slash, her front teeth brown stumps. ‘What have you been up to, then?’
‘A misunderstanding, that’s all.’ Rachel made to leave, and the woman’s hand shot out and gripped her wrist.
‘I know your type,’ she said. ‘Want me to hand you over to the thief-taker?’
Rachel’s heart dropped. The gloves were still on her: if she was handed to the courts they’d surely find her guilty, and that meant transportation, or death. ‘No.’
‘You got a place?’
‘Yes, I have a keeper,’ she said, affecting superiority.
‘Nah you don’t. That’s the only gown you’ve got, my girl.’ The woman sucked her stumps. ‘Come with me.’
Rachel struggled, but the woman had hold of her wrist, and looked like she wouldn’t think twice about screaming for help. She allowed herself to be hustled upstairs, where she was shown into a large room lined with sofas, draped with silk and reeking of perfume. Each sofa held at least two girls in a state of undress – reclining in erotic poses for the entertainment of two university fellows sniggering beside them.
Rachel’s eyes swept the room, pricing the furniture, the hangings, the clothes the girls almost wore. Not expensive, not cheap. Definitely a step down from Mrs Dukes’s place.
The two boys selected the girls they wanted and the four of them scuffled out of the room.
‘Won’t be long,’ the woman sniffed. ‘The amount they’ve had to drink.’ She turned to Rachel and smiled, ‘They’re the best kind: easy come, easy go, move on to the next bilk.’
‘Who are you?’ Rachel asked.
‘Mrs Bedwin. And you?’
‘Rachel Lovett.’ Rachel tilted her nose up.
‘Rachel Lovett? I’ve heard of you. Wasn’t you Darby Roach’s piece?’
‘I was.’
‘Lost all his money? Stripped his house they did. Betting is he’ll blow his brains out before long.’
Rachel shuddered.
Mrs Bedwin grinned. ‘You are down on your luck, my girl. Keeper’s lost his money, likely kill ’isself soon, thrown out on the street and the thief-taker after you. Thinking you’ll join Darby Roach in heaven?’ She laughed until she wheezed. ‘Nah, you’re mine now. I know too much about you.’ She snapped her fingers at one of the girls, who broke out of her artistic pose. ‘Celia, take Miss Lovett and show her a room. Get her changed and back here. Going to be a busy day, I can feel it in me water.’
As Celia led Rachel out of the room, she heard a clatter of
More gloves were fetched. She fingered them, bit her lip as she considered the colour, and asked if there was anything with more buttons, fewer buttons, a brighter blue, a softer pink, sending the shopkeeper scurrying to every box and drawer he had in the shop. When she’d almost exhausted his stock, she said, ‘And maybe some in plain white cotton,’ and he headed into the room at the back of the shop.
As soon as his back was turned, she scooped up three pairs of gloves that were lying on the counter and shoved them in her pocket. Still wearing the divine saffron gloves, she hurried from the shop. She was part-way down the street when she began to run, then heard a cry of ‘Stop, thief!’ behind her.
She grabbed the hem of her gown and held it high, pelting down the street, round corners and up alleyways as she hadn’t done since she was a girl, chasing the chickens to come and be executed. Her chest heaving, she dashed into an open doorway and hid behind the door. The thief-taker galloped past. She peeped out through the crack in the door, making sure no one else was in pursuit.
Her breath came hard and fast and her heart hammered against her ribs. She flopped back against the wall, her fist pressed into her side, and fought to breathe.
‘Hello, my dear.’ A voice spoke out of the shadows.
Rachel whipped round. ‘Who is it?’ she whispered.
‘Only me, dear.’ The woman stepped into the light. A brightly painted bawd with a brown hairpiece pinned to grey tresses, her mouth a scarlet slash, her front teeth brown stumps. ‘What have you been up to, then?’
‘A misunderstanding, that’s all.’ Rachel made to leave, and the woman’s hand shot out and gripped her wrist.
‘I know your type,’ she said. ‘Want me to hand you over to the thief-taker?’
Rachel’s heart dropped. The gloves were still on her: if she was handed to the courts they’d surely find her guilty, and that meant transportation, or death. ‘No.’
‘You got a place?’
‘Yes, I have a keeper,’ she said, affecting superiority.
‘Nah you don’t. That’s the only gown you’ve got, my girl.’ The woman sucked her stumps. ‘Come with me.’
Rachel struggled, but the woman had hold of her wrist, and looked like she wouldn’t think twice about screaming for help. She allowed herself to be hustled upstairs, where she was shown into a large room lined with sofas, draped with silk and reeking of perfume. Each sofa held at least two girls in a state of undress – reclining in erotic poses for the entertainment of two university fellows sniggering beside them.
Rachel’s eyes swept the room, pricing the furniture, the hangings, the clothes the girls almost wore. Not expensive, not cheap. Definitely a step down from Mrs Dukes’s place.
The two boys selected the girls they wanted and the four of them scuffled out of the room.
‘Won’t be long,’ the woman sniffed. ‘The amount they’ve had to drink.’ She turned to Rachel and smiled, ‘They’re the best kind: easy come, easy go, move on to the next bilk.’
‘Who are you?’ Rachel asked.
‘Mrs Bedwin. And you?’
‘Rachel Lovett.’ Rachel tilted her nose up.
‘Rachel Lovett? I’ve heard of you. Wasn’t you Darby Roach’s piece?’
‘I was.’
‘Lost all his money? Stripped his house they did. Betting is he’ll blow his brains out before long.’
Rachel shuddered.
Mrs Bedwin grinned. ‘You are down on your luck, my girl. Keeper’s lost his money, likely kill ’isself soon, thrown out on the street and the thief-taker after you. Thinking you’ll join Darby Roach in heaven?’ She laughed until she wheezed. ‘Nah, you’re mine now. I know too much about you.’ She snapped her fingers at one of the girls, who broke out of her artistic pose. ‘Celia, take Miss Lovett and show her a room. Get her changed and back here. Going to be a busy day, I can feel it in me water.’
As Celia led Rachel out of the room, she heard a clatter of
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