Read Online Ways to Be Wicked by Julie Anne Long - Free Book Online

rooted about in the wardrobe, a number of things came tumbling out; a wooden wand topped by a painted star clunked to the floor. Rose plucked it up, set it aside. “It was Kitty’s, ye know. Kitty was the girl before ye.”
    If she stopped to think about it, it would dizzy her, the fact that she was about to dress as a fairy in order to earn her keep. Sylvie decided to ask questions instead.
    “The girl before me?”
    “The one who left, ye see. A few months ago. They say what Mr. Shaughnessy turned ’er off. Got ’erself in a right. . .
bind.
” Rose whispered the last word meaningfully and cupped her hands meaningfully below her belly.”
    “So he. . . ‘turned ’er off’?” Sylvie repeated, aghast. She was fairly certain she knew what this particular English turn of phrase meant, given that the girl had gotten herself into a
bind:
He’d sent her away.
    “Canna verra well put ’er onstage when she gets big like, can ’e?” Rose observed pragmatically, extending her arms out as though she was encircling an invisible pump-kin. “She was ’ere one day, cryin’ and the like, told Molly she’d gone to speak to Mr. Shaughnessy about ’er troubles. An’ she was gone the next day. ’Avena seen ’er since.”
    Rose turned and studied Sylvie for a moment, apparently considering whether to tell Sylvie something that, judging from Rose’s expression, was clearly going to be interesting. “Molly says what Mr. Shaughnessy is the papa.”
    A thrill of horror coiled in Sylvie’s stomach.
    And Rose nodded once, gratified by the expression on Sylvie’s face. “But then, Molly says a
lot,
” Rose added in mild wonder. As though she could scarcely fathom why anyone would want to say more than was necessary.
    “You do not believe it?”
    Rose hesitated, then shrugged. “Mr. Shaughnessy. . . well, I dinna think ’e would touch a girl what works fer ’im.”
    “How do you know this?” Sylvie found herself asking.
    And whom does he touch instead?
    “We’ve all ’ad a go at it, ye see.” Rose grinned at this. “Water off a duck’s back, to Mr. Shaughnessy. ’E brooks nooooo nonsense when it comes to the White Lily and those girls what work ’ere. ’E jus’ smiles until we give up.”
    Interesting, given that the man seemed inclined to both frivolity and danger.
    “So why would Molly say such a thing?”
    “Because ’e willna touch
’er,
though she’s tried and tried, and
she
thinks it’s because of Kitty. She says Kitty was Mr. Shaughnessy’s favorite. We
all
thought Kitty was Mr. Shaughnessy’s favorite. ’E
did
seem to like ’er best. ’E. . . laughed wi’ ’er, ye see. An’ ’e ’asna ’ired a new girl until. . . today. It’s been months. An’ Molly wants ’im— Mr. Shaughnessy—fer ’erself. Well, and dinna we all?”
    No. Yes. Maybe.
    Sylvie tactfully ignored the question, which seemed to be rhetorical anyway. And so cheerfully and matter-of-factly said, as if Mr. Shaughnessy’s appeal was universal and could be understood and appreciated by any female.
    “But Mr. Shaughnessy...ever since Kitty left, ye see. . . once a week or so he goes to Kent, I ’eard ’im say t’The General once. But no one knows why. Not even The General. Not even ’Er Majesty.”
    “‘Her Majesty?’ ” She had been under the impression that the English were ruled by a king. Perhaps this was another honorary title, like The General.
    “Daisy,” Rose said laconically, as if this clarified anything. “She’s ’er own room to dress in and entertain guests and the like. She doesna share wi’ the likes of us. Ye’ll see ’er soon enough, no doubt. But she willna speak to the likes of ye.”
    Ah, a diva. Sylvie was familiar with the sort. As she was something of the sort herself.
    “But ladies, they do come to look for Mr. Shaughnessy,” Rose hurried to assure Sylvie, as if the fact that he didn’t touch his dancers would call his manhood into question. “Cryin’ an’ beggin’ to see