Page 15 of Eliza and the Duke
She merely smiled back, her dark eyes knowing and playful.
Mrs. Dove continued to entice him to stay, but he managed to pull himself away. He’d get their precise schedule in the morning. He’d meant what he said about having other things to do tonight, though Montague Club would have to wait a bit.
He didn’t have time to change his clothes as he made his way across town to the alleys of Whitechapel. He liked to dress in more nondescript clothing when he came here and not the finer fabrics he wore at the club and in Mayfair, but it couldn’t be helped. Daisy would be waiting for him and wouldn’t want to sleep until she saw him. The cab dropped him off at Commercial Street, and he made his way through the rabbit warren of alleys, keeping his head down and ignoring the shapes that moved in the dusk shadows.
It wasn’t long before he came to the brothel that had become familiar to him these past several years. His sister, Mary, had been let go from her position at the factory once she had been unable to hide her advanced pregnancy and had taken up residence here at the behest of her friend who worked in one of the upstairs rooms. After her death, Simon had negotiated with the owner to allow Daisy to stay in the attic. Mrs. Jeffries charged him exorbitant rent, but he slept every night knowing his niece was protected.
He knocked on the door and waited, his gaze scanning the street out of habit. A man’s form moved in the shadow of the building across the narrow street, one of Brody’s men that hekept in the area to make certain that Simon didn’t take Daisy away.
“Good evening, Mr. Cavell.” Mrs. Jeffries opened the door. She was also being paid to sound the alarm should he make the unwise decision to abscond with Daisy. She’d told him as much when he’d first made the arrangement with her. “You’re later than usual today.”
“Couldn’t be helped.”
Her brow arched in quiet judgment, but she stood back to allow him to enter.
He took the stairs to the attic two at a time. When he reached the small attic room and knocked, Henrietta opened it within seconds. Her eyes filled with relief. “Mr. Cavell, I’m glad you’re here.”
Daisy fretted in the background. “Heni!” she called from the bed they shared and sat up. Her face lit with happiness when she saw him. “Papa!”
Simon rushed into the room and reached his niece about the time she stood and was launching herself into his arms. He caught her and swung her around once, much to her delight, before he pulled her close. She nuzzled into his neck, her hair tickling his nose. He breathed in her sweet scent and felt an unexpected ache build in his chest. She should be in a home like the Doves were, with music and laughter surrounding her, not here in this dark attic space. Henrietta took her out daily to get air, but there were no gardens for her to play in.
“I missed you, love,” he said.
Daisy pulled back and looked up at him, her white baby teeth shining up at him in a smile.
“Where have you been?” Her brow creased almost as quickly as her smile had appeared.
“You really must try to come in the morning,” Henrietta admonished him gently, her eyes a little bit skittish as she looked from him to Daisy. She was only around fifteen years old and had been Daisy’s caretaker for the last year. She’d come to the brothel to work around the same time Daisy’s previous caretaker had decided she wanted to marry and had readily agreed to the position. “It’s what she’s accustomed to. She worries all day when she doesn’t see you, sir.”
“I know, Heni.” He’d taken to Daisy’s nickname for the girl. “I’m sorry. This job should only last for a few more days and then I’ll be back every morning as usual. Here.” He reached into his pocket and withdrew one of the oranges he’d pilfered from the Doves’ kitchen and handed it to Heni. The other one he gave to Daisy. “One for each of you.”
They both grinned and he was forgiven. As Daisy tucked into the skin of her orange, trying her best to remove it, he kissed the top of her head and prayed that the final fight Brody had planned would be the last one, as he’d promised. If it wasn’t, he’d have to try to sneak Daisy out somehow and go on the run with her. That would be dangerous because Brody would try to chase them down, but Simon would have no choice.
Eight
Bloomsbury was an area ofthe city that had become known for its intellectualism and progressivism. It was home to the British Museum, writers, several colleges, and, perhaps most notably, Montague Club. At that fateful dinner several weeks ago when she’d met Simon, Mr. Thorne had told them that the club was the first in the city to allow both men and women members. He had spoken at length about how the club had begun as a home to second and third sons and all manner of lower nobility who found White’s and Brooks’s too absorbed in the minutiae of tradition. Professionals and scholars of all bent also sought out the club. He’d made it sound like a haven of forward-thinking individuals, which is why Eliza had been so desperate to see the inside.
And yet again she was pushing the bounds of propriety to be here. She pressed her forehead against the side window of the cab to peer out at the club as Jenny handed their fare up to the driver. Montague Club was an expansive building that spanned the length of half a city block and was several floorstall. Its white marble facade seemed illuminated beneath the full moon overhead and the gas streetlamps flickering in the mild evening air. A line of carriages disappeared down the street and around the corner as people arrived for the exhibition fight. A wide red carpet had been laid out at the main entrance to welcome spectators. The club only hosted these fights a couple of times a year and they always drew a crowd.
“It looks like a palace, doesn’t it?” Eliza asked. Doormen in double-breasted livery stood on either side of the massive front doors. Torches lighted the way from the carriages.
“Yes.” Jenny hurried from the carriage and Eliza roused herself to follow her sister. The cab took off and they were left there on the pavement. “A palace complete with guards. How will we get in?” Jenny asked.
The club was opened to nonmembers tonight, but only to those who had been able to acquire a ticket. Cora had refused to purchase tickets for them, proclaiming that a brawl was no place for unmarried women. She was right, and looming over them was the fact that Eliza didn’t have Mainwaring’s permission. Though there was a betrothal contract in place, he could call the whole thing off and it would be Eliza’s reputation that suffered for it. It was why they had dressed in black veils.
“We’ll wait for an opportunity,” she said, watching the people make their way inside in small groups of two and four.
It had been about a week since she’d last spoken with Simon. A few days after their conversation in the hall, Devonworth had deemed them not to be at risk anymore. He still had his own men escort them in public, but Simon had been able to return to his work at Montague without a proper goodbye or giving her an answer. They had managed to sneak out tonight after Jenny had pleaded a headache and Eliza hadinsisted on staying home to watch over her sister. Fanny had gone out to the previously planned dinner without them.
Simon was participating in the brawl tonight, and there was no way she would miss him.
“Let’s look for a large group—There!” Jenny discreetly pointed toward a group of young men walking down the sidewalk. They were well-dressed but slightly unkempt, likely students, and they were clearly intent on the club. “We’ll fall in behind them.”
Eliza shook her head. “That won’t work. It looks as if they’re checking tickets.” One of the doormen appeared as stoic as a palace guard as he inspected a piece of card stock that an older man and woman presented to him. Only after examining it thoroughly did he step aside to welcome them. “Besides, I’d wager that Lord Leigh is inside greeting guests. We can’t go in the front and chance him catching us.”
They would also have to avoid the Duke of Rothschild along with his wife, Leigh’s wife, and Cora and Devonworth. Wives of titled men didn’t suffer under the same constraints as young debutantes hoping to marry well. It wasn’t fair, but it was true, and there might be others they would need to avoid. But as long as they stayed toward the back of the crowd with their veils, she didn’t think they would have to worry.
“Come on,” she said. “We’ll try a service entrance.”
