Page 30 of West End Earl
A gentle tap at her door made her sniff, then swipe at her eyes with the back of a hand.
“Mr. Hardwick?” Mrs. Carver’s voice came from the other side. The landlady’s tone said it all. Adam Hardwick was getting evicted.
Dread settled heavy in her limbs as she flipped the latch and opened the door, still clutching the pillow in her other fist.
Mrs. Carver’s face softened with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hardwick.” The landlady pulled a few coins from her apron pocket and held them out.
Phee nodded, knowing what came next.
“Here’s the rest of this week’s rent returned to you. You’re a good lad. I don’t know what kind of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, but it’s not trouble I want on my doorstep. Gather your things. I’ll need you gone by nightfall.”
Phee squeezed out a breath and tightened her hold on the pillow. The faint crinkle soothed the panic tickling the edges of her brain. “I understand. Thank you, Mrs. Carver.”
She would be fine. No, this wasn’t ideal. But she was not without resources. She just needed to survive until the end of the year. Straightening her chin to stand as tall as possible, Phee closed the door and surveyed the room once more.
This time she’d go somewhere her uncle couldn’t reach her—perhaps to the seashore—and leave Adam’s name behind a little early. A plan formed from spinning thoughts while she sifted through the room in search of something salvageable.
The town would need to be within a reasonable distance from London, since she’d have to collect her quarterly allowance one more time. Perhaps she need only pretend to be Adam for that one meeting. The idea of finally shedding her brother’s name felt odd. Not quite the dark heft of grief, but not the lightness of relief either.
Under the bed, the corner of a miniature caught the light of the lantern. Beyond that, miraculously intact, lay the small sewing kit she used to alter her clothing. Smoothing dirt from the tiny painting’s frame, Phee studied the faces caught by a rather subpar artist. Her parents had been good people. So good, perhaps, that they hadn’t believed others capable of the depravity Uncle Milton held within his pinkie finger. Such blind trust to leave him with the final say in the amount of her allowance.
The whole situation made her blood boil, but being furious with her dead parents felt disloyal to the early memories she held of them. Guilt hit with predictable precision. She swallowed it down from habit, tucking it away as neatly as she pocketed the small portrait into her coat.
“So that’s it, then. A pillow, a sewing kit, and a miniature.” Pathetic, really. Everything else would be fuel for warmth or perhaps passed around as scraps to the other residents of the building. Maybe they could use the bits and pieces as patches for their clothes or a quilt. Some good might come of the mess that way.
The familiar faded wallpaper of the hallway greeted her for the last time when she stepped out of the room. Mrs. Carver took the key she proffered, then clasped Phee’s hands. “Be well, lad.”
“Thank you.” A thought occurred to her, cutting through the numbness she’d pulled around herself like a cloak. Her neighbor would receive another letter soon and not have any way of reading it. The thought cracked the calm she’d fabricated. “When you see Barry next, could you tell him I’m sorry I won’t be here to read his correspondence anymore? I hope he can find someone else to help him keep in touch with his brother.”
“I’ll tell him. Best get along before it gets dark, Mr. Hardwick.” The nudge was gentle, but there nonetheless.
Quick as that, she was homeless.
An hour later, if Higgins was surprised to see Phee on the doorstep, he didn’t let on. “Mr. Hardwick.”
“Hello again, Higgins. Is his lordship home?”
“I’m afraid Lord Carlyle and Lady Emma have stepped out for the evening.”
So this would not be a quick goodbye, then a walk to the nearest posting house. She could simply leave a note and move on with her life. But on this entire planet, there were three people who knew Ophelia was alive: Vicar Arcott, John, and Cal. Even if he didn’t know all the details. Walking away with no more than a letter sounded like an awful, cowardly way to leave things. He’d taken her under his wing and offered friendship when she’d been completely alone.
The fresh memory of her destroyed belongings, clearly meant as a threat to intimidate, flashed through her mind. Cal’s feelings weren’t more important than her safety. However, Cal owed her wages, and frankly, she needed every coin she could get if she was going to successfully move and hide for the next few months. Money provided a solid reason to say goodbye in person, when logically she should be fleeing the city and abandoning every connection and friendship.
“Do you mind if I wait in the library?”
Instead of answering, Higgins puckered his brow in a tiny gesture she might have missed were she not paying attention. The butler glanced at the pillow. “Perhaps you’d prefer to wait in a bedroom and address your business with him on the morrow? You know a chamber remains prepared for you at all times on Lord Carlyle’s order. The family likely won’t return until very late.”
God, if Higgins softened his voice further, Phee would cry. The unexpected kindness caused her eyes to burn with unshed emotion. “I look that bad off, do I?”
The butler straightened, all business once more. “I am hardly one to pass judgment, Mr. Hardwick. If you choose to wait in the library, you are free to do so. I’m simply doing my duty by reminding you that Lord Carlyle has made it clear you will always have a place here.”
Blinking to clear her eyes, Phee adjusted the pillow under her arm. “Thank you, Higgins. If you wouldn’t mind sending notice when his lordship arrives home, I’ll take that offer of a room.”
“Of course.”
A footman led her up the stairs and down a familiar hallway. “Are you sure we’re going the right way? Isn’t this the family wing?” They passed the heavy wooden door to Cal’s room, then stopped at the end of the hall before a set of similar doors.
“No mistake, Mr. Hardwick.” The servant opened the room to show a chamber three times the size of the room she’d been renting, with a door ajar on the far wall showing an additional dressing chamber.
