Page 6 of I Will Steal You the Stars
‘Goddam heirs,’ Enzo grumbled.
‘Not him.’ Mina pointed at the older man. A red blush flushed her cheeks. ‘Him. The husband.’
‘You must be kidding me,’ he said with a grunt. ‘That’s my sponsoring duke.’
Chapter Four
The shadows held their breath until the front door closed. The carriage rumbled off, no doubt making for the back alley and the stabling that ran along the row behind each grand mansion.
Eyes pinched tight, Mina braced herself for Enzo’s condemnation. Not only was her baby’s father a man so far above her station that any match would be impossible, but he was also a married man, and it had all happened in the house he shared with his wife. And she’d relished it, all of it. If she hadn’t found herself in her predicament, and had gone with the family to the country, she would gratefully have allowed him to continue his visits to her bed, for as long as he kept gifting her with small compliments and tender words.
She had been stupid. Arrogant.
Lonely.
Shame and nausea writhed in her stomach, but like always, the pendulum of her emotions swung away from her pain to that sparkle of hope that fizzed in her chest. If she could get away, she might salvage some small joy for herself. Her early years with her mother had been so happy.
Enzo placed his hand over hers. He stroked her knuckles with his thumb. She had to blink a few times to find focus. He watched her, his expression unreadable.
‘You need coffee,’ he said after a beat. ‘I know a good place.’
They didn’t speak until they had left the genteel streets and rejoined the bustle closer to Hyde Park, where the gardens hummed with activity. Hawkers sat at each corner, imploring passersby to try their hand at a game of chance, partake in a light-box show, or indulge in a penny-lick iced cream. A spring breeze curled through her hair. It was one of those days where London seemed to be showing off. When the horse dung was freshly swept, and the warmer weather meant fewer fires burned in hearths, and less soot and smoke saturated the fog.
A short walk from the road, Enzo settled her on a bench beneath a tall oak. He wove between the crowd to a small cart with a chalkboard sign. The costermonger laughed as he slapped Enzo’s back, then passed him two tin mugs. Steam wafted from them, and when Enzo held one out to her, she gratefully wrapped her hands around its warmth.
The bitter aroma brought back a wave of childhood memory. The hallways of the diplomat’s house had always smelt of the brew. It had fuelled endless conversations with meanings she didn’t understand, but she could tell from their gravelly tone were important. In her scattered memories she was often caught on the upper floors, and one of the maids would waggle a chiding finger at her and sayNein, Mina, up here is no place for you.And then they shooed her downstairs, back to the kitchens and out of sight, away from the velvet flocked wallpaper and the heavy wooden furniture that left deep dints in the carpet. Back to her mother’s side as she worked in the laundry.
Enzo eased himself beside her. He blew gently across his mug, and the dark surface rippled. ‘What’s the plan?’ he finally asked.
‘He sets aside the pay at the start of each month, in little labelled envelopes that he keeps locked in the safe in his office. We line up in the entry after morning prayers to get our packets on the last day of the month. And I know the rhythm of the house. Every Sunday, after church, when the staff is light and the family are out visiting, there’s only a footman and a maid on duty. When she thinks he’s busy, she sneaks out to see a gent who works on Oxford Street.’
‘And him?’
Mina laughed. ‘He does much the same. They each think they’re tricking the other, but no one is watching the house for almost half an hour.’ She took a sip. He’d made hers with lots of sugar, and it oozed warm down her throat and settled heavy and comforting in her stomach. The next breath she took was easier, and the world swam a little less.
Enzo held out a slice of bread spread thick with butter. ‘Try this. Always makes me feel better if I’ve had a night too heavy on the lush.’
Mina took the bread with mumbled thanks. Her first nibbles became bites, and then a ravenous devouring. Sweet, creamy, yet still simple. Surely nothing tasted as good as bread and butter from a street cart. As she licked the crumbs from her fingers, Enzo laughed.
‘Here I thought Mina was a robin. She eats like a hawk.’
Mina dipped the final corner of crust into her coffee, then quickly ate it before it turned soggy and broke. ‘It comes in fits and starts. My stomach has been a squall all week. This is the first time it’s been settled.’
Enzo clicked his fingers. The coster’s son dashed over and presented her with another piece of bread. This piece she practically inhaled.
Mina spun the mug between her palms, then took a slower, more appreciative sip. ‘I’ll miss all this.’
‘I’m sure there’s poor people in York or Newcastle,’ Enzo quipped.
‘Not the poor. The street sellers. The inventiveness of it all. How they can think of almost anything to turn into a penny, or even a half-penny. Do you need to be weighed as you go about your day? Do you need the distraction of a picture show played in a box?’ She pointed further along the path where two sellers hawking such services were trying to catch the attention of passers-by. ‘Of course you don’t, but if the urge strikes you, the street sellers provide.’
Enzo flipped a penny through the air, then snatched it, but when he held out his palm to her, it had gone. He frowned at her with mock accusation. ‘You have been spending too much time with low lives and miscreants, little matron Mina. They have been a bad influence on you. You have become a thief.’
‘I have not!’ She knew he was teasing but couldn’t help matching his accusation with her honest defence.
‘I knew it…’ he trailed a fingertip across her brow, caught a loose lock of hair, tucked it behind her ear and then withdrew a shiny penny. ‘Stealing what I rightfully earnt—’
‘Swindled!’
