Page 13 of Seductive Reprise
She just prayed that Joseph and Mrs. Hartley’s son were not close acquaintances.
The more she dwelled on the thought, the more it soothed her. She’d only need to do two sittings, that was it. How likely would it be that Joseph would somehow be visiting Mr. Hartley again while she worked with the scrappy little dog? There was a good chance she and Joseph Palgrave would never cross paths again, that he would leave her be and allow her to live her life.
Onherterms, not his.
The thought brought Rose a measure of relief as she locked up her rooms, hat perched upon her head, gloves tucked under one arm and valise under the other. She deftly slipped through the halls without encountering the proprietress, Mrs. Fryer, who was no great admirer of hers. Indeed, Rose had lied about her occupation so that her tenancy would be accepted, saying she taught drawing to daughters of middle-class families. Unfortunately, Mrs. Fryer was a little too canny, always pressing her about her late hours and unkempt dress.
Thankfully, today Rose escaped outside with no such inquest. She breathed a sigh of relief and tugged on her gloves, the roar of the city enveloping her. Omnibuses, carriages, wagons, and carts rumbling past, along with myriad voices shouting: street sellers, dustmen, mothers calling after children.
Another voice cut through the cacophony. “Cab, miss?”
The young, genial cabman tipped his bowler at her.
Rose grinned. “No thank you, Mullock, I’m in a hurry!”
“Suit yourself,” he said, taking the trite joke in good humor. Although Rose had no qualms with the cabstand outside her tenement, it did mean they suffered the wretched smell of horse manure and straw, as well as the perilous swill the water pump transformed it into. Rose picked out a careful path, closing the distance between herself and Mullock without stepping in it.
“And how is Miss Ruth today?”
“Already left about an hour ago, did you not see her?”
“Oh I did, but she ignored me, as usual.” Mullock brushed a bit of dry straw off his brightly checkered coat. Rose had always marked him as smart, and wondered at her housemate’s disdain for the friendly hansom cab driver. Not to mention, his stand was properly run; the drivers were well-mannered and rightly organized.
“She was a bit set off this morning,” Rose offered charitably. She didn’t add that it was her and her spilled tea that had put Ruth out so.
A scowl darkened the man’s face. “Anything out of sorts?” he said, a hint of a growl to his words.
“No, nothing like that,” Rose said, waving her hands so hurriedly that her valise slipped from her grasp.
Mullock apparently possessed quick reflexes, for he lunged forward and caught it before it landed in the muck.
“Thank you,” Rose said as she took it from him and held it tighter. “Perhaps she’ll be in a better mood when you catch her on her way home this evening?”
The mere suggestion brought the cheer back to the cabman’s face. “That she might.” He tipped his hat once more to Rose. “Now, you take care. Hodgson mentioned he saw you coming home nearly past two last night.”
“Oh, no one’s ever bothered me. Have no fear!” Rose laughed nervously. She never knew what to make of everyone’s concern over her, and lately it had made her a jittery, nervous wreck.What was she expecting might happen? That the Earl of Ipsley would turn up on the doorstep of her shabby residence? Or worse, Joseph?
She clenched her jaw at the thought.
“You’re a nice girl, Miss Rose,” Mullock admonished, shaking his head. “Don’t be foolish, now.”
Rose smiled awkwardly, then gave Mullock a half-hearted wave as she carefully made her way back to the pavement. She supposed she ought to take everyone’s warnings to heart, but in her ten years flitting about the city with artists—or alone—she had yet to come across a situation she could not handle; her height and talent for bellowing at the top of her lungs seemed to keep the worst types at bay. Besides, the city streets were one of the few places she felt truly free, as if her problems were nothing compared to the totality of the trials and woes of every other person who passed by.
And yet, today she could not shake Joseph from her mind. So much did he consume her thoughts on the walk to the sketching society that she wondered if perhaps shewantedto see him again. And even when she tried to banish him from her mind, her thoughts returned most unwelcomingly to the cheque in her pocket.
Ten o’clock was still early for most artistic sorts, so the studio the society frequently utilized was nearly empty when Rose arrived, save for a few other artists and the nude model posing on a platform. There was the German, Mr. Schramm, off in a corner by himself. The bespectacled Miss Sykes was seated next to Mr. Key and his massive mutton chops, which even to Rose’s eye were far too bedraggled. And finally there was Howard, set up near the center, finely done up in soft pink ruffles and a narrow, bright green bow tie that made her think of a ribbon in a young girl’s hair. She selected an easel and carried it over to him.
“Morning,” he said, barely noticing her as she set up to work.
Rose nodded in response, picked up a stick of charcoal, and began.
They passed an hour or so in companionable silence, Rose happy to finally take her mind off of earls and dukes and sons of dukes.
“I say, what’s on this week?” Howard finally spoke. “I feel everyone has been meeting without me as of late.”
Rose glanced over to see the pained look on his face. Howard Picton always seemed so delicate, too soft for this world with his fine, curling locks and boyish good looks.
Rose gave a breathy laugh. “As if I should know. Half our set’s cut me out because of,” she frowned at the sketch before her, “you know.”
