Page 46 of Beneath the Devil's Mask
A hard smile touched Gideon’s lips. “Me and Mum and Davy don’t dream. We just exist and we are content with that. But you, Sara, you are different, bright, clever, determined. You’ll get what you want someday, but not if you keep coming back here, getting tangled up with us. We will only drag you down.”
Sara felt a faint flush of shame stain her cheeks. Gideon was not saying anything that she had not already thought herself more than once.
Gideon finished by giving her cheek a playful flick, forcing the lightness back into his tone. “For what it was worth, that was a piece of free brotherly advice. It is likely the only thing you will ever get from me.”
Sara shoved back from the table, a hard set to her jaw. “Thank you, my dear brother. You are quite right, of course. You are all fools here. I shall not bother with you again.”
“That’s the spirit,” Gideon said, holding her coat to help her into it.
Sara was just donning her bonnet when Chastity came rushing back into the flat, bottle in hand. She gave a crow of dismay to see Sara on the verge of leaving.
“You cannot mean to be going so soon, Sary? And without a nip of rum to warm you, put some color back into your cheeks.”
“I feel warm enough, Mum,” Sara said, though she had never felt so cold in her life. She lied, “I have to get home to change. A gentleman is taking me to supper tonight.”
“I daresay it will be some elegant affair.” Chastity sighed. “I knew a young baronet once. A little on the simple side, but a good-hearted fellow. He took me to an assembly ball one evening. His mama damn near died of shock.”
Smiling at the remembrance, Chastity rustled forward to fuss with the strings of Sara’s bonnet, tying it for her. She always could do up the prettiest bows.
“There. Now you look quite the young lady. When will you be coming back to see your mama again?”
Sara hesitated, thinking of her recent discussion with Gideon, what she had just decided. She stared at her mother’s face, the age lines feathering eyes that still had the bright sparkle of a young girl’s.
If only her mother had had more intelligence and ambition, where might the whole Palmer family have been today? And yet, Chastity had not been such a bad mother, really. Whenever Sara had been sick, Chastity had always been there, and sober, too. It had been Chastity who had taught Sara how to read.
And Gideon ... the first time her brother had ever killed anyone it had been because of Sara and that drunken dockworker who had tried to rape her. Gideon had been only fourteen.
Swallowing hard, Sara heard herself saying, “I will be back again in two weeks, Mum. Like always.”
As Chastity hugged her, Sara met Gideon’s eyes over her mother’s shoulder. He arched his brows in a look that was both mocking and sad. From across the room, he mouthed a single word.
Fool.
There was only one response to such a thing in keeping with Sara’s dignity. When Chastity was not looking, Sara thrust her tongue out at her brother.
Kissing her mother farewell, Sara left the apartment. Feeling equal parts frustrated and resigned, she was still thinking about all that had taken place in the flat when she reached the street.
It was a grave mistake to walk along woolgathering through the lanes of Bethnal Green and Sara knew better. But before she snapped to her senses, she was roughly shoved from behind, hands snatching for her reticule.
Sara clung to the thin strap, but events proceeded too quickly for any further response. A sly-faced boy with blond hair knocked her off balance, wrenching the purse from her grasp. Sara cursed as she recognized the taunting grin.
“Damn you, Davy. Give me that back before I wring your neck.”
“You have to catch me first,” her younger brother sang out.
Sara lunged for him, only to topple headlong into the muddy street. By the time she raised up onto her elbow, David had already darted between two buildings and disappeared.
“You little bastard,” Sara muttered. Struggling to rise, she felt a hand upon her arm, trying to help her.
Usually, they just stepped over you in Bethnal Green. Assistance was rare, the sight of the man who was offering it even rarer.
Sara blinked. She had never seen such a bright-striped waistcoat before, especially not worn with a bottle-green frock coat and skin-tight yellow breeches. A high-crowned beaver was perched upon artlessly combed locks. The man had a face that was pleasant rather than handsome, and vaguely familiar to Sara.
But she was too cross to do other than dismiss him as some dandy who had meandered into the wrong part of town, a complete idiot.
“Are you all right, miss?” he asked as Sara steadied herself on her feet.
“Do I look all right?” she snapped. She attempted to scrub some of the mud from her coat, but her glove was equally dirty.
