Page 85 of The Heiress's Daughter
Race clenched his teeth and breathed in through his nose. How could they laugh about it so carelessly? Did they have no idea how close they had come? The danger they’d been in? What if he hadn’t found them—it was just chance that he’d turned left instead of right, down one of those blasted twisty alleyways, and found them.
The hackney cab rumbled along over the cobbles. Race stared out of the window.
“Where did you sleep last night?” Clarissa asked.
“On the floor at Old Moll’s.” Zoë gave her a wry look and added, “Didn’t sleep much. Seems I’ve gone soft since I come to live with you. The floor was hard. And dirty. And there were rats.”
Clarissa and Betty exclaimed in horror.
“Yeah, it wasn’t like that when Maman and I lived there…At least…” She frowned. “Maybe I forgot what it was really like.”
“At least you were safe with Old Moll.”
Zoë grimaced wryly. “It wouldn’t’ve bin for free. Always gets her pound of flesh, Old Moll.”
Race had a good idea what that pound of flesh might have been. A beautiful young girl in a place like that? Clarissa was too innocent of the world to realize it, but he’d seen the old woman up close, and he’d known the meaning of the dress cut low over a scraggy old bosom and the paint on her face.
Zoë gave him a shrewd look. “And it’s not what you’re thinking, Lord Randall. I know what Moll’s profession useta be, but she was always good to Maman and me, and when Maman got sick, she did her best to help us. She wouldn’t have forced me to follow in her own footsteps, but she’d maybe put me to work scrubbing or some such.”
“Scrubbing?” Clarissa echoed. “But when we met at the orphan asylum, you said—”
“Yeah, well, I told Moll what I was going to do, and she said she’d give me a week, and if I couldn’t make it pay…”
“What were you going to do?”
“Drawings. Chalk drawings on the footpath to make people stop and look, and pencil ones for whoever would pay. That’s how Maman started.” She gave Clarissa a guilty look. “I took that sketch pad and some pencils from Lady Scattergood’s.”
Clarissa waved that aside. “I’m sure you would have made it pay, as long as you were in the right place to attract people who could afford it.”
“Yeah, I had me spot all picked out.”
After a few minutes, Clarissa said, “But why did you leave, Zoë? Weren’t you happy with us?”
Zoë sighed. “Of course I was happy. You bin ever so kind to me, Clarissa—everyone has. But”—Zoë gave her a troubled look—“I don’t fit into your world, Clarissa. Everyone knows it ’cept you.”
Clarissa glanced at Race. He’d told her much the same thing. She turned back to Zoë. “I don’t care about ‘my world.’ I never did enjoy going into society, and I only have a few real friends, and they won’t care.”
Zoë shook her head. “I know some families recognize their bastards, but only if the mothers are highborn.”
“Your mother was highborn.”
“In France—and nobody here knew her. For all anyone knows she was a prostitute from the stews. She wasn’t, but I can’t prove it.”
“Of course she wasn’t. And nobody needs to know you’re…um, baseborn. Look, let us not worry about all that just now. I’m sure we can come up with a plan.”
Zoë’s stomach rumbled.
“Oh dear, I didn’t think,” Clarissa said remorsefully. “You must be hungry. We’ll feed you when we get home. But first you must run upstairs and wash and change—if Lady Scattergood sees you in those clothes she’ll have a fit. She ordered them to be burned when you arrived, if you remember.”
“Yeah, but it’s a waste. These clothes might not be new, but there’s still plenty of wear in them,” Zoë retorted. “And I couldn’t wear any of Izzy’s fine dresses where I was going. People have been stripped and left naked in the street, just for their clothes, you know.”
Clarissa looked horrified, both at the thought of such a crime, and at the matter-of-fact way Zoë spoke of it. “You won’t run away again, will you?”
At that point Zoë’s stomach gave another loud rumble, and they laughed. “Luncheon won’t be long,” Clarissa said, “or maybe—good heavens! It’s still time for breakfast. We did leave early. With any luck Lady Scattergood and Mrs. Price-Jones will still be abed.”
The cab pulled up and the three females jumped down. Clarissa rang the bell and after a few moments the butler answered. Race had paid off his men by then. The women hurried indoors and Race sauntered through the front door after them, repressing a smile at the sour look the butler gave him. Seems he was no longer persona non grata.
“Lady Scattergood wants to talk to you,” the butler told Zoë. “She’s in the back parlor.”
