Chapter 7 #2
Sam’s expectant look turned to one of confusion.
Just as quickly, she seemed to work something out in her own mind, but pushed it aside before continuing, “Do you think he will be willing to purchase the vase? How deep are his pockets? We must fetch a handsome price if you insist on sticking to your declaration of no more thievery.”
The vase…of course, Sam was making reference to the vase and nothing more.
Her twin had no idea of the disgraceful fantasy that had played through Jude’s mind during Lord Cartwright’s short visit—nor did Jude plan to tell her.
It was one thing that belonged to her and her alone.
Not like their shared room or their shared pearl-handled brush and comb set or their combined dressing closet.
No, Cart was Jude’s—and only hers.
Though no one need know that she’d labeled him thus.
Confident Sam hadn’t any notion of her uncouth feelings, they set about planning Jude’s visit to Lord Cartwright’s townhouse.
“He has invited me to his home to view his collection.” She should feel proud of the progress she’d made, considering not long ago she was sitting in a dank room facing exposure for her misdeeds, only to be rescued by her siblings.
And shortly, with any luck, she would give Marce enough coin to satisfy any debt her sister owed.
Jude and Sam sat close together with their voices lowered, afraid to garner the attention of Payton.
A loud bang brought both women back to their surroundings as the front door slammed shut and the bolt was thrown.
Jude and Sam were on their feet and rushing to the entry before either exchanged a word. Their home was peaceful and serene during the daylight hours, for the most part, so an unexpected arrival sent all the siblings into action at a moment’s notice.
Entering the foyer, Mr. Curtis stood with his back to the front door and a small woman recoiling from the elder man’s reach, her hands covering most of her face.
“Mr. Curtis,” Sam called quietly as Jude rushed to the woman. “Jude and I can handle this.”
“It be only proper to send for Lord Garrett with Madame Marce gone on errands.”
“That is not necessary,” Jude argued. She wrapped her arm lightly around the woman’s shoulders and steered her toward the kitchens in search of a bite to eat and a cool drink. “Were you followed?” Jude asked as they walked slowly down the corridor.
“I do not think so.” She removed her hands from her face and Jude took in the cruel realities of her situation. One eye was already bruising a deep purple and her lip was split, the blood now dried. “I am sorry for all of this…it is only that I had no other place to go.”
“You came to the right place.” Sam followed closely behind them.
“What is your name?” When the woman seemed apprehensive about sharing the information, her eyes darting around as if she were cornered, Jude continued, “Only a first name, so we know what to call you.”
“Kathleen.”
“It is nice to meet you, Kathleen,” Jude said as they entered the kitchen. “I am Miss Judith Pengarden. My sister, Marce, runs Craven House. Please, have a seat, and we will get you a clean cloth to wash your face and some refreshments.”
Sam pulled out a stool that sat at the long, rough table used by Cook to prepare the meals. “Sit here.” Jude’s twin busied herself by retrieving a cloth and dipping it in a basin of warm water sitting on the stove.
“Kathleen.” Jude pulled out the stool next to the woman and sat, staring her directly in the eyes—one already swelling shut. “Who did this to you?”
Marce had spent many hours lecturing her younger siblings on the proper questions to ask when women arrived at Craven House.
Who did this? Do you have any place to go?
What can Craven House do to help you? Most women came with a plan in mind, but lacked the monetary means to put their plan in motion.
“Take this.” Sam held the cloth out to Kathleen and set a plate of bread and cheese at her elbow before retreating to the far side of the kitchen. They’d also been taught not to overwhelm anyone who came for help—and Jude was by far the friendlier sister.
Kathleen pressed the wet material to her eye. Jude sensed she’d been struck before and knew the pressure would reduce the swelling. Her other hand, already stained by dried blood, swiped at her busted lip.
“My maid,” she mumbled. “She told me you could help me.”
“Of course, Kathleen.” Jude felt the familiar heartbreak cast a shadow over the room.
No matter how many women and children she saw physically or emotionally abused and mistreated, it never failed to pull at her heartstrings and reinforce how fortunate she was.
“Do you need a place to stay? A post with a good home?”
“Neither of those things.” She shook her head and hissed at the pain it caused. “I need to be away from London as soon as possible.”
“Do you have a place to go?” Marce had immeasurable connections within and outside of London proper.
If Kathleen were fearful of someone or something, then Jude had a list of people she could contact—places the woman would never be found until she was ready.
Even Lady Haversham, Jude’s and Sam’s patroness, allowed women and children to stay at her orphanage when the need was urgent.
“If not, I can find a suitable place for you.”
“No, that will not be necessary.” Kathleen’s voice was low and she spoke slowly to avoid splitting her lip open once more. “My sister has a home with her husband and children near Windsor. It is only…I do not have the funds to pay for transport.”
“We can help with that,” Sam said from her place across the room. “We can even replace your tattered dress and get you a warm woolen coat before you go.”
Jude and Kathleen glanced down at the woman’s attire as if noticing the blood that marred the front and her ripped sleeve for the first time.
Kathleen’s chin bent down and her shoulders sagged. The woman clearly felt discomfort at her situation.
“Sam,” Jude called to redirect everyone’s attention. “Please check the mail coach’s schedule for today. I will allow Kathleen some space to bathe and don a new dress for her journey.” Next, Jude turned to their newest ward. “Does your sister know to expect you?”
“I have written to her of my need to be away from Father…” She’d said too much, allowing her words to fade.
“Very good,” Jude said. “Our housekeeper will take you to change while I collect enough coin for your passage to Windsor.”
Darla appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, likely having been notified by Mr. Curtis of the woman’s arrival. “This way,” Darla motioned.
Kathleen slid from her seat, hugged Jude tentatively, and fled the room behind the housekeeper.
“Jude.” She looked up to see the concern in Sam’s eyes. “You have a call to make. I can handle this.”
“No.” It was important that Jude see this through. It was her lot in life—to help Marce in any way she could. “I only need collect the money from Marce’s office and you can take her to the station while I continued on to Lord Cartwright’s townhouse.”
Sam wrinkled her nose as she tapped her finger against her lips in thought.
“Everything will be as it should, I promise,” Jude said, attempting to convince Sam. “Please, find the coach schedule while I get the money.”
“Fine.” Sufficiently convinced, Sam departed the kitchen after Darla and Kathleen, with Jude close behind.
Sam hurried to the front of the house while Jude headed for Marce’s office—and the chest where she kept money in case of emergencies. She also used the stash for the butcher, the candle maker, and the daily market purchases.
The box sat behind Marce’s small white desk on a shelf, surrounded by books on fashion and decorum.
A book on peerage was even present. The chest itself was adorned with gaudy sea-green adornments pasted to the wooden frame.
Anyone entering the room would think it housed nothing more than female knickknacks and useless novelties. Jude and her sisters knew better.
Popping the lid, Jude peered inside—a gasp leaving her lips.
Barely enough coin to pay Kathleen’s fare with some left over for a meal at an inn along the way sat in the bottom of the box.
Things were far more dire than even Jude had realized.
Their card nights at Craven House were less and less popular as the years passed.
The gentlemen of the ton discovered the Craven House of Madame Sasha’s time was not returning—no more women of loose morals, endless spirits, or other depravity under Marce’s roof.
It made Jude’s decision to push the vase on Lord Cartwright all the more important and exceedingly imperative.
The notion of replacing the money—with much to spare—before Marce’s return from her upcoming trip filled Jude with a sense of usefulness.
She just hoped that Marce would not look in the chest before departing.
The day would surely come when her family was charged with helping more women and they needed to be prepared for that responsibility. It was a task she and her siblings took very seriously since their mother’s passing—to help those in need, something their mother, Sasha, hadn’t been prepared to do.