Chapter Fourteen #2
“Would you?” Janey asked eagerly. “I’d really like to work with you. We’d have a laugh, wouldn’t we?”
Anne smiled shyly, and Janey felt an uncharacteristic twinge of guilt. The girl was quiet and didn’t seem to have many friends, and here was Janey taking advantage of her for her own ends.
Silver and Grey’s ends, she comforted herself.
“Would Madame Veronique like me, though?” Janey asked, as though anxious. “Would I suit her?”
“Well, she insists everyone is well spoken and polite, which you are.”
Hear that, Mrs. S? Janey gloated.
“I don’t see why she wouldn’t like you,” Anne said.
“Then I’d fit in? What’s she like? You said she’s a bit of a tartar.”
“You have to do just what she says, take the scolds, even when they’re unreasonable, and never, ever answer back a customer who’s rude.”
The last was well beyond Janey’s capabilities, but since it didn’t really matter, she said brightly, “I can do that.”
The waitress brought a fresh pot of tea, a plate of sandwiches, and another of cakes. Anne seized a sandwich at once while Janey tested the tea. Since it was still a little pale, she swirled it a bit.
“Would I have to work long hours?” she asked.
“Sometimes. Not so much in the shop, but when she needs sewing done, even the less-skilled needlework, you’ve got to do it.”
Janey poured the tea. “Do we get paid extra for those times?”
“No, but the wages are still pretty good.”
“What about men?” Janey asked, as though suspicious. “I bet there are men that come in.”
Anne smiled. “A few, who like to help their wives or daughters…or whoever…to choose. Some to buy gifts for their ladies.”
“Here, did that nice Mr. St. John ever do that?”
Anne blinked. “No, I don’t think so.” As if sensing she had disappointed her new friend, she added hopefully, “He did used to pay all the bills on time, though. In fact, latterly, they were all addressed to him.”
“Just latterly?”
“All the wedding clothes.”
“I knew he was a good man.” Feeling she had asked enough on that score for now, Janey shifted slightly. “But no men work there?”
“Sometimes, for deliveries. And, of course, there’s madame’s husband.”
Janey grinned. “Monsieur Veronique.”
Anne laughed. “Mr. Kenny. He’s as English as you and me.”
“Isn’t she? I thought she just made up the French bit because people think Paris is the center of all fashion.”
“No, I think she really is French. The accent never slips.”
“What’s he like?”
For the first time, Anne looked uncomfortable. “He’s not so bad.”
Janey fixed her gaze on Anne’s. “He’s not one of those with hands, is he? Because I can’t be doing with that.”
“Oh, no.” Anne blushed. “He’s just a little bit…scary at times.”
Janey widened her eyes. “Scary? In what way?”
Anne gave an uncomfortable little laugh, shaking her head. “Oh, I don’t know. It’s probably just me. He’s one of those big, tall men, you know. It’s probably just his size that’s intimidating, but he did throw the delivery boy across the yard one day.”
“What for?” Janey asked.
“I don’t know. Maybe he crushed a dress or forgot one, I don’t know. The boy never came back, though.”
“I don’t think I like the sound of Mr. Veronique.”
“Mr. Kenny!”
“Whatever.”
“He has a temper,” Anne admitted. “But mostly he takes no notice of the likes of us.”
“Is he around much?” Janey asked, as though having second thoughts about working there.
“In the back, mostly, so you rarely see him except in passing. Honestly, I wouldn’t worry about him.”
Janey was more worried about Anne. He sounded the sort of man she had left well behind when she gave up the old life and entered the establishment with Constance. They talked about other things for the rest of Anne’s break, and when the girl asked for the bill, Janey paid for the tea and the cakes.
They left together, and Janey walked back to the shop with her. She was trying to work the conversation back round to the St. Johns, or other “special” customers always seen by Madame Veronique in person, when Anne said suddenly, “Do you still want me to speak to madame for you?”
“Oh, yes, please,” Janey said. “I can meet you at the tearoom again tomorrow and you can tell me what she says.” They were almost at the shop now, and time had run out. Unless she could persuade Anne to linger for a moment or two.
She couldn’t.
Without warning, Anne gasped, “Goodbye!” and whisked herself into the shop.
Perhaps she was late, Janey thought. But Anne was holding the door for two exiting customers whom Janey recognized with shock.
Mrs. Willow and her sister.
Janey halted by the window, gazing with what she hoped was longing at the single gown and reticule on display.
She made sure her face was turned away from the old ladies, who hurried off in the direction of the teashop.
They did not speak, and Janey wondered uneasily if they had seen and recognized her.
Surely not. Surely there would have been some disparaging comment spoken to each other, if not to her.
In fact, when she risked a surreptitious glance after them, they did not walk with the stiffness of outrage she had frequently seen when they walked past the front of the establishment, or even when they passed each other in the Grosvenor Square gardens.
In fact, walking very close together, they looked so curiously old and vulnerable that Janey almost felt sorry for them.
A shadow fell over her, darkening the bright window display with the large figure of a man.
Janey met every challenge face to face. She could not simply stay where she was and wait for the menacing man to get bored and move. For one thing, he could probably hit her quite agonizingly without being seen by any passersby. So she spun around to face him.
Oh yes, this was a bully in a well-cut suit. Large, cold-eyed—he had to be Veronique’s husband. No wonder his very presence frightened Anne. Janey, on the other hand, was used to the type.
“Trying to see the pretty dress, sir?” she said cheekily.
“Seen it. What are you about here?”
She put on her patient expression. “Looking at the pretty dress.”
He looked her up and down with contempt. “It’s not for the likes of you. What you doing with my girl?”
“I don’t even know your girl!”
Impatiently, he jerked his head toward the shop. He still stood far too close to her, probably blocking her from the sight of most passersby. But she knew better than to try to edge away—he would win that game.
“Her in there. Anne.”
“Oh, her,” Janey said carelessly. “She’s my friend. We had tea together.”
“Two days in a row,” he said. “What’s your game?”
“I don’t have one. What’s yours? You want to step back, mister? I can smell your breakfast. Yesterday’s.”
She’d hoped that surprise at her cheek would give her the instant she needed to dart free, but his gaze never left hers and he actually lifted one beefy arm.
Whether he meant to strike her or lean his arm on the glass above her head, she never found out, for the arm suddenly jerked backward instead.
“Watch it, mate,” Lenny said mildly, and the bully turned to glare at him instead. “You nearly knocked my hat off. There you are, love. Sorry I’m late.”
He had Janey by the arm, and they sauntered unhurriedly away together.
“What the devil,” Lenny said in an entirely different voice, “was that all about? Open your mouth too wide?”
“Yes,” Janey said shakily. “Anne’s right. He is scary.”
Rather to her surprise, Lenny’s manner changed again. His hold gentled, he slid her hand through the crook of his arm, and his expression was concerned. “Who is he?”
“Veronique’s husband. His name’s Kenny, though I don’t know if that’s his surname or a Christian name.”
“We’ll find out,” Lenny said grimly. “And you’re not going back there without me.”
Janey should have scoffed, of course, and made it plain he could not give her orders. But it struck her suddenly that his spurt of anger had been fear for her. He had stood up for her, protected her. Only Constance had ever done that for her before. It made her feel oddly…good.
Because it wasn’t just about chivalry, although that was his nature. There was something deeper in his eyes. He cared.
She smiled up at him because she couldn’t help it, though she said cheerfully enough, “He’d be an excellent blackmailer’s minder. And I suspect he is.”