Chapter 4 #2
Clara and I exchanged a glance. I cleared my voice.
“You expect us to believe that you didn’t intend to keep it for yourself?
” I gave him an appraising glance. He wore clothing much more casual than I was accustomed to, with a worn leather coat rather than a wool one.
His skin was tanned, with a cluster of freckles bridging his nozzle as he had called it.
A smear of blood beneath it made my stomach turn.
He looked slightly older than me, but by five years at most. His hair was black like charred wood, with eyes the color of calm seawater. For a moment they shone with disbelief.
“I’ll pretend you didn’t just accuse me of such a low crime,” he said. His eyes appraised me right back, then moved to Clara. “A simple expression of gratitude would suffice.”
“I don’t see our reticule in your possession,” I said.
He took a step back and grumbled something under his breath. Clara quickly thanked him for his trouble, but I kept my mouth shut.
“We thank you most kindly, good sir,” Miss Bentford added with a shaky smile. “Your efforts were most valiant, indeed.”
The man gave his nose a final swipe, and I was relieved that the bleeding had stopped.
I was weak-stomached when it came to such things.
He narrowed his eyes at me for my silence but didn’t press further on the matter.
Instead, he half-grunted, half-spoke. “Mr. James Wortham. You are new to Craster, I presume? What brings you here?”
He directed his questions at Miss Bentford, but she was clearly not as trained as I was in conversing with men beneath our station.
It was also likely that she hadn’t rehearsed nearly as many lies as I had.
Being in Craster under our current circumstances meant I would have to lie—and often.
It was the only way to preserve our reputations for long enough to secure my earl.
I cleared my throat gently before raising an eyebrow to ensure that this Mr. James Wortham knew he was beneath my notice.
There was no need to create false names or identities, only circumstances.
“My name is Miss Charlotte Lyons, this is my sister Miss Clara, and our cousin Miss Bentford. We have recently arrived in town to visit a friend.”
“And who might that be?” Mr. Wortham asked.
I threw a fleeting look at Clara. There was only one name I had learned thus far. “Lord Trowbridge.”
Mr. Wortham chuckled. “Trowbridge doesn’t have friends. Try again.”
I scowled but quickly stopped myself. A lady must always maintain an even disposition. “Does he not? How would you know?”
Clara tightened her arm around mine, a warning of sorts. I ignored her, holding Mr. Wortham’s gaze.
He seemed somewhat affronted, crossing his arms over his chest. “You don’t think a man of his standing would share an occasional drink with the likes of me?”
I gulped. Was Mr. Wortham actually friends with the earl? That could complicate my entire first impression. But it could also provide a connection with which to make his acquaintance. I studied Mr. Wortham’s face. There was something decidedly untrustworthy about it.
“We are under no obligation to tell you why we are here,” I said in a dismissive tone.
He rubbed his jaw, a slow grin creeping over his mouth.
I chose to ignore the way it affected his face.
He was very handsome in a rugged sort of way, and for a man who was recently bleeding from the nose, he was smiling far too much.
“Ah, a secret endeavor. May I be of assistance? I happen to know a great many things about this town.”
I started shaking my head but stopped myself. “Very well. Tell us about Lord Trowbridge.”
Mr. Wortham’s sea-green eyes remained unblinking. “How would I know?”
I narrowed my gaze. “You did imply that you were acquainted.”
“And you implied that you were friends.”
I pressed my lips together, frustration bubbling inside my chest. My lies were already getting me in trouble. “Very well. We are not friends. Not yet, anyway. But we thought to pay him a visit. Our families are…connected.”
Not yet, anyway, I added in my mind.
Mr. Wortham’s expression was still heavy with doubt, but he released a relenting sigh.
“The earl is a strange fellow. Quiet, disagreeable, not nearly as handsome as myself…” His lips twitched upward as if he were waiting for a reaction of some kind.
When we said nothing, he cleared his throat.
“In truth, he’s rather reclusive. Doesn’t enjoy company. ”
I crossed my arms. “Is that truly all you know?”
He straightened his collar and flashed another smile. “Well, of course not.” He leaned closer. “But it seems you have a few secrets of your own. I’ll keep some of mine perchance you’re ever interested in making a trade.”
Miss Bentford gave a tiny gasp. His boldness hadn’t escaped her notice, and nor had it mine.
I almost snapped at him, but managed to maintain an even disposition.
Only just. “I suppose secrets are all we have to offer now.” My stomach sank.
The reality hit me that all our money to sustain us for the next two months was gone.
My throat tightened with the threat of tears.
Mr. Wortham looked up, his face serious again. “Your stolen reticule?”
“I’m afraid that reticule contained all our money.” I said it with my chin high.
“All of it?”
I nodded. My gaze slid to Clara. She seemed to be fighting tears of her own.
Miss Bentford intervened. “We thank you for your time, Mr. Wortham. We will not trouble you further.” She tugged against Clara’s arm, but I kept us rooted where we stood.
Miss Bentford threw me an exasperated look, but I turned my gaze back to Mr. Wortham.
Considering how he had run after the thief who had stolen our money, perhaps he would be willing to help us further.
“It’s no trouble at all.” Mr. Wortham gave me a hesitant glance and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I was unable to stop that man. Have you any other resources to call upon?”
I shook my head. I tried my best to look sad and helpless. Clara looked sad and helpless without even trying, and Miss Bentford looked mortified. But what did she expect us to do? Wait until her letters reached her brother and he sent additional money? How would we survive in the meantime?
I watched a struggle in Mr. Wortham’s features, as if his conscience was battling against itself. He mumbled something I didn’t hear under his breath and nodded toward the village ahead. “Come with me.”
Without a word, Clara and I followed. Miss Bentford picked up her skirts and trailed behind, though I could sense her trepidation.
Mr. Wortham walked ahead quickly, and I nearly tripped trying to keep up.
He turned his head over his shoulder, addressing me with one eyebrow raised yet again. “Afraid to soil your skirts, are you?”
“Yes, in fact, I am.”
He grinned and turned his head back around. “Then I’m afraid you’ve come to the wrong town, my dear.”
Clara giggled in her throat. I shot her a scowl.
In the heart of the village, we walked past tall shops and short, crowded houses, much smaller than ours.
People sat on the steps, talking, begging, and drinking.
One man sat with a young girl on his lap, whispering in her ear as she cried, apparently trying to comfort her.
His clothing appeared to have been worn for weeks without wash, and the little girl looked the same. Both their faces seemed to be sinking.
Mr. Wortham stopped and reached in a pouch around his waist. He withdrew a shilling and held it out to the man. Clara and I watched from behind as the men exchanged a few indistinguishable words. The coin ended up back in Mr. Wortham’s possession and he walked ahead.
Clara and I caught up to him. He gave me a sideways glance. “Poverty and pride have never belonged together.”
“He didn’t want it?” I turned around and stared at the little girl. She was sobbing again. I felt a twinge of grief as I looked at her. Was she hungry? Cold? What was she sobbing about? The image of her sinking face lingered in my head as we left that street behind.
“It seems my services are unwelcome to everyone today.” I felt Mr. Wortham’s gaze on me long enough to make me uncomfortable. “Yet still I try.” He looked heavenward and back down again.
With Clara at my side, we followed Mr. Wortham off the path and toward the shore where dozens of men emptied their traps from the water. Lobsters, clams, and fish filled the small colorful boats where men loaded their catches in wooden crates and carried them into the market.
“I’ll supply you with enough for one week,” Mr. Wortham said. “But if you want more, you’ll have to work for it. Or you can ponder on the idea of payment by secrets. I would very much like to know what brought three all-the-crack ladies to Craster.”
My usually smooth brow wrinkled in annoyance. “You would do very well to mind your own business, Mr. Wortham.”
“Oh?” He lifted a bag of smelly dead fish. “Then I s’pose I’ll keep these.”
I didn’t know why, but I pressed him further. “And always pronounce words clearly when speaking to ‘all-the-crack ladies.’”
He dropped the bag to the ground and stepped toward me. His head tipped down, and he gave me a stern look. “You would do well to stop pressing the temper of your means of survival. I’m doing you a service. Besides, I caught ‘em myself,” he finished just to irk me.
Miss Bentford caught up to us then, and I clamped my mouth shut, taking a step back. I would have to watch my tongue in her presence. She could very well be sending reports to Mama about my propriety and manners, and Mr. Wortham seemed to be bringing out the very worst in me.
“We graciously thank you, Mr. Wortham,” Clara said, her voice quick.