Chapter 2
Lottie didn’t venture onto the beach again for the rest of the day, or the day after that, but the dark-haired gentleman kept intruding into her thoughts, no matter how often she tried to banish him.
Damn the man and his long legs and solid chest, anyway. Every time she closed her eyes he was there, the sea water streaming lovingly down his sides, his smooth skin glistening in the sun.
Sometimes he was there even when she didn’t close her eyes.
But she wouldn’t let him spoil the only trip she’d ever taken to the sea, especially when she wasn’t likely to ever have another.
So, she put on a smile for Percy and Jenny and the three of them spent the following day wandering about Brighton.
It truly was a lovely place, and it had the most delightful circulating library.
What did she have to whine about, anyway?
Not a thing. She’d seen a naked gentleman.
What of it? Most ladies did, sooner or later.
And if she’d spent the hours since that disturbing encounter on the beach wondering what the smattering of dark hair on his chest would feel like under her fingertips, it wasn’t anyone’s concern but her own.
But none of that mattered. What mattered was that Percy was having a wonderful time, and his color was already improving. Charlatan or not, Dr. Leonard had been right about Brighton. Why, there was no telling how much Percy might improve after two more weeks at the seaside.
But that afternoon disaster struck, and it came out of a clear blue sky.
She never saw it coming, never even suspected a thing. That was the worst of it. She should have sensed another catastrophe had darkened her doorstep before it even had a chance to ring the bell, but it was there and then gone again in the blink of an eye, leaving devastation in its wake.
“No. It can’t be. It simply can’t be.”
She pawed through her bedside drawer again, tossing loose hairpins, bits of paper and one lone glove aside until at last in a burst of furious despair she snatched the entire cursed thing out and upended it on the bed.
But of course, the money wasn’t there. She’d known it wouldn’t be. It wasn’t as if a lady in her dire financial straits would ever misplace a twenty-pound note. Not when it had taken nearly a year of scrimping and squeezing every penny to save it.
Months upon months of weak tea, feeble fires and candles burned down to a sliver. A year of scrimping and scratching and saving and a belly growling for more dinner every night. A year of sewing until her head ached and her fingers bled, and just like that, it was all gone.
How could such a catastrophe happen so quickly, so silently?
The total collapse of one’s most cherished plans, the destruction of their every hope and dream should be deafening, shouldn’t it?
Shouldn’t it leave shattered glass and twisted metal in its wake?
How could a life collapse without making a sound, or leaving a single trace?
Someone had taken the money, that much was certain, but who? The landlady’s shifty-eyed son always seemed to be lingering in the hallways. It would have been the work of a moment for him to rifle their rooms and make off with their money.
Or perhaps the landlady herself had stolen it, but in the end it made no difference.
She could hardly hurl accusations when she couldn’t prove a blessed thing, and it wasn’t as if this was one of the luxurious townhouses in the Steine or Brunswick Town.
This was a crumbling old boarding house in North Laines. Robberies were commonplace here.
The money had been in her drawer, hidden between the pages of her book and now it was gone, and that was all. It was her fault for not tucking the note into her boot and always keeping it with her, as she did at home.
This never would have happened in Bethnal Green. She knew how to keep her wits about her there, but after a single day of Brighton’s fresh, bracing sea air she’d lost them entirely. It was easy to forget one was tiptoeing on the edge of ruin when the sky was blue, and the sun was shining.
She plopped down on the end of the bed. Whatever was she going to do? She still had the guinea she’d tucked into her boot before she’d left this morning, but a guinea wasn’t going to get them far.
They couldn’t leave Brighton. Not yet, not when Percy’s health was still so uncertain.
He was coughing less, and that awful, tight rattle in his chest that had so worried her this past fall seemed to have eased to a gentle wheeze, but if they were obliged to return to London’s dirt and grime he’d be back where he started before they’d even unpacked their bags.
Leaving was out of the question. Dr. Leonard had said Percy must have at least two weeks taking the waters and breathing the bracing sea air in Brighton, and two weeks Percy would have.
She’d simply have to find a way to replace the money, and quickly.
But as was always the case with money, it was easier said than done. An impossible task, some might say, but nothing was truly impossible, if one was industrious enough.
There was a way to get that money. A quick way, too, but not an easy one, and not a safe one, either.
She’d promised herself she’d never engage in such reckless behavior again, and goodness knew Percy would be horrified if he suspected what she was about, but with the loss of that note they were beggars once again, and beggars couldn’t afford lofty scruples—
“…can’t find the key. Oh, here it is.” There was a step in the corridor outside the door, then the scrape of the key in the lock, and an instant later Jenny entered, pushing Percy in his chair in front of her. “Miss Lottie, here you are. We looked for you at the pump room.”
“I beg your pardon. I was…er, I got distracted, I’m afraid.”
“Wandering on the beach again, I expect, and look at the color that wind has whipped into your cheeks!” Jenny grinned. “I’ve never seen you look so well. The fresh air is good for you, after so many months cooped up indoors.”
It wasn’t the wind’s doing. That was the flush of panic on her cheeks, but the less Jenny and Percy knew of their sudden financial troubles, the better. She’d find a solution, so there was no point in worrying them, was there? “How was the bathing this afternoon?”
“Wonderful! An ingenious contraption, the bathing machine. My bather today was the most enormous man I’ve ever seen. He was the size of a small barouche-landau, with arms as thick as tree trunks, like this.” Percy made a circle with both hands, his hazel eyes wide.
Jenny laughed. “I don’t think they were quite that big, Mr. Percy. Big enough, though.”
“Very well, perhaps not as big at that, but he plucked me out of my chair and plopped me into the bathing machine as if I weighed no more than a walking stick.”
Lottie’s gaze met Jenny’s over Percy’s head. They were both thinking the same thing: that Percy had grown so painfully thin this winter he wasn’t much heavier than a walking stick.
“I’ll fetch our tea, shall I?” Jenny disappeared into the tiny kitchen, calling out as she went. “I got those delicious currant scones you like from the bakery for today’s tea, Mr. Percy.”
“You’re an angel, Jenny.” Percy wheeled himself closer to the settee, rose on shaky legs and collapsed onto the cushions next to Lottie. “My mouth is already watering.”
But despite his cheerfulness, there were lines of fatigue etched around Percy’s eyes, and his cheeks were pale. “Perhaps it would be best if you had a brief rest first, Percy.”
Not surprisingly, Percy opened his mouth to argue. He despised being treated like an invalid, but the protest never made it past his lips. Instead, he sank back against the pillows. “Perhaps half an hour wouldn’t hurt.”
“No, indeed.” Lottie fetched a blanket from the back of his Bath chair and draped it over Percy, whose eyelids were already fluttering. “I’ll ask Jenny to hold the tea.”
Jenny was, as usual, one step ahead of her. By the time Lottie reached the kitchen Jenny was wrapping the scones in a cloth.
“He seems more fatigued than usual.” Lottie took the cup of tea Jenny offered her and took a seat, her heart suddenly heavier than an anvil.
“Rest is good for him,” Jenny said briskly, joining her at the table. “He sleeps better here. The sea air keeps his lungs clearer, so he gets proper rest.”
“Do you think that’s all it is?” What if he was deteriorating again? What if he had another one of those awful attacks he’d had at the end of April, and—
“I think time will tell, Miss Lottie, and you worrying yourself to a thread isn’t going to help matters. Mr. Percy wouldn’t want that.”
“No, I suppose not. Perhaps I’ll go for a brief walk.”
“Very well but take this with you.” Jenny plucked one of the wrapped scones from the plate and handed it to Lottie. “You need to eat something. You’re wearing away to nothing.”
“Percy’s right. You are an angel, Jenny.” Lottie took the scone with a grateful smile. “I’m just going to take a wander down the promenade. I’ll be back before he wakes.”
But instead of heading south toward the Grand Parade and the Old Steine, she crossed over North Street and headed directly west, toward the corner of King’s Road and Cannon Place, the wind coming off the channel plastering her skirts to her legs.
Once she reached Russell Road, she stopped.
There was no reason to go any further. She could see it clearly from here. It wasn’t as if one could miss it. It was a sprawling place done in an extravagant pale gold stone that shimmered in the late afternoon sunlight, just as the proprietor no doubt intended.
It was no accident, that stone. No mistake, that the merest glimpse of the place made one think of gold.
The club belonged to Mr. Armitage Hart, and he didn’t make mistakes.