16. Chapter 16
sixteen
Montmartre, Paris
J enny had no idea what time it was when the cab driver dropped her trunk on the pavement outside Mrs. Wilson’s building.
The streets were dark as were most of the storefronts but for the usual late-night cafes and entertainments around the corner.
Sounds of merriment and drunkenness spilled down their quiet little lane but it only emphasized how very late it was.
“Will you be all right, miss?” the driver asked in French after he set her heavy chest down on the pavement.
“Yes, my landlady is waiting inside. Thank you.” She answered him in kind, having learned enough French to be conversational in the years she’d lived here.
Giving him the last of her ready money—she’d hidden the bulk of what David had given her beneath her corset—she collapsed on top of the chest and dubiously eyed the narrow steps leading up to the door.
It had to be past midnight and she’d been traveling since she left Heathercote early that morning.
There had been three or four trains—she’d lost count—and a paddle steamer, but despite a couple of delays, her travel had been without problems. She wouldn’t be so dead on her feet if she’d gotten proper sleep last night .
She still blushed when she thought of the things he’d done to her…
the things she’d allowed him to do to her.
She’d never been so without restraint before, but something about David brought it out in her.
Her body ached everywhere but she didn’t regret the night for a minute.
Despite how tired she was, she knew she’d made the right decision in leaving at the crack of dawn.
He would have been sweet and considerate to her, had she given him the chance, and that was something she couldn’t withstand, not from him.
It wasn’t healthy for her to sit here and ruminate about last night, either.
Pushing to her feet with a slight flinch at the ache in her body, she picked up her valise and climbed the steps.
She had no choice but to leave her trunk until she could get help to drag it upstairs.
Using her key to unlock the heavy door, she slipped inside.
The building still smelled the same—contrasting food odors, mold, and an ancient scent she’d never been able to place—but it was the smells of home.
The last time she’d been here had been in the very early spring, when she’d been preparing to join her family in London.
At the time, she’d imagined it would be a fun jaunt for a couple of months and she’d be back here by summer.
She’d hardly realized how both her sisters would be married.
Even though that was the whole point of the trip, the reality hadn’t truly set in until she’d reached London.
She’d certainly never intended to wed. Now here she was wedded and bedded and determined to pick up where she’d left off.
A crash from up the stairs drew her attention. It was followed by a string of curses in a high-pitched voice she recognized immediately as belonging to Agatha Wilson.
“Mrs. Wilson?” Jenny called and found new energy to take the stairs quickly. The stairs bisected the building perfectly, leading right up to three sets of landings with two apartments on either side .
“Jenny? Is that you?” The older woman turned and squinted into the ether.
Jenny couldn’t help but smile. Mrs. Wilson had needed eyeglasses for as long as Jenny had known her but vanity kept her from wearing them except in the most extenuating circumstances.
“Yes, it’s me.”
The third-floor landing was littered with crates filled with newsprints.
The papers poked out haphazardly through the wooden slats.
Despite how unexpected the sight was, Jenny understood what it meant.
This had happened at least twice before.
Mrs. Wilson would be low on funds because she’d run through her annuity and lost a music student, and they’d relocate to a friend’s home and let this one to a renter for a short duration.
They’d put their things in a warehouse owned by an acquaintance of Mrs. Wilson that stored theater sets and costumes.
“What’s happened?” Jenny asked, taking in the crates filled with Mrs. Wilson’s personal effects.
“Welcome home.” Mrs. Wilson pulled her into a quick embrace and then kept hold of her arms as she stepped back. “Did you not get my message?”
“Message?”
“Oh dear. I sent a telegram to the Devonworth residence explaining everything.”
Jenny had been at Heathercote and hadn’t stopped by before taking the train to Dover. “I missed it.”
“Of course you did. How was the wedding? Is everything all settled? I wasn’t sure of the new address.”
Jenny had written to her of their wedding of convenience, since the woman had already known about Mr. Hathaway’s bizarre terms for handing over their inheritances. “It all went fine. You don’t need to let the apartment. I have money now. I can cover the rent…”
“No, no, no…” Mrs. Wilson shook her head before Jenny could finish. “I’m going to Vienna.” She smiled and Jenny realized this was a good thing for her, not an act of desperation. “The gentleman I’ve been seeing, Monsieur Fabien, has invited me to go and stay with him.”
“But my debut…”
“I know, sweet, I know.” She cupped Jenny’s cheek and tilted her head to the side with regret. “I don’t want to miss it and I do hope we can hurry back for it. It’s only a train ride, but I can’t let this opportunity pass me by. You understand?”
What Jenny understood, and what Mrs. Wilson would never say, was that she didn’t want to take the chance that M.
Fabien would find someone else to keep him warm in Vienna.
The woman had been a great help to Jenny, and Jenny owed her much for helping her along in her career and introducing her to the right people, but if Mrs. Wilson had one weakness, it was that she thought she needed a man to help her make it through the world.
Witnessing her chase various men over the last few years, coupled with her own mother’s experience with Mr. Hathaway and Jenny’s mistake with Vincent had made her resolute in charting her own path—if one didn’t count the husband she’d somehow managed to acquire.
Jenny had tried in the past to make the woman understand that she had enough verve and funds to stand on her own two feet, but she’d never been able to make much headway. She was too tired and out of sorts now to argue with her. “I suppose so.”
Mrs. Wilson smiled and her attractive face brightened. “Good. I knew that you would.”
“But I could stay here on my own,” Jenny put in .
“I suppose, but I’ve already had an agreement from the renters. They’re arriving from Nice tomorrow evening.”
There was no help for it then. Jenny was without a home.
“You leave in the morning?” She glanced at the crates and let her eyes follow the trail of them that led into the apartment.
“In the morning, but don’t worry, I’ve already been in contact with your production company.
They’ve arranged rooms at a boarding house for the performers and I’ve asked they find a place for you, too.
I’ll have the carriage drop you off on my way to the train station.
” She grinned in excitement. “I’m meeting him there. It’s all very romantic.”
Jenny fought not to roll her eyes. It wouldn’t be fair of her to stomp all over Mrs. Wilson’s happiness because she’d been inconvenienced by it. Then she remembered her trunk outside on the street.
“Would you mind helping me bring my trunk inside?” she asked.
“Of course, dear. We’ll have the removal men take back it out in the morning when they load up my things.”
The building’s door slammed and they both startled and turned to look over the railing. A large man stood inside the door with her trunk on his shoulder. He appeared abashed. Jenny knew the feeling because that heavy door had fooled her several times after she’d first moved into the building.
“That’s my trunk!” she yelled in French.
“My apologies, milady.” His crisp English words and tone would have told her who he was even if he hadn’t called her milady .
Averting his eyes, he took the steps very quickly for someone holding a heavy trunk.
When he reached them, he glanced inside the apartment’s open door and then back to her. “Shall I?”
“Yes, please,” Jenny answered .
Mrs. Wilson appeared speechless as they both watched him place the trunk inside the apartment, handling it as gently as if it were a precious relic.
That task finished, he swiped his hat off his head and wrung it between his hands as he addressed her, “Pardon, milady, but I didn’t want it to stay outside. There were loiterers about.”
Jenny thought she might recognize him, though she couldn’t quite place him among the footmen and grooms of Heathercote. “Did…my husband send you?”
He nodded and gave a short bow. “Robertson, your ladyship. I’ll be on my way unless you have need of me.”
“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you, Mr. Robertson. Unfortunately, I don’t have a coin to give you.” Unless she stepped inside to dig into her corset funds.
“There’s no need. I wouldn’t accept it if you did. Good evening, milady.” He bowed again and hurried back down the stairs and out the door.
“Well, well, well, isn’t that a first?” Mrs. Wilson raised a brow and led the way into the apartment.
Jenny followed, exhausted and not at all ready to wake up in a few hours to relocate to a boarding house.
She suspected she wouldn’t be able to sleep much tonight, either.
Mrs. Wilson would want to stay up talking about David and the man he’d sent to follow her like Jenny was some fancy lady.
She couldn’t wait for tomorrow when she could get back to own life as plain and simple Jenny Dove.