Chapter Five
Never had Franny felt as exposed and humiliated as she did at this moment.
She’d approached these women, expecting them to say they’d heard about the admirable work The Silk Knuckles Saloon did to empower women.
She’d honestly thought they were new students.
But instead, her cheeks heated as they looked down their noses at her.
Meanwhile, her chemise was showing, and an arrogant man who messed with her common sense watched as these women chastised her.
If only she had bound her breasts earlier, she might not be currently crossing her arms over her chest, preserving her modesty.
Upon further introspection, Franny concluded she was also trying to protect her heart from their ugly words.
“The vicar is correct,” the tall gray-haired woman with high cheekbones who seemed to be in charge said. “This is a den of wickedness.”
Never at a loss for words, Franny’s tongue refused to work. Say something. Defend yourself, you daft fool!
“I was training,” she finally said, her normally bold voice sounding meek. “You see…Well, I cannot move freely and punch in stays and a tight bodice. And then Runner Robinson came in.”
“We hear a group of rebel rousers also meet here,” the woman declared. “The rumor is they plan to overtake Parliament.”
“We don’t plan to overtake Parliament,” Franny said. However, they did want to send a petition to Parliament.
“I shall pray for your lost soul.” The woman opened her Bible and read: “Proverbs 7:10-12.
Passing through the street near her corner; and he went the way to her house, In the twilight, in the evening, in the black and dark night: And behold, there met him a woman with the attire of an harlot, and subtle of heart.
She is loud and stubborn; her feet abide not in her house: Now is she without, now in the streets, and lieth in wait at every corner.
“Amen,” the short, dark-haired woman said.
How dare these judgmental biddies compare her to a prostitute. The arrogance it took to barge into her place of business with the damnable proverb marked and ready was both startling and unsettling.
Franny’s temper snapped. “You bloody sanctimonious—”
“Ladies,” Edward Robinson said as he infiltrated their group. “May I be of assistance?”
At Edward’s approach, the petite blonde who had not said anything winced and looked at her feet. When she lifted her chin, Franny noticed the bruise on her cheek.
“Have you ever heard such language?” asked the eldest woman, her tone imperious. “Are you here to serve her a writ for breaking the law?”
Franny planted her hands on her hips. “Ladies, we teach women how to protect themselves, we exercise, and we train prizefighters. We are not a bloody brothel.”
“Oh!” the short brunette cried. “Oh, Mrs. Brown, I feel faint. I believe I need to sit.”
What a dramatic ninny. Franny rolled her eyes. “Feel free to sit on the floor.”
Ensconcing them in his smoldering gaze, Edward smiled at the women. “I’m here to investigate the fire.”
Franny looked right into his eyes and scoffed twice. Only a fool would misinterpret her disgust.
Fool that he was, he also grinned at Franny.
Edward Robinson’s lashes might be long and thick, his brown eyes might be filled with passion, and he might have a sculpted physique, but his flirtatious personality would not work on Franny or these holier-than-thou women.
“Probably God himself set the fire because he is cleansing our city of Satan’s immorality,” the biddiest of the biddies, who seemed to be married to the unfortunate Mr. Brown, said.
Franny fought her urge to grab the woman’s Bible, throw it on the floor, and stomp on it.
“My dear friend was burned in the fire. He is the kindest, most moral man I know. If you continue to be disrespectful, I must ask you to leave my gymnasium.” Franny swung her arm, index finger pointing toward the door.
“I’ve never encountered such rudeness,” Mrs. Brown, the bald-faced liar, said.
Franny would wager with a personality so bereft of charm the nasty woman had encountered far worse insults than she’d just dished out.
“Treated like this when we are here in the Good Lord’s name to pray for your souls,” Mrs. Brown added.
Franny was of the opinion that the Good Lord wanted women to be strong and independent. However, he probably did not want her to punch this sour puss. She unclenched her fist.
“Ladies,” Edward Robinson said, gazing at the timid little blonde. “Why don’t I walk you outside where you can fill me in on all of your concerns.” He smiled at each of the unwelcome visitors. “I am a lawman, after all.”
The second he grinned at these mean-spirited humans as if he were their savior, Franny’s unease around him grew tenfold.
Mrs. Brown raised her chin and then sharply dropped it in prideful acquiescence. “Yes. Thank you. A man of reason, just like my sons. They are both good men who have welcomed God into their hearts. Are lady pugilists not illegal?”
“Ladies learning to defend themselves is not illegal,” Edward said. “And as far as I know, no mills are taking place here.” He flashed Franny a look that said, at least there better not be.
Edward Robinson could sod off!
Strolling alongside these horrible women as if he were their ally, Edward escorted them across the room. They were almost to the door when the blonde peered over her shoulder and sent Franny a look that reminded her of a child who had lost her only toy.
“You ladies seem quite observant,” Edward said. “Have you seen anyone suspicious lately? Or anyone that you don’t trust?”
“Besides these pugilists?” Mrs. Brown asked.
The door closed, muffling Edward’s response.
The last few days had been sheer hell. Three women she’d never met barging into her gymnasium accusing her of being a prostitute in league with the Devil did not improve her mood.
And then there was Edward Robinson showing up after five years, claiming he wanted to help her.
Why in the dickens did a man she found attractive frustrate her so?
Franny untied her sleeves and slid her bodice into place.
Most of the time, she did not give a whit what she looked like, but since she admired Lady Davenport and Lady Siddons she had no desire to smell like perspiration at their upcoming meeting.
She wrote Papa a quick note letting him know she was walking home to bathe and change clothing and slid it under his office door.
Franny was halfway home when she stopped short and thunked her palm against her forehead. Someone, probably an angry man, had used his fist on the timid little blonde. Franny had been so self-centered and too absorbed in her indignation to look out for another woman’s wellbeing.
Trepidation skittered up her spine, putting her on high alert. Too many unusual things had happened over the last few days. She needed to pull her head out of her arse and focus.