Chapter 2
Monday morning
Walbrook Street, Cheapside
Kitty took the kettle off and poured the steaming water over the leaves, letting the tea steep. “Two pieces of toast or three, Pa?”
“I’m a hungry man, luv. Make it three,” called her father from his bedroom. “Any of the marmalade left?”
“Yes, and I bought more hand pies from the butcher.” Kitty flipped the bread on the small coal-burning stove that doubled as heat and a place to warm meals. She set the slices in the rack and placed it on the small kitchen table.
Mr. Felton came out of his room, his face red from the recent scrubbing. “Eggs and rashers? What would I do without you?” He kissed her on top of the head and sat down to eat.
Kitty put two warm boiled eggs and thick slices of bacon on a plate and set it before her father. “Anything exciting last night?” She asked the same question every morning, always hoping for the same answer.
“Dull as a tarnished mirror,” her father said around a mouthful of pork. “But no rain and mild temperatures.”
She smiled. “Good.”
“Did you add Mr. Cooper to your route?” he asked, adding a spoonful of the sweet marmalade onto a slice of toast.
“Yes, sir. Thank you for referring me, Pa. This is a wonderful chance for me to bring in an income and still be able to work on my pieces.” Kitty dreamed of being a designer.
Not a dressmaker, for she hated sewing such big projects.
Her accessories had more intricate embroidery and unique materials and embellishments.
She and her mother had begun sprucing up old items around the house, and over the years, it had become Kitty’s passion.
“More gewgaws?” he asked, accepting a cup of tea. “They’re pretty enough, but you need to find a way for the upper class to see them. Our lot won’t buy much.”
“Our lot is already buying them or bringing me used items to fix up. It’s a way to refurbish an old accessory and cheaper than purchasing a new bonnet.
” She loved her father, but he thought her creations were castles in the air.
Nothing would come from them. He indulged her, waiting for the day she’d meet a young man and marry.
“True,” he agreed, slurping his tea. “But you need to find a business owner who will display them and not take too much of your profit.”
Her father was right, of course. She needed to make a name for herself.
The thought of relying on a husband made her stomach tight.
Not that she had a bad view of marriage.
Her parents had been very happy, and her brother was quite content in the parson’s trap.
She loved children and wanted some of her own one day.
But having her own blunt, not having to rely on a man for every ha’ penny was important to her.
And her accessories were something she could still do at home, with children about.
She and Mama had made great plans until her mother fell ill two years ago.
A fever and cough had racked her body for two weeks before she succumbed to the sickness.
Kitty tossed her wool cloak over her light-brown day dress, then stopped to retie her left boot. The lace was getting thin, and she’d have to purchase new ones soon. She would add the old lace to her basket of odds and ends. One never knew what bits and pieces would come in handy.
“Have I told you lately how proud your mother would be of you?” asked her father, a sheepish expression on his ruddy face.
“Yes, you have, but I don’t mind hearing it again.” She ran to him and placed a kiss on his cheek and gave him a hug, hoping to remove the regret in his soft brown eyes. “I know you love me, Pa. I feel Mama watching over me, and we’ll find a way to make my gewgaws sell.”
They both missed her dreadfully, but life did not stop because one’s heart was broken.
Cheapside was already busy as she made her way down Walbrook Street. She could hear the vendors calling from Cornhill and Lombard. At the corner, she took a left onto Pancras and stopped at her first house. It was a small printing shop with rented rooms above.
Kitty took out her pea shooter and a few dried peas, popped one of the tiny vegetables into her mouth, and squinted up at the darkened windows.
Focusing on the second window on the left, she blew into the slender wooden tube.
It pinged against the glass, and she waited several minutes before trying again.
If she’d only known when her brother taught her how to do this, that it would become a life skill as an adult.
It took three tries before Mr. Mornay, clerk at a drapery and linen shop, waved at her through the window.
She backtracked, ducked up an alley, and came out onto Poultry.
This street was already crowded with wagons, carts, and pedestrians shopping for the day’s meal.
Voices mingled with shouts of the hawkers and dogs barking, the rumble of rickety wheels, and squish of mud as boots slopped in and out of the thick muck.
It was still muddy from the rain two days ago, and Kitty had to pick up her skirts as she crossed Poultry to take Prince Street over to Throgmorton.
“G’morning,” called Mr. Habin, an accountant for the bank, as he opened the window and waved. He was still adjusting his spectacles, and Kitty’s hands fidgeted, ready to catch them if the old man dropped them. “Looks like a good day.”
“A fine one, indeed. Give the missus my regards,” responded Kitty with a smile and a wave. She stopped again on the next block.
“Hello, Mrs. Ranker,” Kitty called up to the widow, who was a day cook for a wealthy merchant. “How’s your shoulder?”
“Much better,” called the round-faced woman. “And your father?”
“Very well, ma’am,” she answered back, turning left at the corner onto Broad Street.
She had one stop along here, then proceeded to turn right onto Wormwood.
This was a short lane, with the centuries-old houses leaning toward each other like elderly people without their canes.
It was darker along the narrow street where the sun struggled to find a path between the slanted buildings.
Kitty reached in and fingered several more dried peas, popping one into her mouth. She counted to the second floor, spotted her target, and blew. And missed.
“Jabbers!” She tried again and hit the pane. Mr. Lockton’s drapes opened, and Kitty moved on. He wasn’t a social man—not a bad man, by any means, just not much of a conversationalist. So as long as the curtains were pulled back, she knew he was up and about.
Kitty peered into the shadows, searching for the pup she’d seen the last few days. He was a little scruffy terrier mix, gray and brown with a tangled beard. She had brought along a slice of bacon. Squatting next to Mr. Lockton’s building, she made a kissing sound and called for the dog.
Woof! Then a blur of head, paws, and tail whooshed past her, did an about-face, and looked up at her happily, sitting up pretty.
She laughed at his begging pose. Holding the meat above his head, he did several circles on his hind legs before she dropped the treat.
His tail wagged furiously as he crunched, and she scratched his wiry coat.
“You’re quite the dancer,” she cooed to the pup. “I wish I knew if you belonged to someone.” She felt along his ribs, knowing in her heart his home was on the streets. He lifted a paw and set it on her arm, his light-brown eyes seeming to look into her soul.
“You are welcome to keep me company,” she told him as she resumed her route. To her surprise, he followed behind her at a steady trot.
Turning right onto Bishopsgate, she stopped at her next house. The Miss Fenleys, sisters in their late thirties or early forties, both worked for a seamstress on Bond Street. She blew a pea at the window, and the dog added a woof.
“Hello, Kitty,” called the elder sister, her curly blonde hair still stuffed under a mob cap. “Who is your friend?”
Kitty peered at the dog next to her feet. “We’ve only met a few days ago. He doesn’t have a name.”
“Not yet? I’m sure you’ll come up with something that fits him,” said the younger Miss Fenley, poking her head over her sister’s shoulder. “He’s very dirty. What about Muddy?”
“Muddy?” snapped the elder Fenley. “That’s a ridiculous name.”
“Well, do you have a better one?” groused the other sister.
“No, but…”
Kitty walked away smiling, the voices of the two siblings fading. Every morning, they began the day bickering over something. Yet everyone knew they were devoted to each other.
She checked the houses as she walked, looking for the direction of her new client.
When she found the boarding house, she double-checked the number, found his window, and shot a dried pea right in the middle of the pane.
And waited. The pup let out a bark. She drew out another pea and hit her target again.
The curtain pulled back, and a handsome blond man’s face appeared.
She held up a hand to acknowledge he was awake, and he did the same. Walking away, Kitty looked over her shoulder to see Mr. Cooper still watching her. Warmth spread through her, and she smiled to herself.
“My, I think he should be at the beginning of my route. What a lovely way to start my day,” she said to the terrier. “He’s quite…”
The dog barked again. “Exactly,” she agreed.
* * *
The next morning, Pa announced, “Your canine friend is waiting for you.”
“What?”
Her father held the door open to reveal the pup sitting outside. “You might as well come in and get something to eat. I know she’s been feeding you on her rounds,” he told the dog. “A smart dog always knows a soft heart when it sees one.”
Kitty grinned and squatted to call the dog to her. “Terry, come!”
“You’ve named him already?” Pa shook his head. “I should have known. I’m surprised a dozen mutts haven’t followed you home since you started waking people.”
“For your information, I just came up with the name.” Kitty planted her fists on her hips, playfully indignant. “He’s a terrier, so Terry will suit him.”
“Yes, it will. I suppose we should pull out the basket?” Her father raised a dark, graying brow.
“You kept it?” she asked, surprised.
Her mother had brought home a stray when Kitty was ten.
Buford had been some kind of hound dog, and as he grew, he began going with her father on his night watch.
Buford had slept in a large basket next to the stove, and she’d seen the tears in Pa’s eyes the night Buford thumped his tail but didn’t get up to accompany his beloved owner.
A few weeks later, the hound had passed in the night.
Both the hound and basket had disappeared that morning, and Kitty never had the heart to ask her father about them. That was six months ago.
“We’ve had a dog most of your life,” he said. “I’d feel better if you had someone, er something, with you when you go out. If you continue this through the winter, the mornings will still be dark.”
Kitty threw her arms around her father’s neck. “Thank you, Pa.”
Her heart was light as she made her rounds with Terry on her heels. When she came to Mr. Cooper’s home, she cursed the wings taking flight in her stomach. Once again, he pulled back a curtain, and they both waved in acknowledgment.
* * *
The week went by quickly, and Terry soon knew her route as well as she did.
Kitty had begun creating a fantasy around the handsome solicitor.
In one daydream, he was a man in a mask and dark cape, riding on horseback to save her.
In another, he was a pirate who stole her from a ship and made her his accomplice bride.
Yesterday, he was a prince in hiding, escaping the duties of his royal family.
“I should be a novelist with my imagination,” she confided to the terrier. “I’ve turned a dull solicitor into an adventurer without ever holding a conversation with him.” Terry barked his agreement.
They left the Miss Fenleys, and she stopped again to pull two dried peas from her pocket.
She had worked up a sweat playing with Terry, running back and forth in the alley as he chased her.
She pushed back her hood to allow the breeze to cool her neck and face.
When she reached Mr. Cooper’s house, she was surprised to see him at the window before she could even pop a pea in her mouth.
He lifted the sash and leaned out. “Good morning, Miss Felton.” He had a wonderful smile, white teeth, and blond hair that was sticking up in several directions.
She giggled. “Good morning, Mr. Cooper.”
“Who is your helper?” he asked, nodding at the dog.
“This is Terry. He’s new and still in training,” she said with a grin, appreciating the opportunity to study this man more closely. His eyes were the color of honey, a golden brown, and she found it hard to look away.
“Is he a fast learner?” asked Mr. Cooper, that smile sending her stomach into a tumble despite the tousled hair.
“He is, but the pea shooter is giving him a bit of trouble. I think it’s the lack of fingers,” she said, gazing up at the window. She pushed a hand through her black waves self-consciously and noticed his eyes widened. Was her hair mussed too?
“The what?” His brows furrowed, then understanding smoothed them as she pulled out her tool of the trade. “Ah, I remember using one of those when I was a boy. A lack of hands would definitely hurt Terry’s progress.”
“Yes, I’m afraid I won’t be able to let him go on his own until he masters it,” she said, her tone serious. “However, his accompanying bark after I shoot does seem to be helpful.”
Mr. Cooper laughed. A warm, welcoming sound like a hot toddy on a cold day. “Well, thank you for the knock up.”
“You’re very welcome,” she said, watching him lower the sash.
As she walked away, she heard him exclaim, “Bollocks.”