Chapter 3 #4
Tamsin looked about at a stack of chipped vases, chairs with only two or three legs, part of a saddle, several cracked pans hanging from the ceiling, and a jumble of necklaces that were hopelessly tangled.
Once, she’d spent three hours trying to untangle those necklaces.
Big John told her if she succeeded, she could pick one to keep.
She hadn’t done anything but tangle them in a different way.
On the table, in the midst of the clutter, was Tamsin’s favorite item, an automaton.
This machine was a beautiful, jeweled caterpillar that was supposed to inch along the table.
Big John said when the machine worked properly it actually moved quite quickly.
He’d bought it broken, thinking he might be able to repair it and sell it to Mr. Maillardet for his automaton theater on Catherine Street.
Neither Tamsin nor Big John ever mentioned that the item had probably been stolen from that very theater and pawned.
“What do you have for me?” Big John asked.
Tamsin emptied her pockets save for the shillings. She laid out the earbob, the comb, and the handkerchiefs. Big John lifted one of the handkerchiefs and peered at the embroidered initials. “Who is ESJ?”
“An aunt,” Tamsin said. “I can pick out the thread and bring them back, if you like. But perhaps you could pay me in advance?”
“Fine. I’ll pay ye ’alf now and ’alf when ye bring ’em back.” He lifted the comb. “Jade. Nice.” Next, he peered at the earbob. “Only one?”
“My mother says she lost the other.”
Big John put the jewel to his mouth and bit down. His bushy eyebrows rose as he lowered the earbob. “These are real rubies and diamonds. Where did yer ma come by those?”
“A gift from Papa when they were first married.”
Big John gave her a long look, and Tamsin couldn’t hold his gaze. With a deep sigh, Big John reached for the coin purse he always had in his pocket. “I worry about ye, Miss Archer. Yer taking too many risks.”
“I have no choice. My sister and brother—”
“Need you alive. ’Ow can ye ’elp ’em if yer in jail or with yer neck in a noose?”
The words stung precisely because he had a point.
At the same time, she bristled at his paternal tone.
Who was he to question her or lecture her?
He had no notion of the hunger and exhaustion eating at her.
He didn’t know what it was like to lose the people she loved the most and feel helpless to do anything to save them.
Tamsin lifted her chin. “Will you buy the earbob and comb or not?”
“I’ll buy ’em.” He handed her a few coins, and Tamsin stared at him.
“They’re worth more than this.”
“The earbob is single, and considering where it probably came from, possessing it could cause me quite a lot of trouble. I’ll give ye a few more pennies when ye bring those wipes back with the embroidery removed.”
“Fine.” Tamsin took the money. She didn’t really have any other choice. Besides, she’d been away too long now. Molly would be fuming. Tamsin could only hope she hadn’t tattled to Mrs. Brown.
Tamsin took the handkerchiefs and tied the money in them so it wouldn’t clink together when she moved.
Then she ran back to the coffee shop, snatched the water bucket, and pumped water before returning.
She was out of breath and seeing black spots by the time she returned.
She slipped quietly into the back and opened the door to the kitchen.
Her mother was at the washtub cleaning mugs with her one hand.
She turned, and Tamsin knew by the look on her face there was trouble.
“And where have you been, missy?”
Tamsin swung around to see Mrs. Brown, hands on hips, scowling at her. Mrs. Brown was a thin, wiry woman who was much stronger than her small stature would suggest. Molly was right behind her, hair now bouncing against her shoulders in fat curls.
Tamsin set the bucket down. “I fetched clean water.”
“It don’t take an hour to fetch water,” Molly said.
“I haven’t been gone an hour. There was a line—”
Tamsin saw the blow coming and ducked, but Mrs. Brown knew that maneuver and adjusted accordingly. Pain exploded on the side of her head and made her ears ring. She covered her head with her hands, but Mrs. Brown kicked her shin.
Tamsin jumped back and almost tripped over the bucket.
“Now get to work, you lazy slattern,” Mrs. Brown ordered. “Or I’ll have Mr. Brown beat you.”
“Yes, Mrs. Brown.” Tamsin heaved the bucket up, staggered, then managed to carry it into the front of the house.
She returned for the mop and met her mother’s red-rimmed eyes.
She winked at her mother, trying to force a smile, but she wasn’t sure if she’d managed.
Half of her face felt numb, and her head pounded.
She had the front of the house ready by the time Mrs. Brown came in to open the shutters and the door.
Then it wasn’t long before the first of the men strolled in.
Many had papers under their arms. Some would drink their coffee and go to their places of business.
Others would spend much of the day at the coffeehouse, debating this theory or that philosophy with the other patrons.
In the middle of the day, when there was a lull in business, Tamsin would sometimes wipe tables and listen to the men argue.
Some were students and others writers or hopeful politicians.
These were not the well-to-do writers or wealthy lords in Parliament.
Covent Garden was home to the working class, but Brown’s Coffee Shop, and the others like it, served as a place where men who weren’t good enough for a membership at Brooks’s or White’s might go to meet other men and discuss the news and ideas of the day.
Few women came in. Mr. Brown did not have a rule against ladies in the coffeehouse, but their presence was frowned upon.
Tamsin, Molly, and Peggy did most of the serving, while Mrs. Brown cooked simple fare and brewed coffee, and Mrs. Archer washed dishes all day.
Mr. Brown dealt with the money and sometimes had to keep order if a man got a little too defensive over some idea by Descartes or Rousseau.
Tamsin didn’t know who those men were, but she had worked in the coffeehouse long enough to know quite a bit about their ideas.
Her life might have been worse. The men who frequented the coffee shop were mostly respectful of her. Occasionally, a man pinched her bottom or made some lewd remark, but for the most part, they ignored her and the other women.
By midday, when Mrs. Brown and her daughters went upstairs to take refreshment, Tamsin had almost forgotten her own hunger.
She kept an eye out for any food the patrons didn’t finish.
She could shove it in her mouth when Mr. Brown wasn’t looking.
But no one had ordered much more than coffee, and those who had, ate every last crumb.
She stood at a table, stacking mugs and plates on a tray, when the door opened. Mr. Brown called out a greeting.
“And good day to you,” the newcomer replied.
Tamsin almost dropped a plate. The man’s accent was that of the upper classes, and she was not the only one who took notice. But there was something else about his voice—the faint lilt of Irish in it—that sent her heart racing.
She knew that voice. Had heard it in her dreams.
When all eyes went to the newcomer—a red-haired man in an expensive greatcoat and fashionable hat—Tamsin lifted her tray and hurried for the back of the house. She made it through the door and set the tray down then went back and peered through a crack in the door.
Damn and blast! What was she to do if he ordered coffee? Molly and Peggy were upstairs. She would have to serve him, and he’d certainly recognize her. What was he doing here? He couldn’t have followed her here. She’d watched him walk away. Had she left some clue about her identity?
She’d managed to push him from her mind with all she had to do this morning, but now the sight of him brought the events from the night before crashing back. The feel of his hard body against hers, the softness of his lips, the shocked sound he’d made when she’d licked him. She fanned her face.
“What are you doing, Tamsin?” her mother asked.
Tamsin spun around. “Nothing.”
“Is there someone out there you don’t wish to see you?”
“No.” She glanced at the clean mugs her mother had finished. “Shall I dry these for you?”
“If you’re not needed out front.”
Tamsin lifted a towel and began to dry the mugs while her mother continued the chore of washing the stack of dirty ones. After a moment, Tamsin moved back to the door. Still wiping a mug in her hand, she peered out again.
Kildare hadn’t taken a seat. He was talking with Mr. Brown. Then, as she watched, he tossed Brown a coin and went back outside.
Tamsin heaved a sigh of relief…until she began to wonder what he had asked Mr. Brown and where he was off to next. She had to follow him.
“I’ll fetch clean water for you, Mama,” Tamsin said, setting the dry mug down and grabbing the rope handle of the bucket.
“Thank you, but I—”
Tamsin was out the door before her mother could say more.
She ran around the side of the coffeehouse and peered out at the lane just in time to see Kildare stroll past. Tamsin flattened her back against the building, dropped the bucket, then peeked out again.
He was walking away from the coffeehouse.
That was good. She could go back inside.
She was about to turn back around when she saw him step into the lane. He waited for a wagon to pass then jogged across.
And headed straight for Big John’s.
No! What if Big John had put the earbob out on display? What if Kildare asked if he knew her? Big John wouldn’t tell the man anything, would he?
Tamsin abandoned the bucket and raced after Kildare, who stepped into Big John’s.
She almost forgot to look before crossing the usually quiet lane, and a team of horses passed closer than was comfortable.
Then she was across and uncertain what to do next.
Usually, she went to the back door of the pawnbroker.
But Big John had a large window in the front of the shop where he hung clothing or displayed jewelry.
Tamsin passed the door and made her way to the edge of that window.
Gingerly, she glanced inside. A few passersby gave her odd looks, but she ignored them.
Her head spun, and she had to swallow the nausea that followed.
The sun was out and the glare on the thick glass of the window obscured the scene inside.
But she finally blinked away the black spots in her vision and made out the shape of Mr. Kildare and Big John.
The two men were talking, and Big John was gesturing.
Was he talking about her? She wished she could hear what they were saying.
What should she do? Go back to the coffee shop?
What if Kildare returned? Run down to the market and hide in the crowds?
Mr. and Mrs. Brown would have her head. She was already in trouble with them because of George and his foolish pranks.
She glanced into the window again and didn’t see Kildare. Damn and blast! Had Big John taken him into the back room? Big John would show him the earbob, and then she was done for. But perhaps he didn’t know she worked at the coffee shop. He might have stopped in to ask where the pawnbroker was.
She’d run back and try to stay out of sight.
She stepped away from the window, swaying slightly.
The day was warm, and she was weak with hunger and exhaustion.
She clenched her fist, digging her fingernails into her flesh.
The pain helped focus her. Blowing out a breath, she ducked down and passed the window.
Just as she crossed the door, it opened. She stepped back and out of the way, but it was too late. She met Kildare’s velvet-brown eyes. She gasped in a breath as his eyes widened.
Caught!
Her breath stopped in her throat, and her heart sped up. She had to run. She had to hide. But she couldn’t seem to force her legs to do anything. The black spots in her vision grew larger and larger until she couldn’t see anything except a sliver of sunlight around the edges.
And then everything went black.