Part 28 (2/2)

Final y, it created a terrible sense of guilty liberation. No employer, no father, n.o.body to whom she had to explain her windfal . No one to naysay her choices. She was freer and more powerful than she'd ever been, and lonelier as wel .

Mary felt dizzy something not difficult to comprehend, with grief, exhaustion and hunger feeding her confusion and sat down on a bench in the park. Ladies didn't do that, of course. Not alone, and especial y not on a frigid winter morning when the world was coated in a layer of ice and grime. But she wasn't a lady yet. She did, however, regret sitting when a few moments later, a gentleman in a rumpled suit plopped down beside her in skin-crawlingly familiar fas.h.i.+on.

”Let me guess: you were sacked.”

She took a deep breath and a firm grip on her temper. ”Perhaps,” she said. ”It's none of your concern, though.”

”You're so unfriendly,” said Octavius Jones, in injured tones. ”Is a little civility too much to ask?”

She ignored this. ”Amy Tranter's got her job again. I don't think she'l trouble you now.”

His show of surprise was genuine, and then extravagant. ”And how did you manage that, missy?

Let me guess: you took the blame on yourself, like an old-fas.h.i.+oned heroine, and begged the hard-hearted housekeeper to have Amy back.”

She shrugged. ”Perhaps. Don't put a stop on that cheque you gave me, though I'l be giving her the money. Every girl needs a bit of capital.”

”And I'm to believe you'l pa.s.s on the blunt?”

”As long as Amy doesn't come after you, isn't it money wel spent?” She meant to sound defiant, but the words came out thin and weak.

He frowned, then peered at her. Poked his nose so close that he nearly touched her face. ”My word ... you look rough. Crushed.”

She swatted him away. ”Thank you.”

”Truly, though,” he persisted, not at al put off by shoving. ”You look as though you've not slept for days. And when was the last time you ate?”

She closed her eyes. Perhaps when she opened them, he'd be gone.

Instead, he sighed gustily and began a rummaging sound. ”You're so melodramatic, starving yourself into a pale and interesting state.

Here.”

She felt something b.u.mp against her hand. ”Al I want is for you to go away.”

”Open your eyes and see, first.” A pause. ”Go on.

I'd dump it in your lap, only you'd take my head off for such a liberty.”

She lifted her heavy eyelids and blinked at a paper-wrapped lump. A smal patch of grease darkened one side of the paper, and suddenly she could smel it: smoke, salt, fat, wheat, yeast. Her mouth flooded so quickly it was al she could do to keep from drooling.

Jones grinned. ”You're welcome.”

She eyed it, trying her best to show suspicion.

”Why are you walking around with a bacon sandwich in your pocket?”

”My breakfast. But I think you need it more.”

She peeked inside the paper, releasing a puff of fragrant steam into the wintry morning. The bun was golden, the bacon curling slightly at the edges. ”If you ever need to poison someone,” she said, unwrapping the sandwich al the way, ”do it with a bacon sandwich.”

He winked. ”My sentiments exactly.”

It was worth the risk. Mary devoured it in two minutes, heedless of the grease staining her gloves, Jones's close scrutiny, the colossal impropriety of a lady eating in public in a park, no less! When she'd swal owed the last bite and dusted the flour from her fingers, she felt half-way human again. ”Thank you.”

”My pleasure. Now, how about tel ing me why you left the Queen's house in your Sunday best, looking half-starved to death?”

”I'd rather not,” she said, calm now. The urge to strangle Jones had vanished with the appearance of warm food, but she'd not lost her bearings entirely.

”I've fulfil ed my end of the bargain. That's that.”

”What about the leads I gave you? The Hacken tarts.”

She smirked. ”Hackens are for hacks.”

”It came to nothing?” His dismay seemed entirely genuine, but of course that was his professional amour propre speaking.

Mary thought of what the Prince of Wales's confessions had wrought. ”I wouldn't say 'nothing'.

But it wasn't anything like you expected.” She smirked again. ”No grist for your sleazy mil .”

”d.a.m.n.” He drooped for a moment, then cheered up. ”Wel , I got the best of you, then. Amy Tranter's off my back, al for the price of some useless gossip and a bacon bap.”

”You seem intent on forgetting that five guineas.”

”Bah.” He waved a dismissive hand. ”Cheap, even at that price.”

”Off you go, then. There must be scandals to invent.”

And yet he lingered beside her. ”Care for a drink?

I know a good little public house not far from here.”

She shook her head. ”No.”

”Off home, are you? I'l see you there.”

Home. She'd no idea what that might mean.

”Thank you, no.”

He frowned. ”Sure you're al right?”

She stifled a yawn. ”Of course.”

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