Jane Feather - Charade by Unknown (howl and other poems .TXT) 📕

are others beside myself who provide money andalso work. D'Evron is attempting to set up a network of assistance. Oneperson alone can do little and your entire fortune, Justin, would be amere drop in the ocean."

"I do trust, Danny, that you will refrain from dropping my entirefortune into that ocean." Justin regarded her quizzically and she gavea low laugh.

"I will sell my diamonds first, milord."

"And I will oblige us both by assuming that remark was made in jest.But I should warn you that I did

not find it in the least amusing."

"No, my lord," Danielle murmured meekly, dropping her eyes.

"Impossible brat," Justin said without rancor. "You will,of course, doas you think fit whilst maintaining some control over yourphilanthropy. Is it agreed?"

"Agreed." Danielle gave him a radiant smile. "I keep very carefulrecords, Justin. Do you care to see them?" She moved to the rolltopdesk and opened a small drawer, reaching into the back for a sheet ofpaper covered in immaculate calculations. Justin examined the figures,fascinated. She was incredibly meticulous and while the final sum wascertainly sizable it was no more than many a giddy wife lost in

anevening over the pharaoh tables.

"You trust D'Evron to act for you in these matters?" he asked bluntly,handing back the document.

Danielle flushed with annoyance. "I am not quite such a numbskull asyou appear to think, sir. If I did

not trust him, I would hardly givehim

carte blanche

with yourmoney."

"No, no of course not. Forgive me, Danielle. I meant no aspersions onthe chevalier's character or on your perspicacity." Linton made hasteto retrieve himself. "Come, let us consider the matter closed for

themoment. I should be glad if you will keep me informed as you thinknecessary."

"Well, there is just one other matter," Danielle said, seizing theopportunity. "There is a family by name

of Duclos that the chevalierhas mentioned to me. I should perhaps explain how I would like to help

them . . ."

*  *  *

Danielle lay awake through most of the night, miserable in her guilt.She had lied to Justin for the first time and she could not quieten herconscience by saying that it was a lie of omission rather thancommission. She had deliberately given him a half truth that wouldprovide her with an excuse to be in D'Evron's company and would easeany suspicions as to her other activities.

Justin slept in tranquil peace beside his wife, his hand on her hipmoving unconsciously to keep pace with her tossings and turnings. Whenhe awoke at dawn she was deeply asleep, in her first deep sleep of thenight. He slid from the bed, drawing the covers over the creamyshoulders, examining the small face with a frown. Even in sleep therewas a tension, a small crease between the straight eyebrows. She lookedmuch as she had done in those fugitive days in Paris. Justin wonderedif the plight of her countrymen was causing her to relive her ownprivations—if so, his efforts to distance those memories for her wereas naught. But there was only so much one could do to heal another, andDanielle was most definitely in control of her own destiny, for allthat she was a brat and a vagabond with a mercurial temper and a wickedtongue.

*  *  *

It was some two weeks later when Danielle stepped out of the hiredsedan chair onto yet another filthy lane just off Fleet Market. "Youwill wait for me," she said tersely to the bearers who, since they wereclearly not to be paid at this point, had little option.

Danielle had now made several of these excursions without theprotection of the chevalier and there was no hesitation in her step asshe walked into the narrow hallway where layers of grease formed ashiny patina on the walls. Muted voices came from a room on her leftand she turned the doorknob with the

tips of her gloved fingers. Thesmall room was bitterly cold; little daylight came through the exiguousgrimed window and what light there was flickered uncertainly fromtallow candles. The girls working at the long table were little morethan children, their arms mere sticks poking through ragged sleeves.Not one of them raised their eyes from their stitching at Danielle'sentrance. The reason for their lack of interest rose heavily from achair in the far corner. The woman's arms were like tree trunkssplotched with large brown freckles; her gown—if it deserved such aname—was a dirty gray, hair, of similar color, wisped beneath a filthyragged cap.

"You be needin' somethin'?" she wheezed. Danielle took a step back fromthe gin-sodden breath.

"How can you expect these children to work without light?" Dannydemanded. "They'll ruin their sight."

Mrs. Bumbry was taken aback. Her mouth hung slack and theyellow-stained eyeballs stared. She was not accustomed to being takento task for her working conditions and certainly not by young ladies ofQuality, and, unless she was headed for Bedlam, she was beingconfronted by Quality. Her girls provided the undergarments that wenton the backs of stolid bourgeois matrons and Mrs. Bumbry had contactonly with the agent who commissioned her, provided the materials, andhaggled over the price.

A choked giggle came from the table. Mrs. Bumbry's arm swung and thegiggler fell off her stool to collapse in tears amidst a heap ofdiscarded material, scraps of thread, and much dust.

Danielle restrained herself. To jump to the child's defense would onlybring down further retribution on her head once her defenderhad left. "You have an Estelle Lanton indentured to you, I think."

"What's that to you?" Mrs. Bumbry grunted.

"I wish to break her indenture. I think, if you want your-girls tocontinue with their work, we should talk elsewhere." Danielle walked tothe door, the skirt of her riding habit caught over one arm. She haddecided some time ago that riding habits were the easiest form of dressfor these forays into London's underbelly. Mrs. Bumbry followed theslim figure, not because she wished to but because