Page 52 of The Beast's Bet

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Elizabeth had been given clothes.

The shoes fit fairly well. The gown was far more luxurious than she was accustomed to. It was a striped red silk, and certainly for a lady of more experience.

She adored it.

She still felt absolutely shaken to her core, but she refused to let that bother her as she waited to depart. She refused to be a prisoner of her father’s cruelty.

And so, she wound her way through Tom’s club, exploring the rooms. He was not far away. He was in his study, and he had told her that she would be safe, wherever she went. And he had a footman trailing her, making certain that she was indeed safe.

Safe… she had not truly understood that word until he had explained it to her. And now, she did indeed understand what it meant. She wondered, would she ever truly be safe… even in Tom’s care?

She wound her way from room to room, trying to imagine what took place here. She recalled the night she had come. The merriment, the laughter, the music, the joy in these rooms. She felt it; it fairly reverberated off the walls, even without people in it.

The bright, striped yellow silk hangings, the portraits of ladies in flower-covered swings, the beautiful pianoforte in a corner, the shockingly elaborate ornaments, the chandeliers brimming with crystals… they all denoted beauty and good cheer.

How had Tom afforded such a thing? How had he climbed his way up from so low, to have so much and be so high, and to have such excellent taste? For it was the most beautiful place she had ever seen.

It far exceeded any house that she had been to in London.

Yes. It was a place meant for art, for appreciation, for conversation. The chairs were arranged in such a way that people would be able to sit together, lean in, and whisper or laugh and make merry.

How she longed to be a part of it.

She could not even imagine what it would be like to have such free thought, as Tom seemed to suggest took place here. And as she stood before the fireplace that was empty now with its black grate, she turned and looked at the footman.

“Do you like working here?” she asked abruptly.

“Oh yes, Lady Elizabeth,” he said quickly, his gloved hands folded before him. “It is a very good place of employment. Especially if one comes from the East End.”

“How do you mean?” she asked.

The footman cleared his throat. “Well, not many people like me get a chance to work for a man like Mr. Courtney. I mean, the earl,” he said, smiling, his cheeks apple red. He gazed at her with bright eyes that suggested he had not known a great deal of darkness.

But suddenly, she wondered.

“You’re from the East End. What is your name?” she asked.

“Henry,” he said readily. “And yes, I was born in the East End near Saint Giles. And I can tell you it’s nothing like this place here.”

“No?” she queried.

“No,” he said firmly. “I was born on the street over from where Tom was born. Every now and then he goes to that place and he collects small children.”

She coughed. “He collects small children?”

“Yes,” Henry said before he explained. “He finds children that are in the alleys, you know, who are ripe for picking.”

“I don’t follow,” she said. “Ripe for picking?”

Henry hesitated, as if considering if he should explain to her… the twisting shadows of his home. “From pickpockets and men who are pimps and whoremongers. You see, it’s not just rough men. There are ladies who come in and protest that all they want is to have a nice servant, and then they take the child and sell them every day. There’s good money in it.”

She swallowed. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t…”

“Don’t be sorry,” Henry rushed without discomfort. “I’m one of the lucky ones. There are many children who never meet a benefactor like Mr. Courtney. I know he wishes he could save more, but really, he can’t save everyone. The city is too large for one man to rescue. But he does save many. And of course, there’s the houses he keeps.”

“I’m sorry?” she said, blinking.

“Mr. Courtney has at least five houses,” Henry offered easily. “They’re not in the East of London. They’re actually out in the country. He collects as many children as he can. And then he sends them out to be raised up.”


Tags: Eva Devon Historical