Mr Elliot nodded.
Lucy smiled at Morgana. Either the morning air or a blush had put colour in her cheeks. Or had she and Mr Elliot found a private place to be together?
‘I was just telling Mr Elliot the news my mum sent to Amy and me. Did she tell you of it?’
‘No.’ Amy had lately chattered more about her sister, how she feared for Lucy in her new life, how she wished Lucy would content herself with being a maid and forget this notion of being a courtesan.
Morgana sharedAmy’s sentiments. As the days went on, she dreaded more and more the moment she would have to release them into the life she had created for them. Two months ago Morgana had been convinced that she would be providing them with a better life. Now she feared she would only cause them more unhappiness, like the unhappiness she now felt.
‘What was the news, Lucy? No one is ill, I hope.’
‘Nothing like that, miss.’ Lucy glanced to Elliot, who nodded encouragingly. ‘It is the shop next door to my father’s. The button seller. Do you remember about him?’
Morgana was not likely to ever forget. ‘I remember.’
‘Well, my mum said he moved away. Just up and moved. He’s gone.’
Morgana could barely speak. ‘Indeed.’
‘And I was asking Mr Elliot if he thought it could be Mr Sloane’s doing. Do you think so? Mr Elliot says he does not know, but I think Mr Sloane made him go away. Mr Castle has run the shop for ever and his father before him and now it is empty and he’s gone.’
Morgana felt her senses, so dormant of late, come to life. Of course Sloane had been responsible. Like a secret champion, he’d avenged Lucy. Sloane had driven the man off.
‘It does seem odd,’ Morgana managed.
Lucy and Mr Elliot shared smiles, and Morgana felt a wave of envy. Lucy and Elliot had found a steadfast friendship, perhaps more than a friendship, though Morgana dared not ask. Morgana was happy for her even if, at this moment, it made her own loneliness seem more acute.
A voice sounded from the other side of the garden wall. ‘Elliot, where the devil are you?’
Sloane.
He stepped through the gap in the garden wall and caught sight of Morgana. ‘Oh.’
Elliot sprang to attention. ‘Did you have need of me, sir?’
Sloane looked as if he were about to retreat back to his own property. ‘No, just wondered where you were.’
Morgana remained riveted to the spot, but Lucy skipped over to Sloane.
‘Thank you, sir,’ she said with meaning in her voice.
He backed up a step. ‘What for?’
She gave him a worshipful look. ‘For whatever you did to Mr Castle, because he is gone and his shop is closed.’
Morgana watched a muscle in Sloane’s cheek flex. He paused before responding. ‘I am glad of it, Lucy. But do not assume I had anything to do with it.’
‘I know you did, sir,’ Lucy seized his hand and kissed it. ‘And I am grateful to you.’
Sloane glanced over to Morgana, but glanced away as quickly.
‘Perhaps Mr Sloane is busy, Lucy.’ Morgana knew Sloane wished to escape her company.
Cripps stepped out of the doorway. ‘Madame Bisou wishes me to inform you that she has brought you a visitor.’ He looked unusually stern. ‘Miss Harriette Wilson.’
‘Harriette?’ barked Sloane, with a searing glare at Morgana. ‘What the devil is she doing here?’
Morgana was every bit as shocked as he. ‘I have no idea.’
Elliot excused himself, saying he must return to his duties, but Sloane followed Morgana and Lucy into the house.
Miss Wilson sat in the front drawing room wearing a stylish white India muslin gown trimmed in blue satin, with embroidered flounces at the hem and neckline. Her cap, complete with blue and white feathers, matched perfectly. Looking at her, one could only conclude that the life of a courtesan was very lucrative indeed. Mary, Katy and Rose sat gaping at her.
Madame Bisou presented Miss Wilson to Morgana. Her introduction ended with, ‘… and you know Cyprian, I believe.’
‘Yes, indeed,’ Miss Wilson responded, giving Sloane a frank look of admiration that made Morgana feel faintly ill. ‘But it has been much too long since you have called upon me, sir.’
Sloane’s expression remained stormy. ‘What are you doing here, Harriette?’
‘I insisted Penny bring me to see this courtesan school.’
Sloane shot Penny a scathing glance.
‘Do not look at me that way, Cyprian. I did not tell her of it.’
He turned his glare to Morgana. ‘If Harriette knows, your activities are no longer a secret.’
‘Not everyone knows, Cyprian, my love!’ Harriette chirped. ‘That odious Fortuna Rice offers a great deal of money to discover this place. But she believes some man runs the school.’ Harriette laughed as if such a notion was ridiculous.
Morgana’s breath caught to hear Mrs Rice’s name. She’d not imagined the girls were still in danger from the woman. It had been weeks since they’d left her.
‘Sir Reginald!’ cried Madame Bisou. ‘It must be he who told you, Harriette. He must have pieced the story together after meeting us at Vauxhall.’
Harriette did not deny this. Morgana glanced at Katy. The girl returned a defiant look, and Morgana could imagine Katy prattling on while she practised her wiles at Vauxhall.
Sloane glowered at Morgana, then marched over to her. ‘Morgana, I need a word with you. Excuse us.’ He gripped her arm so that she had little choice but to follow him.
He propelled her into the library and still kept hold of her, holding her so close she could feel the heat from his body. She could also see the fire in his eyes.
‘Let me speak plain, Morgana. If that woman knows of you, in minutes the rest of the world will know. You cannot trust her.’ He gave her a little shake. ‘You must end this now.’
She lifted her chin and stared directly into his face, even though it was only inches away. ‘How do I end it, Sloane? Toss them out? Will that make them safer? Or am I suddenly not to care if Mrs Rice punishes them for leaving her?’
He acted as if he’d not even heard her. ‘You have become too reckless. Taking them to Vauxhall. And even that wasn’t enough for you. You had to take them to Soho and Astley’s. Where were your wits? Have you gone totally mad? You have no notion what you risk.’
Who could have told him such things? She glared at him. ‘I thought Mr Elliot more discreet.’
He huffed. ‘Elliot is the model of discretion. Did you assume he was my only source of information about your doings?’
She had not imagined he cared a fig about her doings since the night at Vauxhall, when he held her much less painfully than he did now.
She addressed him in a haughty tone. ‘Do take your hands off me, Sloane. I do not fancy having bruised arms.’
He released her so quickly she almost fell against him. He caught her again and only stepped back after she regained her balance. She rubbed where his hands had gripped her.
It suddenly felt as if walls were falling in on her, but she could not allow him to realise that. ‘I should like to know your source of information, if it was not Mr Elliot.’
‘Take your pick,’ he shot back. ‘The circle of those who know of you is widening