This night she would attend Almack’s with Aunt Winnie and Hannah and was quite happy that her new peach muslin was finished and ready to wear.
Of course, Morgana wondered if Sloane would find it becoming on her. She squared her shoulders. She was thinking nonsense again. Besides, it was entirely possible he would not even attend Almack’s.
Morgana donned her bonnet and walked out to the small patch of garden behind the town house, where Lucy, on her knees, was pulling weeds.
‘Hello, Lucy.’
The girl gave her no more than a brief glance before turning back to tug at some raggedy green invader among a small patch of lavender. ‘Good afternoon, miss.’
Morgana sat on the stone bench near where Lucy worked. The afternoon was warm enough for the lightest wrap and the sky was overcast with milky white clouds. ‘I thought now might be a good time for us to chat.’
Lucy tugged at another weed. ‘If you say so, miss.’
Morgana sighed. She might be pulling teeth, not weeds, for how easy this would be. ‘I do wish you would tell me—explain if you can—why you went with that man yesterday.’
‘I met him when I was at the shops.’ Lucy patted the dirt where it had loosened around the violets, not answering the question at all.
‘Did he approach you? What did he say to you?’ Morgana could not believe any girl would be so foolish as to allow such a man to speak to her.
‘You have the wrong of it.’ Lucy sat back on her heels and looked up at Morgana. “Twas I spoke to him. I knew what he was. He’s been about before.’
‘You approached him?’
Lucy nodded. ‘You’ll want to know why, but I don’t think it proper to tell a lady, such as y’rself.’
Morgana tried not to frown. ‘I assure you, Lucy. I have lived in the world. You will not shock me.’
Lucy’s eyes flashed sceptically. ‘You’ll not tell my sister?’
Morgana shook her head. ‘I will not.’
Lucy shrugged. ‘I suppose it don’t matter if you do. You’ll be letting me go after you hear what I done and then I’ll be gone anyway and none of m’family will speak to me then.’
‘I’m not trying to discover a way to be rid of you, Lucy.’
The sceptical look returned, as well as another shrug. ‘Well, I’ll tell you and we’ll see.’ She changed positions, sitting cross-legged at the edge of the flower bed. ‘You were told us Jenkins girls was honest, clean girls and that’s true enough of Amy.’
‘But not of you?’ Morgana tried to sound accepting of whatever the story would be.
‘Nay, miss. I’m a bad girl.’ She stared directly in Morgana’s eyes. ‘I’ve done it with men, you know. You know. Fornicating.’
Morgana remained steady. ‘Go on.’
‘More than once, miss. A lot of times, since I became pretty, you know. This man, he said I was friendly-like. He said he could tell that about me.’ She paused. ‘I didn’t know how he meant that at first, but then he showed me.’
Oh, dear God. When had this happened? The girl was only eighteen.
‘He gave me money for it,’ Lucy added. ‘So I did it again.’
Morgana closed her eyes for a moment.
‘I won’t tell you who it was, miss, so don’t ask me,’ she blurted in unnecessary defiance. ‘Coming here didn’t seem right, you see, after all that. You thinkin’ I was a good girl and treating me and Amy so nice.’
Morgana reached out to the girl, touching her on the shoulder. ‘Of course I would treat you nicely.’
Lucy pulled away, fat tears filling her eyes. She rose to her feet. From under her wide-brimmed garden hat her smooth complexion turned a becoming shade of pink. A breeze blew her simple maid’s dress against her body, showing the lush shape of her figure. The bow of her mouth trembled and one tear slid slowly down her cheek.
Morgana could easily imagine what that man had seen in the girl. God help her, could Morgana witness another girl lost to such a life?
She could still see that young Portuguese girl who’d climbed over the wall into her father’s property. Morgana brought her food and spoke to her in her halting Portuguese. Morgana had been thirteen and the girl of a similar age. As two children in a garden would naturally do, they played together. The Portuguese girl carried a rag doll and Morgana ran to get her doll as well. They’d spent a pleasant hour, feeding and rocking their dolls. Morgana impulsively traded her fine china doll for the girl’s dirty rag doll, and she could still remember the light in the girl’s eyes as she looked upon the gift.
Morgana had made a friend, one her own age. It had been an event so rare she could scarcely recall any others.
Then the housekeeper had discovered them and chased the girl away. As she scrambled over the wall, the doll fell from her arms and shattered on the ground.
She’d seen the Portuguese girl a year later, leaning out of a window, her breasts almost bare, her eyes hard and empty, while another woman, dressed equally shockingly, called to the soldiers in the street to come to have a good time.
Morgana stood and again placed her hand on Lucy’s shoulder. ‘Lucy, please do not do anything rash. Do not go back to that man.’
Through her tears, Lucy gave her a rebellious look. ‘I already gave a boy a penny to take the dress back, but I dunno how long I can stay.’
‘You may stay as long as you like, Lucy,’ Morgana said quietly.
The girl shook her head fiercely. ‘You don’t understand, miss. I liked what the man done to me. I liked the money. Men pay lots of money. Why would I want to be hauling water and mucking out fireplaces and scrubbing and dusting all day when men give me more money for a few minutes of frolicking?’
It was true a maid’s life was not an easy one, but what would be the cost of Lucy selling herself for a man’s pleasure? ‘There is no future for you with a man like the one in the park. That is no good, Lucy.’
‘I won’t go with that man, miss. Not after what he done, with that knife and all, but more I cannot say.’
Morgana had to content herself with that. Lucy whirled around and ran back into the house while Morgana turned, crossing her arms over her chest.
A man’s face appeared through the bushes where the brick wall should be. She gave a startled cry.
‘The mortar,’ he said.
‘Mortar?’ Through a gap in the wall separating her garden from the one next to it, she saw a young man dressed in a dark brown coat and fawn trousers.
‘The mortar must have been inferior. This part of the wall has crumbled.’
That fact was obvious now. She’d not spent enough time in the garden to notice before.
He smiled apologetically. ‘I beg your pardon, miss. I… I did not mean to eavesdrop.’
‘You heard everything?’
‘I heard enough,’ he admitted, blushing scarlet.
‘Then I must ask for your silence.’ She stared at him, attempting to assess his character.
He bowed. ‘Aaron Elliot at your service, miss. I was examining the property. It is for sale. I must note the wall.’
Elliot? That was the name of Sloane’s secretary. Her curiosity increased.