Chapter Nine

C hapter N ine

L ucy had never met a more terrifying woman in her entire life.

She'd also never met anyone with such talent, genius, and taste.

How her mouth was not fully gaping like some unfortunate fish was astonishing.

She hadn't done anything useful while she sat and observed Tilda work, but she wasn't supposed to do anything, so she was doing exactly as she should. Still, she felt that she should be useful if she was in the room for these fittings. No one wanted an observer in these things who was not an assistant or in possession of a trained eye, and Lucy could boast neither. She was supposed to stay with Tilda while she was here, and so she had done, and this was the third fitting of opera actors since Trick had abandoned her. Each one of them a different stature, of different characters and needs, and differing opinions. But each and every one of them was delighted with what Tilda had done.

This one was positively beaming, and Tilda was almost impervious to the praise. She just continued working with the sort of steadiness and skill that spoke of decades of experience and a certainty of her abilities and taste. She knew she was doing magnificent work and did not need anyone else to confirm it. One might have considered that arrogance, but with Tilda, it instead had all the bearings of confidence without the narcissism and pride of arrogance.

She was a curious sort of person, but Lucy liked her.

At least, she thought she liked her. It was difficult to say when their personal interaction had been limited to their first meeting, but she was fairly certain.

She would know more when the fittings were done.

Willow came and went from the room at Tilda's beck and call, fetching this fabric or that particular thread, pins and ribbons in her hands at any given time. She always offered Lucy a smile or a wink, apparently contented as could be in her work and delighted to be scurrying about for Tilda. It wasn't the sort of occupation that Lucy would have enjoyed, but she could not pretend to understand how Willow would feel about the opportunity.

What she truly did not comprehend was what in the world either of these women had to do with Hunter. He was not a professional actor nor, as far as she could tell, did he have any need for costumes. But she had not even known him for a full day, and he had been wearing the same clothes from the first moment until the present, so what could she really know? Whatever it was he really did, when he was not minding her, could require costumes of some sort.

Perhaps he would require something of the sort for his patrol tonight, whatever that would entail.

"So many questions," Willow murmured as she folded some fabric near Lucy.

Lucy looked at her in shock. "Did I say something aloud without meaning to?"

Willow laughed warmly. "No, love. I can simply see the questions all over your face. Is it Tilda that raises them? Or Trick?"

"Both," Lucy admitted with a tiny smile. "I confess, I have no idea what is going on and am still attempting to catch my breath from last night. Trick is so confusing, and I cannot figure him out in the slightest. I mean, I know I can trust him. He has kept me so wonderfully safe, considering, and he did intervene on my behalf last night, but as to who he is… the sort of man he actually is…" She bit down on her lip hard, more to stop herself from rambling than anything else.

Willow raised a brow, her lips quirking.

"Sorry," Lucy said quickly. "I ramble. Trick has brought it to my attention more than once."

"Ramble away," she replied. "I don't mind. And it only makes sense that you should wonder about him, given your station and being in his protection for the time being."

Lucy's teeth pressed into her lip again. "Yes, of course."

Her station and his protection hadn't exactly been what caused her curiosity about him, but she would let the woman think so. It was certainly more polite and logical than what had caused her questions and mental wanderings on the subject.

She cleared her throat as the image of his crooked smile made her stomach twirl uncomfortably within her.

"And Tilda," she went on hastily, shoving the rather tasty image aside, "is simply extraordinary. I struggle to formulate the questions I have about her. It is more like an existence of questioning in her presence."

"Oddly enough, I understand you perfectly there." Willow chuckled and set the fabric aside, lowering her voice. "I doubt any person alive knows everything about Tilda. She dresses royalty, actresses, members of Society looking to impress at a masquerade…"

Lucy scoffed softly, shaking her head. "Next you're going to tell me she dresses spies for the Crown."

Willow did not laugh. "It would not surprise me," she told her simply. "I ask as few questions as possible. For my own protection. But Tilda is the most loyal person I have ever known. When she likes you, she will protect you to the death. And she's a remarkable amount of fun."

It was not so difficult to see how that could be, given what she had already witnessed in Tilda, but she was still far too intimidated to let herself believe it fully. There was nothing amusing about a woman who could kill you as soon as adorn you in finery and seemed to know everyone and everything.

One did not irritate or irk Tilda, of that much Lucy was absolutely certain.

At that moment, Tilda tsked loudly and flicked her fingers towards the door. "Very well, Signore Conti, away with you. Willow, see him divested of the ensemble without disrupting the setting. It will need to be ready for his performance on Thursday."

"Of course, Tilda," Willow returned with a quick nod, gesturing the actor towards the door and following him out of the room.

Leaving Lucy alone with Tilda.

She met the woman's eyes and tried not to swallow.

"No more appointments for the theatre, darling," Tilda told her, setting her hands at her hips and looking the most relaxed Lucy had seen her yet. "What would you like to do?"

"Do?" she repeated, her voice rasping in surprise. "I don't…" She shook her head. "I don't expect to be entertained, Madame Tilda. I am quite content to sit quietly while you go about your business, or pay calls, or… take a rest, if you… erm…"

"Pay calls." Tilda grinned wryly, her eyes twinkling. "Do you think me so very fine that I pay calls in my spare moments? Use your imagination, dear."

"I'm one of the young ladies of higher society," Lucy said bluntly. "I'm not permitted an imagination."

Tilda's brows rose in unison, and then she burst out laughing. "What a delightfully frank yet apt description!" She clapped her hands and dropped herself into a nearby chair, crossing her legs inelegantly and revealing at least half of her lower legs and the tidy stockings encasing each. "You've a very clear sight of yourself, don't you, Lucy?"

There was not much to do but lift a shoulder in what was hopefully a dainty shrug. "What else can I have? My upbringing doesn't allow me much, and when I have seen as an adult that my father wastes everything we have, I have realized how utterly useless I am to changing my life or my situation."

"Careful, darling," Tilda warned, drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair. "That smacks of cynicism."

"Which I am also not permitted to have," Lucy retorted, her fingers rubbing together as though in response to what Tilda's were doing. "Is it dreadful to not be overly concerned that I am not spending this time with my father? All I have that I can be proud of is my teaching position, and being away from it to visit him is mere politeness. I would gladly have remained behind and felt useful and valued instead of being reminded of the reality of my life."

Tilda waved her hand dismissively. "Your reality is what you make of it, and you are doing so by teaching. It may feel slow to you, but one of these days, you will find that there is a path you've been walking that is leading exactly the way you wish it would."

That was rather patronizing, in Lucy's mind. Far too simple an idea for someone she had just met, and someone who clearly had the means and motivation to be as independent as she chose. That told Lucy that Tilda had not grown up in high society, where ambition was only focused in improving station by marriage, and had been raised to climb instead, so to speak.

Lucy had been raised to sit.

Sit and wait.

Do as she was told.

Be accomplished and appealing.

So far, Lucy had failed there.

But arguing with Tilda wouldn't serve anything, as far as she could tell, so she only dipped her chin. "Still, I find I'm enjoying myself far more than I should, considering I was nearly abducted and, for all intents and purposes, am lost in London."

"Trick does have that effect on people." Tilda nodded rather sympathetically, not at all shocked or perturbed by the revelation. Nor did she seem to find it amusing. Rather a simple statement that she could verify.

What a bewildering world Lucy had stumbled upon.

"I don't know about it being him, specifically," she began slowly, twisting her lips in thought. "Do not misunderstand me, there are certainly some fascinating qualities about him."

"Fascinating ones, yes," Tilda murmured with a sage nod that might have been mocking.

Lucy chose to ignore the possible mockery. "But it is more than that. Life is… well, it is so different like this. Less structured and more exciting. More dangerous, certainly, but I haven't been particularly afraid. Perhaps I do not know enough to be afraid, but Trick has certainly warned me enough that I should be. I have yet to feel much concern about my father's whereabouts, not because I do not care, but because I know him. I have no doubt that his new house is in a part of London that is far more dangerous and unfortunate than where we were previously, and I have no doubt that he continues to lose whatever we have at gaming tables and other gambling avenues. You will notice there are no Bow Street Runners scouring London for me, or if they are, they are dreadful at doing so."

Tilda made a soft snorting sound, tilting her head on a sort of laugh, but said nothing.

Curious.

"He is not concerned about me," Lucy went on, wondering what had loosened her tongue before this woman so easily. "And I am not concerned about him. So what sort of family does that make us? Why should I not prefer seeing a new side of London under good protection instead of wasting hours of my life with him?"

The room was silent, but not uncomfortably so. Rather like Tilda might be truly considering the questions and wondering how to answer, and Lucy had no issue with waiting patiently for those answers, whatever they might be.

"You prove a valid point," Tilda eventually said, "and provide valuable insight."

"For what?" Lucy asked, blinking in confusion.

Tilda's mouth stretched into a smile. "For how I should dress you, of course. You'll need a couple of days' worth of common wear, and I think I may work up a fancy or two."

"A fancy?" Lucy shook her head. "What in the world do you mean?"

"I have a fancy to fully adorn you in finery, despite the present circumstances we're putting you in." She shrugged, resting her chin in her hands and batting her lashes.

Lucy stared at the insane woman for longer than was polite. "Whatever for? As you said, it will not suit the present circumstances."

"When has that ever stopped a woman from getting her way in fashion?" Tilda retorted. "I'll think of some reason and keep the fancy things here, but I simply must do it or the ideas will not leave my head. Dreadful things happen when ideas do not leave my head. I almost ruined one of the Mozart operas once due to the issue." She shuddered dramatically, making Lucy smile in spite of herself.

"Surely, you have better things to do," she murmured, scratching behind her ear awkwardly.

Tilda set both feet on the floor firmly, leaning closer to Lucy with a mischievous smile. "Better things than to make a pretty girl who has been through hell feel a little bit better by putting her in lovely gowns and costumes to make her feel more like herself while she explores this new side of London she's been dropped in? I think not."

Lucy giggled at the idea. "I thought you said this was the arse-end of London."

"I thought high society misses did not use such language." She winked and pushed herself up to her feet. "Come on, dear. We'll do the initial fittings, and then I think you deserve a lovely, hot bath. I never offer Trick a bath here because I don't want him to start getting spoiled, so if he knows that is something I can offer…"

"I won't say a word," Lucy swore earnestly, suddenly yearning for a hot bath with lovely-smelling soaps and a warm fire. She hadn't enjoyed anything so elegant since her mother had decided to treat her on one of her birthdays, but living in this particular part of London even for a few hours left her feeling perpetually filthy, and she wondered if her hair was crawling with nits or the like.

Her scalp itched as though the creatures were indeed there, and she barely avoided scratching out of instinct.

"Come with me, and we'll find one of the other fitting rooms that is not in use," Tilda told her, offering a hand. "Willow and a few of my other girls will help and advise, and I think you'll enjoy their input. Particularly for your common wear. Now, is there anything you actually need besides the present requirements?"

"I'm not sure," Lucy admitted as she took the woman's hand and allowed herself to be led from the room. "My trunks did not get abducted with me, so I have nothing."

"Pah!" Tilda exclaimed, pressing a hand to her chest as though distressed. "I forgot! Never mind, I will tress you up like a modiste for a bride."

"I cannot possibly take a whole trousseau!" Lucy protested. "I cannot afford it! And however would I transport the things? I have no lodgings!"

Tilda gave her a scolding look. "We'll store some things here, and I will give you a lovely carpetbag that will perfectly blend in with your disguise, and you will appear as nothing more than an average woman possibly seeking employment or lodgings in London, and no one will be the wiser. Besides, you are sleeping here tonight, so we do not have to worry about transporting anything until tomorrow!" Tilda began laughing uproariously, sounding a bit too much like a villain of novels or stage for Lucy's taste.

"You are enjoying this far too much," she told the older woman as they moved down the corridor.

"I love what I do," Tilda admitted without shame. "I enjoy almost every moment. Now, given that tomorrow you will be back on the streets with Trick, at least for part of the day, I am going to also fit you for some defensive objects that you will find useful." Lucy stared at her. "Don't look so startled. They do not require skill or training, and I know several fine women who carry the same on their person."

Visions of booted daggers and tiny pistols sprang into Lucy's mind, and she shook her head to clear the ideas, knowing Tilda would never give her such dangerous items when she was just as inept as a fern when it came to such things. Surely, she only meant some stays with additional boning in them to protect her from attack, or secret pockets for coins or the like.

A bonnet with excessive hair pins to become weapons under extreme need? Boots that bore metal in the toe to injure any future abductors? There was no telling where the woman's mind might go or what other women in London secretly carried on them for protection or defense, and Lucy did not want to know for certain.

The more her eyes were opened, the more she wanted them closed. Not entirely, not completely, and not until her curiosity was sated, but she did understand a little more how ignorance could be bliss.

Well, maybe not bliss, but comfortable.

Then again, she also completely understood how it was confining. How it narrowed one's view of the world. How it birthed naivete and encouraged aloofness.

Perhaps she could keep one eye open in the future. It would be better than going back entirely. Besides, she was already having to open her eyes further than other girls, given her situation. What was wrong with seeing a bit more of the world as it really was?

She might need to know such things one day. Might need to live in such a world, if her father could not mind himself. Perhaps Tilda's faux trousseau might become necessary after all.

"Nancy, Amy," Tilda called out, flagging down some women ahead. "Bring the fabrics and patterns from the Wicker Room to Algernon Three and see if Polly and Agnes can join us as well. We're going for a full set with Lucy here, and I will need several hands and even more notes. See that a note is sent to Cobb for any footwear he can spare and send one of the lads to Martinique to call in what she owes me. I finally have a use for it."

The girls nodded and dashed off, and Lucy felt more confused than ever before, but as had been the form of the day, kept her mouth shut and let the one with insight do the talking. And the leading. And everything, really.

Lucy was about to become a doll, it seemed, and it was time to play dress-up.

"Now, you just smile and pretend this is part of your plan for the day," Tilda told her in an undertone. "Nothing amiss, nothing strange, and it is all just a bit of fun. Then we will see you bathed and clothed in something you have not worn for two days, and that fine dinner we spoke of earlier will be brought in. And I promise you that tonight you will sleep like a goddess, as I never keep bedding fit for any other on the premises."

All of it sounded delightful, and Lucy bit back a sigh of anticipation. "And Trick?"

Tilda scoffed loudly. "He's going on patrol later. He does not need to know that we will be enjoying Belgian drinking chocolate and expensive Parisian biscuits in our dressing gowns in his absence, does he?"

Lucy grinned without any reservation whatsoever. "No, he most certainly does not."