4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

The shadows held their breath until the front door closed. The carriage rumbled off, no doubt making for the back alley and the stabling that ran along the row behind each grand mansion.

Eyes pinched tight, Mina braced herself for Enzo's condemnation. Not only was her baby's father a man so far above her station that any match would be impossible, but he was also a married man, and it had all happened in the house he shared with his wife. And she'd relished it, all of it. If she hadn't found herself in her predicament, and had gone with the family to the country, she would gratefully have allowed him to continue his visits to her bed, for as long as he kept gifting her with small compliments and tender words.

She had been stupid. Arrogant.

Lonely.

Shame and nausea writhed in her stomach, but like always, the pendulum of her emotions swung away from her pain to that sparkle of hope that fizzed in her chest. If she could get away, she might salvage some small joy for herself. Her early years with her mother had been so happy.

Enzo placed his hand over hers. He stroked her knuckles with his thumb. She had to blink a few times to find focus. He watched her, his expression unreadable.

‘You need coffee,' he said after a beat. ‘I know a good place.'

They didn't speak until they had left the genteel streets and rejoined the bustle closer to Hyde Park, where the gardens hummed with activity. Hawkers sat at each corner, imploring passersby to try their hand at a game of chance, partake in a light-box show, or indulge in a penny-lick iced cream. A spring breeze curled through her hair. It was one of those days where London seemed to be showing off. When the horse dung was freshly swept, and the warmer weather meant fewer fires burned in hearths, and less soot and smoke saturated the fog.

A short walk from the road, Enzo settled her on a bench beneath a tall oak. He wove between the crowd to a small cart with a chalkboard sign. The costermonger laughed as he slapped Enzo's back, then passed him two tin mugs. Steam wafted from them, and when Enzo held one out to her, she gratefully wrapped her hands around its warmth.

The bitter aroma brought back a wave of childhood memory. The hallways of the diplomat's house had always smelt of the brew. It had fuelled endless conversations with meanings she didn't understand, but she could tell from their gravelly tone were important. In her scattered memories she was often caught on the upper floors, and one of the maids would waggle a chiding finger at her and say Nein, Mina, up here is no place for you . And then they shooed her downstairs, back to the kitchens and out of sight, away from the velvet flocked wallpaper and the heavy wooden furniture that left deep dints in the carpet. Back to her mother's side as she worked in the laundry.

Enzo eased himself beside her. He blew gently across his mug, and the dark surface rippled. ‘What's the plan?' he finally asked.

‘He sets aside the pay at the start of each month, in little labelled envelopes that he keeps locked in the safe in his office. We line up in the entry after morning prayers to get our packets on the last day of the month. And I know the rhythm of the house. Every Sunday, after church, when the staff is light and the family are out visiting, there's only a footman and a maid on duty. When she thinks he's busy, she sneaks out to see a gent who works on Oxford Street.'

‘And him?'

Mina laughed. ‘He does much the same. They each think they're tricking the other, but no one is watching the house for almost half an hour.' She took a sip. He'd made hers with lots of sugar, and it oozed warm down her throat and settled heavy and comforting in her stomach. The next breath she took was easier, and the world swam a little less.

Enzo held out a slice of bread spread thick with butter. ‘Try this. Always makes me feel better if I've had a night too heavy on the lush.'

Mina took the bread with mumbled thanks. Her first nibbles became bites, and then a ravenous devouring. Sweet, creamy, yet still simple. Surely nothing tasted as good as bread and butter from a street cart. As she licked the crumbs from her fingers, Enzo laughed.

‘Here I thought Mina was a robin. She eats like a hawk.'

Mina dipped the final corner of crust into her coffee, then quickly ate it before it turned soggy and broke. ‘It comes in fits and starts. My stomach has been a squall all week. This is the first time it's been settled.'

Enzo clicked his fingers. The coster's son dashed over and presented her with another piece of bread. This piece she practically inhaled.

Mina spun the mug between her palms, then took a slower, more appreciative sip. ‘I'll miss all this.'

‘I'm sure there's poor people in York or Newcastle,' Enzo quipped.

‘Not the poor. The street sellers. The inventiveness of it all. How they can think of almost anything to turn into a penny, or even a half-penny. Do you need to be weighed as you go about your day? Do you need the distraction of a picture show played in a box?' She pointed further along the path where two sellers hawking such services were trying to catch the attention of passers-by. ‘Of course you don't, but if the urge strikes you, the street sellers provide.'

Enzo flipped a penny through the air, then snatched it, but when he held out his palm to her, it had gone. He frowned at her with mock accusation. ‘You have been spending too much time with low lives and miscreants, little matron Mina. They have been a bad influence on you. You have become a thief.'

‘I have not!' She knew he was teasing but couldn't help matching his accusation with her honest defence.

‘I knew it…' he trailed a fingertip across her brow, caught a loose lock of hair, tucked it behind her ear and then withdrew a shiny penny. ‘Stealing what I rightfully earnt—'

‘Swindled!'

‘And lying about it. What would Matron say?'

He took her hand, and with his thumb, uncurled her fingers. He pressed the penny into her palm and closed her fingers over. But when she opened them, instead of copper, she found a shiny silver shilling.

‘What is this for?' she asked.

‘Anything you like. Fancy a baked potato?' He pointed across the park at a man standing before a large, black cart hitched to an old pony. ‘Or would you like to watch a puppet show performed by a veteran of Waterloo with one leg and a terrible Italian accent? You could fritter it all away on fresh vegetables. Or buy enough flowers to cover your bed, and you can spend the night beneath a sheet of roses.'

One entire shilling… twenty whole pennies, forty ha'pennies , to spend as she pleased. It was far too luxurious. She should save it. At least some of it. She might get as far away as Leicester. Even Nottingham.

‘Don't you dare even think about being sensible.' Enzo half growled his warning. ‘Or you'll break the spell, and your coin will vanish.'

She'd never had so much money for indulgences before. Mina tried to measure her smile, but couldn't, and instead beamed with the perverse, sumptuous glee of it.

‘An entire shilling? Just for me?'

‘You might use a little of it to buy me another coffee.' He peered into his mug with faux longing. ‘That one barely wetted my cheeks, let alone woke me up.'

She clicked the air in imitation of how he had at the coffee man at his kiosk. ‘Duke Enzo requires another,' she called. ‘That is, I mean, please. If it's no bother. Would you mind?'

The coster laughed, spun a mug from the stack and filled it before sending his boy scampering over to them. She gave the boy the shilling, and he dug into his apron pocket then poured a jingling mass of pennies, half pennies and a couple of bronze farthings into her palm.

Mina curled her fingers around the little collection of coppers, and their hard edges dug into her skin. She didn't even know how to carry so many. With a flourish, and a hint of magic, Enzo whipped a square of linen from inside his pocket and held it taut before her. She tipped the coins into it, and he tied it with a confident knot.

‘I've never had ice-cream,' she confessed as she shoved the little bundle into her pocket. ‘I've always wanted to try.'

‘There's a man on the other side of the park who makes the most sensational cucumber ice. And he uses good milk.' Enzo spun his bowler high into the air, then stepped into its descent where it landed askew, but firmly, on his head. He offered his elbow. ‘Shall we?'

For a man who prided himself on not working, Enzo understood the lives of those who did. When he imagined a path through the city, he must have seen a constellation of street sellers and costermongers at work, all with stories of some hardship, but also sporting the best version of their trade. This one had the best orange biscuits and was supporting two nieces, that one sang as beautiful as a Vauxhall performer and had been clean off gin for more than a year. One widow had taught her daughters how to find the best flowers at the markets, even in the dark, so if they lost their sight like she had, they'd still be able to work their trade. Mina lost a penny at a card trick, which Enzo won back. She bought a scarlet ribbon, and he helped her tie it in her hair. A fortune teller read her palm and told her she was destined for a bright future across the seas, while another read her coffee grounds and predicted imminent doom.

Her pocket became lighter and her arms and stomach fuller, until it not only settled, but felt satisfied. She hadn't been properly full since she'd left the house on Grosvenor Square.

When the day began to darken, the street sellers packed their belongings back into carts. Others, those who plied nights, filled their places. Mina and Enzo angled back over the river, toward Southwark. Their ambling steps turned to a dawdle until they pulled up before her boarding house.

‘I'll miss you,' he said.

Mina laughed, partly at his bluntness, but also to deflect the warm discomfort that squeezed her chest. ‘It's been years since we've seen one another. How could you miss me?'

‘I'll miss the idea of you being in the same city as me. I won't look for you in a crowd anymore, because I'll know I won't find you.'

There was no ambiguity with Enzo. No convoluted statements with scope to be misunderstood. For a man who built his life on thievery and deception, he spoke with stark honesty.

Enzo shoved his hands into his pockets as he looked beyond her, his gaze tracing the skyline. ‘I could get you enough money for what you need. You might not like how, but I could give you a purse full of coins to set off with.' He pulled a gold sovereign from his pocket and rolled it over his fingers so that it flipped over each ridge.

The indignity of her dismissal flashed in her memory. The screeching of the house mistress, the damning looks of the other staff, but mostly, the shadow at the top of the stairs, who walked into his office, and softly closed his door, as quiet as his whispers had been in the basement.

‘I can't be part of thievery, even if it is from coves with nice boots. You must think I'm silly. But it's the principle of it. I don't need more than I'm owed, but if I don't try, I'll never be able to lift my chin from my chest again.' Mina shifted the bunch of daisies from one elbow to the other. She'd spent two whole pennies on flowers. She brushed at a petal. Tonight, she would hang them to dry, and sew a little bag from linen scraps to hold the dried blossoms, so she could tuck them into her clothes drawer to keep forever. ‘Thank you for reminding me of the good in this city. I shan't miss it, but nor shall I hate it. Goodnight.' With her hand on his arm, she pushed herself to her tiptoes, intending to kiss his cheek. But before she brushed his skin, he, perhaps misreading her intention, tilted, and instead she met his lips.

It began as an innocent breath, so delicate she barely registered what had happened. Surprise, shock and energy thrummed at his touch.

Enzo brought one hand to her waist and cupped his other palm to her cheek. They angled away to draw closer to one another, their connection gorgeous, beautiful and descending into some kind of reluctant oblivion. He was bad, so very bad for her, bad news in every way. He was the sort of man that might wind up under the eye of the watch with no means to bribe himself out of trouble, or without funds to secure a lawyer to plead his case. The sort of man who went out for bread, only to come home three years later after a stint in Newgate.

His lips were so gentle, his exploratory tongue so sweet, and his grip that fisted her waist so possessive.

Everything in her surrendered.

Warning bells clamoured.

This weakness was exactly what got her into trouble to begin with.

But then, it was not like she could get into more trouble.

Mina, no .

Mina pulled back forcefully, swinging a little as Enzo kept his grip on her skirt.

‘What the bloody hell'd you stop for?' he demanded. ‘That was magnificent.'

Mina swatted his hand, and he released her. ‘I am trying to be respectable, and kissing boys in the street is not respectable, even for Southwark.'

‘I hate to point out the obvious, but HMS Respectability has sailed, and you are still on dry land.' He gave a pointed nod at her mid-section. ‘But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy splashing about in the shallows.'

Mina tried to scowl. Tried to draw upon her former self who clung to rules. To the girl who had learnt how to fold a sheet with the crispest corners, how to trim a candle wick for optimal economy and how to move through a house and be both indispensable and unseen.

What good would respectability do her?

What good would Enzo do her?

Mina slunk forward, forcing a little sway into her hips. ‘I suppose you are right.' Enzo raised a brow as he smiled with his typical conceit. ‘Except that saying goodnight and turning my back on you would be the most satisfactory way to end a perfect day.' And she spun on her heel, skipped up the stairs, and gave a little heel kick at the top.

‘You're an excellent kisser,' he called. ‘As am I. It would be a most pleasant use of time if you stayed out a little longer.'

‘Goodnight, Duke Enzo,' she said as she pressed the door closed, watching through the sliver as he gave her the most gloriously smug smile.

If she didn't know better, she'd think she'd impressed him.