Page 5 of I Will Steal You the Stars (Scandalous Daughters of Duke Street #2)

Chapter Five

‘Doesn’t it bother you that they have doorways just for us?’ The uneven edge of tile bit at Enzo’s knee. He shifted a little, then squinted at the lock.

‘Separate entrances make it easier for the staff to do their work. They have a purpose,’ Mina said distractedly as she peered over the ledge and onto the street.

‘Reminding us we’re different is its purpose. Their door goes up, while yours goes down, only to get into the same place.’

‘Save it for speaker’s corner. By my reckoning, we’ve got a little under half an hour.’

Enzo huffed, then cast a quick glance over the parapet. Even though he couldn’t see the street from his crouched position in the stairwell, habit made him check all was well. Once satisfied, just for the pleasure of it, he paused to take in Mina.

She stood on the raised end of a boot scrape, one foot on tiptoe, the other, slightly elevated so that the high laces of practical black street boots, a ruffle of petticoats and a slip of stocking were visible. She had dressed in the invisible mantle of the domestic servant, and the weak light lit her cotton blouse enough to show the line of her corset. The sun spun little threads of gold through the few curls that showed beneath her mob cap. Even her stance screamed practical and sensible. Yet the kiss, her lips, the arch of her back that brought her firm against his chest and the alluring little smirk that she had thrown him as she closed the door, all screamed that beneath her adherence to rules and regulations, something a bit wild was desperate to escape.

He twisted the jemmy and jiggled it a little in the lock, until the sharp click echoed, and the door loosened in the frame.

Mina stepped off her perch.

Enzo swung the door open and took up the butler’s pose he’d detested learning. ‘After you, my lady.’

Mina led the way down a short flight of stairs and into a narrow hallway. She moved with practised purpose, even in the dim light. They passed the scullery, coal room, kitchens, laundry. Midway along, she paused and trailed a finger longingly over a door. She took a sharp breath in the inky depths, and pushed forward, along the corridor, to a small square of daylight that lit the sharp corners of a wooden flight of stairs. She tested the bottom step, then ascended into the light. Enzo followed.

‘They keep our wages in the office, on the first floor,’ Mina whispered over her shoulder as he stepped into the entry. ‘First room on the right. No, the second. I think it’s the second.’

‘What do you mean, think?’ he asked.

‘I was never much upstairs. I was mostly on the servants’ level. Down there.’

‘Are you saying that in this whole house, you worked downstairs, slept downstairs, ate downstairs? Were you ever above ground?’

She bunched her hands into little fists and hid them in her skirts. ‘I was a maid of all work. It’s just how things are.’

Enzo grunted. This was why he had left. This was why he chose the slums and the streets and the lice over a sprung bed in a clean house full of leeches. ‘What’s the difference between you and the fancy hay-bag who sacked you? Or between me and the man who got you knapped?’

‘Let me see. He’s educated, he bathes daily, and he has an income of a thousand pounds a year.’ She tapped off each point with a little flick in the air, but to his immense satisfaction, he caught no hint of admiration, or even loss. Whatever spell the man had cast on her, it had broken. She might be carrying the cad’s baby, but she’d managed to keep a hold of her heart. Clever girl.

‘I’ll tell you the difference,’ he said as he stuffed his cap into his pocket, removed a top hat from the stand and dropped it onto his head. ‘Nothing, except clothes and trappings and rules they made up to keep people like you and me out. A switch of fate, a different day, and we could have been the children of men like that. Instead, we were bastards in an orphanage.’

‘I am not a bastard. Just an orphan.’

‘And people know and care how?’ Enzo pulled a coat from the stand and shrugged it over his shoulders.

‘You can’t wear that, you’ll leave fleas,’ she chided.

‘I do not have fleas!’

She laughed at his horror, then tugged the lapel and pushed each button through a buttonhole, before smoothing them. ‘You would make a suave toff. You have that same way of looking at people that makes them think you’re their world, even though you are never quite sure what they’re thinking.’

‘I will tell you what I’m thinking.’ Enzo leaned in closer. That wicked little sparkle flickered in Mina’s eyes. ‘I’m thinking a swell about town loves nothing more than to show off his house.’ He pulled a straw boater from the stand and roughed it onto her head, over the cap. ‘You need a new hat.’ He tied the ribbon into a bow beneath her chin. ‘And a fancy dress. No outdated fashion in my home.’ He pulled a scarf from the stand and wrapped it around her waist. ‘And as this is London and terribly sunny, you cannot go anywhere without a parasol.’ With a flourish, he withdrew a pink lace umbrella from the stand, like he was unsheathing a sword. It popped open into the space between them, and he yanked it closed again. ‘Perhaps not. Might be bad luck.’

He swept the top hat from his head and bowed with an exaggerated flourish. ‘May I show you around my humble abode, my lady? It’s terribly cramped with sixteen bedrooms, four privies and only one floor for my collection of spats. I cannot wait to get back to the country so we can stretch out again.’

Mina giggled, then stiffened into seriousness. ‘We don’t have time for games.’

‘I’ll keep my ear on the time.’ He held out his elbow. ‘Come on. Have some fun above ground. Haven’t you earnt it? Let me take you on a tour.’

‘You don’t even know where you are going,’ she said as she slid her hand around his elbow and directed him toward the stairs.

‘Nonsense. I am a lord, I know everything. Even when I don’t.’ He set off with purpose, Mina beside him.

A mahogany wood balustrade, smooth and shiny with decades of use, guided them upwards. Gold leaf wallpaper lined the stairwell where paintings hung frame to frame. So this was the house of the man who had sponsored him. One of his houses, anyway—there was no doubt something grander in the country, likely bigger than all the Wild Court Rookery. Enzo had discarded his sponsor’s heavy moniker as soon as he’d landed on the opposite side of the Duke Street fence, but before, as a na?ve child, he’d wondered if the man who had loaned him a surname had been his father. There were always whispers about it, as boys tried to see if any of the benefactors who came for fundraisers or to wax lyrical to journalists when they were on the hustings had the slightest resemblance to themselves. His nose, his ears, his eyes, are just like mine , they’d murmur, as if half the population of London didn’t look somewhat the same.

Mina peeked into the first door on the right. She shook her head. ‘That’s the lady’s sitting room. His office must be second.’

‘What will you do once you get away?’ he asked. ‘In your new town?’

‘I’m hoping to find a good family to leave the baby with during the day, so I can work. There must be households in those towns who need a maid. And if I say I’m newly widowed, and haven’t worked in service before, they might not think about asking for references.’

‘You’ll go to all this trouble, travel hundreds of miles, to still be a maid?’

Mina bowed her head and studied her toes. ‘What else can I be?’ she asked.

They reached the second door. Enzo shoved it open. A heavy desk sat in the centre of the room, and behind it, the walls were lined with shelves and paintings.

‘Seamus tells a story. About a rabbit, chased by a fox. The rabbit ran and ran and ran, and the fox nipped at his tail, until, through the smallest gap, it dove between the thorns and into a blackberry bush. The fox tried to follow, but he was too big. The thorns hurt his nose. They scratched his paw pads. He paced back and forth, walked three whole laps, but he could not find a way to reach the rabbit. Eventually, the fox gave up, and went off in search of easier prey.’

Enzo unthreaded himself from Mina’s hold. He placed the hat on the edge of the desk, then scanned the wall.

‘The rabbit watched the fox leave.’ Enzo ran his finger along the edge of each painting, until beneath a portrait of the great man himself, he found the bump. A hinge. He slid his finger down the opposite length, located the latch, then clipped it open. He swung the painting out to reveal a secret nook, and inside, an ancient, iron safe. ‘After a time, all seemed clear. But what if the fox came back? What if it was watching from behind a tree? In the blackberry bush, there was fresh grass, and leaves, and it was cool, and safe. The rabbit made itself comfortable.’

Enzo took out his tools. The safe had likely been in use for a few generations, and was easy to open, if you knew how to lift the double barrel bolt. He inserted his jemmy into the lock, and adjusted, twisted, until he felt the mechanism shift, and heard the iron click.

‘The sun rose and set, birds nested and raised chicks, and the rabbit remained happy in the blackberries. Why would I leave, he thought, when I have everything I need? The leaves give me shelter. I lick the dew and drink the rain. The grass is a little tough, but it is still food. If I stay here, I will be safe forever. Until one spring morning, the rabbit woke, turned in a little half circle, and his tail caught on a thorn. He squealed, and hopped with shock, and another caught his ear. He twisted, trying to find a place where he did not touch the brambles, but every move he made pinned him closer to the ground. He'd gotten so comfortable in the blackberries, he did not notice the vines grow thicker, the thorns sharper, until they began to press.’

Enzo swung the safe door open. A long thin wooden box filled with yellow envelopes and scrawled with first names ran one length. Beside it sat another box, piled high with stacks of wooden chips. Enzo pulled one out and spun it between his fingers. As a child, Matron had made sure he recognised the crest of his sponsor, and the imprint on this chip was not that crest.

‘The rabbit, with his ears flat, his tail low and his paws folded, could look over the meadow, between the thorny vines and leaves, but he could not feel the breeze through his fur. He could not eat fresh shoots warmed by the sun. And he could not drink running water from the stream. Not unless he tore free. You, Mina Fischer, have become comfortable in the blackberry bush. You are convinced that you can live in no other world than the one Duke Street promised you. You are still on the other side of the fence. You’ve become a rabbit,’ he said, stepping forward to take her hand. ‘You need to be a lion.’

‘A lioness,’ she corrected with a shy pout.

‘Yes, a lioness. Can you growl?’

‘Grrr…’

‘Better than that. Can you roar?’

‘Roar,’ she said, then laughed, and tucked her chin against her chest.

‘That is not enough. What would a lioness say to a haughty duke?’ He pushed the top hat back on his head. ‘Back to the kitchen, maid.’

‘I would like to stay upstairs,’ she stammered.

‘Back to the basement.’ Enzo sat in the duke’s chair, thumped his boots on the desk.

Mina glanced up at him, took a slow breath, then looked back to the floor. ‘I said, I would like to stay upstairs.’

Enzo waved his hand in dismissal. ‘Go downstairs and fetch me fresh tea.’

‘No!’ Mina stomped her foot. ‘I will not be below ground any longer. Roar !’ Not a word, or a growl, her loud, throaty roar came from somewhere deep inside, and with it, all of Mina’s body trembled with fury. Words tumbled out of her, and with each syllable, she brightened. ‘What else might I do… I suppose I might try… I could take in mending, and laundry. Or piecework. That’s what my mother did, after my father died. She had a steady hand, and the diplomat didn’t trust anyone but her with his suits. He was a very particular man. That’s how we came to be in London. He insisted she join his staff, but she had no one to leave me with, so I came too. Perhaps I can do what she did. I can work and still care for the baby during the day.’

As she clutched her skirt, waiting for his response, her confident smile spread through her whole body.

Mina turned anger into love, and where the world found disdain, she found hope.

And with a painful beat, Enzo’s heart remembered Mina Fischer.

The clock chimed the hour, the door slammed, someone whistled, and someone else sang. Terror filled Mina’s expression. Enzo slammed the safe shut and turned the lock, closed the painting over, dropped the hat then grabbed Mina’s hand and dragged her down the stairs and into the entry. She shoved the hat and scarf at the coat stand. Voices echoed up the servant’s stairwell, so he pulled her away from the front of the house, past a grotesquely opulent parlour and living room and through the back door, across the small courtyard, through the carriage house and out into the lane. Mina gasped for breath as he pulled her along, but he made her keep pace, because if they were nabbed, he might get clink, but she could get the boat, and the idea of Mina not being in London was bad enough, the thought of her leagues away in a prison of stone and sea was far too much.

Down the long, narrow lane they stumbled, until they staggered onto the street.

‘Where’s my packet?’ Breathless, Mina brushed her skirts and shook them out. ‘Enzo, where are my wages?’

‘I didn’t get them. I was distracted.’ He flipped the chip through the air. She caught it, then stared at the surface. The pride and exhilaration that had filled her when she became a lioness, vanished.

‘You were standing right there, before the safe. Why didn’t you grab them?’

He shoved his flat cap onto his head and pushed it back. ‘Because you don’t like thieving. You shouldn’t have to start because of what they did to you. Your dignity is worth more than a few shillings.’ Enzo took hold of the edge of her blouse and tugged it straight. ‘And because I don’t want you to go.’