Her voice dropped to a monotone, and she seemed completely absorbed in ironing pleats into the bedcovers with her fingernails. “And then the beatings started. I could stay out of his way, mostly. But my mum, she was his wife and had the inn to run, which of course he now considered to be his. Six years of dodging his fists and listening to him do things to her in the room next to mine.”
Eliza swallowed hard before she pushed out the next sentence. “Her eyes were dead long before he pushed her down the stairs and broke her neck.”
Henry’s jaw clenched tight, his fists itching to seek revenge for her. But when he looked across the room at Mrs. Tibbit, whose eyes were filled with the kind of bitter comprehension that came from experience, he quelled his violent thoughts in favor of turning his attention back to Eliza.
Eliza’s head was bowed, and a tear had found its way down her nose. She wiped it with the back of her hand, took a deep breath, and continued. “I half expected Horace to start in on me, but he took up with one of the barmaids before my mum was even buried. Not that that would stop him from tupping someone else, but he is always quick to see a chance to make a few bob. When Wilkins asked him for me—even though I had told him ‘no’ more than once—he apparently sold me to the sod.”
Henry briefly wondered how much experience she might have with the opposite sex, but dismissed the thought as unimportant at the moment.
Eliza’s eyes blazed with anger when she looked up at him again. “I kept refusing to go with him, and that made Horace stinking mad. Turns out he had already taken Wilkins’s coin and had no plans to give it back on my account, so he and Lynn beat me and locked me in the cellar. I guess they thought when Wilkins came for me, I would go with him just to get away from them. But I know Wilkins. He’s a big burly brute who’s already buried two wives. Beats his horse and his dog too. I wasn’t going to stick around to wait for him to come and use me as a punching bag and God knows what else. I climbed up the coal chute and stumbled away as fast and best I could, and that’s when you found me.”
Eliza met Henry’s gaze with gratitude in her eyes, but also weariness. The telling of her story had taken its toll, and she obviously worried they might be looking for her. Henry covered both of her hands with his. “It’s all right, they won’t find you here.”
It seemed a woefully inadequate thing to say in light of what she had suffered, but she smiled her appreciation and held on to his hand when he rose.
“Rest now! I’ll come back this afternoon, and we can play a hand of cards, or perhaps you would like me to read to you.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, do you have any books other than the Bible? That’s the only book my mum had.”
Henry smiled at her excitement, eager to share his beloved books with her. “I might have one or two.”
At this Mrs. Tibbit gave a shout of laughter. “Ha, one or two thousand he means. I have to keep the bloody things dust-and mold-free.”
“Come now, Mrs. Tibbit, you like the occasional novel!” he teased as he strolled out of the room.
WHILE ELIZA POURED HER STORY out to Henry, across town, in a little street just off the Strand, a burly, surly-looking man pulled up outside a busy pub, climbed off his cart, and handed the reins to a street urchin with the promise of a penny. He stepped into the dark interior of the bar and headed straight for a table in the back.
The dapper-looking gentleman who sat there nursing a pint eyed him with polite inquiry. “What brings ya to town, Wilkins? It ain’t market day, and I don’t recall sendin’ for ya.”
Wilkins sat without waiting for an invitation, causing the other man to raise a displeased eyebrow. “I ’ave to talk to ya, Hobbs! That’s what.”
Hobbs made a gesture as if to invite Wilkins to sit. Wilkins’s brow wrinkled in confusion, which made Hobbs smile. “By all means, mate, talk!”
Wilkins pulled on his less-than-pristine neckcloth and tried to get the barmaid’s attention. “Got t’ wet me whistle first.”
Hobbs, with growing impatience, snapped his fingers and commanded, “Bets, get the bloke a pint.”
Wilkins, oblivious to Hobbs’s mood, nodded his thanks and geared up to unburden himself. “Remember you tellin’ me to come to ya if I ever ’ad a favor to ask?”
Hobbs declined his head slowly, a sly smile taking up residence on his lips. “Ya want that virgin we talked about?”
Wilkins scratched the stubble on his chin. “Well, I got me own, but the stupid bint ran away before I could pick ’er up, and now Horace won’t give me twenty quid back. Says if I want it I should get it off the toff that picked ’er up off the street. But all I found out from the lads in Hampstead is that some Sir somethin’ or other picked ’er up and that ’e lives somewhere in the posh parts near the park. I need ya to ’elp me find Liza.”
At the mention of the girl’s name, sudden interest flickered in Hobbs’s eyes. “That wouldn’t be the same pretty li’l package with the dark curly ’air you told me to stay clear of, would it?”
Wilkins just nodded while Hobbs fiddled with one of the many fobs on his watch chain. His eyes were cold and calculating. “If I know anythin’ about them rich pricks, then she ain’t no virgin no more. You still want ’er anyways?”
Wilkins smiled a rather disturbing smile. “Horace gave ’er a good beatin’ before he locked ’er up. She won’t be pretty enough for anybody to want ’er for a while.”
Hobbs assessed Wilkins for a moment and then adjusted his cuffs and sleeves with an air of finality. “All right, mate. I’ll send me boys out and ’elp ya find ’er. But if it turns out she spread ’er legs for ’er knight in shinin’ fucking armor, I’ll give ya yar twenty quid and let ya ’elp me introduce ’er to the trade. Sound good?”
Wilkins grinned. “Too right, it does.”
The two men shook on the deal and called for another pint.
AS PROMISED, HENRY RETURNED TO Eliza’s bedroom in the afternoon with a selection of books and a deck of cards. He deposited these treasures on the bed, and Eliza immediately seized Henry’s beautifully bound and illustrated copy of The Arabian Nights.
It was a heavy book, leather-bound and oversized. Eliza would have had trouble holding it at the best of times, let alone turning the pages and reading it, but with two broken ribs it was impossible. She made a valiant effort, but had to admit defeat when the pain radiating from her ribcage threatened to take her breath away. Realizing her dilemma, Henry took the book from her and arranged his chair so he could hold up the volume while she studied the pictures gracing each page.
Completely fascinated, Eliza trailed gentle fingers over a picture of Aladdin in his cave. “I didn’t know books like this existed. Look at the way the picture is drawn, and the colors so bright.”
Henry corrected her gently, hoping she would be as interested as he was in finding out how things were made. “It’s a print, in fact. The drawing is carved into wood, then dipped in ink and pressed on the page, and then other carved blocks of wood are used to fill in the colors.”
Eliza looked at him with wide eyes full of longing. “That’s amazing. It’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Would you let me read the stories when I’m well enough to hold the book?”