Saving Grace (Victorian Vigilantes Book 1)

  Victorian Vigilantes Series Book 1

  Saving Grace

  Wendy Soliman

  Victorian Vigilantes Book 1

  Saving Grace

  Edited by Jackie Walsh

  Cover Design by Jane Dixon Smith

  Copyright © Wendy Soliman 2014

  This version updated April 2016

  This e-Book is a work of fiction. While references may be made to actual places or events, the names, characters, incidents, and locations contained are from the author’s imagination and are not a resemblance of actual living or dead persons, business, or events. Any similarities are coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any method, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise without the prior written permission of

  The Author – Wendy Soliman

  Sign up for my mailing list and obtain a free copy of

  At the Duke’s Discretion

  the first in my popular Ducal Encounters series

  You can unsubscribe at any time

  Click the link below to obtain your free copy of

  At the Duke’s Discretion

  http://www.wendysoliman.com/

  Author’s Note

  I lived in South London for many years, close to where the Great Exhibition, or the Crystal Palace as it became known, was relocated. Sadly it burned down in 1936 but the ruins still remain. Given that I was brought up on the Isle of Wight, a stone’s throw from Osborne House, Queen Victoria’s island retreat, I suppose it was inevitable that I would eventually combine the two experiences.

  I have always been fascinated by the history of the Crystal Palace and the thinking behind the Great Exhibition. I enjoyed recreating its inception in Saving Grace. The Koh-i-Noor diamond was controversially gifted to Queen Victoria and the stone really was considered to bring bad luck to any man who owned it. Plans were made to steal it during the exhibition.

  Thankfully they didn’t succeed.

  Oh, and in case you think my description of Eva and Isaac’s love affair isn’t consistent with the strict Victorian moral code, think again. Osborne House is full of nude bronze and marble statues, and amazingly sensual figures are painted on life-sized frescos throughout the house. The prince might have been strait-laced in London but clearly felt free to express himself when in the country. Prince Albert was definitely a lover of the classical figure!

  Chapter One

  London 1851

  Eva regarded her reflection in the cracked glass that hung drunkenly from a nail on the back of the door. She gasped at the sight of the wild-eyed creature whose grimy image stared back at her and quickly turned away, unwilling to dent her dwindling determination by dwelling upon something she couldn’t fix. She took a deep breath and risked another peep, but even with her chin elevated, her head tilted at a playful angle and a forced half-smile playing about her lips, the situation didn’t improve. She pinched her cheeks but they remained unnaturally pale. Her face was gaunt, she couldn’t seem to eradicate the worry lines from around her eyes no matter how much she smiled, and without cosmetics it was impossible to disguise the dark shadows beneath them.

  Eva grimaced. If the gentleman she was engaged to call upon placed much stock by first impressions then her quest to find gainful employment was doomed before it had even begun. That realisation stiffened her resolve. She absolutely could not afford to fail.

  ‘I can do this,’ she told herself, the sound of her refined voice echoing around the squalid room, giving her courage. ‘I absolutely can. At least I sound like a lady. I shall simply imply that I have fallen upon hard times.’

  God alone knew, it was the truth.

  Eva squared her shoulders, took a deep breath and stepped from the shabby Whitechapel boarding house that had been her home for the past interminable week. The wide brim of her heavily trimmed bonnet partially concealed her eyes as she walked purposefully down the filthy street, looking neither left nor right for fear of attracting unwanted attention.

  In spite of her best endeavours to blend in, she was conscious of more than one inquisitive stare being directed her way, implying that she looked as out of place as she felt in surroundings that were totally alien to her. The feeling of being cast adrift, the fear of discovery that never left her, intensified with every step she took.

  Eva continued to look straight ahead as she avoided the worst of the putrid rubbish littering her path, doing her best to conceal her growing unease. She had been unable to shake the feeling that someone had been watching her lodgings for the past couple of days. Common sense told her that if she had been identified she would have been snatched long before now and returned to Sloane Street. She tried not to think about how much more likely that possibility had become now necessity had forced her to venture out of doors in broad daylight.

  Renewed fear trickled down her spine when the heavy footsteps of a man sounded directly behind her, matching his pace to hers. Eva resisted the urge to lift her skirts and run.

  There was nowhere left for her to run to.

  Her heart rate returned to something approximating normal when the person following her turned off. It was a false alarm.

  This time, at least.

  Eva was approached by an urchin selling pies from a tray. The mouth-watering smell given off by his wares caused her stomach to growl but, mindful of her dwindling resources, she declined to make a purchase. An endearing little girl with a toothy smile and grimy face then offered her a bunch of violets. Eva returned the child’s smile but shook her head, disciplining herself not to think about Grace. Unless she found a way to survive and best William, Grace would be lost to her forever. Eva must accustom herself to that unpalatable truth.

  ‘Never!’ she said aloud, her innards turning to ice at the mere thought of never seeing her child again.

  A man of dubious occupation tried to approach her but she swept past him as though he didn’t exist. He shouted insults at her retreating back. A crossing sweeper she thought she recognised waved but she pretended not to notice. Perhaps William had known where she was all along and had sent him to spy on her. It would be typical of her husband’s cruel nature to bait her thus, waiting until desperation sent her scurrying back to him rather than forcibly compelling her to return, as he so easily could.

  She reached the junction with Mitre Square without being further accosted. The roads became wider, busier and slightly more salubrious. Eva hailed a Hansom cab and climbed into its shabby interior. She could scarce afford the fare but it was a necessary expense. If she walked all the way to Grosvenor Square she would definitely not be fit to be seen by the time she arrived.

  She kept the blinds closed, doing what she could to ensure she looked neat and respectable as the jarvey made his way through the streets of the metropolis. Beneath her cape-like jacket she wore the only presentable day dress she now owned—plaid silk taffeta with wide sleeves and neat box pleat frills in deep shades of blue and green—respectable and unexciting.

  The carriage slowed and Eva sensed that they had reached their destination far sooner than she felt ready to face it, even though her dire financial circumstances precluded further procrastination. She must either find gainful employment in a place where William would never think to look for her, or return to a possessive brute of a husband who would very likely finish up killing her—it was as simple and unequivocal as that.

  Eva scanned the street as a matter of course. A man on a cob rode slowly past, seeming to watch her intently. He looked familiar too. Eva was sure she had seen him somewhere recently. Panic welled. Lud, could she have
been followed?

  With no alternative available to her, Eva alighted from the Hansom and paid the driver. The man on the cob had carried on down the road, paying her no further heed. Relieved on that score, Eva turned her attention to the premises she had been delivered to and gasped her appreciation. Even by Grosvenor Square standards the place was magnificent. She found herself gazing up at a huge mansion built in what appeared to be solid marble, its myriad windows sparkling in the morning sunshine, wrought iron gates firmly closed, the gardens beyond them meticulously maintained.

  ‘This cannot be it, surely?’ she said aloud. ‘It must be some cruel trick engineered by William to make me expose myself.’

  When no one sprang out of the shadows to grab her and passers-by paid her no attention at all, Eva took a moment to assess her situation. She had answered an advertisement in The Times for an educated female willing to undertake organisational duties. It had seemed too good to be true that a situation she was qualified to fill should arise at a time when she had been so close to despair. Whatever the duties were, no matter how mundane, she would adapt to them or die trying. Beggars could not be choosers. Besides, Eva no longer had any pride left upon which to stand.

  She had been interviewed at an agency but told little about the duties in question, which made her suspicious. Wildly fantastic notions spilled through her brain but she firmly quelled them. White slavers didn’t require educated women, nor did they operate from such a grand address, did they? And this was the address she had been required to report to at ten this morning, where all would be explained to her, apparently.

  Several local clocks sent up competing chimes, galvanising her into action. She was about to be late, which was hardly the best way to champion her cause. She pressed the bell situated on the gatepost and waited. Moments later the gates swung open on well-oiled hinges. Eva took another fortifying breath and walked up the neat driveway, the heels of her half-boots crunching over the immaculately-raked gravel. Immediately in front of the steps was a huge turning circle. In its centre was a pond occupied by carp and a pretty fountain with what appeared to be a statue of Aphrodite to briefly divert her.

  Without knowing more about the position she was applying for, she was unsure whether to ascend the steps to the front door or head around the side to the tradesman’s entrance. Her difficulty was resolved when the front door opened and a butler, so well turned out he made Eva feel shabby by comparison, stood looking down at her in all his stately splendour.

  ‘You have business here?’ he asked.

  His failure to address her as “madam” didn’t escape Eva’s notice but was of no consequence. Finding suitable employment most definitely was and so she offered him a guarded half-smile. There were bound to be other applicants for such a plum position and winning the butler’s approval would be a good way to improve her chances of securing it. Eva had reason to know that butlers wielded considerable influence in the households they ruled and she had more sense than to underestimate this one’s ability to make difficulties for her.

  ‘Indeed, my name is E…’ Lord have mercy, she had almost given her real name! She pretended to cough and took a moment to collect herself. ‘Excuse me, my name is Mrs Dalton. I have an appointment with Mr Morton.’

  The butler inclined his head. ‘Mr Morton is expecting you. Please step this way.’

  Eva ascended the stairs, her insides a tangle of nerves, suspicion and stark determination. However demeaning, if she was considered suitable to fill it, she would grab this position with gladness in her heart. She still held out hope of it being for either a governess or a tutor. She had emphasised her educational qualifications at the agency, which they seemed to find impressive. Thankfully they didn’t probe too deeply, nor did they ask where she had obtained so much knowledge.

  If she was placed in charge of Mr Morton’s children, always assuming he had any, she would do everything in her power to make herself agreeable to them. Then, when she got Grace back, perhaps Mr Morton would allow her to remain here with her mama. In a house as large and as grand as this one, little Grace would pass almost unnoticed.

  As plans went it was pathetically optimistic, and almost certainly bound to fail. Even so, Eva clung to it with the fierce tenacity only a mother forcibly separated from her child could possibly appreciate. She simply had to make a favourable impression upon Mr Morton. He was probably a hundred years old, suffered from gout and had an irascible disposition. She simply didn’t care. Eva was desperate enough to do anything to procure his good opinion.

  Anything at all.

  She was dead emotionally when it came to anything except Gracie—William had seen to that many years since—so it mattered little what Mr Morton required of her. If she could charm him into employing her then she would be secure since even William wouldn’t think to look for her at such a swanky address. She could hide from him in plain sight while plotting how best to secure her daughter’s release.

  The butler subjected her to even closer scrutiny when she reached his position at the top of the steps. She lifted her chin and refused to be intimidated. Butlers could be terrifying creatures, but not to someone who had been through as much as Eva had during the past week—and for years before that at the hands of her vile husband.

  ‘My name is Parker,’ he said. ‘Follow me.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Parker.’

  Eva, aware of Parker still assessing her as they made slow progress through the house, refused to show how impressed she was with the interior of number fourteen Grosvenor Square. Her heels sounded loud on the chequered floor of the entrance vestibule. She looked up past the wide sweeping staircase to the domed ceiling several stories above her head. Sunlight filtered through multi-faceted coloured panes of glass, casting light and shadow over the spot where she stood. Her glance roamed over the furniture, all of which she could see was top rate. The ornamentation was unfashionably sparse but Eva thought that made the items that were on display show to better advantage.

  The house reeked of money but lacked the feminine touch. Eva’s heart plummeted. No woman, no children, she supposed, and therefore no easy way to introduce Grace into the household.

  Parker cleared his throat and she returned her attention to him with an apologetic smile. He appeared to expect some comment from her and she duly obliged.

  ‘Pray excuse me, I was just taking a moment to admire the house.’

  ‘I’m glad it meets with your approval.’

  Parker spoke with humour rather than sarcasm and she was convinced his lips twitched with the effort it took him to hold back a smile. His reaction boosted her confidence. Butlers were the hardest creatures on God’s earth to impress. If he had taken a shine to her then all was not lost.

  Eva removed her cape and gloves and a footman materialised to take them from her. Even if Parker did approve of her, he presumably wouldn’t lower himself to deal with the outer garments of prospective employees. The footman hovered as though waiting for her to remove her bonnet as well but Eva thought of her unwashed hair and wasn’t ready to part with it. Ladies of quality didn’t usually remove their headwear when making calls. She was unsure if prospective employees were expected to do so as a general rule, but clearly in this household that was the case. Eva had quickly learned this past week that it paid to disguise herself at every turn and experienced a moment’s panic at not being able to hide beneath her bonnet’s brim. She thought of Gracie, untied the ribbons from beneath her chin and reluctantly handed her hat to the footman also.

  ‘Wait in here,’ Parker said, conducting her into what was obviously a gentleman’s study, the walls lined with books. ‘I shall inform Mr Morton of your arrival.’

  Left alone, Eva straightened her skirts and toyed with the idea of releasing her hair from the tight, unflattering bun she had pulled it into. She was famous for her thick riot of amber curls, difficult to conceal and an immediate give-away if anyone in this establishment had been set to look for her. That was hardly likely, but
it still paid to be cautious. Besides, she was absolutely sure prospective employees did not parade themselves with their hair cascading all over the place−especially when it hadn’t been washed for over a week.

  Without being vain, Eva was well aware her looks were pleasing to men, which was partly why she found herself in such a fix now. She was desperate enough to trade on those looks to secure this position if that proved to be necessary, but not until she was absolutely sure Mr Morton had no connection to her erstwhile husband. She glanced around the room, looking for clues that would tell her more about its owner. There were none. All she was able to discover was that he had a vast collection of books, many of them first editions, and an eclectic taste in literature.

  ***

  ‘Damnation!’

  Jacob Morton’s fencing partner moved out of range with the grace and agility of a cat, narrowly avoiding his blade. Her light weight and speed of foot made her a formidable opponent and he knew better than to give any quarter simply because she was a woman and he was considerably stronger than she was. If he did, she would win their bout. It had happened before, and Jake had no intention of underestimating her for a second time. She would know it if he did and would consider it an insult. There were many things he would like to do with Olivia Grantley. None of them required him to insult her.

  They danced around one another, blades clashing, keen competitors with parallel skills. A string of muted, unladylike oaths streamed from Olivia’s mouth as a rare opportunity opened up and Jake lunged forward to touch the left side of her upper body with the tip of his epée.

  ‘You got beneath my guard,’ she said in a disgusted tone. ‘Again.’

  ‘You weren’t concentrating.’