as the midwife's assistant on weekends—unless when it was time to birth a babe. They had seven expectant mothers to visit, and out of all her jobs this one gave her the most pleasure and peace.
Lydia met with her landlady at the ground floor, and with her were two men—the fat one was dressed like her Englishman and the other too drunk to stand straight.
Well, not her Englishman and the drunkard looked very familiar but she couldn't recall from where.
"Why were you ignoring me?" her landlady barked.
Lydia kept her gaze on the drunk while she answered, "How is it possible to ignore the pounding that almost felled my door?"
"So why did you not answer?"
She turned her attention to her landlady. "I know this isn't a respectable inn, but common courtesy should not be lost to you." She stared at the drunken man again, ignoring her landlady's sneer and attempted to place his face. He could barely keep on his feet as he swayed from side to side. He opened his half-mast eyes fully and stared at her. The lazy gaze quickly turned into disdain.
That was all the encouragement Lydia needed to end her curiosity. "Next time knock properly and I'll happily answer." She turned to leave but the hold on her arm stopped her.
She pulled her hand out of the grip and turned to face her captor. She crossed her hands at her wrists and inched her fingers into her left sleeve where a small blade rested. "I do not appreciate being grabbed!"
The fat man in the fine attire laughed, making his belly bounce. "Forgive my rudeness, Miss Parker, but I have to speak with you."
"About—" Lydia paused mid-speak. He knew her last name? Not even her landlady knew it, how did he? Something wasn't right. "Concerning what Mr..."
"My name should not concern you."
Lydia pulled the blade out of her sleeve and into her hand, keeping it hidden. "If the identity of an Englishman and that of his drunk comrade shouldn't concern me, then what should concern me?"
His attempt to puff his chest only pushed his belly out further. He held his head higher and his shoulders straight back. "I am glad you recognize station when you see it. These other poor souls have no respect for those with higher birth."
Lydia chuckled. "Neither do you. For all I know you are a pauper and those rags were stolen. I only show respect to those who deserve it, and you, sir, still haven't given me a reason to show you any."
His face gained a new shade of red as he glared at her. She had unsettled him. Good. Mayhap he'll now get to his point sooner.
"You will not speak to me in such a vulgar manner!" he yelled.
"Vulgar? Oh, sir, coming from me, that was equal to gentry speech. When I do become vulgar—and I am very soon approaching it as I am quickly growing impatient—your ears would burn off your head! State your purpose so I may be on my way."
"And where are you going?"
Lydia held back a growl. "None of your damn concern!"
The drunk scoffed, "Just like her mother. She's probably off to a brothel. No shame at all, selling your body in broad daylight."
Lydia quickly turned to him. Her mother? This drunk knows Geraldine? Then quickly, she remembered where she'd seen the drunk before.
In all his glory, the man who swayed before her on his sea legs was none other than Peter Bronson, her stepfather.
She scoffed and shook her head. This was the last thing she needed, problems from her past.
She turned to the fat Englishman. "Whatever debt Geraldine and Peter owe you I will not pay it. They are nothing to me as I am nothing to them."
He laughed. "No, but Jesse and Jessica do mean something to you."
Lydia was confused. "Who?"
"Your siblings. The boy is only ten and the girl six, too young to pay off their parents' debt, don't you think?"
Lydia felt the emotion creep into her chest but she pushed it away. She didn't know them, and therefore they were not her concern. Lanie was raised with them so this was her debt to clear. "They do have another sister. Go to her for your payment."
Peter rushed to her and grabbed her arm painfully. "Your whore of a mother sold my beautiful daughter as a slave!"
Oh, Lanie! She moaned quietly, what has Geraldine done?
His lips parted in a deep grin then he breathed more toxic air into her face. "And now, I've done the same to you!"
Lydia jerked her arm away. "What are you on about?"
"She sold my lovely girl, so I sold her bastard!"
Lydia laughed. "I do not belong to you. You have no say over me, you incompetent fool! If you are searching for someone to blame, blame yourself and your witch of a wife. I'm so glad I escaped the both of you!"
"And what of your young siblings?"
Lydia turned to the fat Englishman. She was tempted to curse him and his debt to hell but she couldn't. With Lanie gone, she was sure those children had no one to protect or care for them. But what would she do with children? And why should she care? She didn't know them and she owed them nothing. They were not her concern!
She sighed, and her entire body slumped at the new weight. "How much do you want?"
He laughed and gave her a belittling look. "I do not want your merger money, just your aid in a plot."
Lydia was going to regret this; she already knew it. "Whatever the deed is, first I'd like to see my siblings."
"Of course," he said, then gestured with his head behind her.
She turned to see but not fast enough. A heavy sack was pulled over her head, and then huge arms clumped around her and lifted her off her feet. She fought her assailant but it was of no use. She was thrown into a carriage and she quickly pulled the sack off.
Two men sat on either side of her on the seats while she sat on the floor of the carriage. She looked at the one with the patch over one eye intensely until he turned away. Then she turned to the one with the scar and held his gaze in an effort to intimidate him also. He did not look away; instead he reached for the sack.
"Touch me again, and I swear I'll cut your throat open!"
He scoffed and leaned back. "You are more trouble than you are worth." He turned away and moved his hand to the knee of his straightened leg and began to massage it, a pained look on his face.
He was hurt, and if she wanted she could jump out and run—she just had to pass the man with the patch. She turned to him; he seemed to be in a daze, his eyes fixed to the wall of the carriage. If he was an idiot, he wouldn't be too difficult to subdue. She would just need to distract him, worsen the injury on the other's knee and she would be free.
And her siblings would pay for not only their parents' debt but her escape.
Lydia let her ire come to the forefront to shield her
