She continued, “You’ll have to sleep the night outside. We can’t risk you leaving tomorrow. She might catch on in the light of day. Anyhow, it shouldn’t be too hard. The gentleman’s name is Mr. Carrick Arundell. Remember, seven sharp. Very specific about that. Don’t worry about the little miss here, it’s all for the best.” She took Penrose by the hand. “Come now, let’s go down the stairs.”
When they reached the landing, Mrs. Capshaw put a hand on her shoulder. “Hold it,” she said. “Hmm. Can’t do to arrive without any belongings. It will make you look wanting. Needful.” She twisted her lips as she thought and then lifted a finger. “I’ve got it. Just a moment.” She left Penrose on the stairs.
Penrose heard her then. A breathy, feminine voice wafting up the stairwell. She couldn’t help herself and crept lower, down the winding staircase until she could see her—with the benefit of a wall that partially hid Penrose from view. The woman sat at the corner table. Even though the late crowd had begun to arrive, Penrose could still see her clearly.
No, this woman hadn’t sunk to the level that she had. Oh, certainly she oozed that refined look of genteel suffering, a bit worn at the edges. No doubt, there was even a small, graciously suffering smile on her lips. The kind of smile that Penrose couldn’t quite muster anymore.
The little blond head bobbed as she spoke. “It might not be worth the fear, the fright of living with such a man,” she drawled.
What could be so frightening about a mere man? Nothing, that’s what. But to make matters worse she continued, “I’m not so hungry that I will endure fright and intimidation. Not me. I can always stay with my sister. Perhaps another might endure such a thing, but I’m hesitant. Are things so bad that I must suffer for employment?”
Penrose’s eyes burned, and her fingers itched with the urge to strike out. Yes, they are, you silly woman. Yes, they are.
“But what about those wages?” Charlie asked.
The woman named the amount of pay, and a small choking noise escaped from Penrose’s lips. Both the woman and Charlie turned in her direction and she slunk back into the shadows.
“They say,” the woman continued in a grave voice, “that he must pay such a wild sum because of all the awful things that go on in that house. I’ve heard he’s wicked. I’ve heard he’s...dark.”
“The men talk, you know. I’ve heard the same.” Charlie stood leaning over the counter and wiping a whiskey glass with his rag. “And worse, too. Still, those wages. Any man would be proud to earn such a sum for a year’s labor.”
“Oh, that’s not a year of wages. That’s for a month.”
The shrill clink of the glass slipping from Charlie’s hand and hitting the counter rang out. Or maybe it was the sound of her conscience turning to ice. But whatever decency was left inside her hungry soul fled when she heard that sum. Right then and there, her mind turned rock-solid certain. The risks be damned. Dark arts meant nothing to her. That job would be hers. All she needed was one paycheck, just one, and she could recover. She could start again in a new city. She could open her own school with a new identity.
Distinctive footfalls came down the stairs. Penrose turned and saw Mrs. Capshaw standing on the rise above her. “Well?” she asked in a hearty whisper. “Heard enough?”
Penrose nodded. “Have you the bag?” she asked pointedly.
“Of course.” Mrs. Capshaw held it out. “I stuffed it with newspapers to look full.”
“It’s perfect,” said Penrose, taking the bag. It was dusty black and light as air. “I’ll go and wait outside for Charlie.”
“Of course. I’ll let him know.” The woman grabbed Penrose by the arm. “Penrose, you won’t regret this. Trust me.”
Trust was not a word she associated with Mrs. Capshaw, but the woman seemed sincere, and she nodded in reply. They descended the rest of the stairs together. Once on the ground floor, Penrose moved through the pub area swiftly, Mrs. Capshaw right behind her. Charlie looked up and smiled from behind the bar, but before he could say a single word to her, Penrose opened the door and stepped outside. Not once did she look at the woman. She couldn’t bear to. She didn’t want to risk developing a conscience and changing her mind.
Outside, she leaned against the wall of the inn and took deep breaths. What exactly was she doing? Mrs. Capshaw stood stoically beside her.
Penrose breathed a sigh of relief when Charlie emerged from the pub. “Are you okay, Penny?” he asked, taking a long look at her before turning to his wife. “What’s going on? Why did you pull me outside?”
“I need you to ready the buggy. There’s something you need to do.”
“Oh, no,” he said with a sigh. “What are you up to?” He shook his head. “I should’ve known—you had that look about you.” Turning to Penrose, he said, “Has she pulled you into some plan?”
“Well...” began Penrose.
Mrs. Capshaw practically pounced on the man. “Charlie,” she muttered, “leave be and don’t intrude. This is for the best. You’ll see. Don’t say another word of protest. Go and ready that buggy. Take Penny to the river road that leads to the mansions. Drop her off and come right back. She’s lucky enough to have a position waiting.”
He looked dubious, his white, bushy eyebrows drawing together. “All of a sudden like this?” Suddenly he leaned toward his wife and his voice grew accusing. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with our new guest, would it?”
A little huff of anger escaped the woman. “Of course it does. It has everything to do with our guest. But don’t say a word, Charlie. Not a word. My plans will work out this time.” Mrs. Capshaw spoke with authority. “You drive her to the river and return to me. Straightaway.”
“Answer me this first, wife. Where’s her position?”
“Arundell Manor.”
It was the first time Penrose heard the name. Arundell Manor. The words hung in the air like an echo from a bell. It pleased Penrose and a strange sense of calmness swelled within her.
Charlie did not have the same reaction, however. “Arundell Manor! You’re snatching that woman’s job! That’s no coup! Are you cruel? You’re sending her there?”
“Charlie,” said Mrs. Capshaw in something close to a growl.
“Arundell Manor? You must be three sheets to the wind! That man will kill her as surely as we stand here now. There’s something very wrong with that man, and all of Charleston knows it. He’s dangerous and wicked...and downright frightening. The stories I hear about that...that monster.”
Beneath the lamplight, Mrs. Capshaw looked at Charlie with a gaze of iron. “Charlie Capshaw, you will keep your mouth shut if you know what’s good for you.”
“I can’t in good conscience—” he sputtered.
“Stop,” said Penrose. She was strangely settled in her mind with the decision. The name of the manor struck a chord inside her as if fate had been summoned and there was no stopping it. She put her hand on Charlie’s arm. “Charlie, I’ve already accepted it, whatever may come,” she said with resolve.
