No Place for a Lady Read Free Page B

fingers and wiped away the tears. “I’m sorry, Miss Irving. I would not ask it for myself, but for Jamie ...”
    I had a strong feeling Mrs. Clarke would face lions or tigers for her son. “In any case, I shall try to help you find some other rooms if I decide to sell,” I promised rashly.
    She smiled sweetly and repaid me in the only way she knew. “You can come up and see Jamie tomorrow, if you like. He is sleeping now.”
    “Thank you, my dear. I should very much like to see him.”
    It was the first time I had ever called anyone “my dear.” It made me feel old.
    “He takes after his papa,” she said, shyly but proudly. “I had a likeness of James taken before he left. It is such a comfort to me. Mr. Butler knows an artist who will make a copy on ivory, for me to wear as a pendant, but it costs a guinea.”
    “Won’t you sit down, dear?” Miss Thackery said, as the girl seemed in a mood to talk—and we had nothing more demanding to do.
    “I should be getting back upstairs. Would you mind giving me a receipt, Miss Irving? Mr. Butler said I should always get a receipt. Not that Mrs. Cummings ever tried to diddle us, but Mr. Butler was made to pay twice in a different establishment.”
    “Very prudent,” Miss Thackery said approvingly.
    “I am afraid I don’t have a receipt book,” I said. I felt a little annoyed that she did not trust me, but realized it was only my lack of business experience. The girl was right.
    “In the middle drawer of the desk, Miss Irving,” she said, nodding to one of many desks in the room. I found the receipt book and wrote out her receipt.
    She was about to leave when another tenant called. A decent-looking young gentleman came bowing in and announced he was Mr. Butler, the same fellow who took such a keen interest in the widow’s affairs. He was of medium height, and decently appareled in day clothes. The buttons on his blue worsted jacket were several sizes larger than gentlemen wore in Radstock, but the jacket itself was well enough. He had bright brown eyes and reddish hair that curled in a way any lady would envy. His face looked the way a cherub’s face might look after a few years of dissipation. Not that Mr. Butler looked dissipated, but he did look more harassed than a cherub.
    He could not keep his eyes off the young widow. Until she darted back upstairs to Jamie, there was not much sense to be gotten from him. Once she had left, he turned to business.
    “That is my month’s rent, paid up right and tight. Scudpole was hinting for it, but I am not such a greenhead as to hand it over to her.”
    I wrote out his receipt without asking. “Do you have a lease for your flat, Mr. Butler?” I asked, as I was curious to know how soon I might be rid of my unwanted tenants.
    “Eh? A lease? No. I daresay you are wondering why we pay by the month, instead of quarterly. Mrs. Cummings had no use for leases. She said she found it easier to boot unmannerly tenants out if they did not sign a lease. Are you planning to raise the rents? If you mean to go charging us more, the least you might do is have a light in the hallways at night. And fix those drafty windows. Mrs. Clarke tells me there is a regular gale blowing through her bedroom in the winter.”
    “I have no intention of raising the rents, Mr. Butler. I plan to sell the house, and am merely curious to know how much notice I must give the tenants.”
    “Demme! I don’t know what poor Mrs. Clarke will do if you kick her out. It ain’t every house that will take a child in. She has had a rough time of it, I can tell you.”
    “Are you and Mrs. Clarke old friends?” Miss Thackery asked. “From the same part of the country, is what I mean.”
    “No, I only met her six months ago. She is from Somerset. Can you not tell from her pretty accent? I am from Devonshire. My papa sent me to London to work upon ‘Change, thinking I would make my fortune.”
    “What do you do upon ‘Change?” Miss Thackery