“Well done, Zeb,” William said, squeezing his shoulder gently, and Zeb managed a tiny smile in return.

By the time they’d returned to the girls and Colenso, William had managed to tamp down the rage—again. Was he never going to be able to get rid of it? Not ’til you make up your mind what to do about things, he thought grimly. But there wasn’t anything that could be done right now, so he squashed all the sparks in his head firmly into one dense red ball and rolled it to the back of his mind.

“Here, let Fanny do it. He trusts her.” Jane took the vial containing the dose Dr. MacFreckles had made up for Colenso and gave it to her sister. Fanny promptly sat down beside Colenso, who was pretending as hard as he could to be asleep, and began stroking his head, murmuring something to him.

William nodded and, gesturing to Jane to accompany him, withdrew far enough to be out of earshot. Rather to his surprise, part of his brain had apparently been analyzing the problem and coming to conclusions while the rest was occupied, for he had a rough plan.

“What I suggest is this,” he said, without preamble. “I will make provision for you and your sister to receive regular army rations, as camp followers, and to travel under my protection. Once in New York, I will give you five pounds, and you’re on your own. In return …”

She didn’t quite smile, but a dimple showed in one cheek.

“In return,” he repeated more firmly, “you will mind my orderly and my groom, tend their ills, and make sure they’re reasonably cared for. You will also be my laundress.”

“Your laundress?!” The dimple had disappeared abruptly, replaced by an expression of sheer astonishment.

“Laundress,” he repeated doggedly. He knew what she’d been expecting him to propose and was rather surprised himself that he hadn’t, but there it was. He couldn’t, not with his thoughts of Rachel and of Anne Endicott so fresh in his mind. Not with the deep, smothered rage fueled by the thought that he deserved no woman but a whore.

“But I don’t know how to do laundry!”

“How hard can it be?” he asked, as patiently as he could. “You wash my clothes. Don’t put starch in my drawers. That’s about it, isn’t it?”

“But—but—” She looked aghast. “One needs a … a kettle! A fork, a paddle, something to stir with … Soap! I haven’t any soap!”

“Oh.” That hadn’t occurred to him. “Well …” He dug in his pocket, found it empty, and tried the other, which held a guinea, tuppence, and a florin. He handed her the guinea. “Buy what you need, then.”

She looked at the golden coin in her palm, her face utterly blank. She opened her mouth, then closed it again.

“What’s the matter?” he asked impatiently. She didn’t answer, but a soft voice behind him did.

“The duffent know how.”

He whirled to find Fanny looking up at him from under her cap, her delicate cheeks flushed red by the sunset.

“What did you say?”

Fanny’s soft mouth pressed tight and her cheeks grew redder, but she repeated it, dogged. “The … duffent … know how.”

Jane reached Fanny in two steps, putting an arm around her sister’s shoulders and glaring at William.

“My sister’s tongue-tied,” she said, daring him to say anything. “That’s why she’s afraid of the surgeons. She thinks they will amputate her tongue if they find out.”

He drew a deep, slow breath.

“I see. And what she said to me … ‘She doesn’t know how’? She means you, I collect? What is it, pray, that you don’t know how?”

“Muddy,” whispered Fanny, now staring at the ground.

“Mud—money?” He stared at Jane. “You don’t know how to—”

“I’ve never had any money!” she snapped, and threw the guinea on the ground at his feet. “I know the names of the coins, but I don’t know what you can buy with them, except—except—what you can buy in a brothel! My cunt is worth six shillings, all right? My mouth is three. And my arse is a pound. But if someone gave me three shillings, I wouldn’t know if I could buy a loaf of bread or a horse with them! I’ve never bought anything!”

“You—you mean—” He was so flabbergasted, he couldn’t string words into a sentence. “But you have wages. You said—”

“I’ve been a brothel whore since I was ten years old!” Her fists clenched, knuckles sharp under the skin. “I never see my wages! Mrs. Abbott spends them—she says—for my—our—food and clothes. I’ve never had a penny to my name, let alone spent one. And now you hand me … that”—she stamped her foot on the guinea, driving it into the ground—“and tell me to buy a kettle?!? Where? How? From whom?!”

Her voice shook and her face was a deal redder than the setting sun could make it. She was furious, but also very near to tears. He wanted to take her in his arms and soothe her, but thought that might be a good way to lose a finger.

“How old is Fanny?” he asked instead. She jerked her head up, panting.

“Fanny?” she said blankly.

“I’m e-lev-en,” Fanny’s voice said behind him. “You weve her awone!”

He turned to see the girl glaring up at him, a stick clutched in her hand. He might have laughed, if not for the expression on her face—and if not for what he’d just realized. He took a step back, so as to see both girls at once, and like magnet and iron, they came together and clung, both staring distrustfully at him.

“How much is her maidenhead worth?” he asked Jane baldly, with a nod at Fanny.

“Ten pounth,” Fanny answered automatically, just as Jane shouted, “She’s not for sale! To you or any other bugger!” She pressed Fanny fiercely closer, daring him to make a move toward the girl.

“I don’t want her,” he said through his teeth. “I don’t fornicate with children, for God’s sake!”

Jane’s hard expression didn’t alter, and she didn’t loosen her grip on her sister.

“Then why did you ask?”

“To verify my suppositions regarding your presence here.”

Jane snorted. “Those being?”

“That you ran away. Presumably because your sister has now reached an age where … ?” He raised an eyebrow, nodding at Fanny. Jane’s lips compressed, but she gave him a tiny, grudging nod.

“Captain Harkness?” he asked. It was a shot in the dark, but well aimed. Harkness hadn’t been pleased at being deprived of his prey and, unable to come at William, might well have decided to take his revenge elsewhere.

The light bathed everything in tones of gold and lavender, but he could see Jane’s face go pale, nonetheless, and felt a tightening in his loins. If he found Harkness … He resolved to go looking tomorrow. The man might be in Philadelphia, as she’d said—but he might not. It would be a welcome focus for his rage.

“Right, then,” he said, as matter-of-factly as he could. He stooped and pried the guinea out of the soft earth, realizing as he did so that he’d been a fool to offer it to her. Not because of what she’d told him but because someone like her—or Colenso—would never have such a sum. They’d be suspected of stealing it and very likely would be relieved of it by the first person to see it.

“Just look after the boys, will you?” he said to Jane. “And the both of you keep clear of the soldiers until I can find you simple clothes. Dressed like that”—he gestured at their dust-smudged, sweat-stained finery—“you’ll be taken for whores, and soldiers don’t take no for an answer.”

“I am a whore,” Jane said, in a strange, dry voice.

“No,” he said, and felt his own voice as oddly separate from himself but very firm. “You’re not. You travel under my protection. I’m not a pimp—so you’re not a whore. Not until we reach New York.”



A DISCOVERY IN THE RANKS

THE 16TH PENNSYLVANIA militia company, Captain the Reverend Peleg Woodsworth in command, marched into camp in good order, having paused just outside to tidy themselves, clean their weapons, and wash their faces. Lord John knew no one would take notice but approved of the preparations on grounds of good military discipline, as he explained to Germain.