After the Rain Read online

  A fire had been started and he was more grateful than usual for it. He removed his greatcoat and began to help the girl from where she stood inside the door.

  “You are soaked through,” he remarked, pulling back her hood as she stood there trembling. His breath caught in his throat when he took in all of her. She looked to be no older than his sisters and she was clearly frightened. He thought of how they would feel if they were in her situation. It could have easily been one of them just a few years ago. There was something vaguely familiar about her, but he could not place it.

  “Come warm yourself by the fire,” he said, guiding her shivering body nearer to the flames. She had not said a word since they left the bridge.

  “What is your name?” he asked softly.

  “Christelle,” she answered cautiously.

  “I will not harm you. I am a physician.” As if somehow that assured her that all doctors were well intentioned. “I will try to help you find another place to stay tomorrow, but tonight I have no idea where else to take you. You may use my room for the night and I will sleep out here. Do you have dry clothes to change into?”

  “If they kept dry in the trunk.”

  He carried her luggage into his bedroom. “I will call for some warm water. It is best if you stay in here while the servant comes.” He turned to leave.

  “Is that all?” she asked timidly, her voice shaking. “You do not wish me…to work for you?”

  “Forgive me, my manners are lacking. You must be famished. I have some bread and pastry you are welcome to once you have changed.” He was deliberately obtuse in answering her question. He knew what she was asking and his heart broke for her. What had she been put through already?

  He closed the door and rang for the servant to bring some hot bricks and warm water. When the man had left, Seamus knocked gently on the door to the bedroom.

  “Mademoiselle, the warm water is right outside the door, and there is some food when you are ready.”

  He walked over to his greatcoat and removed the now smashed pastries he had placed inside a pocket. He chuckled and put them on a plate. He was almost ashamed to serve them to this girl, but he suspected she was too hungry to care.

  A few minutes later he heard the latch click and the door creaked open. Busy stoking the fire, from the corner of his eye he noticed Christelle look out of the bedroom, although she did not come into the parlour. When he looked up, he had to suppress an exclamation. She was clothed in a beautiful gown the colour of evening primrose, which highlighted her golden eyes even from across the room. Her hair had been brushed to a silky sheen and fell in long golden locks around her shoulders. Was this the same girl? He had to force his gaze away.

  “There is food on the table. I apologize for its appearance. It did not withstand my pockets very well.”

  “Because of my trunk, I imagine,” she said with a half-smile.

  “Yes, I collect you are right. May I pour you a drink? I am afraid the selection is all bachelor fare.”

  “What is your choice?”

  “Brandy.”

  “I would prefer it as well.”

  Seamus blinked twice, trying not to react. He should be astonished, but he was charmed. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

  While he poured the drinks, he heard the creak of leather when she sat down in one of the chairs near the fireplace.

  “Are you new to London?” he asked as he handed her the glass.

  “Yes, I am just come from Paris.”

  He swirled the amber liquid around as he contemplated how much to ask her.

  “I feel very silly admitting my story to a stranger, now that I find myself at your mercy,” she said before he could ask anything.

  “I will not judge you.” He tried to be comforting. “I will try to help if you tell me how.”

  “I have spent the last six years thinking I was an orphan. Two weeks ago, I was asked to leave the school I was attending as a charity pupil. In my mother’s effects I discovered I might have an English father.”

  “And you came here to find him?”

  “Oui. All alone and with little money. I know it seems ridiculous, and even reckless, but I had nowhere to go in Paris either. I had no notion I would not be allowed to take a room without a maid. England has very strict proprieties.”

  “Mostly for young, pretty girls,” he mused, then felt his face warm when he realized what he had said.

  She did not seem to notice and kept speaking. “I had hoped to find work as a seamstress. I was advised to look for Oxford and Bond Streets, but I could not find a room for the night.”

  “They are all the crack in the ton,” he agreed.

  “The crack? The ton?”

  “Forgive my cant. It means fashionable Society, or the Beau Monde. It is where the rich shop. You were advised correctly. Have you experience?”

  “Most girls are taught to mend, but I helped my mother design and make her clothing before she died.” She ran her fingers lovingly down the bodice of her dress. “This was the last dress I saw her in. We made it together.”

  “It is beautiful. I am certain someone would be happy to use your talents, but I have no knowledge of ladies' fashions.” He had no idea where to begin, himself. Perhaps he could send a note to Lady Ashbury to see if she had a recommendation.

  “Sir, I am grateful for your kindness. I do not know why you stopped to help me, but I also do not know what would have happened to me if you had not. I promise to leave early and be out of your way.”

  “There is no need to hurry. I can help make enquiries for you.”

  “You are too kind, sir. If you can but point me in the right direction, I know tomorrow will be a better day.”

  “I am certain you are exhausted. Have a good night’s sleep and we can finish discussing this in the morning.”

  “Oui. I think sleep will be very welcome. Bonne nuit, monsieur.”

  “Bonne nuit, mademoiselle.”

  Sleep? How could she possibly sleep? She had been given a night’s reprieve from disaster. Supposing this kind man had not helped her? She shuddered to think about it. Unfastening her gown, she stepped out of it before gingerly placing it over the chair. The masculine room in dark hues looked as though it had been taken over by a rainbow of femininity, she thought with the last ounce of humour she had left.

  Christelle needed a plan. What if no one would give her employment? All of her gowns had been soaked through, save for this one. They were spread about on the carpet in front of the fire to dry. She had no idea if the others would be presentable when they dried without a great deal of work. She had hoped to show her gowns as samples of her abilities.

  After climbing into the bed, she had intended to plot her next move, but the warm, thick blankets were too much for her weary body to resist.

  Some noisy revellers awakened her when coming in from their evening entertainment, although she spied the dawn breaking through the curtains. She stretched and for a moment had to think where she was as she snuggled deeper under the luxurious coverlet and inhaled the musky male scent of it. She did not think she had ever slept more comfortably. Her thoughts ran to the Monsieur who had brought her here. How fortunate she was to have found someone who was kind! There were so many things that could have happened instead. They still could happen, she knew.

  Seamus. Christelle had never heard such a name. Was it English? He had a slightly different accent from the other Englishmen she had encountered. When she had first seen the man, she had been terrified. He was tall and towered over her by at least a foot. But when she had looked up into his grey eyes, she had seen a gentleness which had made her trust him. Other men looked at her with unmasked lust, like those men in the pub. She had almost laughed aloud when she had come out of the bedroom, however. The look of astonishment—or was it relief—on his face had been a testament to how poorly she had looked before. It was a wonder he had helped her at all!

  He was handsome himself, in a different way from ot
her men she had known. He was intelligent and confident, although unassuming in manner. It would be easy to take advantage of him.

  She shook away the thought. Her mother would have thought that way, but Christelle wanted to be different. However, she might do anything this man asked. Non! She jumped out of bed and began to dress. She must leave at once and not be a further imposition on his goodness.

  She folded her few gowns as best she could and placed them into the trunk. How was she to drag it out of the apartment quietly?

  Christelle unlatched the door, which opened with a slight creak and she froze. There was no movement in the room, so she opened the door all the way and turned to pick up the trunk. With a heavenward look and a heave, she managed to lift it. Turning sideways to hasten through the doorway was another matter. She bounced off the door’s casement and stumbled. Still there was no movement. The English sleep very soundly, she mused.

  Having struggled with the heavy object all the way across the apartment, she made it to the entrance and set it down to unlatch the door, when it opened.

  “Good morning,” he greeted.

  “Oh, monsieur! You frightened me!”

  “Were you leaving?” he asked when he took in her bonnet, cape and trunk.

  She looked down at the tip of her boots peeking out from under her gown. “I had thought to, yes.”

  “I wish you would not,” he said gently.

  She looked up into his pleading eyes and would have given him her last penny. She could not recall anyone having been so considerate or generous to her before.

  “At least allow me to find the name and location of some modistes for you. I have sent a letter to my grandmère to obtain a list of whom she patronizes.”

  “She is French, your grandmère?”

  He inclined his head. “Let us sit down and drink some coffee. There are some things I could explain to you.”

  He placed a kettle on the fire and they sat in the leather armchairs around it.

  “Please remove your cape and bonnet and stay for a while.”

  She did as he asked and looked up at him with curiosity.

  He stared into the flames as he spoke. “I was born a gentleman, but my parents were killed in a carriage accident. My sisters and I were sent to an orphanage.”

  Christelle cast her eyes to his face. He was solemn, but he continued to look ahead.

  “It was unlike most orphanages, thankfully. A viscount had turned one of his properties into a home and school. The physician who called on the school took an interest in me and allowed me to apprentice with him.” Seamus smiled. “He took an interest in my sisters as well. When he inherited a barony, he gave us all his name and home.”

  “You know how I feel,” she said softly.

  His eyes met hers. “To some extent I do. I imagine it is harder for a young woman. When I saw you, I thought of my sisters being in your position.”

  “That is why you helped me,” she stated.

  “My step-mother is half French. Her mother is not truly my grandmère, though she insists she is. She is well-connected in Society and can perhaps help you find a position.”

  “I cannot impose in such a way!” Christelle had to fight back tears of emotion.

  “Why ever not?” he asked with his eyebrows drawn together in a frown. “It is very difficult to find positions in England without a reference. I would not be where I am without help.”

  “But she does not know me or my talents. It would be asking too much of you!” she insisted.

  He reached over and took her hand. She felt herself warm from the inside out.

  “I want to do this.”

  Christelle looked up from their touching hands. His eyes were upon her, searching her face. She was not used to people wanting to help her. It was hard to accept. She hated being dependent on others.

  “Please,” he pleaded.

  “Merci,” she whispered. “I do not know how to thank you.”

  “If you succeed, it will be thanks enough.”

  Chapter 4

  Seamus had been shocked to find Christelle trying to slip out when he returned. Did the poor girl not realize she would find herself back on the bridge or at a brothel within the week?

  He had gone out to ask for a tray be sent up and had also requested his note to be delivered to Lady Ashbury. She was the most well-connected person he knew.

  Seated at the small dining table, Christelle quietly ate the breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast he had shared with her while they waited for an answer from Ashbury House. It was not overly long in coming.

  Seamus perused the contents.

  * * *

  Dear Seamus,

  I wish you had told me you were in town earlier. You must come for dinner. As for your friend, Lady Ashbury is from home, but I can assure you Madame Monique is kept in business by our family! I will send a note and ask her to guide your friend in the right direction.

  Stop by White's and have a dram with me this week.

  Fondly,

  Ashbury

  * * *

  Seamus looked up from the letter to see two golden eyes studying him.

  “I am told a Madame Monique would be an excellent person to start with, and she will give you good advice. Shall I accompany you there?”

  “If it would not inconvenience you greatly, I should be most grateful.”

  “Let me find a hack. If you are ready?”

  “I am.”

  “Wait here, then, until I locate one.”

  A few minutes passed before Seamus was able to ensure the coast was clear after finding an available hackney carriage. Christelle had pulled her hood down over her hair and had wrapped her cape about her to hide her bright yellow dress. It seemed they made it into the vehicle unobserved except by a few tradesmen who were out and about early. He directed the driver to Madame Monique's and sat back in the corner, feeling nervous to be advocating on Christelle's behalf.

  When they arrived and alighted, Christelle stopped and looked around her.

  “Are you ready?” he asked.

  “I think so. I am most anxious,” she confessed.

  He smiled to reassure her and opened the door. A little bell jingled as they stepped inside. Again, Christelle looked around, rather as a child would in a sweet shop, at the sample fabrics and gowns displayed about in an elegant salon.

  “May I help you?” a middle-aged French woman asked. “It is very early, non?”

  “Madame? My name is Seamus Craig. I was told you would be able to give my friend advice. She is looking for work as a seamstress. Lord…”

  “Mon Dieu!” Christelle had turned towards Madame. The woman gasped and held her hands to her breast. Her interjection prevented Seamus from finishing the speech he had rehearsed.

  “Is something amiss, Madame?” he asked. “I am a physician.”

  “Non,” the woman said as she stared at Christelle. “Where did you find that dress?”

  “It was my maman’s,” the girl replied timidly, looking scared. “We made it together.”

  “Viens avec moi.” Come with me.

  The woman hurried away behind a curtain without waiting to see if they would follow. Christelle gave Seamus a questioning look but went after Madame. He did not know if he would be intruding or not, but he decided he would stay until she had secured a position and also passed behind the screen into the workroom. There several women and girls were buried in seemingly endless piles of fabrics, ribbons and lace. Madame proceeded with Christelle to another room off to the side, which appeared to be an office, and closed the door behind them.

  The two began conversing rapidly in French and he could scarcely keep up.

  I will hire you.

  You must stay away from customers at all times.

  I have a room upstairs you may live in with other seamstresses, as part of your pay.

  Seamus was impressed by how quickly it all happened.

  And he was a little sad. This little waif would be gone a
s soon as she had come.

  With a start, he realized Madame was speaking to him.

  “Can you have her trunk delivered here?”

  “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “Merci, monsieur.” Christelle called to him as Madame turned her away and led her up a staircase.

  Thus abandoned, Seamus exited the shop and walked slowly back to his rooms. This is a good thing, he told himself. He had wanted her to find work. He could not hide her in his rooms indefinitely.

  He hailed another hack, loaded the trunk into it and took it back to the shop.

  They used the rear entrance to deliver it, as suggested by the driver. Seamus had been hoping to catch another glimpse of Christelle. How else would he know if she was happy?

  He sighed and went home. He lay down on his bed to rest, since he had scarcely slept, and could not stop thinking about the girl. Her jasmine scent lingered on his pillows and coverlet. It was much more pleasant than he would have thought. It only deepened his longing for more.

  Christelle had to blink to fight away dizziness. Everything was happening so fast. She should be elated, but she had felt bereft when Dr. Craig had walked out of the door. She had not been able to properly thank him, and the thought of never seeing him again left her feeling as though she had lost a rock to cling to, which was ridiculous when she had not known him even four-and-twenty hours.

  “Cheer up, chérie,” Madame said. “I suspect you have not seen the last of him.”

  Christelle felt her face warm. Had her thoughts been so obvious? “He has been very kind and I did not properly thank him.”

  “Perhaps on your afternoon off you may visit him.”

  “But he lives in bachelor rooms. I could not call on him!”

  “We will find a way. Let us get you situated and introduce you to the other girls. We will soon be busy with customers.”

  Madame showed her to a modest but well-appointed room, which held three single beds, one on each wall. It was painted in a soft lilac colour, and her bed had a pretty white coverlet that matched the curtains. It was clean and smelled of beeswax, which reminded her of her chores at school in a strange, comforting way. She almost felt as if she were back at Harriot. It also helped that Madame was French.