Read Dreaming of You for Free Online Page B

from them, Miss Fielding. Their presence adds to the ambiance of the club, and serves as an added enticement to the patrons. All the money the house wenches make is theirs to keep. Mr. Craven also offers them protection, rent-free rooms, and a far better clientele than they’re likely to find on the streets.”
    Sara smiled ironically. “Better? I’m not so certain,Mr. Worthy. From what I’ve been told, aristocratic men are just as adept at abusing women—and spreading disease—as poor ones.”
    “Perhaps you would like to talk to the house wenches. I am certain they will describe both the benefits and disadvantages of working at the club. They’ll be straightforward with you. My impression is that they consider you something of a heroine.”
    Sara was startled by the remark. “Me?”
    “When I explained that you are the author of Mathilda, they were all quite excited. Tabitha read the novel aloud to the others on their off days. Recently they all went to see the stage production.”
    “Would it be possible for me to meet some of them now?”
    “At this hour they are usually sleeping. But perhaps later—”
    A raspy feminine voice interrupted them. “Worthy! Worthy, you bloody idler, I been looking all ower the damn club for you!” The woman dressed in only a ruffled white wrapper that was slightly transparent, hurried down the hall to them. She was attractive, though her small face was coarsened by years of hard living. Rippling waves of chestnut hair, much like Sara’s own, fell down her shoulders and back. She spared Sara only the briefest of glances.
    Sara would have liked to exchange a few friendly words, but she knew from her previous experiences with prostitutes that they needed a fair amount of friendly reassurance before they would converse with someone like her. Out of deference, contempt, or shame, they usually avoided looking a “good woman” in the eyes.
    “Tabitha,” Worthy said calmly. “What is the matter?”
    “Lord F again,” came her indignant reply. “The cheap old rutter! ’E took to Molly last ewening an’ said ’e’d pay for the ’ole night. Now ’e wants to leave without paying!”
    “I’ll take care of it,” Worthy said calmly. He glanced at Sara, who was taking notes. “Miss Fielding, would you mind very much if I left you here for a few minutes? The gallery to your right is filled with many beautiful paintings in Mr. Craven’s private collection.”
    “Please, go right ahead,” Sara urged.
    Suddenly Tabitha became very animated. “Is she the one?” she asked Worthy. “That’s Mathilda?”
    “Oh, no,” Sara said. “I wrote the novel entitled Mathilda. ”
    “Then ye knows ’er? She’s a friend of yers?”
    Sara was nonplussed. “Not really. You see, Mathilda is a fictional character. She’s not real.”
    The comment earned a chiding glance from Tabitha. “Not real? I read all about ’er. An’ I knows a girl who met ’er. They worked the same street after Mathilda was ravished by Lord Aversley.”
    “Let me explain it this way—” Sara began, but Worthy shook his head as if it were no use, and ushered Tabitha down the hall.
    Smiling thoughtfully, Sara wandered to the picture gallery. The walls were covered with paintings by Gainsborough, a horse and rider by Stubbs, two florid works by Rubens, and a magnificent Van Dyke. Drawing closer to a magnificent portrait, she stared at it curiously. The painting featured a woman seated in a large chair. Her young daughter stood nearby, a small hand poised on her mother’s arm. The two were remarkably beautiful, with pale skin, dark curly hair, and expressive eyes. Touched by the tender scene, Saraspoke out loud. “How lovely…I wonder who you are?”
    Sara could not help but be aware of the difference between the sparkling allure of the woman in the portrait and her own average attractiveness. She guessed that Mr. Craven was accustomed to very beautiful women—and she knew there was nothing exotic or