Kisses and Scandal (A Survivors Series Anthology ) - Shana Galen Page 0,39
door and waited until a woman with messy brown hair and a dirty apron pulled it open. “What do you want?”
“I’m looking for Mrs. Jacobs. I sent a note inquiring about the room for rent and was told to come at half past four.”
The woman’s eyes slid down Bridget and back up again. “And who are you?”
“Bridget Lavery. Are you Mrs. Jacobs?”
“I am. Do you have a husband?” Mrs. Jacob’s eyes narrowed. “I’m not running a bawdy house.”
Bridget felt her cheeks color. “My husband is dead. I teach at Mrs. Brodie’s Academy in Manchester Square. You may speak to Mrs. Brodie if you’d like a reference or proof I’m not a harlot.”
Bridget hoped the headmistress was in London at the moment. She often traveled, and she hadn’t seen her for a few days.
Mrs. Jacobs opened the door wider, nodding. “The school don’t give you a room?”
“It does, but I have a young son, and the academy is for young ladies. If I want him to live with me, I must procure my own lodging.”
The door inched closed again. “Boys can be trouble.”
“This one won’t be.”
The two women eyed each other for a long moment, and then Mrs. Jacobs stepped back. “Come in, Mrs. Lavery. I’ll show you the room.”
Mrs. Jacobs led her through a dark common room and up a staircase with worn carpet. The subtle scent of mold and cooked onions lingered in the air. At the landing, Mrs. Jacobs continued to the second floor. Bridget frowned. She had been hoping for a room on the first floor, as the top floor would be hot in summer and cold in winter.
“The men’s rooms are on the first floor,” Mrs. Jacobs said, as though reading her mind. “The women are up here.”
The second floor was dark, and Bridget squinted as Mrs. Jacobs led her to the end of the corridor, pulled out a large keyring, selected a key, and opened the door.
She motioned Bridget inside, and Bridget walked in cautiously. The room was small and dingy. It had a bed, a table with one chair, and a basin with a pitcher. “I thought the advertisement said the room was furnished.”
“This is furnished,” Mrs. Jacobs countered. “What more do you need?” She blew out a breath. “You even have curtains on the windows. Sewed them myself.”
Bridget crossed to the window at the other end of the room, all of six steps, and opened the curtains. The window looked out on another building and down into an alleyway. She closed the curtains again.
“How much?”
“One shilling and two pence a week.”
It was reasonable, though she’d hoped for better. “Is coal included?”
“That’s extra.”
“What about meals?”
“Extra.”
She could take meals at the school, but James needed to eat. “Water?”
“There’s a well in the yard. Help yourself.”
“I’ll give you a shilling a week for it.”
“It’s a shilling and two pence, and I won’t take less.” Mrs. Jacobs folded her arms over her chest with finality. Bridget would not be deterred, however. For almost two years, she had been working toward the goal of reclaiming James. She had a plan, and obtaining a room was the last step before she sought James. She needed this room, dingy as it was.
“I’ll pay a shilling and two pence if that price includes a pail of coal a week.”
Mrs. Jacobs hesitated, then began to shake her head.
“I will give you one shilling now.”
The landlady considered. She could continue to haggle, but then she risked the chance of having the room remain vacant. No tenant meant no blunt. She held out her hand. “I’ll agree, provided that Mrs. Brodie vouches for you.”
Bridget nodded, removed her glove, and placed the shilling in Mrs. Jacobs’s palm. It was gone in an instant.
“I’ll speak to Mrs. Brodie first thing in the morning. If she says you’re a good girl, you and the boy can move in tomorrow evening.”
“Very good. It will just be me for now.”
“Why is that? Where is the boy living?”
“It will take me time to send for him,” she said, keeping her answer vague.
Mrs. Jacobs nodded. “As long as he doesn’t cause trouble.”
“He won’t.” Of course, she couldn’t know that. She hadn’t seen James since he was barely three. She didn’t know what sort of boy he’d grown into in the intervening years. And yet, she was well-versed in dealing with unruly children. She could handle her own son, and she would.
She just had to find him first. She’d gone to the orphanage where she’d left James before she’d been sent to