The River Rose by Gilbert Morris

gentlemen. Mrs. Bettencourt, my plans for the evening are to return to my lonely room at the Gayoso House Hotel. You would really be granting me a favor if you'd stay a little longer and raise a glass of wassail with me. Then, when you're ready, I'd be happy to take you home in a carriage that a friend has placed at my disposal."
    Jeanne was very reluctant, for to her the situation was absurd. Their shanty wasn't even on a street, it was bordered only by alleys. For her and Marvel to be driving up in a fine carriage, with a fine gentleman, and they in their shabby gray woolens, seemed a silly satire.
    But then she saw Marvel's upturned face, her pleading expression and hope-filled eyes, and she relented. "Thank you, Mr. Masters, that would be very kind of you."
    He smiled. "On the contrary, Mrs. Bettencourt, it would be my pleasure."
    They went to the punch table, where Jeanne and Marvel decided on hot spiced cider, while Masters had a cup of steaming wassail. He knew the couple attending the table, and said, "Look here, Darnley, Miss Marvel has several valuable purchases here and I'm having a hard time carrying them properly. Would you have a bag or something back there we could use?"
    After much discussion, it was decided that Marvel's treasures could be made into a parcel with a big square of brown paper, and they went to sit on the benches and arrange everything properly. Then Marvel decided that the gingerbread man might get crushed, and she wanted to carry it. But Master's gallantry was such that he went and snagged a piece of muslin from the Christmas pudding lady, wrapped it up, and stuck it in his pocket. They all sat down on the now-empty benches to finish their drinks.
    "You're a very resourceful man, Mr. Masters," Jeanne said lightly.
    "Nothing is too much trouble to make beautiful ladies happy," he said. "Now, I see that you've finished your cider. Would you like more, or perhaps something else? The Courtier is staying open until midnight. It would give me very great pleasure if you would join me for a late supper."
    Jeanne looked at him incredulously. The Courtier was a lavish, very expensive restaurant on Court Square. Did he really think that she and Marvel would dare go into that restaurant, dressed as they were? It was all very well for him. He was wearing the usual outfit for wealthy men, a fine worsted topcoat, black frock coat and satin vest, and a top hat. She and Marvel looked like his scullery maids. What was he thinking?
    Then she saw Marvel yawn hugely and blink heavily as she stared down into her silver cup of cider. "I appreciate your offer, Mr. Masters, but as you can see my daughter is practically asleep already. It's very late, it's time we went home."
    He looked disappointed, but he merely bowed slightly and said, "Then please wait right here, Mrs. Bettencourt. I'll go get the carriage, and I'll be back very shortly."
    She watched him walk toward Court Street, with his confident slow stride and straight back and shoulders. What was all this about? In other men she had met at the Gayoso, she would have been very suspicious, thinking that they were just trying to seduce her. But she had never gotten that uncomfortable feeling from George Masters. The only thing she had ever observed in passing about him was that he seemed a little too kind and solicitous to what was, after all, merely a servant. Perhaps that was it; he was just a kind man who was charitable at Christmastime.
    Beside her, Marvel finally surrendered and fell against Jeanne's shoulder, sound asleep. Jeanne took the empty cup out of her limp hand and put her arms around her. In minutes George Masters returned, smiling a little as he saw them. "The carriage is just over there. May I carry her?"
    "No, no, thank you," Jeanne said hastily. "I'm accustomed to it." She stood up and pulled Marvel up with her, as lightly as if she were a rag doll. Marvel never woke up.
    A barouche box was waiting for them, with a driver in a gray top hat and