Viscount Vagabond by Loretta Chase Page B

disposed of her portion, Jemmy’s round face grew thoughtful.
    Catherine waited until he was done before asking if he would direct her to the nearest pawnshop.
    “What for?” he demanded.
    “I need money,” she bluntly explained. “That seems to be the only way left to get some.”
    Unfortunately, Jemmy didn’t know nuffink about pawnshops, except perhaps those around Petticoat Lane, an area he was quick to explain was no place for green females. He volunteered instead to take his new acquaintance to Missus, who could answer her questions better than he could.
    Missus’s Aggerations must have dissipated somewhat, because when Jemmy returned to the shop he was clasped in a welcoming hug, then grasped by the shoulders and shaken affectionately as the plump modiste demanded to know what mischief he’d been up to, worrying her sick all this time. Only after she had done scolding the boy and telling him what a naughty little wretch he was did she take notice of the young woman in the dowdy grey frock who stood by the door.
    As Catherine stepped forward to introduce herself and make her enquiry regarding pawnshops, she was startled to hear Jemmy announce, “I told her as how Annie took a fever and you wanted a girl and she wants a job, and so I brung her.”

Chapter Seven
    Missus, it turned out, was Madame Germaine, a woman of strong sentiments and changeable mood. Though her temperament might be considered Gallic, her only claim to the nationality was her late husband’s name. Madame was no more French than Miss Pelliston—less, in fact, for the former’s ancestors had not entered England with the Conqueror.
    The modiste wanted but a moment to study Catherine’s pale, thin face before her susceptible heart softened. This was hardly surprising in a woman who had taken in a budding delinquent the instant she’d learned of his plight from a beadle’s wife.
    Still, Madame would never have achieved her current prosperity if she had not been an astute businesswoman. She discerned at once that the despised grey frock was extremely well cut, neatly sewn, and altogether modestly becoming in a respectable working woman. That she wanted desperately to see a respectable working woman may have urged the dressmaker to her speedy resolution. Whatever the cause, she led Catherine to her office, plied the young woman with tea and biscuits, and immediately embarked upon an interview to which Miss Pelliston, oddly enough, responded just as though she had been seeking a position.
    She too had made a speedy decision. There was nothing but misery for her at home. Aunt Deborah would never let her forget how she’d disgraced them all, and Papa would make certain his daughter lived to regret her rebellious act— if, that is, he didn’t drive her from the house with a horsewhip.
    On the other hand, here was an opportunity to begin a new life under a new identity. When her conscience insisted she deserved the punishment awaiting her at home, she answered that working was more productive penance than passive submission to endless reproaches and abuse. Providence, after all, “judgeth according to every man’s work,” she told herself as she accepted Madame’s offer.
    Catherine Pelliston—now Pennyman—would earn her own way in the world, enduring the hardships of her lot as other less privileged women did. She was thankful that she had done the rather dreary duties of the lady of the manor, taking supplies to ailing villagers and sewing endlessly for the needy. All those hours of sewing would provide her means of survival from now on.
    She wondered anew at the little boy who’d led her to this momentous decision. He’d apparently taken to her immediately, and he’d never heard of the Baron Pelliston. To Jemmy she was another waif like himself, in need of useful work and shelter.
    Shelter. Good heavens. Where would she live?
    “Madame Germaine,” she began hesitantly, “I wonder if, before I begin working, you might direct me to