Chapter 17

“Can’t thank you enough, Reginald, for insisting on accompanying Poppy and me as we search for that peddler,” Murray said from the far side of the sleigh, staunchly ignoring the frown Poppy, who was squished in between Reginald and Murray, was sending him.

“You say that as if you’re worried our search for that peddler is going to turn into another bout of mayhem,” Poppy returned.

“I’m not worried . . . more along the lines of resigned,” Murray muttered before he leaned forward and nodded to Reginald, who’d not only insisted on accompanying them but had also insisted on taking the reins.

In all honesty, Poppy was rather relieved Reginald was with them as well because there was a possibility, however slight, that looking for the peddler could result in another instance of mayhem. Reginald was a gentleman who’d proven himself capable of rescuing her time and time again. And even though she still found him annoying, somewhat arrogant, and . . .

“We’re simply fortunate Edith stepped in and offered to drive the sleigh I’d been using today,” Reginald said, drawing Poppy’s attention. “Although I’m afraid Adele wasn’t pleased with Edith’s offer.”

Murray grinned. “Adele apparently wasn’t finished telling you about some quadrille, but I have to say that I don’t believe Giles was pleased when Miss Cynthia Roche refused to give up her seat beside him and ride with Charles, although . . . now that I think about that, it was a peculiar tactic on Cynthia’s part if she’s trying to win Lord Lonsdale’s affections.”

Reginald grinned. “She must realize Giles has a lot of sway with Charles, although I do think Adele’s tender sensibilities regarding me abandoning her have probably been soothed since Charles is very good at peacemaking when he puts his mind to it. I imagine she’s even now telling him all about that quadrille she’d been prattling on about, but . . .” His grin faded as he caught Poppy’s eye. “Speaking of quadrilles, you don’t happen to be familiar with the Dresden China Quadrille, do you?”

“Have I given you any reason to believe I’m familiar with any quadrilles?”

Reginald rubbed a hand over his face. “You did manage to get through the Gypsy Quadrille.”

“Only because Murray practically dragged me through the steps, but . . .” She frowned. “Since when have you taken to growing a beard?”

“He’s been growing it for a few days now,” Murray answered before Reginald could. “How did you not notice that, what with how he’s got hair all over his face?” Murray leaned forward. “I must say I’m impressed with how quickly you’re able to grow a beard, Reginald. Frankly, I’ve been wondering if I should follow suit and do the same. Maisie might . . . ah, like it.”

Poppy grinned. “Maisie seems to like your face just as it is.”

“You really think so?”

“Would I have told you that if I didn’t?”

Looking remarkably pleased, Murray nodded toward Reginald. “What do you think of Reginald’s beard?”

“I think if I remark on it, I’ll suffer a lecture from Reginald regarding how inappropriate it is to make such personal observations when in mixed company, so it’s probably for the best if I keep my opinions about his beard to myself.”

“Nicely done,” Reginald said with a grin before he suddenly sobered. “But beards aside, I did raise the question of the quadrille for a reason.”

“Am I going to like what you’re about to say next?”

“Probably not.” With that, Reginald explained everything Adele had told him, giving Poppy’s hand a pat every now and again. “But if it makes you feel any better,” he finished, “Adele did say that the Dresden is more about the costumes than it is the steps.”

“And you’ll look exquisite dressed all in white,” Murray added.

“How, ah, reassuring,” Poppy managed to get out. “May I dare hope, though, that the steps aren’t that difficult and that I should be able to learn them in a day or two?”

Murray winced. “Afraid not. The steps are intricate and need to be exactly coordinated with all the other dancers.”

Her shoulders slumped. “Then I suppose I’m doomed for failure.”

“Of course you’re not,” Murray argued. “I know the steps, and I’ll teach you until you know them by heart, even if we have to work night and day to achieve that.”

“And I’ll lend a hand in whatever way is needed as well,” Reginald promised.

Even though the thought of being asked to perform in another quadrille left her distinctly queasy, Poppy also felt a wonderful warmth begin to swirl through her. That the two gentlemen sitting on either side of her were willing to go above and beyond to make certain she was prepared for what was really only a silly dance was lovely in the extreme. And that Reginald would be assisting Murray in what sounded like hours and hours of work, well, it was . . .

“There’s someone in the street up ahead,” Reginald said. “Do you think that’s your peddler?”

Poppy leaned forward, peering down a street that was almost completely devoid of other carriages and sleighs, spotting a hunched figure limping down the very center of the road.

“Hard to say if that’s her, but if it is, it looks like she’s been injured.”

“I’ll get us closer,” Reginald said, urging the horse forward and drawing up beside the person a moment later.

Leaning around Reginald as he brought the horse to a stop, Poppy was shocked to discover that the person beside the sleigh, while certainly being the peddler who’d been robbed, was not a woman at all, but a young girl of no more than ten. She was bundled up in a threadbare coat and had a scarf wrapped around her head, although it was not large enough to cover her face. Lashes covered in snow blinked up at them, but before Poppy could get a single inquiry past her lips, the girl let out a shriek, spun around, and dashed straightaway.

“Poppy really is incredibly fast for a lady,” Murray said after Poppy flung herself from the sleigh and took off after the fleeing girl. “She’s remarkably agile as well and didn’t even stumble when she hit the ground, and that was after she scrambled over you.”

Rubbing a hand over a stomach that had suffered an elbow from Poppy as she’d done her scrambling, Reginald scooped up the reins he’d dropped and handed them to Murray. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

“Where would I go?” Murray asked as Reginald hopped from the sleigh and took off after Poppy, who was now only a blurry figure in the distance.

Increasing his pace, which only succeeded in having him slip to the ground, Reginald pushed himself out of the snow, wondering for what felt like the millionth time how his life had turned so interesting of late.

Brushing snow from his jacket, he started forward again, stopping when he saw Poppy marching his way, holding the arm of the peddler who seemed to be trying her hardest to shake free.

“Stop fighting me,” he heard Poppy say.

“I’m a good girl, I am, and I don’t want you to take me to that flesh peddler over there.”

Poppy stopped in her tracks. “Good heavens, child. I’m not taking you to a flesh peddler.”

The girl pointed a finger Reginald’s way. “He looks like a flesh peddler to me, and lookie at that poor lad behind him. He’s taken a beatin’ for sure, probably since he don’t want to go with the flesh peddler either.”

“Those two gentlemen are only looking in such a sorry state because they helped me with a band of thieves I ran into a few days ago, something I was trying to help you with earlier.”

“That was you?”

Poppy nodded. “It was, but I’m afraid to say that—”

“You didn’t hurt the boys, did you?” the girl interrupted.

Poppy frowned. “Were those boys not robbing you?”

“’Course they was tryin’ to rob me, but that’s just because they didn’t recognize me at first.” The girl shook her head. “They’re boys from my neighborhood, and my mama will be boxin’ their ears once she hears what happened.” She pushed aside hair that was blowing into her eyes, revealing a wind-chapped face and delicate features. “They didn’t mean me no harm. They was just desperate cuz there ain’t no swells ambling around the park or in the streets today, what with all the snow.”

Poppy’s brows drew together. “They’re pickpockets?”

“Sure, but they usually only steal from the rich, so it’s not like they’re hurtin’ anyone. They gotta eat, don’t they?”

“I imagine they do,” Poppy said as her gaze sharpened on the girl. “Do you pick pockets as well?”

“Mama would take a belt to me for sure if I took to pickin’ pockets,” the girl said. “’Sides, Reverend Lewis—he runs the House of Industry that helped Mama find work—believes God don’t like us to steal. He’s always sayin’ that we need to stay on the right path, no matter how tough life gets, and I decided to do just that.” Her slim shoulders sagged. “Me, Mama, and one of my sisters take in piecemeal work, makin’ fancy lady things. I save up the scraps and turn them into flowers. I thought I’d be able to sell some of those today, what with the flower vendors stayin’ inside, but I didn’t sell a single one.”

“We’ll buy all your flowers,” Poppy said firmly. “But first we need to get you home. You must be freezing.”

The girl shook her head. “I live down on the Lower East Side. That’s too far for you to take me.”

“We’re giving you a ride whether you want one or not,” Poppy countered.

“I can catch a ride on the back of a delivery wagon. It’s how I got here.”

“Do you see any delivery wagons still on the street?”

The girl looked around. “No.”

“Then it’s settled. We’ll take you home, and I’ll hear no more arguing from you.”

Poppy marched the young girl to the sleigh and helped her into the back seat. After getting her settled, she pulled a blanket from underneath the seat and nodded to Reginald as he climbed up beside Murray. “Do you know how to get to the Lower East Side?”

“I’m from England, so no.” He nodded to Murray. “You?”

“I have an overly protective mother. Do you honestly believe she’d ever take me to that part of the city?”

Reginald turned his attention to the girl, now huddled under the blanket. “Do you know how to get back to your home?”

“’Course I do. Go down Sixth Avenue, get on Broadway, then turn down a side street that will lead us to Mulberry Street. Mulberry Bend is not far from there.”

He turned back to Murray and arched a brow.

Murray shrugged. “I can get us to Broadway, but I have no idea where to find Mulberry Street.”

“I’ll tell you when we get close,” the girl said.

“I suppose that’ll have to do,” Reginald said, flicking the reins and setting Wilbur into motion.

As they traveled down a nearly deserted Sixth Avenue, Poppy chatted easily with the girl, discovering her name was Maria Romano. She lived with her father, mother, three sisters, and a baby brother, in tenant housing. Her papa had only recently returned to work, doing something with plumbing after he’d recovered from breaking a leg at another job some months before.

“That’s why we don’t have much money right now, and why we had to move from Fulton Street to Mulberry Bend.”

“Did you like Fulton Street better?” Poppy asked.

“It was much nicer. We had three rooms, a balcony, and only had to share the privy with two other families. Now we only have the one room and share the privy with ten families.”

“I never knew people had to share a privy with other families,” Murray said quietly, exchanging a look with Reginald as Maria continued talking with Poppy. “And how do you imagine seven people, if I’m counting correctly, manage to live in one room?”

Reginald, unfortunately, didn’t have an answer to that. His family owned numerous residences, including three grand country estates and a house in London that was equipped with every luxury. He’d always had his own room in all those homes and had never had to worry about waiting his turn to use a retiring room.

That Maria spoke so matter-of-factly about her life suggested she was accustomed to living in dire conditions and had accepted that there wasn’t anything she could do about them.

“How long have you lived in the city?” Poppy asked her.

“About seven years. We came on a boat from Sicily—me, Mama, Papa, and Isabella. My other three siblings was born here. That boat took us right to Castle Garden, where they took down our names, but they misspelled my mama’s name because she’s Catalida, not Catherine, which makes Mama so mad. Papa thought there’d be more opportunities here than in Sicily, but we have yet to see them.”

“And is this Castle Garden near where you live?”

“It is. That’s why so many immigrants live near Five Points. You don’t have to travel far and rooms are cheap. Plus, they got places that teach English, but Mama don’t speak much English. I’ve been helpin’ her since I stopped goin’ to school.”

“You don’t go to school?”

“Can’t very well make the money we need if I’m spendin’ hours at school. I’ll go back there someday, hopefully soon since Papa is back to work.”

Something that felt very much like guilt settled in the pit of Reginald’s stomach.

He’d been given the best of everything money could buy, including an education. That education had allowed him to pursue his love of investments, which had, in turn, allowed him to amass an impressive fortune. Not once, though, had he ever considered using that fortune to help better the lives of those less fortunate. How he was going to alleviate the guilt he now felt as a result was completely beyond him, but listening to the young girl sitting behind him was one of those moments he knew was going to impact his life forever.

It had been so easy to distance himself from the hardships of strangers, but now that he’d been made aware of those hardships, it would not be easy to enjoy all the frivolities life offered while children were forced to help support their families, even in the middle of what was turning into a storm for the ages.

“I think we should be getting close,” Murray said, leaning forward and peering through snow that was coming down in earnest. “We’re definitely moving into a less prosperous area.”

Looking around, Reginald found that to be nothing less than the truth. Gone were the fine stores and houses, replaced with ramshackle buildings that seemed to go on and on, some of those buildings sporting snow-covered balconies every ten feet or so, while many of the windows seemed to be covered with paper.

There were also more people moving about the sidewalks, some of them standing around fires that had been lit in large barrels. Young boys were darting in and out of the street, dodging snowballs other boys were throwing, their squeals of laughter at distinct odds with the squalor that surrounded them.

“My street is coming up,” Maria said, appearing directly by his shoulder. “But you can leave me off here. I’ll get in trouble if my mama sees me getting out of this fine sleigh.”

“Won’t she simply be thankful you were able to find a ride home from Central Park?” Murray asked.

“Not since I didn’t bother to tell her I was goin’ up that far to try and sell my flowers.”

Poppy appeared right next to Maria. “That reminds me, I told you I’d buy all your flowers from you. How many do you have?”

“About twenty, but you don’t need to buy them from me, Miss Poppy. You was kind enough to give me a ride. I’ll just go back out tomorrow.” Maria smiled. “I’m tryin’ to earn some extra money so we can have a proper Christmas. We’ve not had money to buy presents this year, and it’s not a proper Christmas if you don’t got a few presents, or at least a nice meal.”

Reginald pulled the sleigh to a stop and reached for his billfold, right as Murray did the same. Pulling out all the bills he had on him, which were quite a few since society mothers kept handing him what they called “bonus money”—although that money was more likely bribes, given in the hopes he’d convince Charles their daughters were worthy of being a countess—he pressed them into Maria’s cold hands, shaking his head when she tried to give the money back to him.

“You keep that. Buy some presents and perhaps a ham for your Christmas dinner.”

“This is a lot of money,” Maria whispered.

Ignoring Poppy, who was watching him with something warm lingering in her eyes, he forced a smile. “I want you to have it, and I won’t take it back from you, so put it inside a pocket, then give it to your mama once you get inside. It’s my Christmas present to you, and before you argue with that, remember this—Christmas is supposed to be more about giving than receiving, something I might not have really understood until just now.”

Murray handed Maria some money as well. “Too right you are, Reginald, and I want you, Maria, to give this to your papa. Tell him it’s to help all of you get into a place where you don’t have to share a privy with ten other families.”

“It’s too much,” Maria protested.

Murray waved that aside. “I have plenty of money, Maria, but you’ve just had me realizing that I’ve never appreciated that before, nor have I ever done anything worthwhile with the money I have. You’ll be allowing me to feel useful for once if you simply accept my gift. Your Christmas present to me.”

Maria looked to Reginald. “And do you have plenty of money as well?”

“I have enough to get by,” he settled on saying, which seemed to satisfy her since she tucked all the money into a pocket and nodded. “Thank you.” She handed the bag she’d been clutching out to Poppy. “Here’s the flowers.”

Reginald wasn’t surprised when Poppy shook her head. “Why don’t you keep those, sell them tomorrow if the weather turns nicer.” She unbuttoned her jacket, and then, to his surprise, she unbuttoned the high neckline of her gown, reached underneath the fabric, pulled out bills from her bodice, handed them to Maria, then calmly buttoned back up again, as if it was a usual occurrence for a lady to pull bills from the neckline of her gown in the first place.

“Wasn’t taking any chances after my reticule got snatched the other day” was all she said when he arched a brow at her before she turned back to Maria. “And now, how about we get you home? I’ll walk with you to make certain you’re not set upon again by those neighbor lads.”

Maria shook her head. “I’ll be fine. I walk these streets all the time by myself. You’re dressed too nicely for this neighborhood and will draw attention.”

“I’m not allowing you to walk home by yourself,” Poppy said before she sent Reginald a telling look.

“I’d be delighted to walk you home,” he said to Maria, who looked horrified at the offer.

“No offense, but you look like you’ve seen more than your fair share of fights, and if you go roamin’ into this neighborhood lookin’ like that . . .” She shuddered. “You’ll be set upon before we make it a block.”

“Then I’ll walk her home,” Murray surprised him by saying.

Giving him a good once-over, Maria finally nodded. “I don’t think anyone will take issue with you.”

“How reassuring” was all Murray said before he climbed from the sleigh and held out his hand to Maria, which had her grinning as she took it. He then shook his head at Poppy, who was trying to hand her reticule to him—or more specifically, her pistol.

“Really, Poppy? I’ll be in more danger if I’m armed and besides”—he grinned—“you’ll hear me if I run into trouble. I’m very proficient with shrieking.” With that, Murray began walking with Maria through the snow, bending his head to hear whatever she’d begun saying to him.

“Do you think we should follow them?” Poppy asked.

“Murray would find that insulting, and since he’s just now beginning to come into his own, I say we let him do this with no help from us.”

“I suppose you’re right, but his mother will hunt both of us down if anything else happens to him,” Poppy muttered before she climbed onto the seat beside him and gestured around. “I never knew people lived like this.”

“I can’t say I did either.”

“She lives with six other people in one room.”

“Troubling indeed.”

“She told me some of those boys who tried to rob her don’t have parents.” Poppy began blinking rapidly, trying to stop the tears that were now swimming in her eyes from falling. “Surely there must be something that can be done about the situation down here.”

A sense of apprehension slid down his spine. “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking it’s appalling that I have so much when many others have so little. And I’m thinking I’ve just found that noble cause my grandmother suggested I find.”

While Reginald certainly found it commendable that Poppy wanted to throw herself into helping those less fortunate, he was fairly certain Viola was going to be less than thrilled. Poppy, he’d discovered, was not the type to stay on the sidelines, and he knew, without a doubt, she wouldn’t settle for donating money but would want to get into the thick of the matter . . . which would undoubtedly lead to mayhem.