The high-waisted gown would do nothing for her figure but she bet women with big hips and butts loved them. She smiled. Gowns like these would make life very interesting for a lover, like unwrapping a surprise package. There had been a military uniform in the man’s dressing room. If all guys wore breeches that form-fitting, then their bodies were much less of a mystery.
She stopped in front of a vanity, the top outlined with a Plexiglas cover, filled with the familiar combs and brushes, though these were silver-backed and monogrammed. A pile of coins spilled from the tiniest of purses. A „reticule,“ the posted sign called it.
„Hey, Jim, look at this.“
He was halfway out the door but came back to her side.
„The sign says coinage has changed since 1810, but surely that shiny gold one with the dent in it is way different from the usual even in those days.“
„Who knows. The money here is still a mystery to me. I hand over a pound coin and the only thing I know is that it’s way more than a dollar.“
The girl leaned closer. „It’s weird. It has writing on it, but it’s definitely not in any language I know. Is there a do-cent on this floor?“
She looked up to find that Jim was gone. But she was not alone. A man sat in a chair tucked behind the door. Dressed in something like a naval uniform, he stood up and bowed to her, his face all smiles.
„You wish to know something of the coin, miss? The writing is Arabic. The East India Company minted the coins to be used in India. This particular one never made it that far. It’s one of the few that was saved when the ship sank in the Bay of Biscay barely a week after leaving port.“ He stood up. „Would you like to hold it?“
„Yes, please.“ She turned back to the vanity, surprised to see that the Plexiglas was gone. How did they do that?
The man picked up the coin and handed it to her. Just as she bent to look at it, Jim leaned in the doorway. „Hey, let’s go. I’m starved and I want to catch that soccer match.“
„Come look at this, Jim.“
He shook his head, impatient to be gone. „I’ll meet you at Earl’s Place.“
She nodded and let him go. Walking over to the window, she inspected the coin, tested its weight and wondered what could have happened that dented it so. She turned back to the docent.
„I wish I could have known what life was like then.“
„Ach, miss,“ the man scolded, „don’t waste a wish on that. Have a seat. I can tell you all you want to know.“
One
London, England March 1817
„Here, Papa, take this. I do not want you to be sad anymore.“ Poppy held out the bright gold coin as she came into his study.
David Lindsay looked up from the bills that littered his desk. The child was only nine years old and already trying to rule the world.
„Poppy,“ he said, trying for kindness rather than exasperation, „you know I am not your father. I thought we agreed that you would call me ‘uncle.’“
„ ‘Uncle’ is what I called Mama’s friends,“ Poppy said, coming closer to his desk. „I know you are not my true papa. You are Major David Lindsay of the 28th Regiment of Foot. You fought Napoleon and beat him. But the war is over and you are the one who takes care of me and Billy. That makes you my papa.“
Her papa and not her uncle. Now he understood the difference. How many men had she called uncle? The answer to that question would tell even strangers all they needed to know about her mother. If only he could afford a decent nanny for her; but Billy needed a wet nurse far more than Poppy needed to learn what to say and what to keep to herself. He wanted any number of things for them, some a deal more urgent than a teacher for this sweedieart of a child.
He pushed his chair away from the desk and gave her the only thing he had to give. His smile drew a grin from her. She came closer and, with a nod of permission, climbed into his lap. She tried to put the coin in his hand.
„No, Poppy. I appreciate your generosity but you must keep it. For an emergency.“
She made a small sound of acceptance, wrapped her fingers tightly around the coin and leaned against his chest. „Tell me a story, Papa.“
„You tell me one, Poppy.“
„All right,“ she said, biting her lip, the way she did when she was thinking hard. Storytelling came as naturally to her as smiling.
„Once upon a time there was a little girl who lived in“ – she paused – „in a little village. Her mother had lots of parties and the little girl was always sent to bed before the guests came and told to pray before she went to sleep. It was hard to pray when there was a party, but she closed her eyes tight“ – Poppy leaned away and demonstrated how that was done – „and prayed for a brother.“ Opening her eyes, she added, „Not for a papa. She never prayed for a papa.“
Lindsay knew he was not her father. He had spent the year of her conception as part of the expedition to Copenhagen and the rest of 1807 in a convent recovering from a leg wound. Until last year he had not been in England for ten years. He was not Poppy’s father, but it was possible that her brother, Billy, was his son.
„God sent a brother, but then he took her mother to heaven and she knew better than to pray for anything ever again.“
The little girl paused and leaned against him with a deep sigh that brought tears to his eyes. They were quiet a while, the only sound the drip of rainwater from the gutter.
Poppy had not prayed for him to care for her. It was her mother who had made that arrangement. It had not been that odd a friendship. Lindsay could see now that they had a lot in common, the war-weary soldier and the fading courtesan, both tired of the work they were growing too old for and not at all sure that there was another choice. They had consoled each other in the only way they could.
There had, after all, been a price to pay for the sex she gave him for free. He would never forget the last time he had seen her. It had been months since her bed had been used for anything but sleep. Death was close, the room cold with it. He could still hear her asking him, begging in a hoarse whisper, to be the guardian of her children.
Of course he had taken them in, praying that their lives would be better with him than they would be in an orphanage.
„Since prayer did not work the way the little girl wanted,“ Poppy continued, „she decided she would make a wish instead. For you see, Papa, she had a magic coin. A coin that one of her mother’s friends had given her. He’d told her to make one wish and then to pass it on.“
Poppy leaned back to look at him and handed him the coin. „I want to give you the magic coin, Papa.“ She held it out to him, again. Her stubborn gaze was a command.
„Was your wish granted?“ Lindsay asked as he took the coin, not looking at it, but God help him, wondering if it was worth enough to pay for something other than the butcher’s leftovers.
„But yes, of course my wish was granted. I wished for a papa. Now close your eyes and think your wish. You will know it is the right one when the coin turns warm.“
So much trust, so easily given. The least he could do was play her game. Lindsay closed his eyes as ordered. A way out of this hell.
But wait; if he was the answer to her wish for family, then he had best be careful with the phrasing. He thought a moment. I wish for the profitable sale of my commission.
„Keep trying, Papa. When it is the right wish, you will know.“
„Very well.“ What kind of magic coin was this if you had to make the „right“ wish? With his eyes closed tight, Lindsay wished again for the prompt sale of his commission and that it would provide enough money to invest and live on.