8 August 1959

This was not how Jean had intended to start her day. She'd passed a long and restless night, tossing and turning, her thoughts a whirl of questions, about Lucien, about Major Alderton, about what he wanted and why he'd chosen to use Jean in his games. Lucien had seemed almost terrified of the man - what's he done to you? Did he hurt you? - and that left Jean terribly worried, for any man who could frighten Lucien Blake was a man she did not want to know. It seemed she had been right to trust her instincts where Alderton was concerned, right to turn him down and send him away, but she did not know where his plot might end, did not know what would become of her, if she did not disentangle herself from Lucien as soon as possible. She had known, for weeks now, that she had no other choice, and Major Alderton's casual threats only served to remind her of the potential unpleasantness, should she continue on in this way with Lucien, no matter how badly she might wish things were different. There was so much she did not know about him, and she worried about what she might find, should these secrets continue to come to light.

And now this; Jean had risen early, far earlier than any of the girls, and slipped into her favorite faded robe, made her way downstairs intent on starting the kettle and fixing herself a bite to eat. Maureen was in the habit of waking early, too - in fact she was the only girl who ever showed her face downstairs before 10:00 a.m. - and Jean had been thinking perhaps they might enjoy breakfast together, the way they often did, and she'd been comforted by that thought. Yet no such domesticity was in the offing, for she'd heard a knock upon the door, and, troubled, gone to answer it, opened it to find Lucien scuffling with a soldier on her doorstep. Of all the reckless, thoughtless things he could have done - what if someone sees? she'd thought; oh, what if word of this gets around, Lucien brawling with some strange man in front of the pub? He was meant to be protecting her, and perhaps he thought he was, but the soldier had posed no threat, and Jean could only hope that none of her neighbors had been awake to witness his display.

"It has to be from Alderton," Lucien said as she led him back towards the kitchen. She shot him a dark look; of course the letter was from Major Alderton. There was no one else who would send a soldier, in uniform, to deliver a letter to her so early in the day. It was not Lucien's words that troubled her, however; it was the vacant, thoughtful look in his eye, the way he seemed consumed with thoughts of the letter, and offered no apologies for bringing such trouble to her door. The man did love his riddles, she knew; they'd talked about his cases often enough for her to see how he could be blinded to most anything else, when he was caught up in a mystery.

If he noted her expression he did not remark on it, and so she steered him towards the corner of the kitchen, to the two tall stools that flanked the edge of the worktop nearest the kettle.

"Sit," she said, gesturing towards the stools, and Lucien did as he was bid, his expression clearing somewhat as his gaze traveled over her. It was only then that Jean remembered she was wearing her pink robe over her nightclothes, and if she hadn't been so anxious she might have blushed. An entire drawer of her bureau was given over to a collection of racy lingerie, all silk and satin and lace, black and white and red, designed to be seen and promptly removed. But those things, like her short black robe, were reserved for customers, and had not seen much use over the last decade or so. At the moment she wore a long pink nightgown under her robe, soft and faded from time, and the hem of her robe was fraying, just a little, the fabric heavy, and warm, and soft, and not at all enticing. Men - especially men who'd paid her - weren't meant to see her like this; they paid for entertainment, for a dream, for a fantasy, not a woman fast approaching fifty, with wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, her lips too pale without her makeup, covered from neck to ankle and utterly without allure. Lucien didn't seem to mind the view afforded to him now - seemed to be enjoying it, in fact, if his soft smile was anything to go by - but Jean felt...vulnerable, somehow, as if him seeing her this way was more intimate than him seeing her naked. Perhaps it was.

"We should read the letter, Jean," he said then, and though his words were gentle there was a tone of urgency there Jean liked no one bit.

"Tea first," she answered, not daring to look at him. "The words won't change if we read them now or five minutes from now, and I don't intend to read that letter without a cup of tea."

She would have liked to put it off until she had a bite of toast, as well, but she knew Lucien might well explode from curiosity if she forced him to wait that long. Wisely Lucien chose not to protest, merely sat with his hands on his knees and watched her as she drew down two mugs, and the sugar bowl, faffed about with the tea and tried to gather her thoughts.

Why should Major Alderton send her a letter? She wondered. He had said he would come back in person, and she could not imagine what more he might have to say to her that had not been said already. What if Lucien was right, she wondered, what if someone had been watching them, the night before, what if Major Alderton already knew that she had confessed all to Lucien, and meant to punish her for disobeying him? The thought filled her with a terrible dread, and slowed her movements as she poured the tea. She had known, from the very first, that Lucien Blake was trouble, but she never could have predicted anything like this.

At last she could linger no longer; with a sigh she handed Lucien his cup, took up her own and settled on the stool beside him. For a moment he watched her, his eyes bright and curious, but Jean paid him no mind, only crossed her legs demurely at the ankle, tugged her robe a little tighter around herself and took a long sip of tea. There's no point in waiting, she told herself. It's written already. What's done is done.

"Jean-"

"All right, Lucien," she cut him off. Gingerly she placed her teacup down on the worktop, and then pulled the letter from the pocket of her robe where she'd placed it for safekeeping. The envelope read Mrs. J. Beazley in a great scrawling hand, but contained no address, no clue to the identity of its sender. Jean tore it open, and then pulled from inside a single, handwritten page, scratched out in the same untidy hand.

Mrs. Beazley, it began, I much enjoyed our conversation, and I hope that after due consideration you find yourself more amenable to my offer. I would remind you again that the sum we discussed would be more than sufficient to set you up in a new life elsewhere, and I think you might find me pleasant company, for an evening.

How could it be, she wondered, that he could begin this letter so charmingly, as if nothing were amiss, as if he had not threatened her son beneath this very roof a bare twelve hours before?

I regret to inform you, however, that I have been called away on business. The army has need of me, and I must serve my mistress faithfully, whatever she might ask of me. Do not think, however, that I have thrown over one mistress for another; my offer still stands, and I have every intention of returning so that you might accept. I have a very long memory, Mrs. Beazley, and the reach of my arm is vast. Who knows; this business of mine might even take me to Adelaide, and should I find myself there I can promise you that I will check in on Christopher and Ruby and dear little Amelia, and see for myself that they are well. Please do not worry for them; I will look after them.

Jean began to tremble, as she read those words, but the letter was not yet finished, and so she forced herself to read on while Lucien watched her in a tense, rapt sort of silence.

I did ask you, Mrs. Beazley, not to mention my offer to anyone. You strike me as a clever lady, and surely you know that I have many friends, in all sorts of interesting places, and they tell me all sorts of interesting things. So long as this matter stays between us, you have no need to fret, but should word begin to get around I might have to take steps to protect my reputation, and the investment I have made in you.

Be well, Jean. I look forward to our next meeting with much anticipation.

Yours,

Derek Alderton

Wordlessly Jean handed the letter over, and Lucien took it from her eagerly, his eyes darting across the page as he devoured the contents of the letter. With a trembling hand she reached for her teacup, took a long sip and tried to calm her racing heart. The threat of Major Alderton's return to the pub had been put off, then, but this news brought her no comfort. When she'd believed him to be close by, believed that Lucien could seek him out directly and draw their little battle of wills to a close quickly, she had thought herself nearly free from danger. Now, however, she did not know where he had gone, or when he would return, did not know if Lucien would be able to intercept him before he came marching through her door once more intent on collecting on his offer. There was no guarantee that Lucien would be there to protect her - and her home, and her girls, and her son and his family - whenever Derek Alderton resurfaced. Worry gnawed at her heart, left her anxious and out of sorts.

"Well," Lucien said as he finished reading the letter, "that was unexpected. Would you mind if I hold on to this?"

"You can do what you like," she said, a bit more sharply than she'd intended, and Lucien frowned as he tucked the letter into his pocket.

"This will be a blessing, Jean, you'll see," he told her earnestly. She couldn't have disagreed more, but he was not finished, and so she held her tongue for the moment. "This gives us time to come up with a plan. I still have some contacts in the army, I can make some discreet inquiries. We can warn Matthew Lawson, maybe he could -"

"Maybe he could what, Lucien?" she asked, exasperated, all thoughts of letting him speak his piece forgotten already. "Put a policeman in my pub every night? I'm sure that would be a great comfort to my girls, not to mention the customers."

Lucien's face fell; no doubt his words had run away with him, the way they so often did. No doubt he had not quite thought things through. Such eagerness in him was usually somewhat endearing, his enthusiasm often contagious, but just now it only left Jean feeling tired. Could he not see that she would be safer without him, that he was the reason she was in this mess in the first place, and further meddling from him only increased the threat against her?

"I will keep you safe," he told her earnestly. "I promise you, I won't let -"

"Mrs. Beazley, is there anything for breakfast?"

As one they turned and stared as Maureen came shuffling into the kitchen. She was yawning, running her fingers through her riot of auburn curls, half-dressed in a black negligee with a silk wrap flung over her shoulders. As her yawn faded, however, she caught sight of Lucien and stopped in the middle of the room, pulling her wrap together over her breasts and eyeing him warily.

"I was just about to make some eggs and toast," Jean said, hating how Lucien's presence had made both she and Maureen uncomfortable in their own home. The kitchen at breakfast time was no place for a customer; he shouldn't have been there, shouldn't have been allowed to intrude on the ladies' private time, and yet he sat there just the same, broad and hulking and conspicuous on his stool.

"Right," Maureen said, her gaze flickering from Jean to Lucien and back again. "I'll go get changed and come back in a few minutes, then."

"Lovely," Jean said, and just like that Maureen was fleeing from the kitchen, and Jean was rising from her own stool, set on making breakfast just as she'd said.

"Perhaps it's best if I don't stay," Lucien said slowly.

"Perhaps not." Jean didn't want him to go, not really. There was so much left for them to discuss, so many questions yet to be answered, so many plans yet to be made. He had promised to tell her everything, about Derek Alderton and why he'd come to this place, but she knew no more about the man now than she had done the night before. The thought of his departure didn't sit well with her, not with so much unsaid between them.

"We do need to talk," he told her softly, rising from his seat and coming to stand beside her. No doubt remembering their previous conversation on the subject he kept his hands to himself, but he stood very close to her, and her eyes fluttered closed at his proximity, something very like self-loathing filling her, for she knew she ought to cut herself off from him entirely, and yet she longed for him so deeply it took every ounce of self-restraint she possessed to keep her from falling into his arms. "But not here," he continued. "There are too many people about, and we can't risk being overheard."

"Where, then?" she asked him. "This place is my home, Lucien, but it's my livelihood, too. There's nowhere else-"

"Come to my house," he said at once. "We know we won't be overheard, and if we're careful no one will see you."

Jean turned to stare at him, caught on the back foot by his impulsive request. She did not ever make - had not ever made - house calls. It simply wasn't done. The girls weren't safe away from the pub, away from Jean's watchful eye and whichever lad she'd paid to guard the door, and once a man had a girl in his house he tended to want to keep her there, to use her however he saw fit, without concern for courtesy. The pub was safe, controlled; a customer's home was not.

"Lucien-"

"I'll pay, Jean. Come to me on Friday. Stay with me, the whole weekend. We can...we can talk, about everything. I'll answer all your questions, I promise."

A whole weekend with Lucien. Two whole nights spent in his home, sleeping in his bed, eating with him, waking beside him, giving no thought to the clock, or what anyone else might see. If he'd offered her such a thing the week before she would have leapt at the chance, but now she found herself hesitating. They were too closely bound already; he had called her my darling, was watching her with hopeful eyes, now. How much harder would be it to put an end to their connection after knowing the comfort of his home, his bed, for herself? But he had a point, as regarded their safety; the pub was full of ears, at every hour of the day. There was always someone about, and there was no way to know who might walk through the door. And she wanted him; oh, how she wanted him.

"All right," she said slowly, and watched his shoulders sag in relief.

"How much?" he asked. "For two nights?"

"One hundred pounds," she answered. It wasn't about the money; it never had been. She would have asked for nothing at all, but he'd offered, and in the offering reminded her that without the money this thing between them would become so much more than business. She needed the payment, to remind her of the rules between them; the amount was beside the point.

"Done, then," he said. "I'll send word to you before then. I won't risk being seen here. But I will keep you safe, Jean."

And then he leaned in, and brushed his lips against her cheek. "I'm sorry," he breathed, lingering there, close to her, his beard soft against her cheek.

"I know," she answered, her voice as soft as his own had been. She did know; he had not ever willingly hurt her, but knowing that did not banish the grief from her heart.

For a moment they breathed together, still and silent, but then Lucien seemed to remember himself, and he turned away from her. Jean let him, focused her attention on breakfast, and refused to watch as he walked out the door.