Queen of Diamonds Read Online Free PDF

as she was known in Manchester? Molly Godfrey, which was her true name? Furthermore, although Molly’s will clearly stated that all of her estate and property was bequeathed to her daughter, Queenie had no way of proving that she was, indeed, Molly’s child. Now she understood why she had found no baptismal records, no proof of her parentage.
    â€œThe money is not ours,” she said.
    Ize pulled his knife from the ground and wiped it on his trousers. “Then maybe I better have a share of that dowry Molly set aside for you. You think on it, missy. How you’d be nothing without my help.”
    Queenie was a nobody, she was not nothing. “That money is mine, to start a business. Our business, on the other hand, is finished. I will not speak your name, and hope you never speak mine again. Good day, Ize.”
    She went back to the Pettigrews.
    Valerie Pettigrew knew all about the old story, the sadness of the old earl’s passing and the tragedy of his young wife’s death, all made worse by the disappearance of their baby daughter. There were rewards posted all over town, Mrs. Pettigrew recalled, but the little girl was never returned. She knew the new tales about Captain Jack Endicott coming home from the war, setting up a gambling den to find young women of the appropriate age—and those who might know about his half-sister. He was hiring the prettiest ones, and treating them well, by all reports.
    â€œThe Red and the Black, he calls his club, because he won’t let any blondes deal or go with the men, in honor of little Charlotte,” the older woman said, wiping a tear from her eye.
    Queenie thought the tear might have been from the touching story of a brave young hero giving up his standing as a gentleman in society to go into a shady business, out of an oath sworn when he was a boy. On the other hand, Valerie Pettigrew might be weeping because, without her baron’s patronage, she could not visit the latest fashionable spot among the demi-mondaine.
    Queenie could. Leaving Hellen behind, to her friend’s disappointment, Queenie took a hackney coach into Mayfair. The driver knew the address readily enough, having taken many a hopeful woman to the club. He agreed to wait for her for an extra coin, trying to stare behind the veil she wore, dubious of her black mourning outfit. “You got to have red hair or raven, miss. And be ready to smile at the gentlemen,” he offered his polite and generous fare. “Good luck.”
    Queenie did not have good luck. She was last on line, it seemed, to speak to the man in charge of interviews. She did, however, get a good look at a portrait of the missing child’s mother, a woman who looked enough like herself to make Queenie wish for the impossible. How sweet and ladylike, how perfect in her pearls, with a lovely house behind her. How Queenie could picture herself there, a cherished daughter. How foolish!
    She lowered her veil and studied the other women who were waiting to be called to the desk at the front of the long, narrow receiving room. Most had either red or black hair as the driver had warned, dressed in flamboyant, low-cut style, defining their attributes and their ambitions. A few blondes, artificially yellow or otherwise, were there seeking a different position than hostess in the gambling casino. One woman, dressed in somber clothes, even had a child with her. Queenie could not imagine what that female was seeking here, but the woman was kind enough to speak to her before taking her turn at the front of the room.
    â€œYou need to know that your brothers are Alex and Jack. They’ll ask about your pony’s name and your doll’s,” she whispered, leaving the sleeping child on the bench when she walked toward the desk.
    Queenie had heard from Mrs. Pettigrew about Alex, or Ace, as he was nicknamed, the current Earl of Carde, and Captain Jack Endicott, of course, the proprietor of the club. Neither name