The Sleeping Partner Read Online Free PDF Page B

her, and then? If she doesn’t have the sense to find a protector among his friends as I did, she might decide to starve. Most do not, though. When she is hungry enough to overcome her scruples she’ll find herself in a brothel somewhere. In the city, most likely. Your country brothels are generally not refined enough for a well-bred girl.”
    Miss Tolerance had hoped that Mrs. Brereton would disclose a name or place likely to attract a Fallen Woman only starting out in her career. “It must be a rude awakening for a gently bred girl. Mrs. Wallace at the Bell Savage suggested that I try Mrs. Rillington’s reformatory in Chelsea.”
    “You might. Although I’d wager that most of the females to be found there have been at the life long enough to despair of doing better. What girl of spirit would subject herself to sackcloth-and-ashes and gruel for dinner, else?”
    One who did not care to be handed from man to man, Miss Tolerance thought. “So I should not expect to find her at a reformatory until she has had more opportunity to be miserable?”
    “Use some sense, Sarah,” Mrs. Brereton was brisk. “If the girl has not run off with some mawkish boy and been married over the anvil, and not too much time has passed since the elopement, ‘tis likely she’s still with her protector and they are lying abed, trying to avoid just such a search as you are making.”
    Miss Tolerance did not care for the image her aunt’s words evoked. Still, “‘Tis what I fear myself, aunt. But I must find her and offer her the chance to be helped.”
    “If that is what you have been hired for—” What Mrs. Brereton might have said next was lost when Cole appeared at the door.
    “Mr. Tickenor to see you, ma’am.”
    Mrs. Brereton rose with an uncharacteristic flutter. “My dear Gerard! What a pleasant surprise.”
    Miss Tolerance rose to be introduced to the man who had entered upon Cole’s heels. He was a little taller than Mrs. Brereton, and perhaps a few years older than she; his hair was silver, but his back was straight, his step was firm, and his eyes clear. In all, a very handsome gentleman of mature years. Miss Tolerance curtsied, but Tickenor was too busy kissing Mrs. Brereton’s hand to acknowledge her. Mrs. Brereton, for her part, blushed and bridled like a girl. Miss Tolerance, who rarely saw her aunt playing the part of the courtesan she still was, was discomforted.
    At last Mrs. Brereton looked up. “Gerard, this is my niece, Miss Tolerance. Mr. Gerard Tickenor, Sarah. You may have heard me speak of him.”
    Miss Tolerance curtsied again. “Indeed, ma’am.” After a moment she recalled that Mr. Tickenor had been one of Mrs. Brereton’s early lovers, and had advanced her a deal of money, since repaid, when she was establishing her business. “How do you do, sir?”
    “Oh, the better for seeing your aunt, young lady.” The man returned her bow, then returned his attention to Mrs. Brereton. Miss Tolerance had the sense that she was very much de trop. She looked at the clock with some relief.
    “I am delighted to have met you, sir. Will you pardon me, aunt? I have an engagement of my own.” Miss Tolerance kissed her aunt’s scented cheek and fled. She still had to dress for the theatre.
    Sir Walter Mandif, a magistrate from the Bow Street Offices and, more significantly, her friend, had lately made it his business to educate Miss Tolerance in the dramatic arts, particularly in the works of Shakespeare. Tonight she was bespoke for a performance of Twelfth Night at the New Covent Garden Theatre. A little before eight Miss Tolerance left her house and took a chair southeast to the theatre.
    The streets around Covent Garden were thick with carriages and wagons, tradesmen and farmers departing the market, society in evening dress arriving for the theatre, and the usual crowd of flower-sellers, streetwalkers and petty criminals come to work among the swells. Might her missing girl already be known to someone in the