His forearms were exposed, and she noticed that they were nicely tanned and covered with a sprinkling of dark hair. But it was his hands, strong and steady, that she admired. “You’re Irish?”
“I am,” she confirmed, wondering if that made a difference when his accent marked him as definite English.
He gestured to the basket in her arms. “And a washerwoman?”
“Yes.”
He nodded, but said no more, just continued to study her. Abruptly, he asked, “How old are you?”
She lifted her chin slightly. “I’m four and twenty.”
His brows flew upward at this. “I would have guessed much younger.” He rubbed a finger across his bottom lip in apparent contemplation. It was rather distracting. “Very well, do you have any qualifications?”
“My father was a cobbler in Ireland. I used to assist him.”
“Is he with you in London?”
“No.” Pleasant had to swallow over the tight lump that had suddenly formed in her throat. “He passed away about a year ago. My mother and siblings moved to England after we…lost our home.” She hated to admit that part, that because she was a woman she’d been overlooked on her merits in taking over her father’s trade, thus resulting in a lack of work and the inability to pay their rent.
“What does your mother do?”
Pleasant was glad for something else to focus her mind on. “She’s a seamstress, and she helps me with the wash, but she’s ill, so she’s restricted by what she can do.”
“I see,” he murmured. “And your siblings?”
“Niall is thirteen, Connor is eleven, and Fiona is seven.”
He appeared to consider this. “There is quite a difference in your age compared to that of your brothers and sister.”
Pleasant shifted the weight of the basket. “Aine is my father’s second wife. The woman who gave birth to me, my true mother, died when I was born, but Aine has always treated me as her own.”
“It sounds like a close family,” he guessed.
“We do what we can,” she hedged, not wishing to earn sympathy, but at the same time, wanting to impress upon him the importance of hiring her by being honest. “I love them very much. It’s why I am here to inquire about the position. I want to offer them a good Christmas. I promise that I will work hard.”
He rose to his feet and walked toward her. Pleasant wasn’t sure what his intentions were when he stopped before her, his towering height almost intimidating, but when he reached out and took the basket from her and set it on the floor, she couldn’t help but feel relief as the weight of the wet laundry had eased. She was so used to packing it around day after day that it was almost a part of her until it was gone.
He reached out and took one of her hands in his. He frowned when he looked at her hands. She knew what he saw. The once creamy flesh was tainted red and rough with the continual use of the lye soap. She yearned to draw back her hand, but the feel of his warm flesh on hers was rather…comforting. Strange that, considering he was a complete stranger and his touch should mean nothing.
He released her and his green eyes bored into hers, as if trying to see into her very soul. Several heartbeats passed, and she hardly dared to breathe, but then he seemed to come to a decision. “My name is Cornell Reed. I shall expect you here tomorrow morning at eight to see what you can do.”
Pleasant couldn’t help but smile. “Thank you, Mr. Reed. You won’t regret it.”
“I will be the judge of that, Miss…?”
She bobbed a brief curtsy. “Pleasant Hill.”
His lips twitched slightly. “You didn’t even have to make that up, did you?”
She was confused. “Pardon?”
“Never mind.” He waved a hand. “Until tomorrow.”
Dismissed, Pleasant picked up her basket and strode out the door.
The door to the cramped confines Pleasant shared with her family squeaked in protest when she opened it. As usual, when she returned with a load of laundry to be cleaned, her mother was sewing in her chair by the fire, while Fiona moved a broom about the room in an effort to clean.
Niall had hauled water home from the city pump for her wash, noted Pleasant, so since she was running a bit behind that morning, he was likely already out with Connor sweeping chimneys. It was a filthy occupation, but they did what they could to pull their fair share.
Normally, Pleasant would make her way to the washboard and pan on the opposite side of the room and, after removing the buttons or other fancy adornments that could be damaged, she would scrub the cotton in the lye, then drape the clean linens on the ropes hanging overhead to dry. During the summer months when it was warmer, she could do it all outside and spare them the foul stench of the soap, and whatever else she could find to remove any stains, but on miserable, cold days like this, she had no other choice.
Either way, it was quite a process that would usually take most of the day, so she knew there were some late nights ahead for her if she impressed Mr. Reed enough that he kept her on at the shop, but it would be worth it just to see her siblings’ smiling faces on Christmas morning. The year before, the holiday had been spent in misery after their father’s death and the long, weary move to London.
But Pleasant vowed that this time it would be different. Their faces would be wreathed in smiles.
Feeling hopeful, she set down her basket in the middle of the floor and announced, “I may have a position at the cordwainer’s shop.”
Her stepmother gasped in happy surprise. “Why, that’s wonderful, Pleasant!” She paused as she was struck with a coughing fit. Unfortunately, they had become more frequent with the oncoming winter. Pleasant didn’t even want to imagine what sort of dire straits they would be in should Aine succumb to her illness. “But what about the laundry?”
“I plan to continue it, of course.”
Aine’s mouth turned down grimly. “Pleasant…”
She knew what was coming, so she went to her stepmother’s side and knelt down by the chair and took her hand. “Please. Just let me do this.” She gestured to Fiona, who was humming in the corner of the room as she swept, and lowered her voice. “For them. They deserve the chance to be children, if only for a day.”
Aine’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “I wish I could do more to help. I just feel so…useless.”
