The Shopgirl's Forbidden Love
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Jenni Fletcher
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Chapter One
‘There’s nobody about. Get over there and be quick about it!’
‘No!’ Fourteen-year-old Nancy MacQueen wrenched her arm out of her stepfather’s grasp and stepped back around the iron railings at the end of the street. ‘I’m not doing it.’
‘What do you mean “no”?’ Her stepfather’s eyes narrowed. They were bloodshot, she noticed, with dark purple rims, as if he were still suffering the after-effects of the night before halfway through the next afternoon, which was undoubtedly the case. She sincerely hoped he had a raging headache to go with it.
‘I mean that it’s wrong.’ She lifted her chin imperiously, summoning up six years’ worth of resentment and contempt to peer down her nose at him.
‘It’s your ma’s birthday. Don’t you want to get her something she likes?’
‘Of course I do, but I’m not a thief.’
‘It’s only one orange. You know how much she likes ’em.’
‘Then why can’t you just go into the shop and buy one like a decent person?’
‘And why can’t you stop arguing for once?’ Her stepfather pushed his face closer, enveloping her in a cloud of alcohol fumes so powerful she almost gagged. ‘I’ve never known a girl with a tongue as sharp as yours before. You’ll never find a husband that way.’
‘Good!’ she spat back, standing her ground though the stench alone was beginning to make her feel light-headed. ‘Because I don’t want one!’
‘Then you’d better find some other way to take care of yourself ’cos you’ll be out on your ear the way you’re carrying on.’
‘I can manage on my own!’
‘I’d like to see you try.’
‘I will.’ She shoved her own face forward despite the smell. ‘I’m going to make something of my life, you’ll see, and I won’t need a man to do it!’
‘Well, until then, you can do what you’re told. Now hurry up before somebody comes out.’ Her stepfather’s mouth twisted into a sneer. ‘Unless you want to spoil today for your ma?’
‘My being in gaol might spoil it, too. I could be transported for stealing.’
‘Better you ’an me.’ A pair of hands descended upon her shoulders, spinning her round and shoving her out past the railings again. ‘An’ don’t look so nervous. You’re a fast runner, ain’t you?’
Nancy muttered an oath before dragging her feet reluctantly down the street. She didn’t know this area of Bath very well. It was halfway up one of the many hills, where the middle classes lived, as opposed to the aristocracy at the top and everyone else, the people like her, at the bottom. If she was caught stealing and had to make a run for it, then she could always dive off into one of the side streets, but she had no idea where she might end up.
Which meant that the sensible thing to do would be to run away now and let her stepfather rant about it later, but for once he was telling the truth. Oranges really were her mother’s favourite treat. Getting one for her birthday would put a rare smile on her face—and how much was an orange really? A couple of pennies at most. If only she’d had a few pennies then she would gladly have bought one herself, but her mother took both of their earnings and handed the money straight over to her worthless stepfather for him to squander, usually on the same day, and apparently ale was more important to him than a birthday present.
She paused briefly to throw a ferocious glare over her shoulder. The nerve of the man to suggest that she might ever want a husband! As if he were such a wonderful example! As if he’d ever been more than a stone around her mother’s neck, dragging her down. The pair of them together were enough to put anyone off marriage for life. No, she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, thank you very much.
None of which reflections were going to help with her current predicament... She tensed, aware of her heartbeat accelerating as she approached her target. The pavement outside Redbourne’s General Store was an extension of the shop itself. Most of the merchandise was kept inside, but there were a few crates of fruit and vegetables standing out on the street, one of which contained, as luck would have it, a pile of surprisingly fresh-looking oranges. It wouldn’t be too hard to scoop one up for her mother. In fact, it wouldn’t be hard at all. Frankly, it seemed almost too easy. Just one, mind, and just this once. If she was going to steal, then she wouldn’t be greedy about it. She would be like Robin Hood, taking from the rich, or in this case, middle class, to give to the downtrodden poor, a group that definitely included her mother. And to assuage her conscience, she wouldn’t let as much as a drop of orange juice pass her own lips...
A surreptitious glance through the shop window revealed three members of staff, all male and all busy serving a scattering of customers. None of them appeared to have noticed her yet, although they would soon if she lingered. She certainly looked suspicious enough with her head covered in a large woollen cap, but she had no choice about that. A single glimpse of her conspicuous ruby-coloured hair would be all that was necessary to identify her to a magistrate.
She threw one last resentful look back at her stepfather and then leaned over, pretending to examine the quality of a sack of potatoes as she took a single step sideways and lowered a hand. Closer... Closer... Almost there... Her fingers brushed against the rough skin of an orange and then closed around it. Ha! A rush of triumph mingled with guilt as she stood upright again. Unfortunately, with her head bowed, she didn’t notice a customer come striding down the shop steps at the same moment, jostling past and knocking her off balance.
‘Oof!’ She toppled straight on top of the crate of oranges, knocking half of the contents on to the ground.
‘Watch where you’re standing!’ a man’s voice snapped as if she’d been the one at fault. Whoever he was, he was tall and elegantly dressed, like a butler or some other kind of upper servant, and obviously thought himself worth several hundred of her, presenting a clear view of his back as he strode off down the street without as much as pausing to help her up.
Nancy opened her mouth to shout something scathing and then bit her tongue, realising that, as horrible as the man was, he’d just presented her with a perfect opportunity. The oranges were scattered about her feet like round, brightly coloured autumn leaves. Who was to say how far one might have rolled on its own? Impulsively, she stretched a foot out, kicking one along the pavement in the direction of her stepfather before clambering back to her feet, thrusting her shoulders back and stalking off indignantly after it. Let the Redbourne’s staff think that she was too affronted to shop there! If she had any money, then it would be the truth!
She was half a dozen steps away, about to bend down and retrieve her ill-gotten citrusy gains, when she heard another voice.
‘Excuse me, miss?’
‘Ye-es?’ She stiffened and turned around slowly, taking care to keep herself between the orange and the owner of said voice. To her surprise, he was young, about her own age or maybe a little older, with a thatch of rich chestnut curls and matching brown eyes fringed with black lashes in a face that was pleasant-looking rather than overtly handsome. It was also a kind face, she noticed with some relief, like that of a friendly and eager-to-please puppy, a spaniel maybe, so much that she was tempted to reach out and pat him on the head.
‘Are you injured?’ His brow creased with concern as he saw her expression tense. ‘I saw what happened through the window.’
‘No.’ She lifted a hand to her head, self-consciously tugging her cap lower. ‘No harm done.’
‘He should have stopped to help you.’
She couldn’t resist rolling her eyes in agreement. Yes, the man should have, but she would never have expected it. She was young and obviously not remotely genteel. Her shapeless and tattered clothes, which might once have had some semblance of colour but were now simply a washed-out grey, marked her out as a person of little consequence. The man probably wouldn’t have cared if he’d driven over her with a carriage. He might even have done it deliberately—and then a second time to really emphasise the point. She’d been a momentary inconvenience to him, that was all. A nobody.
‘Were you looking for something in particular?’ The boy gestured back at the shop. ‘I’d like to make some kind of amends, if you’ll allow me. Call it an apology on his behalf.’
‘A what?’
‘An apology,’ he repeated. ‘For our customer’s bad manners.’
‘You don’t... I mean...’ Nancy gaped at him, momentarily lost for words. Her first thought was that the offer was some kind of joke, but the boy looked and sounded completely sincere. She didn’t remember the last time anyone had apologised to her, if anyone ever had, or shown such consideration for her welfare either. It felt strange...good, as if she’d drunk something warm on a cold day and her insides were tingling. Glowing even, as if she’d just swallowed sunshine... She blinked a few times, wondering if she’d actually hit her head on the pavement when she’d fallen and was hallucinating. Surely anyone this nice had to be a figment of her imagination? Especially a man!
‘Who are you?’ she finally managed to ask.
‘James Redbourne. Jem to my friends.’ His smile was disarmingly sincere. ‘This is my father’s store.’
‘Oh.’ She felt her cheeks flush an incriminating shade of red, horribly aware of the orange lying on the ground behind her. His father’s orange! She’d had low points in her life before—quite a lot of them, to be honest—but this had to be one of the lowest. She was trying to steal from his family’s shop and he was being nice! Suddenly she wished he would leave so that she could run away and cover her face in shame. If he’d go, then she would make a vow never to even think about stealing ever again, no matter whose birthday it was. As for Robin Hood, he could go back to Sherwood Forest and stay there. ‘Thank you, but I was just looking. There’s nothing I need.’
‘But I insist.’ To make matters a hundred times worse, the boy reached for one of the oranges left in the crate and held it out to her.
‘No, I can’t.’ She staggered backwards, appalled at the prospect of simply being given the very item she was trying to steal. Regrettably, the movement caused the heel of her boot to connect with the fruit behind her, which dutifully rolled out from her skirts and into view.
She was aware of the exact second the boy noticed it, his eyes dropping briefly to the pavement and then lifting back to hers with a look of enquiry.
‘Jem!’ An older man emerged from the shop before either of them could say anything else, his resemblance to the other marking him out as James Redbourne Senior. ‘What are you doing?’
Instinctively, Nancy rocked forward on to the balls of her feet, bracing herself to run, but something about the boy’s expression held her still. He didn’t look like a person who was about to denounce her and then haul her off to gaol. He didn’t even look angry. He looked...something else, something she wasn’t sure she recognised and yet made her feel doubly mortified.
‘I’m just making sure the young lady’s all right, Father.’ He half turned his head, though his eyes never left hers.
Young lady? If her jaw hadn’t actually been attached, she thought it might have fallen off in surprise. An apology was shocking enough, but lady?
‘What’s that you’re holding?’ The older man came closer. She could see by the dismissive way his eyes skimmed over her that he was questioning his son’s choice of words, too.
‘An apology gift, only I dropped one of them.’ The boy reached down, picking the other, incriminating orange up off the ground and then holding both out towards her. ‘Here you are, miss, and please don’t be put off shopping here again. We’d be more than happy to see you.’
Nancy swallowed hard. She could practically taste her shame, like bile in her throat. She was a thief and this boy knew it and that something expression on his face wasn’t anger, but pity. Pity! She would almost have preferred gaol. She’d let herself be bullied by her stepfather into lowering herself to his paltry level, and this boy, this James Redbourne—Jem to his friends—had been there to witness it. And to top it all off, he pitied her enough to let her go with no questions asked. Humiliation and self-loathing scorched through her. Well, never again! Never again would she allow herself to be bullied or pitied or at the mercy of any man, not for any reason, no matter how nice he seemed! The sooner she escaped from her mother and stepfather’s house and forged an independent and honest and man-free life for herself, the better!
‘No, thank you.’ She thrust her chin into the air. He might not be angry with her, but she was suddenly, blood-boilingly livid with him. How dare he pity her! How dare he let her go! How dare he be nice! ‘I don’t want anything from you.’
Then she swung about, abandoning the oranges and stalking away up the street with her head held high, aware of Jem Redbourne’s eyes boring into her shoulder blades the whole time.
