The Captain's Daughter (London Beginnings Book #1) by Jennifer Delamere

Author:Jennifer Delamere [Delamere, Jennifer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: FIC042030, FIC027270, Love stories, FIC027170, Christian Fiction, historical fiction
ISBN: 9781441230973
Publisher: Baker Publishing Group
Published: 2017-06-05T22:00:00+00:00

After the show that night, when Rosalyn had finished her duties, she met Nate at a prearranged spot backstage. While she was staying with Jessie, they had taken a cab directly from the stage door. Nate, however, had told her that he generally preferred to walk home. She supposed it was because his family was doing all they could to save money.

Rosalyn felt a twinge of uneasiness as they stepped outside. She found this area daunting enough in the daytime. The narrow street was a motley collection of old Tudor buildings that were rickety and down-at-heel. More recent structures of brick were interspersed here and there, but nothing looked newer than a hundred years old. The pub directly across from the stage door looked decidedly dodgy.

“Do any of the cast or crew ever go to that pub?” she asked.

Nate shrugged. “A few of the stagehands go there sometimes. Not Patrick, though. He has his wife and son to go home to. Why would he stay here?”

As if to punctuate Nate’s point, there was a commotion at the pub as the barman hauled a customer outside and shoved him away from the door. “Go home, Harry,” he said gruffly. “Your wife won’t thank you for spending all your coin here.”

The man took a few wobbly steps before leaning against the wall. “How do you stay in business if you keep chasin’ people away?”

The barman only turned on his heel and went back inside.

“Come on,” said Nate. “The streets get better after this.”

The streets did get wider and better lit as they continued on. They met other pedestrians along the way, and Rosalyn was glad that most were more sober than the man they’d seen at the pub. Every block or so, a patrolling constable nodded a greeting to them as he passed. Rosalyn was surprised to see so many carriages and even work carts on the streets. Still, the volume was nowhere near as high as it was in the daytime.

Every sound seemed heightened and more distinct: their footsteps echoing on the pavement, the clop of horses’ hooves, the church bell tolling the half hour.

They paused briefly to wait for a passing carriage before crossing the street. Nate took a deep breath of the crisp night air. “I enjoy this time of night. The city doesn’t seem so suffocating.” He turned to look at her. “How are you doing? You seemed wary when we first left the theater.”

“It feels strange, being out at this hour,” she admitted. “I can’t remember any time that I’ve been out on the streets past midnight.” She wasn’t going to count her flight from Mrs. Hurdle’s house in the predawn.

“That’s a good thing. I don’t think it’s proper for ladies to be out so late.”

She looked at him. “What is your opinion of the singers, then?”

“They chose their profession. They do what they need to do. Just be careful around the men.”

It seemed a humorous irony that this advice was coming from a man—and one Jessie had described as a battle-hardened veteran at that.

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