Paternoster by Kim Fleet

been Darby’s mistress for just a year, and already his visits to her were starting to wane.
    ‘Make hay while the sun shines,’ Rachel muttered to herself, as the shopkeeper spread before her a selection of new shawls that had just been imported from India.
    ‘No one has these yet, miss,’ he said, running the fabric through his fingers. ‘You would set the fashion.’
    The shawls were beautiful: large enough to drape her whole body and caress the length of her arms, and soft as rose petals. One was embroidered with peacock feathers in vibrant sapphire and emerald; another glowed in dusky amber and peach hues. Yet another, of finest wool, was a pale dove colour.
    ‘Yes, thank you,’ Rachel said.
    ‘Which one, miss?’
    ‘All of them,’ she said, airily.
    The shopkeeper hid his reaction with a bow. Not so Kitty, who gasped, ‘But miss, all of them!’
    ‘Mr Roach is a devoted man,’ Rachel said.
    ‘I’ll charge it to his account,’ the shopkeeper said, and ordered the shop boy to wrap the scarves and stockings Rachel had selected. The boy handed the parcels to Kitty, who was already burdened.
    ‘I could deliver those for you, miss.’
    ‘No, I’ll take them,’ she said. Once she had the goods in her hands, they were hers. No shop boy was going to show them off to his sweetheart, and exchange a feel of the new shawls for a tussle with a whey-faced scrag.
    ‘Good day, Miss Lovett.’ The shopkeeper held the door wide for her and bowed as she strutted past.
    Rachel favoured him with a nod of her head, and snapped, ‘Come along, Kitty. Do try to keep up!’

    When she and Kitty arrived home, laden down with shawls, a new bonnet, and stockings in all the latest colours, Darby was waiting for them. He sprang to his feet as she marched into the drawing room.
    ‘Rachel!’ he cried. ‘Thank goodness you’re back!’
    ‘Good day, Darby,’ she said, coolly, pulling off her gloves finger by finger. She glanced at him again. His face was pale as pudding and dark crescents underscored his eyes. He paced the room, clenching and unclenching his fists. ‘Darby? What is it?’
    She drew in a deep breath, preparing to hear him say he’d found another mistress, that he was tired of her and casting her off. Well, she’d see about that.
    ‘You’ve got to leave. Today.’
    ‘I will not.’
    ‘You don’t understand; you’ve got no choice.’
    Rachel planted herself on a sofa and crossed her arms, her lips set.
    ‘Rachel, I’ve made the most terrible mess of everything.’
    ‘Really?’ When she found out who this girl was, she’d claw her eyes.
    ‘I’ve been gaming, that’s why I haven’t visited you. The card game lasted days. I was winning, then my luck changed.’ He swallowed. ‘I borrowed to stay in the game. I knew my luck would change again, but it didn’t. I lost and kept on losing.’
    ‘And you kept on borrowing?’
    He nodded. ‘It finished this morning, very early.’ He raised a haggard face to her. ‘It finished, and I’m finished.’
    ‘How much?’
    ‘Twenty thousand pounds.’
    ‘Darby!’
    ‘I’m ruined. I can’t pay. I was forced to see my father and confess. He’s agreed to cover the gambling debts as a matter of honour, but I have to give up my London house, this house, everything.’
    ‘Even me?’
    ‘Especially you. You’re an expense I can no longer afford.’ His gaze raked the room and he let out a short, mirthless laugh. ‘The word’s round London already. None of this is paid for, the furniture, your dresses, the paintings, nothing. They’ll be here to strip the house and take it all back soon.’
    A stone fell in Rachel’s chest. ‘All of it?’
    ‘Every stick and handkerchief.’
    ‘But you must have paid for something!’
    ‘No. My name is my bond. The shopkeepers all knew they’d get paid eventually. Now they know they won’t.’ He ran a shaking hand over his face. ‘Everything I owned is being sold anyway, to try to clear my debt.’
    ‘But you