The Beggar Maid by Dilly Court Page A

would not return to the university until the autumn term. She undid the top button of her cotton print frock, which she had recently purchased from the dolly shop in Gray’s Inn Road, and went to sit on the high stool behind the counter, picking up a copy of
A Thousand Miles Up the Nile
by Amelia Edwards. She was already halfway through the fascinating account of the intrepid lady’s travels in Egypt, and it had fired her with a desire to see such wonders for herself. Of course that was an impossibility, but it was wonderful to dream of an exotic country with fascinating glimpses into a past civilisation. She was so intent on reading that she only realised that the door had opened when the bell jangled noisily on its spring. She closed the book with a snap and sat upright. ‘Good morning, sir. May I be . . .’ She stopped midsentence, staring at the elder of two gentlemen who had entered the shop. ‘Mr Barton?’ she said tentatively. ‘Is it you, sir?’
    He came closer, staring at her curiously, and then a slow smile spread across his handsome features. ‘It’s Charity, isn’t it? I remember you very well. It was outside the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street that we met, wasn’t it?’
    She shook her head. ‘I dunno about any old lady, sir. But it was outside the Bank of England. I knows that for a fact.’
    Barton’s companion, a much younger man with a mop of unruly fair hair and hazel eyes, chortled with laughter, but a look from Charity silenced him and he blushed. ‘I beg your pardon, miss. I didn’t mean any offence.’
    â€˜What’s funny?’ she demanded angrily. ‘You shouldn’t mock the way I speak – it ain’t polite.’
    â€˜Quite right.’ Wilmot Barton nodded in agreement. ‘Remember your manners, Daniel my boy.’
    â€˜I’m sorry, sir.’
    â€˜You’ll have to forgive my nephew, Charity. He’s a raw lad up from the country and has yet to learn the ways of polite society.’
    Daniel grinned sheepishly. ‘Hold on, Uncle. I haven’t got straw growing out of my ears. Just because I grew up in Devonshire doesn’t mean that I’m a yokel.’
    â€˜Of course not,’ Wilmot said equably, ‘and that’s my point, Dan. Just because Charity lacks a little polish doesn’t mean that she’s a lesser person.’
    Charity cleared her throat to remind them of her presence. ‘I ain’t deaf, sir.’
    â€˜And I’m being just as impolite as my young nephew.’ Wilmot treated her to a disarming smile. ‘You didn’t take up my offer. Why was that? Were you afraid that I had ulterior motives?’
    â€˜My grandpa died, sir. I had to find work and a place to live.’
    â€˜I’m sorry for your loss.’ Wilmot eyed her curiously. ‘What was it that brought you here to Dawkins’ bookshop?’
    â€˜Dr Marchant brought me here because I had nowhere else to go. He thought I would suit this type of work.’
    Wilmot nodded his head. ‘A wise gentleman indeed.’
    â€˜And he’s very kind and caring. He came here a few days ago making the excuse of ordering a book, but I think he wanted to make sure I was all right. I can’t think of many professional men who’d bother with someone who used to scratch a living by begging on street corners.’
    â€˜I say, did you really?’ Daniel’s eyes opened wide in astonishment. ‘Wasn’t that terribly risky for a girl like you?’
    â€˜I suppose it was, but I learned how to take care of myself.’
    â€˜You look as though a puff of wind would blow you over.’ His cheeks burned with colour. ‘I say, I’m frightfully sorry. I seem to say all the wrong things.’
    â€˜Think nothing of it, sir.’ Charity turned to Wilmot with a polite smile. ‘How may I help you?’
    â€˜I came to browse through Jethro’s