House Of Shadows. Jen Christie

Capshaw was an ample woman with frizzy red hair and a bosom that sat like a shelf over her stomach. She had sharp, assessing brown eyes, which right then took in the sight of Penrose lounging on the bed. She said in her tough-as-nails voice, “Look sharp, Penny. There’s an opportunity for you downstairs.”

      Instantly, she had Penrose’s attention. “What opportunity?”

      Mrs. Capshaw was an enterprising woman, always on the lookout for any venture that would be advantageous. Coming from her, an opportunity could mean a million different things, most of them dubious. But opportunities were rare, and Penrose was desperate.

      Another cool gust of wind blasted into the room, slamming the door shut. The older woman yanked it open again and held it in her meaty fist. “If you’re clever,” she said, leaning over Penrose and staring at her hard, “and I know you are, you’ll listen carefully.”

      “I’m listening,” said Penrose. She rubbed her arms as she listened. The temperature in the room must have dropped twenty degrees.

      Mrs. Capshaw continued, “Right at this moment, there’s a woman sitting at a table downstairs. She reminds me of you so very much, young and full of distress. Another sad story, I’m sure. Except unlike you, she’s downright foolish. I think you might have a chance to secure a well-paying—” she looked at Penrose meaningfully “—and respectable job.”

      Penrose jumped up. “Tell me. Is it a teaching position?”

      “No. Better.” Mrs. Capshaw’s sharp brown eyes narrowed and she lowered her voice to a whisper. “The lady is on her way to a post that her agency secured for her. She needs a room while she travels.” She smiled, a small twist of the lips. “But she is sitting there downstairs right now, blabbing for all the world to hear about her doubts and fears over the position.”

      That was interesting news. “Go on,” said Penrose.

      “She’s to report the day after tomorrow. Seven a.m. sharp. But, she’s reluctant. In fact, she’s more than reluctant.”

      “More than reluctant?”

      “She’s terrified,” Mrs. Capshaw blurted out. “I’m telling you straight off to get it out of the way.” She shrugged as if it were of little consequence. “She’s heard rumors. It seems her agency was less than forthcoming about the post. Her employer is a troubled individual and the house might be haunted.”

      For the first time, Penrose felt wary, but just a bit. It was a job, after all. She hedged. “How troubled? And what kind of hauntings? The rumors must be awful for her to reconsider.”

      “Awful?” Mrs. Capshaw threw her hands into the air. “What can be awful about regular income and a roof over your head?” Her voice lowered an octave as she said, “And wages that would make your eyes pop right out of your head. And, truthfully, do you believe in ghosts?”

      “No, I don’t.” Penrose felt breathy. For decent wages, she’d be blind to a lot of things. Including ghosts. And regular pay? Something she could barely imagine. But she wasn’t a babe in the woods. She was twenty-one. Old enough to know a thing or two. Something was wrong. “Still...why such high wages? Something doesn’t ring true. Maybe there’s truth to the rumors.”

      Mrs. Capshaw huffed. “‘Still’ nothing. You’ve been here six months already. Six months since your mother died and no position to speak of. No prospects, either! I’ve watched your purse dwindle, your belongings dwindle. You’re all boiled down like soup left too long on the stove. Only scrapings left.” She wagged her hands in the air. “Penrose Heatherton, you are in debt to me. Not a small amount, either. And if you ask me, that’s what awful is.” She pursed her lips. “And, yes, the post seems...suspicious. But, if you listen closely, it also sounds like an opportunity.” She lifted a pearl comb from the nightstand. “This is the only thing of value you have left, isn’t it? And rent’s due tomorrow? Do you think I’d take a comb in payment? You’re a sweet girl, but you’re fooling yourself if you think you’ll find work as a schoolteacher. Not in this town. Not with your name.”

      “But my mother had such a respectable finishing school—”

      “No offense, but you are not your mother. She was a Northerner. Sent to the finest schools and from a well-regarded family. She had credentials, Penny. Credentials. The big families in this town adored her because she attended those fine finishing schools. Yes, she fell from grace, there was always that.”

      “You don’t need to remind me that I was her downfall,” she snapped. Penrose always had trouble concealing her anger when the subject was brought to her attention.

      “I’m not. A baby is a baby to the likes of me. But not to them. Not to those fancy folks. They never minded you as an assistant to her. But an illegitimate child as an assistant is one thing. As a teacher, it’s quite another. Plus, your name. Penrose.” She sighed. “Your mother did you such a disservice giving you your father’s surname as a first name. She thought she was clever giving you that name! Calling him out and exposing him as the father. Those were passionate times, I’ll give her that. But she was ignorant. The South doesn’t work that way and she was foolish to think she’d change it. Oh, those abolitionists had such grand ideas, didn’t they? No bigger name around here. Like a splinter in the eye of the most powerful family. You’ll have a tough road around here. Surely my words are no surprise to you.”

      No, they weren’t a surprise. Penrose shook her head. “Just painful.”

      “The truth hurts, Penny. It hurts.” Mrs. Capshaw leaned down and put her hand on the bed. It creaked under her weight. “Just like when that young man stopped calling on you and I told you he wasn’t coming back. I say it plain. You’ll never find work on your own here. No education other—”

      “My mother educated me.” Heat burned her cheeks.

      Mrs. Capshaw pushed down on the bed. “Let me finish, girl. I said no education other than from your mother. It may be a fine education, but there’s no stamp of a finishing school on your papers. In fact, you have no papers. Even worse, you’re now living in a pub by the wharf. Your stock is dropping by the minute...what’s left for a girl like you? Hmm?” She loomed over Penrose, her shadow falling across her.

      Penrose stared out of the window. A sliver of the moon was visible and she focused on that. Her chest felt tight, as if a belt were strapped around it and someone was tugging. Was it anxiety? Or something more? She remembered the strange breeze from earlier and felt the odd, prickly sensation spread over her once again. Change was in the air. Perhaps she should welcome it. “I deserve a break, don’t I?” Her words came hot and fast. “Don’t I?” She looked at Mrs. Capshaw with a pleading, angry gaze.

      “You said it, Penny. Right from your own mouth. You deserve a break. But if you think a break is going to waltz in here and lay itself in your lap, you’re mistaken.” She shook her head, her frizzy hair barely moving on her head. “Listen, some girls are tough to their bones. Others are soft. Those are the ones that wilt. Still others, and I think you’re one of these—are malleable, able to bend and sway. Adapt to changing conditions. You need to adapt. And I’m giving you an opportunity to do just that. What better than to work for a man who doesn’t give two shakes what society thinks?”

      Mrs. Capshaw was right. Penrose nodded.

      “Get off that bed. Stand up and listen to me. Listen to what the post entails and then make your choice.” She lifted her hand and stood straight.

      Penrose slid from the bed and stood beside her landlady. “I’m listening.”

      Mrs. Capshaw seemed to soften then. She blinked and nodded, and gave a halfhearted attempt at a smile. “I’m sorry, dear. Life did you wrong. But I’m not a charity. You have to act fast.”

      “The post,” Penrose reminded her. “I need more details.”

      “It’s a single man, a bachelor, and he needs someone to help him in his scientific studies. Someone who can write, who has a bright intellect and one who doesn’t