The Tattered Apron

A Woman Alone

"Nellie!" Beatrice laughed as the two ran around the kitchen, flour covering them, the floor and her poor little kitten. The sun beamed through the windows of the kitchen, the letters painted on created a shadow overtop the flour and tile, spelling out Hoffman Pies. "What were you thinking!?" she continued to laugh, watching her friend hold out a dying rat by its tail.

"That I didn't want it in the pies!" she giggled as the bell sounded over the front door.

"Oh, good day, Mr. Hoffman," a man's voice spoke from the dining room. The sound caused the girls to gasp softly and run to the doorway, peeking around the edge of the curtain the partitioned off the rooms. They saw three men sitting at a table, chatting with Beatrice's father, their suit tails draped over the sides of the chairs and their neat, white gloves placed beside glasses of ale that Mr. Hoffman was pouring.

"He came back," Beatrice whispered with a grin.

"Oh, joy," Nellie sighed, turning away and walking further into the kitchen, tossing the rat down for the kitten to play with.

Beatrice sighed softly, "Come here, Penny," she said, grabbing the small thing and kicking the rat into the fireplace, "Nellie, don't you find it sort of... Oh, I don't know, charming, perhaps, that Mr. Mooney brings his friend to see you so often?" she asked, a certain twinkle in her eye as she spoke.

"No. We both know how Mr. Mooney is, I doubt his friend is any better. Beside, he is always hanging about with Mr. Bamford and all of London knows of his reputation," she said.

"Perhaps it is because you are not from here," Beatrice sighed, "growing up all the girls pined over Mr. Bamford and though his manners are quite far off from other gentleman, Mr. Mooney is quite the catch."

"Good, then you marry 'im, Beatrice."

"Oh, I could never. I must stay here, help father and eventually run this place," she grinned, "But you, Nellie, you have no obligations in this world. Oh, to be as lucky as that."

Before Nellie could open her mouth to object, Mr. Hoffman stumbled in, "Elenore, Mr. Mooney's friend wishes to see you again," he grinned.

"That is it." she hissed, "I am putting a stop to this."

"Don't do anything in haste, Nellie!" Beatrice called after her as she stormed into the dining room and made her way to their table. The men continued chatting until they noticed her, quickly standing and bowing their heads, "Mr. Mooney, Mr. Lovett, and...?" she trailed off, glancing at the man man between them.

"Where are my manners," the handsome, older man with circle glasses and light brown hair said, "Ms. Plunkett, this is Lord Rutledge. A business partner of mine."

"Lord Rutledge," she curtsied.

"Ms. Plunkett. Mr. Mooney and Mr. Lovett has said many great things about you and the service here at Hoffman's," he grinned.

"Well, thank you, my lord," she said, "perhaps I might acquire a moment alone to speak with Mr. Lovett?"

"Of course, Ms. Plunkett," the other gentleman said as he grabbed his gloves, "Perchance, is Beatrice in today?"

"In the back, Mr. Mooney," she directed him.

"Thank you and good day, Ms. Plunkett," he grinned.

"A pleasure, Ms. Plunkett," Lord Rutledge nodded.

Once they were out of earshot, Nellie shot a glare at the man before her. He awaited for her to speak, a stupid grin playing on his lips, "Mr. Lovett-" "Please, call me Albert," he smiled, nodding down for her to sit with him. As if too tired to protest the idea, she sat across from him, "Albert, it is very kind of you to check in on me every day here, to chat or order a pie. However, I fear you may have gotten the wrong idea of me."