A Heart Deceived (40 page)

At last he stopped in front of the closed door she’d passed earlier, then winked at her. “Someone I’d like you to meet.”

He pushed open the door and swept his arm. “After you.”

Winded and confused, she took a few tentative steps, then paused. The paneled room smelled of tobacco and leather. Books lined two of the walls with a hearth on the third. Floor-to-ceiling windows adorned the fourth, silhouetting a stout old man dressed in a black cassock who turned at her entrance.

“Well, well … you must be Miri,” his voice boomed.

The same voice she’d mistaken as Lord Trenton’s. So … who was this fellow, and how did he know her? “Forgive me, but—”

Ethan’s arms wrapped around her from behind, a possessive embrace—and entirely welcome. “Miri, meet the man who’s helped save many a soul, mine included: the Reverend John Newton.”

“Reverend?”

“Aye, that I am, lass.” The fellow shrugged, his grizzled eyebrows raising. “Among other things.”

Miri turned in Ethan’s arms, and the fire in his stare settled low in her stomach. For the first time, she felt just one of her brows lift in perfect imitation of his.

Ethan pulled her against him, resting his chin atop her head. “I wasn’t jesting when I said I would have you now.”

Her cheeks heated at the implication.

Behind her, the reverend cleared his throat. “You always were in a hurry, Ethan lad, always in a hurry. But in this case, I understand why. Shall we be about it, then?”

Loosening his hold, Ethan pulled from her, though his gaze never left. Hope. Joy. Love. All these and more shone in the light of his smile. “What say you?”

“I say”—her own smile deepened—“yes.”

43

5 months later ~
L
ondon

Miri stepped from the coach, relying on Ethan’s grip to steady her wobbly legs. A tingle ran up her arm, familiar yet surprising. After five months as Ethan’s wife, his touch still elicited a schoolgirl response from her.

His gaze sought and held her own. “You are certain of this?”

She lifted her chin. “Yes.”

“Very well.” He looked past her to the driver. “Wait here.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

Placing her hand on Ethan’s offered arm, she drew strength from the muscle beneath his tailored sleeve.

While they waited for the porter to open the outer gate, she glanced up at the soot-blackened walls of Bethlem Royal Hospital—Bedlam, to those in the know. From one window, way up high, a blanket-gown flapped in the wind between the bars, looking for all the world as if it dared an escape. In front of her, crowning the gateposts, two statues writhed—Raving Madness and Melancholy—the extreme expressions of insanity. Mouths abnormally twisted, eyes unblinking … which expression would she find on Roland’s face when she saw him?

“Miri?”

Ethan’s voice pulled her from her trance. “Hmm?”

“After you, love.” He nodded toward the porter, who stood tapping a foot on the other side of the gateway.

When they’d both passed through the narrow opening, the man swung shut the gate and locked it. “This way.” He loped across the frost-packed dirt, keys jingling.

Miri lifted her skirts, not only to keep her hem clean, but simply to keep from tripping in her haste to keep up.

Ethan glanced at her as they walked. “If this is too much for you, just say the word.”

She smiled. Such love and concern shone from the depths of his brown eyes, that her breathing hitched. “You fret like an old lady.”

He huffed but thankfully did not slow his steps. Persuading him to bring her here had proved as big a challenge as a wrangle with Roland himself. Truth be told, now that the dismal structure loomed in front of her, second thoughts made her queasy. She pressed one hand to her stomach, grateful Ethan didn’t seem to notice, for he’d call off their appointment in a heartbeat.

They entered an arched cove with niches cut into each side. Life-size wooden figures of young beggars stared at her, holding out large jars. The inscription above them read,

Pray remember the poor lunatics

and put your charity into the box with your own hand.

Miri placed a light touch on Ethan’s arm.

He snapped his gaze to her, alarm widening his eyes. “Are you—”

“I am fine, but may we …” She angled her head toward the donation pots.

Ethan lifted his hand and ran his fingertips the length of her face, leaving her weak-kneed.

“Of course, love.” From a pocket inside his greatcoat, he retrieved some coins and tossed them in.

The porter scowled and tugged at a mouse-colored neckerchief. “Not that it’ll do any o’ them half wits a thimble’s worth o’ good. You ask me, all these crackpots”—he hitched a thumb over his shoulder—“ought to be put down like a lame horse.”

The cold-hearted sentiment sent a shiver through Miri—one that Ethan apparently noticed.

Ethan stepped toward the man, a full head taller than the fellow. “I don’t remember asking for your commentary. Lead on.”

A poorly disguised sneer twisted the man’s face as he turned. Miri eyed her husband, unsure if he’d pursue any recourse for such insubordination. He met her eye—

And winked.

She returned his smile before passing in front of him. Porter ahead, Ethan behind, Miri passed through a skinny door into an even narrower corridor. The closeness of the walls squeezed her chest and must surely have been squeezing her husband’s broad shoulders. Was this some kind of precaution to prevent a wild stampede of escaping lunatics?

After climbing a few stone stairs, they entered a large hall ringed with doors. Placards embellished with bare-bottomed cherubs lined the walls, listing benefactors who’d done more than throw in a coin or two. Too bad the funds had not been spent on upkeep. The carpet runner was threadbare, the plaster so dirtied, it looked like snuff, and the sour stink gagged her.

Miri sucked in a breath and held it. Brilliant. That would last for only so long. Bypassing her nose, she inhaled and exhaled through her mouth.

But when they passed by an enormous iron-grated door, she stopped breathing altogether.

“Miriall!”

She jerked her face toward the bars, expecting to see Roland’s face pressed against them. No human form stood there, but a very real entity reached out—the ear-shattering clamor from second-floor.

While she’d expected the noise of the mad might trigger some recollection of Sheltering Arms, she was totally unprepared for the terror that crawled along her skin then burrowed in. Shrieks, moans, groans—all wormed into her ears, unearthing awful memories. A tremor ran through her. Then another. And—

“Miri!” Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, turning her to face a furrow-browed Ethan. “I feared this would be too much for you. We’re leaving. Now.”

“No, please.” Resting in his embrace, hearing his steady low voice, she allowed the tension in her shoulders to loosen.

Ethan frowned. “Why is this so important to you? Mr. Spindle is more than capable of—”

“I have to do this myself, Ethan. I
need
to do this myself.” She paused, biting her lip. How to explain something so crazy? Not a week passed when she didn’t wake up in a cold sweat, having dreamt of Roland. And it always ended the same. He’d curl into a ball and roll away, stealing her along with him. Her fear was that if she didn’t find out for herself what had happened to him, the nightmares would stalk her the rest of her life. Irrational, really. Too irrational to speak aloud in the middle of a hospital for the certifiably insane.

So she blinked with what she hoped were guileless eyes. “Please, Ethan?”

He blew out a long sigh. “If I see you falter one more time, I swear I will not be swayed. Understood?”

“Yes.” She smiled. “I love you.”

He smirked. “Your charm will not change my mind, either.”

“You, sir, are a—”

“Mr. Barker will see you now.” The porter’s voice cut through their conversation. Ethan released her, and she turned to cross the corridor.

Upping the tempo of his tapping foot, the porter stood with one hand propping open an oak-paneled door.

Miri and Ethan swept past him through a small anteroom and into a larger office. Behind a paper-strewn desk, a man in rolled-up shirtsleeves rose.

At their backs, the porter announced, “My Lord and Lady Trenton, meet Mr. Barker. Mr. Barker, my Lord and Lady Trenton.” The sparse introduction ended with the bang of the door as the porter left.

Stepping aside from the desk, the man bowed to Ethan. “My apologies for Hawkins’s manners. After managing lunatics all day, well … you can imagine. Happy to make your acquaintance, my lord.” He turned and bowed his head to Miri. “And yours, my lady.”

Miri fought the urge to look over her shoulder when hearing the title.

“Please, be seated.” Mr. Barker resumed his chair behind the desk while they sank onto leather-covered seats, sturdy yet worn in spots. “How may I help you?”

“After much investigation,” Ethan began, “it is my understanding that the former patients of Sheltering Arms Asylum were brought here. My wife and I seek one inmate in particular. Roland Brayden.”

“Yes, yes. That is true.” Mr. Barker batted aside one pile of papers and reached for another. As he fanned through them, Miri’s hope grew. If she could just see her brother, know he was all right, she would rest so much easier at night.

“Hmm.” Barker set down the stack of documents. “He is not listed, which means he was not admitted.”

“But we were told …” Miri frowned and leaned forward. “If he wasn’t admitted here …” A thousand questions raced through her mind—only one made it past her lips. “Then where is he?”

The grooved lines on each side of Mr. Barker’s mouth softened. “We accepted all the survivors, my lady.”

“Survivors? Then he … Roland is—”

“I am sorry, m’lady.” The pity on Barker’s face stunned her into silence. Her hand flew to her mouth, stifling a cry. Roland dead? Grief shook her, the force of it breathtaking. As often as she’d wished to be rid of him, now that her brother was gone, she recanted.

Tears burned her eyes, a few overflowing. Warm fingers gripped her shoulders, urging her up and into Ethan’s ready arms. Wrapped in his embrace, she laid her head against his shirt.

“I am so sorry, love.” His voice rumbled in his chest.

After a polite intermission, Mr. Barker cleared his throat. “My condolences m’lord, m’lady.”

Drawing in a shaky breath, Miri at last felt ready to step from Ethan’s side. “Thank you, Mr. Barker. At least now I know, and for that I am grateful.”

He nodded. “Is there any more I can do for you?”

“You’ve done all you could.” Gathering an arm around her waist, Ethan pulled her close, “My wife and I thank you for your time.”

Ethan led her through the door and into the anteroom. Barker’s horrid words replayed over and over. Would she be stuck with that now instead of the dreams?

We accepted all the survivors, all the survivors …

What an awful death Roland must have suffered. It’d been bad enough watching typhus ravage Lil—

We accepted all the survivors.

Miri gasped, wrenching from Ethan’s hold. She sped back to Barker’s office and planted her hands upon his desk. “There was a girl. I know she survived. I nursed her myself. She was young, maybe eight or so. Lil … I don’t know her surname. Is she here? She looks like this.” Miri jammed her finger into her upper lip and pushed up so high, her eyes watered.

Mr. Barker recoiled, mouth agape.

Ethan’s hands rested on her shoulders and squeezed gently but firmly. “You’ve had enough for one day.” He spoke into her ear, then aloud to Mr. Barker. “My apologies, sir. My wife is—”

“No need to apologize. I think”—Barker’s eyes widened—“I do believe I know …” He shuffled one paper to another pile, then two, and finally lifted a third, scanning it with his index finger. “A young girl, you say, rather keen, quite intelligent, really, but slow in speech … yes. Lillian Ashenhurst was a Sheltering Arms inmate. She currently resides here.”

Miri spun and wrapped her arms around Ethan, tipping her face to plead with her eyes. “We can’t leave her in this place. You rescued me. I know you could—”

“You’re insufferable.” His soft tone belied his words. Looking past her, he spoke to Barker. “What procedure must we follow to see to the release of this girl?”

“The discharge of any patient must be sanctioned by the governor’s subcommittee.”

“And they meet when?”

“Just missed it, I’m afraid. They won’t meet for another month, m’lord, though the entire process can take upward of a year.”

“A year!” Miri’s arms sank along with her spirits. Poor Lil. Trapped through no fault of her own.

Ethan glanced at her, then angled his head toward Barker. “Is there no other way around it?”

Barker’s brow furrowed. “Well … I suppose if you got a barrister to sign a Writ of Liberation.”

“A barrister, you say?” An odd gleam lit Ethan’s eyes.

The man nodded. “Yes, I’ve seen it done a time or two.”

A slow grin spread across Ethan’s face. “Thank you again, Mr. Barker.”

“Can’t say as I’ve done much for you, m’lord. Nevertheless, you are quite welcome.”

A little annoyed at the smug set of Ethan’s jaw, Miri hesitated before giving in to his offered arm. Upon reaching the main hall, her frustration crescendoed along with the din of the lunatics upstairs. She stopped and turned to Ethan. “If we could just—”

“Shh, love.” He set a finger on her lips. “I know it seems hopeless, but I have a plan. Or rather, I suspect, God has. While we’re in town, I was hoping to introduce you to a recent friend of mine. Barrister Wolmington.”

Miri’s brow crumpled beneath the weight of confusion. “A barrister? Your friend? But you can’t possibly know—”

“Do you trust me?” He lifted one brow.

Any shred of reserve vanished. She leaned toward him. “Completely.”

“Excellent.” He drew her close with one hand while the other slid down to rest low on her belly. “Now, Mrs. Goodwin, I am taking my family home. Any objections?”

At his touch, something deep inside fluttered, and not just a thrill. Wonder pulled her lips into a smile, and she clasped her hand over his. “The babe might think otherwise, but yes, husband, I am ready to go home.”