Marrying Winterborne (27 page)

“Usually their head are shaved upon admission, to ward against vermin infestation.”

“If they're
that
concerned about vermin,” Helen said, “they could give her a wash now and then.”

Charity glanced up at her anxiously. “I don't like water.”

“Why not, darling?”

The little chin quivered. “When we're bad, the nuns . . . push our heads in the fire p-pail.” She gave Helen a glance of childish grief, and laid her cheek back on her shoulder.

Helen was actually glad of the fury that flooded her: It gave her thoughts extra clarity, and infused her with strength. She began to rock the child slightly, as if she were an infant.

Dr. Gibson had seated herself on the edge of the desk, which was possible only because she was wearing the new style of dress, flat and straight in the front, with skirts gathered at the back in lieu of a bustle. Helen envied her mobility.

“What will they require for the discharge?” Helen asked.

Dr. Gibson replied with a frown. “According to the matron, you'll have to fill out administrative papers to apply for what they call ‘reclamation.' They'll let you take the child only if you can prove a familial relationship. That means you'll be required to produce a legal statement from Mr. Vance confirming your parentage, as well as hers. Then you would have to go before the asylum's Board of Governors. Once you've explained your relationship in detail, they'll decide whether or not to authorize the discharge.”

Helen was outraged. “Why have they made it so difficult for people to adopt these children?”

“In my opinion, the Board of Governors would rather keep the children so they can exploit them, hire them out, and garnish their wages. At the age of six, most of the residents here are taught a trade and put to work.”

Disgusted, Helen pondered the problem. As she glanced down at the undernourished little body in her arms, an idea occurred to her. “What if her presence poses a danger? What if you diagnose her with a disease that might spread through the entire orphanage unless she's removed from the premises immediately?”

Dr. Gibson considered it. “Capital idea,” she said. “I'm annoyed that I didn't think of it first. A case of scarlet fever should do the trick. I'm sure Mrs. Leech will go along with the plan, as long as you offer her a fiver.” She hesitated, her mind sorting through possibilities. “There may be a question of legal guardianship in the future, if the Board of Governors ever took it upon themselves to reclaim her. However, they would never dare go up against a man as formidable as Mr. Winterborne.”

“I don't believe Mr. Winterborne will have any part of this,” Helen said quietly. “Not after I talk to him tomorrow.”

“Oh.” Dr. Gibson was quiet for a moment. “I'm sorry to hear that, my lady. For many reasons.”

T
HE SUN HAD
just set by the time they left the orphan asylum. Aware that their safety was more at risk with each passing minute, now that it was growing dark, the two women walked with ground-eating strides. Helen carried Charity, who clung to her with her legs wrapped around her waist.

They had turned the first corner and began toward the second, when a pair of men began to follow them from behind.

“Two fine ladies must 'ave a bit o' brass wi' yers, to spare,” one of them said.

“Go on your way,” Dr. Gibson said shortly, her pace unfaltering.

Both men chortled in a way that made the back of Helen's neck crawl unpleasantly. “'Appens our way lies wi' your way,” the other one said.

“Dockyard vermin,” Dr. Gibson muttered to Helen. “Ignore them. We'll soon reach the main thoroughfare, and then they won't bother us.”

However, the men had no intention of letting them walk any farther. “If yer won't give us some brass,” the one behind Helen said, “I'll take this little jam tart instead.” A rough hand grabbed her shoulder and spun her around. Helen staggered slightly from the weight of the child, slight though Charity was.

The man kept his meaty hand on Helen's shoulder. He was stout and round-faced, his thick skin textured like an orange peel. Hair of an indeterminate color straggled out from beneath a shiny oilskin cap.

He stared at Helen, his beady eyes widening in fascination. “The face of an angel,” he breathed, and licked his small, narrow lips. There were black gaps between his teeth, like the sharps and flats of a piano keyboard. “I'd like a leg over yer, I would.” Helen tried to pull back from him, and his hand tightened. “Yer not going nowheres, my fine bit o' fluff—
bugger
!” He let out a scream as a hickory cane whistled through the air and struck the joint of his wrist with a sickening crack.

Helen backed away quickly as the length of hickory whistled again, walloping the side of the man's head. A sharp jab with the tip of the cane sank into his stomach, and he bent over with a groan. Deftly flipping the cane, Dr. Gibson smashed the curved handle between her opponent's legs and yanked it back as if it were a
hook. The man dropped to the ground, curling up as tightly as an overcooked shrimp. The entire procedure had taken no more than five or six seconds.

Without pausing, Dr. Gibson turned to confront the other man, who had lunged forward. Before he reached her, however, someone had seized him from behind and spun him around.

The stranger displayed extraordinary agility, dodging to the side with fluid ease as the thug swung at him. He moved in with an effortlessly fast and brutal combination: a jab, right cross, left uppercut, and a full force blow with his right. The ruffian collapsed to the street beside his companion.

Helen whispered to the petrified child, who was whimpering against her neck. “It's all right. It's over.”

Dr. Gibson viewed the stranger warily, lowering the tip of her cane to the ground.

He returned her gaze implacably, adjusting the brim of his hat. “Are you unharmed, ladies?”

“Quite,” Dr. Gibson said crisply. “We thank you for your assistance, although I had the situation under control.”

Helen had the impression that the other woman was annoyed at having been deprived of the chance to demolish the second ruffian as thoroughly as she had the first.

“Obviously you could have managed on your own,” the stranger said as he approached. He was a well-dressed young man, slightly taller than average, and extraordinarily fit. “But when I saw two women being harassed, I thought it only civilized to lend a hand.”

He had an unusual accent, in that it was difficult to place. Most accents were so specific that one could easily discern what area they were from, sometimes
even pinpoint the county. As he drew closer, Helen saw that he was very good-looking, with blue eyes and dark brown hair, and strong features.

“What are you doing in this area?” Dr. Gibson asked suspiciously.

“I'm on my way to meet a friend at a tavern.”

“What is the name of it?”

“The Grapes,” came his easy reply. His gaze moved to Helen and the child in her arms. “It's not safe here,” he said gently, “and night is falling fast. May I hail a hansom for you?”

Dr. Gibson replied before Helen was able. “Thank you, but we don't need assistance.”

“I'll stay at a distance,” he conceded, “but I'm going to keep an eye on you until you're safely in a cab.”

“Suit yourself,” Dr. Gibson said crisply. “My lady, shall we go?”

Helen hesitated and spoke to the stranger. “Will you tell us your name, sir, so that we may know to whom we owe our gratitude?”

He met her gaze, and his face softened slightly.

“Forgive me, my lady, but I would rather not.”

She smiled at him. “I understand.”

He lifted his hat off his forehead in a respectful gesture, the outer corners of his eyes crinkling as they walked away. Helen beamed, remembering West's warning about strangers and heroes in disguise. Wait until she told him about
this
.

“No smiling,” Dr. Gibson reminded Helen.

“But he helped us,” she protested.

“It's not help when one doesn't need it.”

When they had nearly reached the main road, Dr. Gibson threw a quick glance over her shoulder. “He's following us at a distance,” she said, annoyed.

“Like a guardian angel,” Helen said.

Dr. Gibson snorted. “Did you see the way he felled that thug? His fists were as quick as thought. Like a professional fighter. One has to question how such a man appeared out of nowhere at just the right moment.”

“I think he did far less damage to his opponent than you did to yours,” Helen said admiringly. “The way you took that ruffian down with your cane—I've never seen anything like it.”

“My aim was a bit off,” Dr. Gibson said. “I didn't connect squarely with the ulnar nerve in his wrist. I shall have to consult with my fencing-master about my technique.”

“It was still very impressive,” Helen assured her. “I pity anyone who makes the mistake of underestimating you, Dr. Gibson.”

“My lady, the sentiment is returned in full.”

A
LTHOUGH
H
ELEN HAD, IN
the recent past, discovered that she rather enjoyed shocking people, she had now come to the conclusion that it was highly overrated. She felt nostalgic for all those quiet, peaceful days at Eversby Priory when nothing had ever happened. Too much was happening now.

It seemed that Ravenel House was collectively paralyzed when Helen returned with a bedraggled orphan of mysterious origins, in questionable health and decidedly unsanitary condition. Setting Charity on her feet, Helen held her hand, and the child huddled against her. Servants stopped in their tracks. The housekeeper, Mrs. Abbott, came to the entrance hall and froze in astonishment. Pandora and Cassandra descended the stairs, chattering, but as they saw Helen standing in the entrance hall with a ragged child, they both fell abruptly silent.

The most unnerving reaction came from Lady Berwick, who emerged from the parlor and stood at the threshold. As her gaze went from Helen to the child beside her, she comprehended the situation without exhibiting the slightest break in self-control. She seemed like a military general watching his troops retreating from a losing battle and calculating how to regroup his forces.

Predictably, in the horrid, silent tableau, Pandora was the first to speak. “This is like being in a play when no one remembers their lines.”

Helen sent her a quick smile.

Without a single word or flicker of expression, Lady Berwick turned and went back into the parlor.

The pencil lead taste was back in Helen's mouth. She had no idea what the countess was going to say to her, but she knew it would be dreadful. She took Charity with her to the bottom of the stairs, while her sisters came down to meet them.

After one glance at the pair, who seemed to tower over her, Charity retreated behind Helen's skirts.

“What can we do?” Cassandra asked.

Helen had never loved her sisters more than she did at that moment, for offering help before demanding explanations. “This is Charity,” she said quietly. “I fetched her today from an orphanage, and she needs to be cleaned and fed.”

“We'll take care of that.” Pandora reached a hand down for the child. “Come with us, Charity, we'll have lots of fun! I know games and songs and—”

“Pandora,” Helen interrupted, as the child shrank from the boisterous young woman. “Softly.” She lowered her voice as she continued. “You don't know where she's come from. Be gentle.” She glanced at Cassandra. “She's afraid of baths. Do your best to clean her with damp cloths.”

Cassandra nodded, looking dubious.

Mrs. Abbott came to Helen's side. “My lady, I'll bring up trays of soup and bread for you and the little one.”

“Only for her. I'm not hungry.”

“You must,” the housekeeper insisted. “You look
ready to faint.” Before Helen could reply, she turned and hurried toward the kitchen.

Helen glanced at the parlor. A chill of dread tightened the skin all over her body. She turned her attention to Charity. “Darling,” she murmured, “these are my sisters, Pandora and Cassandra. I want you to go with them, and let them take care of you while I talk to someone.”

The little girl was instantly alarmed. “Don't leave me!”

“No, never. I'll come to you in a few minutes. Please, Charity.” To her dismay, the child only clutched her more tightly, refusing to budge.

Cassandra was the one to solve the problem. Sinking down to her haunches, she smiled into Charity's face. “Won't you come with us?” she entreated softly. “We're very nice. I'll take you to a pretty room upstairs. There's a cozy fire in the hearth, and a box that plays music. Six different melodies. Come let me show you.”

Cautiously the child emerged from the folds of Helen's skirts and reached out to be carried.

After a disconcerted blink, Cassandra gathered her up and stood.

Pandora wore a resigned grin. “I've always said you were the nicer one.”

Helen waited until her sisters had reached the top of the stairs. She went to the parlor, thinking that no matter what Lady Berwick said, or how upset she was, it was nothing compared to what she had seen today. It haunted her, the knowledge of what some people were forced to suffer. She would never again be able to look at her privileged surroundings without some part of her brain contrasting them with the alleys and rookeries at Stepney.

Hesitating at the parlor threshold, she saw Lady Berwick on one of two chairs placed near the hearth. The countess's face was stiff, as if it had been starched and set before the fire to dry. She didn't even glance at Helen.

Helen went to the other chair and sat. “My lady, the child I brought with me—”

“I know who she is,” Lady Berwick snapped. “She has the look of her father. Will you take it upon yourself to collect all his bastards like so many stray cats?”

Helen stayed silent, looking into the fireplace, while Lady Berwick proceeded to lecture her in a tone that could have shaved the treads from a carriage wheel. Searing remarks were made about Helen's character and upbringing, the Ravenels, the foolishness of women who thought they might somehow be exempt from the rules and judgments of society, and the many iniquities of Albion Vance and men in general.

She finally looked at Helen, her nostrils flaring and her chin vibrating with outrage. “I would never have expected this of you. This scheming! This dishonesty! You're bent on self-destruction. Can't you see, you reckless girl, that I'm trying to keep you from throwing away a life in which you could do enormous good for other people? You could help thousands of orphans instead of just one. Do you think me hard-hearted? I laud your compassion for that poor creature—you wish to help her, and you shall—but not this way. She is a danger to you, Helen. The resemblance she bears to you is
ruinous
. No one will look at the two of you without coming to the most disastrous conclusion. It won't matter that it's not true. Gossip never has to be true, it only has to be interesting.”

Helen stared at the older woman, realizing that al
though her countenance was coldly furious, and every nuance of her posture was overbearing . . . her eyes gave her away. They were filled with honest concern, true kindness, and caring. And anguish.

Lady Berwick was not fighting
with
her, she was fighting
for
her.

This is why Kathleen loves her
, Helen thought.

When at last the countess fell silent, Helen regarded her with gratitude and melancholy resolve. “You're right. About all of it. I agree with your ladyship, and I understand what I'm about to lose. But the fact is . . . Charity has to belong to someone. She has to be loved by someone. Who will, if I don't?” At Lady Berwick's frozen silence, Helen found herself going to her chair and sinking down to rest her head on the countess's knees. She felt the older woman stiffen. “You took Kathleen in,” Helen said, “when she was only a year older than Charity. You loved her when no one else wanted her. She told me you saved her life.”

“Not at the expense of my own.” The countess took a wavering breath, and then Helen felt the light pressure of a hand on her head. “Why won't you listen to me?”

“I have to listen to my heart,” Helen said quietly.

That elicited a bitter scrape of laughter. “The downfall of every woman since Eve has begun with those exact words.” The hand slid from her head. Another uneven breath. “You will allow me some privacy now.”

“I'm so sorry to have upset you,” Helen whispered, and pressed a quick kiss to her cool, wrinkled fingers. Slowly she rose to her feet, and saw that the countess had averted her face sharply. A tear glittered high on the time-weathered plane of her cheek.

“
Go
,” Lady Berwick said curtly, and Helen slipped from the room.

A
S
H
ELEN ASCENDED
the stairs, she became aware of an ache in her lower back, and a weariness that had sunk into her with backward barbs. She gripped the railing at intervals to pull herself upward. Her skirts felt as if they'd been lined with lead. With every churn of her tired legs against the fabric, unpleasant scents wafted up from the hems.

Near the top of the staircase, she heard a buoyant sprinkling of musical notes floating delicately through the air. The familiar sounds came from a rosewood music box that Rhys had once given her. It was so large that it occupied its own special table, with a special drawer containing needled brass cylinders. Following the music, Helen went to the family parlor and looked inside.

Noticing her presence, Pandora came to the door with a finger held to her lips. Her blue eyes were alive with amusement.

Together they stood at the threshold, and watched as Cassandra swayed and turned graceful circles in time to the music. Charity was next to her, dressed in a white chemise with pinned-up straps, the garment ridiculously large for her. Although she faced away from Helen, it was clear that she was excited from the way she bounced on her bare feet. She was so delicate, her bones protruding, that it seemed as if she might float away like dandelion fluff. But she looked much cleaner, and her hair was damp and combed so that most of it lay against her head.

Trying to imitate Cassandra, the child moved in awkward little hops and turned in wobbly circles, like a baby fairy. She kept glancing up at Cassandra, seeking reassurance, as if she were adapting to the idea of playing with an adult.

The sight restored Helen's spirits like nothing else could have.

Pandora took her arm and drew her from the room. “Come with me, Helen—there's a supper tray in your room. You can eat while they play. And I
beg
you, have a bath. I don't know what that smell is, but it was on Charity too, and it's like every bad thing I've ever smelled all mixed together.”

“How did the washing go?”

“Not well, Helen,” Pandora said darkly. “She is
geologically
dirty. It scrapes off in layers. We could have used chisels. She wouldn't let us wash her hair properly, but we found if we gave her a little cloth to hold over her eyes, she would tip her head back enough to let us pour a teacup of water over it. Twice, and that was all she would allow. Children can be so strong-willed.”

“Can they?” Helen asked dryly.

“She ate an entire bowl of soup and some bread with butter. We had no problem cleaning her teeth—she likes the taste of tooth powder. Her gums are red and puffy, but her teeth are like little pearls. None of them are rotting or have cavities, as far as I can tell. I cut her fingernails and toenails, but the dirt goes below the quick on some of them, and I couldn't reach it. She's wearing one of my chemises for a nightgown—I pinned up the straps. Mrs. Abbott is washing her clothes. She wanted to burn all of them, but I told her not to because we have nothing else for Charity to wear.”

“We'll buy clothes for her tomorrow,” Helen said absently.

“Helen, may I ask you something?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Who is she, where did she come from, why is she here, and what are you going to do with her?”

Helen groaned and sighed. “There's so much to explain.”

“You can start while you're having soup.”

“No, I want to wait for Cassandra. There's too much for me to tell it twice.”

After Helen had eaten, bathed, and changed into a nightgown and robe, she sat in her bed with Charity snuggled beside her. They watched as the twins enacted the story of the three bears. Cassandra played the part of Goldilocks, naturally, while Pandora played all of the bears. Fascinated by the story and the twins' antics, Charity watched with huge eyes as the biggest bear chased Goldilocks from the room.

By the time the drama had concluded, the little girl was breathing fast with excitement. “Again, again,” she cried.

“I'll tell it this time,” Helen said. While the twins lounged on the bed, taking up every available inch of space, she drew the story out as long as possible. She kept her voice lulling and gentle, watching as Charity's eyes became heavy-lidded.

“. . . and then Goldilocks lay on the bed of the little, small, wee bear . . . and it was a nice, soft, clean bed, with linen sheets and a blanket made from the wool of a fluffy white sheep. Goldilocks rested her head on a pillow stuffed with down, and thought it was just like floating on a cloud. She knew that she was going to have lovely dreams while she slept in that warm little bed, and in the morning there would be nice things to eat and a cup of chocolate for her tummy . . .” Helen stopped when she saw the long lashes flutter down, and the child's mouth slackened.

“Your version is far too long-winded, Helen,” Pan
dora said. “How is anyone supposed to stay awake when you drone on and on like that?”

Helen exchanged a grin with her. Carefully she inched away from the sleeping child and pulled the covers up to her shoulders. “She doesn't laugh,” she whispered, looking down at the small, solemn face.

“She'll learn.” Cassandra came to stand at the bedside. Reaching down, she followed the shape of one miniature dark brow with a soft fingertip . . . and she glanced at Helen, looking troubled.

“Let's go to my room,” Pandora said. “I have a feeling this next bedtime story is going to be really interesting.”

H
ELEN BEGAN WITH
the discovery of the half-finished letter behind her mother's notebooks, and ended with the visit to the orphanage. Any conventional young ladies of high moral standards, upon hearing such a narration, would have been shocked and distraught. Her sisters, however, had been raised outside of society for too long to view it with proper fear and reverence, or to give a fig for its approval. Helen was vastly comforted by the fact that although they were surprised and concerned for her, they took the situation in stride.