The Cinderella Countess

by Sophia James

  ‘How is Rose this morning? Have you heard?’

  ‘Her sister came to visit a little while ago and she is doing fine. She came to enquire after your well-being.’

  ‘Did you tell her I was much better?’

  Her aunt shook her head. ‘Are you, Annabelle?’ Those words came with an underlying sorrow and as a direct challenge.

  ‘As well as a person can be when someone has just tried to kill them, I suppose.’

  ‘There were no problems before we met the Earl of Thornton. None of this kind anyway.’ Her aunt’s words were tinged with accusation.

  ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘We should leave and go somewhere else. To the north of England, perhaps. Away from these people with money and power.’

  ‘Why? What aren’t you telling me?’

  ‘I think your parents were of the same class as Thornton. I heard gossip in the village after they had travelled through.’

  Shock and pain were a poor mix. Belle felt her heart beat so fast she thought she might fall.

  ‘So you think this has something to do with...before? This threat?’

  ‘I do not know, but if it is it could be perilous to all of us.’

  And then she understood more. Tante Alicia had never reported her missing in the tiny French village. The church had dispatched her and Alicia had kept her, not allowing a word to go to the authorities or to the law. There would be no trail to follow if anyone happened to be looking, no true identity that could be argued. She had become Annabelle Smith at the turn of fate and stayed that way. Such actions would have placed her aunt in jeopardy should a proper search have been made. But it hadn’t and surely after all these years it would never be.

  Could someone have recognised her because of her visits with the Thorntons? Would that be even possible? A child of four or five looked very different from a woman of thirty-two. Her hair had darkened, for one thing.

  But Tante Alicia believed she had been recognised and that was what was important. Belle now needed to reassure her that she would stay out of harm’s way and remain resolutely in this crowded part of Whitechapel where strangers were noted and danger would be lessened by familiarity. No more strolls to the far end of the Whitechapel Road, no more sojourns towards the city markets and beyond.

  ‘If anything happens again, we will leave immediately, I promise it, but I do not want to be chased away after we have made a life for ourselves here. To begin all again anywhere would be hard.’

  ‘But not impossible.’ Her aunt’s voice was strained.

  ‘No, you are right. Not impossible.’

  ‘And you will stay here inside today?’

  ‘Yes. I hardly feel up to anything else, but at least the bleeding has stopped and my wrist feels less painful.’

  ‘I don’t think it’s a break. It holds more of the feel of a bad sprain. In a week we will remove the splint and the hair at your temple will grow back in the patch that I have shaved.’

  Belle smiled and moving forward, wrapping her arms about her aunt in the best fashion that she could.

  ‘It will all be fine, Tante Alicia. Perhaps it was just some terrible mistake...’

  She stopped as a shout echoed from outside, the neighbour in the adjoining lodgings hailing them from the doorway.

  ‘I have fresh milk and herrings for you, Miss Smith, and Mrs Drayton from down the road managed to procure farm eggs from the market in the Old Spitalfields. She said the Pauls, from across the street, will send over hot bread at noon and that the child’s mother who you helped with the boils last week is promising you a mutton stew. A veritable feast, if I say so myself.’

  When Belle looked across at her aunt there were tears in her eyes. Perhaps it would be all right, after all. She accepted a cup of tea from Milly with a smile.

  * * *

  In the morning Lytton was again in Whitechapel and was pleased to see Mr Angus McFaddyen standing outside the front door of the downstairs lodging in White Street.

  He had meant to simply send a message to state the sort of hours and conditions he wanted the guard to adhere to, but had found himself fretful of the passing time and so had called a carriage instead.

  ‘Has it been quiet?’

  ‘It has, my lord. Many have passed, but none have come close to the house at all. The women inside have insisted on feeding me every hour and the sun is about to shine.’

  ‘Stay here until another comes. I have found a night guard to relieve you so that you can sleep and be back every morning at five.’

  ‘Very good, my lord.’

  Thus satisfied, Lytton knocked and the door was opened almost instantly by the same maid who had handed him the cup of tea on his very first visit here. She was wiping doughy hands on her apron.

  ‘Your lordship,’ she said, bobbing in a quick curtsy. ‘I shall take you through to Miss Smith.’

  Annabelle’s eye this morning was all the hues of red, dark and light. It was also so swollen the blue in her eye only showed through a small slit of skin. Catherine Dromorne’s perfect sort of beauty was once all he had liked and admired. Now he was even starting to question that. Her hair was down, which was unexpected, and fell in long, dark, curling swathes to her waist. She did not look even slightly bothered by the fact that it was unbound in his company, something every other woman of his acquaintance would have.

  ‘I hope I find you well, Miss Smith?’

  He had used her first name yesterday, the informality of it rolling off his tongue. Today he didn’t.

  She nodded and placed the bowl she’d had in her hands beside her on the sofa, a sharp knife and a cloth joining it.

  ‘I am much recovered.’ She made no effort at all either to conceal her bruises and he liked the fact that she did not. Take me as I am, such an action seemed to shout. This is me.

  ‘How is your broken wrist?’

  ‘I do not think it is broken, after all, which is a relief. My aunt is certain I have been left with only a bad sprain.’

  ‘And your head?’

  ‘Is fine.’

  The catalogue of her wounds was not something she looked like she wanted to speak about further.

  ‘How is Lady Lucy? Is she up and about yet?’

  ‘She is, indeed. My sister will retire to Balmain, our country estate, next week. Mama will no doubt nurse her to death and she will be scurrying back to London as soon as she is able. So life goes on, different but still possible.’

  Word of his mother brought a darkness to her eyes, but he had no inclination to try to explain his complex family life, so he left that topic alone altogether.

  ‘I have instructed people to begin the search for the carriage that hit you. I hope to have an answer back in a few days.’

  ‘So quick?’

  ‘The guard outside will be here until I have found the person responsible. At night there will be another just as competent to replace him.’

  ‘Thank you. Mr McFaddyen’s presence has indeed offered us some support.’

  He could see she had slept badly, for the ring beneath her uninjured eye was dark. He could also see she had been pummelling medicine with a pestle and mortar, a dark red paste sticking to the side of the bowl.

  ‘It is turmeric mixed with castor oil. For boils,’ she explained when she saw him looking.

  She had not stopped work, then? She had not lain down on her bed and allowed others to wait on her. It was a lack of money, probably, and the need to make a living. If he imagined she would accept it he would have laid all the pounds he carried in his pocket on the small table beside her. But he knew that she would not and he didn’t want another argument over money. How were she and her aunt paying the rent on this place then without work? Did they have savings put away to cope with situations like this one?

  The ridiculousness of that thought made him fr
own. How did one take steps to prepare for a killer? There was so damned much he wanted to offer her and so little he could. Catherine Dromorne’s face hovered on the edges of his worry, too.

  ‘I have instructed the kitchen staff in Portman Square to put together a box of food for you. A boy will deliver it this afternoon.’

  She shook her head. ‘When there is trouble in places such as this people band together. Already this morning we have been brought more food than we can store.’

  ‘Then what of the rent? How can I help with that?’

  Instead of answering, she began to speak again. ‘This is not your fault we have come to such a pass, your lordship. We will not refuse the guard, but any other assistance is unwarranted. You have already overpaid dearly for my services to your sister.’

  ‘Do you have a sweetheart, Miss Smith?’ Lytton asked the question before he had thought, carelessly. Usually he was never that, but there was something about her that made him unwise. Some desperation to know.

  She shook her head. ‘Have you?’

  He hadn’t been able to talk with any woman as he did with her, in such an easy comradeship and a shared respect. Awareness was there, too, simmering under every single polite word like a hidden furnace, the heat around them undeniable.

  ‘No. The Earldom was thrust upon me at a time I was not sure I wanted it. It came with scandal, bankruptcy and death. A baptism by fire, if you like, and one that has taken up all of my time ever since.’

  ‘But you survived?’

  He laughed out loud. ‘I did.’

  ‘When I came to Tante Alicia at first it was like that for me. Not on the scale of yours, of course, but I was sick and alone and in a land I did not recognise. I wasn’t sure I wanted to be there, either.’

  ‘What were you sick with?’

  Lytton knew the instant her glance fell that she would not answer him, but he wasn’t going to leave it there. He reached deep into his jacket pocket.

  ‘I have brought you a gift, Miss Smith, for your recovery and for protection. I am assured by my research that turquoise also allows healing and promotes calmness. A stone of many qualities.’

  * * *

  The box was small and of dark green velvet with an ornate clasp of engraved gold. Belle could barely believe he had brought a present of this magnitude for her and she held back in reaching out.

  ‘I am not sure that I should...’

  He flipped the lid and a bracelet sat inside on baize, the beads of a colour of pure green-blue, but veined in smoke. She had never seen anything quite so beautiful before. She almost wished she had not liked it so that she could have shaken her head with feeling and insisted he took it back.

  As it was the words of refusal just would not come.

  ‘Its true value lies in history. It was worn by the second Countess of Thornton when her husband the Earl took her to London to visit the Queen.’

  ‘Like the cat in the nursery rhyme?’

  He smiled.

  It was expensive, then, perhaps even priceless. ‘If you ever want it back...’

  ‘I shan’t.’

  She was now in a quandary, the danger of touching him felt in each part of her body should she reach over and take it from his hand. She was pleased, therefore, when he leaned over and put the box on the sofa beside her.

  The bracelet fitted perfectly, an amulet alive with beauty. Even with her two torn-off nails and rough grazed skin her hand looked prettier, more feminine.

  ‘I will always wear it.’

  ‘Good. Let’s hope the healing properties begin to work their magic, for you look like you are in need of it.’

  ‘I have nothing to give you in return.’

  ‘You saved my sister’s life.’

  ‘Does she speak of it much? The baby?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Don’t push her, then. Let her tell you all of it in her own time. People need to think about things sometimes before they can work out exactly what it is they want to say to others.’

  ‘I do not imagine she will say anything to me knowing that I’ll want to kill the man who hurt her.’

  ‘To throw away your own life for someone who is not worth it seems impossibly futile.’

  Her new bracelet was warming against her skin, the day outside was finally clearing and the Earl had visited her now for two days in a row. She’d wanted life to be easy and safe and for this minute it was, a guard in place and the promise of another tonight, her aunt having a nap and Milly in the kitchen making pies.

  But it was Lord Thornton who made her feel the safest, for he was shelter from a world that had turned upside down. He was a good man and strong, like those fairy-tale heroes she’d read of in books.

  He stood now, hat in hand, but did not move closer.

  ‘If you ever have need of me tell McFaddyen or send a note to Portman Square and I will come. When information arrives to hand about the carriage and its occupant, I will let you know. I promise it, no matter who is behind this.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He looked as if he wanted to say more, but had thought against it, merely tipping his head before he left, the doorframe too low for his height so that he needed to duck down.

  Belle smiled. Nothing fitted him here in Whitechapel and yet he was not out of place. She could see his danger as much as she could see the refined and elevated lord and was glad for it.

  The Earl of Thornton had no sweetheart. That small information brightened her day and she brought her good arm up so that she was able to look more closely at the gemstones in her bracelet.

  Why had he given her this? It seemed an excessive gift for attending to his sister. It had also been well chosen, the fit perfect and the colours exactly her own. She had never before had any jewellery and the delight of it warmed her.

  Her mother had worn jewellery. For just a second through time she remembered a finger with an ornate blue setting and a chain of gold around a thin white neck. Closing her eyes, she tried to bring the vision back, conjure her up, this mother who had passed through the small village of Moret-sur-Loing and left her there. But there was nothing. She had gone.

  She could not believe she had spoken to Thornton of her sickness and of her displacement in a new and foreign land. She could see him storing each new fact learnt about her past and building a picture. Would that be dangerous? Her aunt had intimated it might well be and she might not be wrong.

  If the man who had tried to kill her was close and watching, then it stood to reason the Earl could also be a target. For helping her. For placing guards. For being so very visible.

  Perhaps this was why he had come today, to try to lure this other away? But he had brought the bracelet, too, in its velvet box on a bed of green baize, the catch decorated with a gold mark. An expensive piece denoting worth and from the hallmarks of history.

  The woman who had worn this had gone up to London to visit the Queen. Elizabeth the First, perhaps? Had her missing parents’ relatives been among those received at court? So many questions and so few answers. But they were coming, she knew they were, and this bracelet was only a part of the knitted fabric of memory.

  * * *

  Lytton could not settle.

  He had tried to read, tried to write, tried to beat out a tune on the piano in his bedchamber, but none of it was working. He felt wound up and furious, all the clues to the carriage that had tried to knock down Annabelle leading to nothing. Tattersall’s had no knowledge of the livestock, the stables close by had not rented a carriage to any liveried riders and no one had remembered seeing the conveyance pass through Whitechapel Road or Aldgate or further afield at the time of the accident.

  He was still out there, the bastard, untouched, laughing probably at his cleverness in covering up his tracks. Even Aurelian hadn’t been able to find out anything and as one of the greatest spies
of all time that was saying a lot.

  Lytton had left the brandy alone tonight. He didn’t want to drink. He needed his wits sharp and his intellect ready. He wished he was still there with Annabelle Smith in Whitechapel, sitting right next to her to make sure that she was safe.

  The bracelet had suited her. It was part of a small set of jewellery that had been passed down to him from his grandfather when he had turned twenty-one. Special valuable pieces. Pieces more likely destined to be given to a wife, perhaps? He swore under his breath, castigating himself for the hundredth time that he had ever given his ridiculous promise of courtship to Catherine Dromorne. He knew he should not have.

  The future skewered into different pathways and he could find no road to take that might lead to the sort of life he wanted.

  Chapter Nine

  He saw Catherine Dromorne and her family at the soirée of the Shaybornes three days later. It was a small gathering and as soon as he saw Shay he understood why they were there.

  ‘My wife says it is better to know the reasons for the choices you have made. We want to see you happy.’

  ‘And who would say I am not?’ Suddenly the anger in him rose.

  ‘You do not look happy, Thorn. Lately it seems as though you have the world upon your shoulders, but here is Lady Catherine Dromorne and I know she is waiting to talk to you.’ He looked over at her pointedly and smiled.

  With no other option Lytton joined the Dromorne group and Catherine fastened on to him.

  ‘I am sorry the rumours are abounding about our promise to marry, Thorn. My father let it slip and so...’ She stopped, her face a picture of innocence.

  ‘There are always rumours, Catherine, but I am presuming no one save the parties concerned has the full story. It might be difficult otherwise.’ He tried to moderate his tone, but wondered if he had done a good enough job when he saw her frown. A dainty frown in a heart-shaped face that would make any other man melt.

  ‘I do not wish for difficulty. Mama and Papa have enough of those—’