“We’ll see whose ears get boxed,” she answered, her eyes narrowing in warning as she stepped through the open doors.
The large men lounging on sacks of grain and bundles of straw leapt to their feet at her entrance.
“Is there some here too old or crippled to properly carry a water bucket? His lordship would not care to mistreat his help by making them perform tasks of which they are no longer capable.” Penelope asked ominously, sweeping her gaze from the lanky young groom to the burly stable lads to the more mature but still physically able driver.
They each wriggled nervously. “Well, m’lady, he ain’t much use for aught else,” the groom finally said.
“Nor will he be if his back is broken at an early age,” Penelope replied. “Do none of you remember what it is to be young and eager to learn? Can you not remember what lessons you were taught first? Or are you too much above yourselves to teach what you all must have humbly learned at some other man’s feet?”
The men dropped their heads, unable to meet her eyes. Whatever they remembered of their upbringing, the harsh words, the rod and strap, or the kindness of some understanding older man, they all must remember how it felt to be young and discouraged.
“I’ll show him where the grain is, milady,” one of the younger stable lads offered.
“Good.” Penelope looked down at the boy. “Pippin, is it not?” At his nod, she continued, “Have you eaten? Has Mr. Chadwell seen that you were given a bed?”
The child nodded eagerly. “I ates so much my belly blew up—blooey!” he spurted with pride and colorfulness that made his meaning entirely clear.
Penelope smiled. “I will tell Cook what foods will be good for you so that does not happen again. You must eat whatever he gives you so you will be strong enough to carry both buckets like the other men. Is this what you wanted when you came looking for Mr. Chadwell?”
“Yes, mum.” He nodded with great enthusiasm. “’Em horses are smack up to all the rigs, they is. Ain’t nuffink like ’em cows.”
“Very good. Then if you are certain you are happy here, we must let your family know you are safe. Is there some way I can get word to them?” The devil made her ask this. She was not such a great fool as to think a child whose family cared about him would let him go about as he had, but she wanted to know more of his connection with Chadwell.
The defiant expression of yesterday returned. “Don’t ’ave no family, mum. None ’cept my baby sister, and I reckon she’ll forget ’bout me soon enough.”
The way he said that warned he was on the brink of tears and fighting shame in front of these men. Penelope nodded understanding, turned to go, then glanced over her shoulder as if in afterthought. “You know, there are some old clothes up in the attic that just might fit you. You’d better come along for a minute and let the seamstress measure you.”
She glanced to the men who had listened to her every word while seemingly busying themselves with their morning chores. “I will send Pippin directly back to learn his place, but I think you can spare him for just this morning.”
The boy warily followed her out, perhaps afraid another bath was in the offing. Penelope reassured him by stepping out of the way of prying eyes and eavesdropping ears. “Where is your sister, Pippin?”
He looked away from her frank gaze, scuffed his toe in the gravel, and muttered, “Wi’ me da.”
“With your father?” She started to admonish him for lying about having no family, but she could see his defenses rising already. There were times when she had considered herself without family, too. “Then she is safe and you need not worry about her?” She made it a question, well aware his tears denied the words.
He squirmed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “’E’ll sell ’er, mum,” he muttered apologetically. “She’s ’is fav’rite now, but I seen ’im feedin’ ’er the gin. ’E’ll sell ’er, just like all the others. ’E needs the gin, ’e do, an’ so will she. She won’t cry for nuffink when the gin’s in ’er.’E ain’t got me to steal for ’im now, so ’e’s got to sell ’er.”
Appalled as much by what he did not say as what he did, Penelope froze. She had heard of people selling their babies. Desperate poverty made desperate people, and perhaps the children were better off with families who wanted them. That was what she had told herself until now. Pippin’s unspoken words and the tale of gin to render an infant unconscious spoke of unspeakable crimes. She shuddered.
Holding her hand out, she ordered, “Come with me, Pippin. We will find your father and I will buy your baby sister.”
Chapter 17
Even in the bright light of a marvelous June day the streets Penelope and Pippin traversed seemed gray. Judging by the filth running through the gutter and the precarious tilt of narrow buildings in even narrower lanes, this was much the same part of London that Chadwell had taken her to just two nights before. Penelope had hoped never to see such sin again, but her errand of mercy made her brave, or foolish.
She stared out the coach window at the dull, gray faces in the dull, gray streets. At least at night there had been an occasional flash of color, a light, a raucous laugh. By day, after they left the markets behind, there was nothing but the empty stares of people with nowhere to go and nothing to do when they got there.
They had to take a hack for this last leg of their journey. Trev’s driver had refused to take her any further into the warrens of the slum, and she had to make a hasty exit before he turned around and took her home. And now it appeared as if the hack had reached the end of its course. The muddy path that lay ahead would not allow the passing of a vehicle.
Even Pippin looked grave. He had perched on the opposite seat so he could watch his world go by through the cracked paper window. The opening door apparently brought him back to reality. “No, mum, you mustn’t. It ain’t safe. I’ll go find me da. You stay ’ere.”
Penelope was hesitant about sending the boy out where she could not find him again. She was equally hesitant of going where she feared she herself might disappear. It had been insane to think she could do this alone, but she had been too proud to ask help of Graham or Chadwell. Pride had ever been her downfall.
The boy answered her dilemma. Quicker than she could think, he leapt from the coach and disappeared down an alley she would have thought impossible to enter. The appearance of two sinister men in the doorway of another building kept her from following.
With a word to the driver she closed the coach door and waited. The driver had not been pleased with this route, and he was even less so at being forced to wait, but she had paid him for a week’s work.
The stink of the river merged with the gutter stench permeating the ramshackle carriage. Penelope held a perfumed handkerchief to her nose as she contrived to stay out of sight. The two men continued to stand on the crumbling stairs, studying the hack through narrowed eyes. Fear seeped in with the same pervasiveness as the smell.
She shouldn’t let her imagination play games with her. Just because one of the men had long, unwashed hair and his hand in his coat pocket did not mean he hid a pistol or knife there. And the gap-toothed grin of the sandy-haired fellow probably meant he was enjoying an idle jest and not contemplating mayhem. She should know better than to judge by appearances. Where would she be now if she had judged Graham by his terrifying appearance?
Gradually Penelope became aware of other faces craning to see inside the hack, of idle figures lounging against buildings and in doorways. Surely they must have more to do on a day like this than wonder at a hack stopped in a lane? But seemingly they didn’t, and her nervousness grew with the size of the crowd.
So did the driver’s. His argument grew vehement, and Penelope nearly surrendered before she spied the small figure of Pippin darting down the street. She breathed a sigh of relief and pointed him out to the driver who reluctantly agreed to wait.
The coach door flew open and wide, brown eyes stared up at her with a relief akin to her own. “’E’s comin’, mum, m’lady,” h
e amended. “’E’s bringin’ ’er.”
Penelope watched a short, rotund man waddling down the street carrying what appeared to be a bundle of rags, except that a mass of golden curls spilled out the top. The man’s heavy jowls did not disguise the meanness of his mouth, nor did his heavy lids hide the reddened debauchery of his eyes. She shuddered at the cruelty she saw in that face. How could a man like that breed innocents? It seemed they would have to inherit the evil.
Perhaps their mother or mothers had been decent women. Certainly she saw no sign of cruelty in Pippin’s worried eyes. When the man stopped outside the carriage, she could see no signs of anything in the blank blue eyes of the infant. No intelligence, no life, no heart or soul shone from those mirrored eyes. Penelope nearly wept at the lovely vacuous face, but when she looked up to the father, her eyes hardened.
She waited, not daring to speak first. By all rights she ought to rip the child from his hands and order the carriage to flee, but the man was the child’s father and the tired hack horses couldn’t outrun an angry man.
“The boy says ye ’ave an intr’st in me Goldie?” He spoke in a nasal whine, his gaze darting about as he took in Penelope’s fashionable gown and the golden ring on her finger. He seemed to grow more confident. “’Er mum’s dead, ye see, an’ I can’t rightly take care of the two of ’em. Pippin says ye’re mighty good to ’im. but ’e’s a big boy and looks arter ’imself, ye see. Goldie ’ere, she’s mighty special to me. Just like ’er mum, she is.”
“I haven’t time to dicker with you, sir. The child needs food and fresh air and a good home. I will provide her that. Will a sovereign be sufficient to convince you to give her up to better things?”
The man’s eyes gleamed as Penelope produced the shiny coin from a small purse in her reticule, but he continued to clutch his silent bundle. “I orter, I really orter, but she’s all I got now that my boy’s off on ’is own. I can’t bear to part wi’ ’er, and that’s a fact.”
Accustomed to bargaining to pinch every penny she could, Penelope knew this ploy, but it was difficult to argue over the cost of a child’s life. She tightened her lips and gestured for Pippin to climb in.
“It’s time we go, Pippin.” Producing a second coin, Penelope held it temptingly in her palm. “Two sovereigns or we’ll be gone. I wish to make Pippin happy, but there is a limit to my generosity.”
The man whined a protest, eyeing the purse still bulging with other coins. Terrified the lady meant what she said, Pippin acted with more haste than wisdom. Catching his father by surprise, he grabbed the bundle from his hands, then leapt into the carriage, slamming the door behind him.
“’Ere, mum, let’s get on wi’ it.” He shoved the child into Penelope’s arms and rapped hastily for the driver to leave.
Of course, there was no chance of such a scheme working. The hack could not jerk to a start fast enough to throw off the screaming, furious man clinging to the door, nor turn down the next lane quickly enough to escape. But it was enough to bring the gathering crowd streaming into the street.
Penelope screamed as the fat man jerked open the coach door and reached into the interior to retrieve the infant. Someone else climbed to the other side of the carriage and punched out the cracked and yellowing paper of the window to reach in and grab whatever was available. Others scrambled over the back of the coach as if it were a mountain to climb, while more surrounded the horses, screaming curses and preventing escape.
Pippin beat wildly with his fists at the man reaching through the windows for a fistful of Penelope’s hair. Penelope shrieked and clung to the infant, kicking with slippered feet at the child’s father blocking the doorway. The driver had no more protection than his whip, and he swung it wildly, missing his aim more often than not and succeeding only in infuriating his captors.
The coach began to rock in the tumult, and Penelope had visions of being cast out into the streets and stripped to the bones by the carrion closing in for the kill. Still, she could not surrender the child.
The clatter of a horse galloping down the muddy street raised a cry of warning, but before her assailants could flee, the rider was upon them, flailing whip to and fro with much greater accuracy than the driver. Cries of pain and curses rang out, and the coach stopped rocking as the men in back scampered.
With one last desperate lunge, the rotund man grabbed for his daughter, only to be struck down with a vicious blow across his shoulders from a walking stick. Penelope gasped in recognition of the weapon and glanced out to see the furious features of her husband striking out at the men hampering her escape. Cloak flung back to reveal the deadly strength of broad chest and bulging shoulders, Graham swung whip in one hand and stick with the other. To Penelope’s dismay, she caught the glimmer of silver at the cane’s end and realized it had become a deadly sword in Graham’s hands. More than one of her attackers discovered this too late and whirled away, blood flowing between their fingers as they grabbed at their wounds.
She had only time to glimpse the livid fury of that scarred face, the burning anger of one golden eye as he glanced inside to ascertain her safety, and then the carriage jerked forward, released from captivity by Graham’s violence. That one glance was sufficient to set her trembling with more fear than she had felt minutes earlier. Her husband in full rage was more terrifying than a ship full of pirates.
Pippin kneeled on the seat and watched out the window as long as he could. When the carriage rattled around the corner and out of sight, he gave a huge sigh and settled down to stare at Penelope with wide eyes, not daring to utter a word.
Too terrified to offer explanations, Penelope glanced down at the infant in her arms. In all that commotion, the child had fallen asleep.
It was almost too much for her shattered nerves. She wanted to laugh, but it would be the laugh of hysteria. Tears pricked behind her eyes, and she rocked back and forth in the seat, consoling herself if not the infant.
The horse galloped behind them. Penelope strained to see the rider, but he stayed behind the carriage all the way back to the manicured streets of the West End. She heard the hooves like the drums of doom and knew she had escaped one terrible fate to face another. There had been nothing gentle in Graham’s face.
Before footmen could rush out of the house to open the door and let her out, Graham’s roar echoed up and down the street. He cursed the coachman as he paid him for the damage to his coach, swearing he would cut his throat if he ever dared take another lady to those streets again. He cursed the footmen for their clumsiness in opening the door and retrieving Penelope.
He ignored Pippin, but he bellowed his rage at the butler who had allowed Penelope to leave without asking her destination. From his roars, it was evident that his coach driver’s warnings of Penelope’s destination prevented Graham from flattening the man and throwing him out on his ear. Instead, he merely thundered his fury with orders for the driver never to take her out again without his permission. He cursed the maids who peered around corners to see what the uproar was about, and then he sent all the servants flying from the hall with bellowed orders until he was left alone with Penelope and her bundle of rags.
Swinging open the study door, he pointed a command for her to enter, his anger still raging too strong to speak to her. Drawing on her reserve of calm, Penelope held her head high and did as directed, but her insides trembled. Graham was a massive man, and his anger would be terrifying in the best of worlds. In this one, where she had no idea where she stood, whether on quicksand or solid ground or air, his anger had the power to petrify her. She clung to the silent child.
The door slammed and she could feel his scathing gaze burning a hole through her back, but his words, when they came, were soft and full of anguish.
“Why, Penelope? Why did you feel you had to risk your life for this pestilent child? My God, she is probably ridden with lice, besotted with gin, and rotted by pox! What do you intend to do with her? Are you that desperate for a child of your own that you would steal on
e from the streets?”
The tears fell then, tears she had been too terrified to let fall earlier, tears she had been too proud to let anyone see. Her shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, but still, she could not turn to face him. He would never understand, nay, could not, for he was a man and incapable of feeling the emotions of a woman for a child.
Graham watched helplessly as her sobs rendered speech impossible. He could not comfort her. He had denied himself that right. There was nothing he could say or do to give her back the comfortable life he had stolen from her. He had hoped his wealth could make her happy, but he could see now that Penelope had never craved wealth. What she wanted was someone’s love, and that he did not have it in him to give.
“It’s all right, Penelope.” He tried to soothe her with words. “I won’t take the child away from you. We will clean her up and call a physician to look at her, and if she is well enough, we will put her in the nursery with Alexandra.”
Penelope shook her head and gulped back sobs. “I didn’t mean her for myself. I didn’t mean for you to have to take her in. I just could not leave her there. Don’t you see?”
Anger tinged his voice again. “You mean to say you traveled those treacherous streets, risked your life or worse, for an infant you had never seen and do not want? Are you mad, Penelope? Do you have any idea what could have happened back there? Are you so innocent as not to understand what goes on in those places?”
She had done just what those other unlucky women had done, only she had gone in the broad light of day. The others had been murdered after dark by a man who resembled him.
“I am sorry I frightened you,” she said, nodding acknowledgment of his fear. “But I could have done nothing else. I know a childless couple in the village who will be happy to have her. You need not concern yourself any further.”
The proud defiance in her eyes caused as much pain as her earlier tears. Did she see him as some kind of monster who would throw the infant out on the streets and beat her for her waywardness? Perhaps it would be better if she thought of him that way. It would make things easier for her when she discovered the truth.
Love Forever After Page 16
