Wandering along the near-empty street, she kept her eyes peeled searching for any sign of possible lodgings. Or if by any stroke of luck, an opportunity for employment. Lily, for all her naivety, was a bright girl with a sharp mind and a knack for arithmetic and handiwork. She could do anything she put her mind to, and was determined to do so, eager to take any job that came along. Her remaining shillings would not last her long, not even in a quiet backwater like this.
“Are you quite well, dear?” a voice called suddenly, alarming Lily. She whirled around to see a pleasant-faced old gentleman hobbling towards her.
“I am, thank you.”
“You look lost,” he continued, undeterred. “Might you be in need of directions?” Lily shook her head rapidly, dropping her chin to her chest.
“No, thank you. I know my way.”
“Very well, then you have yourself a good night, young miss.”
She could feel the elderly gentleman’s rheumy eyes watching her as she hurried away, heading towards the river that she could hear, rushing above the birdsong and amiable chatter that tinkled through the evening air. The path took her across the town square, though she did not see much of her surroundings. She realised how she must look, exhausted and dishevelled from her travels. her eyes red from tears, her cheeks feverish and stained with saltwater. A scarlet letter may as well have been pinned upon her breast, she thought, keeping her gaze to the cobbles. Fear bristled through her, her eyes flitting at anyone she passed. They all looked at her with curiosity, and some with concern, though she didn’t see the worry in their expressions; she saw only the narrowing of their eyes, convincing her that everyone in this village had only to look at her to see she was a fallen woman. Close to tears once more, she stumbled upon an uneven cobblestone, fixed outside the imposing structure of an old manor house.
An archway stood in the centre of the façade, leading into a courtyard, though the gates were shut up for the evening. A smaller structure crouched in the shadow of the main building—a stable or a carriage house, Lily guessed.
Near to where she stood, waiting out the throb in her big toe, her eyes settled on a sign dangling from the knocker of the left-hand door: Welcome to Hardcastle House. Boarding house for clean, respectful lodgers only. No exceptions. Proprietor: Mrs C. Hardcastle. The message was stern, but there was something in it that eased Lily’s unsteady heart. Despite her condition, she knew that she was still clean and respectful, with the money to pay for at least one night. Although, she wondered if she might find work here, too. In truth, the knowledge that the establishment was run by a woman made her feel much calmer, especially considering her options were fairly thin on the ground. Surely, a female proprietor would be more likely to take pity on her, even without assuming the nature of her presence there? She certainly hoped so. In that moment, everything relied on this Mrs Hardcastle taking her in. If Hardcastle House would not have her, then she was all out of ideas. The Inn was always an option, but the memory of those leering men made her baulk at the thought. No, she would be far safer here than anywhere else, she just knew it. With her heart racing like a caged bumblebee, she mounted the stone steps towards the grand front door of varnished mahogany. Her hand shook as she raised it to the knocker, lifting the brass and setting it back down against the wood with a hefty thud. The echo of it could be heard within. Lily did not even dare to breathe as she waited for the sound of footsteps, praying this might be her sanctuary. There was no turning back now.
Strolling across the town square, having imbibed a wee dram of his favourite whisky at the Bell and Whistle after a lengthy day of seeing to troublesome coughs and complaints of the stomach, Dr Cedric Sharpton paused in the fading sunlight. A young woman walked up to the steps of Hardcastle House, looking once over her shoulder as though fearing pursuit. She wore a simple gown of grey cotton, and a straw bonnet with a purple ribbon, framing delicate features and an exquisite complexion. Indeed, she reminded him of a tiny bird, beautiful and graceful, though timid, as though she might fly away at any moment. Illuminated by the dying amber of a bronzed sunbeam, she quite took his breath away. Who are you? he wondered in passing, as she disappeared inside the old manor house. He had certainly never seen her about the town before and, as the resident physician, he knew everyone. Supposing he would not solve the mystery today, he pressed on towards home, swinging his cane as a whistle passed his lips.
Chapter Two
“Now, what brings you to my door, then?” the sharp tone of Mrs Cordelia Hardcastle wanted to know. They were standing in the foyer of the manor house, a tapestry depicting some sort of hunt staring Lily in the face. Ironic, she thought, shaking like a leaf.
“I was hoping I might implore you for some employment, Mrs Hardcastle, and perhaps a lodging of some kind,” Lily replied, her voice trembling. “I do not have anywhere else to go, though you may count on my aptitude for labour. I am a tenacious worker, Mrs Hardcastle, and you would not rue the day you employed me, if you were kind enough to do so.”
The proprietor was as solid and imposing as the house that bore her name. Lily dared a glance at her face but found the older woman’s features hard to read. She was not an unpleasant-looking woman, though her perpetually furrowed brow and steely grey eyes did little to conjure a sense of warmth. The drab, dark dress she wore didn’t do her many favours either, the frumpy cut and endless layers doing little for her figure. Indeed, there was a handsome quality beneath the sternness of her face. It was difficult to gauge her age. Lily supposed she might have been anywhere between thirty and forty-five. It wasn’t really possible to tell however because the shifting light making her look youthful one moment, and world-weary the next.
“And who might you be?”
Lily gulped. “My name is Lily Althrop. I have nowhere else to go.”
“You have said that once already, little bird,” Mrs Hardcastle chided.
“My apologies, Mrs Hardcastle.” Lily stared at the fox in the tapestry, feeling empathy for the creature. The proprietor clicked her tongue, as if in thought.
“Well, it is lucky for you that I have a position just opened, though you’ll be shown no leniency if you slacken in your duties, or do not adhere to the chores I have set out for you. Do you understand?”
Lily gaped at her. “I understand, Mrs Hardcastle. Do you truly mean it?”
“As you say, you’d best not make me rue the day I agreed to your working here,” she replied, the sharpness in her voice told Lily she must not. “Now, how about some soup to warm your bones?” Lily must’ve looked agog. The woman spoke again, with a slight kindness in her voice. “The day has been a very warm one, but you look as though the first bite of winter just shivered through you. My guess is you haven’t eaten a morsel in days — am I right?”
“I am rather hungry.” Lily nodded and pressed her palm to her stomach, speaking the truth. Although the nausea of being with-child had stolen much of her appetite, and caused her to expel whatever she had managed to consume, she really did feel ravenous.
“Right then, you come through to the kitchen and we’ll fix you something hearty,” Mrs Hardcastle insisted, leading the way up the corridor towards a doorway at the back of the hall. “We can talk about your duties once you have had some food. No use discussing business on an empty stomach, I always say.” Lily could have sunk to the ground and cried.
“Thank you, Mrs Hardcastle. You shall not regret this kindness.”
“I had better not,” she retorted, though her voice had lost some of its harshness. Indeed, Lily was beginning to wonder if Mrs Hardcastle’s bark was far worse than her bite. To be a woman in this sort of position, Lily thought it must take a certain level of outward intimidation and strength, to prevent her from being walked all over.
Secretly, Lily was beginning to very much admire the fiery, firm Mrs Hardcastle. It made her wish that she had a little bit more of that same strength, to see her through the dark days that would inevitably come. Sitting down at a well-worn table, dangli
ng her legs from a long bench that ran alongside, the terror that had gripped her so fiercely began to ease. She understood that she was not quite out of the woods, but the trees were a little less dense, so to speak. Mrs Hardcastle placed a bowl of steaming broth before her, which she set upon like a wolf, spooning great mouthfuls to her lips. Fresh, crusty bread made a welcome addition, as Lily sponged up the delicious, meaty soup and ate to her heart’s content.
“I thought you looked famished but I did not realise I’d taken in a gannet,” Mrs Hardcastle ate slowly from her own bowl, the humour in her voice lost on Lily. “Now, how about you tell me where you’ve come from, Miss Althrop?” Lily froze, her spoon halfway to her mouth.
“London,” she replied, after a brief pause. It was a big place after all; she doubted that Mrs Hardcastle could know anyone there.
“Good family?”
“Yes.”
“Your mind seems sharp. Do you have some education?” Lily nodded.
“I do, Mrs Hardcastle. Arithmetic is my forte, though I can do any task you set me to. I can keep books, wash and clean, assist around the house. I would say I can cook, but that might be the one thing you want me to steer clear of.” A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips.
“A sense of humour too, is it?” Mrs Hardcastle seemed pleased, despite her stony exterior. “Nothing like a bit of broth to perk up the senses, I always say.” It appeared Mrs Hardcastle liked to say a lot of things, though Lily put each one away in her mind, remembering the sentiment. Somehow, it made her feel better.
“Thank you for your kindness, Mrs Hardcastle.” Lily stared down at the worn, splintered table for a moment. “Without this generosity, I do not know where I might have ended up.” A flicker of sadness passed across Mrs Hardcastle’s eyes.
“What took you from London, little bird?”
“I could not stay… that is all there is to it.” Lily did not feel ready to talk to the proprietor about the Earl of Felmingham, or the condition she was in. A story would have to be conjured, she knew, but at least she was not yet showing. When that begins to happen, I shall explain everything to you, she promised silently. Until that moment came, she had not the bravery to reveal the truth. She did not yet know Mrs Hardcastle well enough to dispel her own fears. What if the older woman should cast her out, thinking her an utter disgrace? Who would want a harlot under their roof? Especially as she had specifically requested clean and respectful lodgers only. No, Lily vowed to remain silent until she could not hide her secret any longer.
“And there will be no disgruntled husband coming to my door, near-beating it down and demanding your swift return?” Lily shook her head.
“There will be no such thing, I swear it. I am unwed.” The words stuck in her throat, reminding her of her predicament like an icy knife through the heart.
“Very well,” Mrs Hardcastle said uncertainly, “then we may discuss your duties here, if you are to remain for a while?”
“I am, Mrs Hardcastle.”
“Then, you shall assist in me in the daily housekeeping of the rooms. We have several suites here at Hardcastle House, each varying in size and number of rooms within, as well as some single, solitary rooms. I shall instruct you tomorrow morning of how we do things here,” she began. “As you are apparently adept at arithmetic, you will also help me with administrative tasks, including book-keeping and suchlike. Your penmanship is good, I trust?”
“It is. I have taken great pains to perfect it.”
“Excellent, then it appears that you have come to my door at precisely the right moment.” A sudden, warm smile crossed Mrs Hardcastle’s face. “For a while, I have been looking for somebody to assist with the administration of running this house, though nobody has quite fit the bill. I trust your coming here will be serendipitous for us both.”
Lily dared a returned smile. “I hope so, too.”
~~~~~
Four days had passed in a busy haze of running around the boarding house, hurrying to Mrs Hardcastle’s every beck and call. Lily did not mind, for it presented a welcome distraction, allowing her thoughts to drift away from the child growing within her. Only when she returned to her single room in the attic each night did the reality come crashing back down, enveloping her in a cold sweat, feeding nightmares into her dreams. She kept watch on the village from her high tower, the small window in the attic room permitting a bird’s eye view of the hustle and bustle below.
A shiver of fear often ricocheted up her spine at the approach of cart wheels or a carriage pulling up outside. It only took the beat of horses’ hooves toward the boarding house to send her into a panic. However, it always subsided. Lord Felmingham was a long way away, or so she hoped. Indeed, she had yet to venture back outside, to explore the limits of Upper Nettlefold more closely, but she knew there would be plenty of time for her to get better acquainted.
On the morning of her fourth day at Hardcastle House, Lily found herself bent over a bathroom basin. Clutching a rag sodden with malt vinegar, struggling not to expel her breakfast into the bowl, she was supposed to be cleaning the tin bathtubs with the acrid liquid, to sluice away the soap scum of previous bathers, but the stench was too overpowering, making her stomach churn. Bile rose up in her throat.
“Miss Althrop?” a voice called from the doorway. Lily whirled around in alarm, her face drained of colour.
“Goodness me, whatever is the matter?” Before she could answer, Lily turned and heaved up the contents of her stomach into the basin. There was nothing she could do to stop it. Her body was shaking violently. In between the retching, she became aware of strong hands holding her and taking her weight. Eventually the spasms stopped, and Lily wiped away the perspiration that had formed on her brow, avoiding Mrs Hardcastle’s face.
“Now, would you care to tell me the truth?” Mrs Hardcastle encouraged, setting Lily down on a stool nearby. “I have been watching you since you came here, little bird, and it does not take a particularly educated woman to understand the condition you are in. I have seen the way you baulk at certain foods, the way you become pallid, the way you excuse yourself all of a sudden and spend a great deal of time in the privy.”
Lily flushed, mortified. “I am unwell, that is all. A trifling ailment of the stomach.”
“So, it is to be lies, is it?”
Lily looked up at the proprietor in desperation, feeling as though she might faint with fear. She had a room here, and food to eat, and warmth and safety… she could not risk losing that by revealing the truth. Then again, it seemed as though Mrs Hardcastle had already worked out the facts, she just needed Lily to confirm then. And then do what with me? Lily wondered, trembling. Hand me in to someone? Send me back?
“I cannot tell you…” she whimpered.
“You must, Lily,” Mrs Hardcastle urged. “I do not care how troubled your past may be, but if I am to keep you here, I must know your story. If I am putting myself, and my tenants, in harm’s way, then I should like to know, so that I may weigh up the risks. You must tell me what has happened to you. I shall not judge.”
There was a sincerity in her voice that surprised Lily. Looking into the older woman’s face, she wondered if something had happened in Mrs Hardcastle’s life that had made her less prone to prejudice.
Taking a deep breath, she began to tell the tale of the Earl of Felmingham. She told every detail of the sordid story; how he had threatened and coerced, backing her into a corner until the only thing she could do was accept his vile terms. All the while, she kept her gaze to the floor for fear of Mrs Hardcastle’s reaction. Moreover, she was not certain she would be believed.
Lord Felmingham’s words haunted her still.
Chapter Three
“Oh, my poor girl,” Mrs Hardcastle said, once the tale was told and Lily sat shaking on the bathroom stool. Tears streaked the girl’s face, prompting Mrs Hardcastle to lift a clean rag to her cheeks, dabbing away the sadness.
The proprietor of Hardcastle House was a shrewd woman, goo
d at spotting liars. This poor creature was no liar, she knew, sympathising with the plight of the young woman. Indeed, there was nobody on earth who could fabricate such misery. Although Mrs Hardcastle was not an outwardly affectionate sort of woman, she could not help wanting to wrap her arms around Lily, offering to take the pain and suffering away. Lily was not the first troubled young woman Mrs Hardcastle had happened upon, nor did she reason that Lily would be the last, but it left her just as furious as the first time she had encountered such a predicament — not with the girl, but with the supposed gentleman who had done this to her.
With every tale she heard of unhappy marriages, unwed women forced into situations like this, and scoundrels getting away with whatever they pleased, without consequence, her distrust of men increased tenfold. Already, she doubted their integrity beyond anything other than base instinct, having never had a male role model to speak of. Her father had been a cruel, cold man, who had often beaten her to within an inch of her life.
Had she not fled when she did, she knew she might have ended up face-down in the river that had run through her home-town, never to take another breath there again. Back then, she had relied on the kindness of a stranger. Indeed, it was the reason she took in waifs and strays wherever she could, offering them sanctuary. Now, she refused to let Lily walk through this world alone, bearing the weight of her situation by herself.
“You believe me?” Lily gasped, breaking Mrs Hardcastle’s heart.
“Whyever should I not?”
A sob wracked Lily’s chest.
“Lord Felmingham told me that nobody would believe a word I said. He told me that everyone would think me a harlot — a fallen woman who deserves everything that has befallen her.”
Escaping The Scurrilous Earl Page 2
