by Jane Ashford
“I am not your chaperone” was the disapproving reply. “I suppose you may behave as badly as you please.” She turned and swept out of the room.
“You might have helped me,” Señora Alvarez said to Arthur.
“You didn’t need any help,” he answered. “And I feared the intervention of a mere man would make things worse.”
Miss Finch snorted a laugh.
“You were wonderful,” said Miss Moran. “Ada’s aunt always makes me quake in my boots.”
The señora made a pfft sound. She was always magnificent, Arthur thought.
Thirteen
Over three quiet days, the rescued girls recovered. With safety, good food, rest, and care, they regained their strength. Only Odile remained weak, and even she was showing some improvement. Their spirits were a different matter. These veered from tears to rage to anxious tremors as the group sat together in the earl’s drawing room. But Teresa knew how to comfort without discounting these reactions, allowing them to run their course. She understood, too, that the tales might need to be repeated more than once. She had found this for herself, long ago. Repetition weakened bad memories; their impact could slowly trickle away, like sand running from an hourglass.
Visitors from the theater, including Tom, called to cheer the dancers, and Lord Macklin, on his brief look-ins, treated them with grave courtesy. Teresa grew hopeful that they would be able to move on very soon to whatever came next. She longed for that with all her being because she was finding it maddening to be in the earl’s company but not really with him. They had less conversation than during his visits to the artisans’ workshop. His sense of honor had become a barrier in his own house.
On the fourth day, she was determined to catch him and broach the subject of the future. But at midmorning the peace of the house was broken by shouting from the lower floor. The noise brought all the girls to worried alert. Puzzled, Teresa went out to the top of the stairs and looked down into the entry hall. A man was actually grappling with the earl’s butler. As she watched, he struck out and knocked Chirt to the floor. Where were the footmen?
The intruder started up the stairs, coming very fast, and then Teresa recognized him. It was Lord Simon Farange, the man behind the kidnappings. They had expected that he would hear the gossip and deduce who had raided the house, but Teresa hadn’t imagined he would force his way in here. He snarled up at her, missed his footing, and caught at the stair rail to keep his balance. Teresa concluded that he’d been drinking. Surely only drunkenness would lead him to invade the earl’s residence.
Chirt was struggling to his feet below. He would bring help. Until then, it was up to her to protect her charges.
Teresa rushed back into the drawing room. “Lord Simon is here,” she said. Gasps around the room greeted this unwelcome news. They all knew his name by this time. “He is alone,” Teresa added. “And there are seven of us.” She went to the hearth and picked up the fireplace poker. She posted herself between the girls and the doorway.
Lord Simon burst in and stood swaying there. “Here’s a fine sight,” he said. “A huddle of whores gone to ground.” He laughed. “Even my lovely little Odile.” He pointed at her. “Do you imagine I won’t scoop you up the moment you pass through the front door? Did you really think to escape me?”
From the sofa, Odile made a soft frightened sound.
“Come on!” cried Poppy. With a sweeping gesture, she surged forward. There was a moment’s hesitation, and then the others, except Teresa and Odile, joined her. In a mob, they threw themselves on Lord Simon, bearing him to the carpet. There they surrounded him, punching and kicking and cursing. The man seemed stunned by this response, scarcely able to defend himself.
Three footmen ran in with Chirt right behind them. Teresa held up a hand and let the pummeling continue for a little longer. Then she moved forward to pull the girls away. The footmen hauled Lord Simon to his feet and held him upright. He drooped in their grip, much worse for wear. He would have some bruises of his own, Teresa noted with satisfaction.
She turned to replace the poker and discovered Odile, sitting up shakily on the sofa and pointing Teresa’s pistol at the intruder. When had she taken the gun? The last Teresa knew it was shoved into the back of a drawer in her bedchamber. Had she even mentioned that? It seemed that the girl had searched her room. “Odile,” Teresa said.
“I wish to kill him dead,” replied the girl.
“It will cause great trouble for you if you kill him,” said Teresa.
“I don’t worry. He is deserving of death.”
“He may deserve it, Odile, but you do not deserve the consequences of such an act.”
“No one cares about me.”
“We do.” Teresa looked around at the other girls. “Don’t we?”
They all nodded.
“He ain’t worth it,” said Poppy. “He’s no better than a piece of trash.”
“Me, I know someone to kill him for us,” said Jeanne, breathing hard, her fingers still crooked into claws.
Teresa didn’t respond to this. Better not to discuss hired assassins. “We will use the law,” she answered instead.
“They will not listen to the likes of us,” objected Sonia.
“They will listen to me,” said Lord Macklin from the doorway.
His sudden appearance startled Odile. The pistol jerked upward in her hand and went off. The report was shockingly loud in the closed room. The air filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder.
“Merde!” Odile dropped the pistol as if it had bitten her.
The footmen had flinched and ducked, but they hadn’t released their captive. The earl, perhaps seeing the angle of the weapon, had stood very still. The rest of them had quailed. Slowly now, they straightened.
A chittery sound broke the silence. Bits of plaster fell from a hole high on the wall.
“Take him to a storeroom and lock him in,” said the earl.
Lord Simon glared at him. “You’re no better than me,” he said. His voice was more slurred than before due to a bloodied lip. “You’ve got yourself a houseful of whores right here in London.”
Teresa’s fingers tightened on the poker.
Lord Macklin showed no reaction to the taunt. “I shall speak to the authorities, and your father.”
“He won’t care,” declared Lord Simon. He rasped and spit on the carpet. His spittle was red. “Nobody will care about a bunch of light-skirts. Why should they? Worthless doxies.”
The earl gestured, and the footmen pulled Lord Simon out of the room. Chirt followed them.
Teresa replaced the poker and went to pick up her gun, which she would hide far more securely from now on.
“I am very sorry for this intrusion,” said Lord Macklin. “I hope you are not too shaken up.” His gaze passed over them all.
“I liked kicking him,” said Poppy.
“I would have preferred killing him dead,” said Odile.
“Quite understandable,” answered the earl. “But that would have been imprudent.”
Jeanne walked over to sit beside Odile and take her hand. Teresa made a note to discover the details of their whispering and make certain they did not involve hired killers.
The earl drew Teresa aside. “Will anyone listen to you?” she asked him.
“After this latest outrage, I’m sure I can convince the duke to send his son away.”
“No more than that?”
Lord Macklin looked grim. “All the people from that house fled before the magistrate reached it.”
“Even the woman we tied up?”
He nodded. “I suppose she was found and freed. I have just heard that the hunt for them has turned up nothing. They are still being searched for. I hope some may be found.”
“Because without them, it is only ‘whores’ accusing Lord Simon. And they must be liars, sí?”
He made no reply.
“There is the driver who took me into the country,” Teresa exclaimed. How could she have forgotten him? “We saw Lord Simon drive through the gates with Jeanne.”
“Ah. Of course. That could be helpful.” His tone was doubtful.
“But not enough?” She felt bitterness well up. “Another insignificant person lining up against the son of a duke.”
“A private arrangement with his father would be most likely to succeed,” said Lord Macklin.
“So all goes on as before. He will not be punished. Perhaps I should let Jeanne’s friend the assassin kill him.”
“What?”
“Oh, of course I will tell her she mustn’t. It just makes me so angry that nothing will happen to that man.”
“I was thinking of suggesting a madhouse,” replied the earl.
This startled her.
“This is not his only outrage. Lord Simon is subject to irrational fits of rage. He has attacked people with a whip. Incidents have been hushed up. Several promising horses were taken ill after his visit to a baron’s racing stable. And he is suspected of cheating at cards. More than suspected, perhaps. I am looking into that.”
“So there are offenses against important people to be taken into account.”
He didn’t deny it. “Forcing his way into my house is so far beyond the line. I think his father will listen.”
“Because you are of his class and rank. And might make trouble for him among those he…values.”
“I am sorry—”
Teresa cut off his apology with a gesture. “Of course I am thankful that you are willing to act. I don’t know what would have become of these girls without you.” That wasn’t true. She had a very good idea. She only wished she didn’t know.
“I am glad to do what I can,” he said.
“Noblesse oblige.” Teresa turned away. “We must be humbly grateful.” She had been expected to appreciate so many unpalatable things in her life. At least the inequity of justice wasn’t a personal slight. Though near-universal oppression was hardly any better.
“Nonsense!” The sharpness of his tone made several of the girls on the other side of the room turn to look at them. “You know I seek no such thing,” he added. “I don’t want your…obeisance for doing a thing that is right. What a repellent idea.”
He said it as if there could be no argument. She’d forgotten his quality for a moment. If she’d found someone like him after her family was killed… Teresa cut off a rush of regrets.
Silence had fallen over the drawing room. Odile looked frightened. “I must speak to them,” she said with a gesture.
“Yes. I had thought we could talk about what kind of help our guests would like, but this is not a good time.”
“No.” He said “our” as if they could both offer aid. But despite his attitude, the gift of largesse remained almost wholly his. And so it would always be, between them.
“Tomorrow perhaps. They must be wondering about the future.”
Teresa nodded. There had been questions. It was undoubtedly time for this little fairy-tale visit to end.
* * *
When Arthur entered his drawing room the next afternoon, he found all of the rescued captives there with Señora Alvarez. Tom was present as well. The lad sat beside Poppy, and they had their heads together. Arthur had noticed that these two talked a good deal when they had the opportunity. Though Poppy was a few years older, Tom’s experience of the world had given him a maturity that belied his age, and they seemed to easily find common ground. Or perhaps common spirit was a better term. They shared an innate optimism and good temper, as well as a dauntless attitude. Tom had been full of admiration when he heard that Poppy had set fire to the house where she’d been imprisoned.
Arthur sat in an armchair so that he would not seem to be lecturing the group. “I should tell you first that Lord Simon Farange has been sent away from London,” he said. “He will not be returning.”
“Who will stop him?” asked Odile.
“His family.” Arthur had put forceful arguments to the duke, who had seen his points.
“So they say now.” Odile looked wan.
“They will see to it,” said Arthur. He believed the duke would keep his word. The man was unpleasant but not dishonorable. He certainly did not want his name dragged through the mud, which Lord Simon seemed hell-bent on doing.
“So nothing’s going to happen to him?” asked Poppy. “He’ll be living the high life on some country estate?” She scowled. “Doing what he likes with the maidservants.”
“No.” Arthur looked around the room. “The terms have been set out very clearly. He will reside at a small country house, yes. But he will be supervised by men under orders from his father.” His suggestion of a madhouse had not been well received.
“What is this ‘supervised’?” asked Odile.
“Guarded,” replied Arthur. “Deprived of all his…customary amusements. The estate is up near the Scottish border, and he will not be allowed to leave there.” There was muttering, which he understood. Señora Alvarez was unusually silent. “I have made my own arrangements to keep watch on the place,” he added. “Should anything go wrong with this agreement, steps will be taken.”
Around the room, they digested this news. “I hope this beast will be misérable in this place,” said Odile.
“I think he will be,” Arthur replied.
“Not so much as we were under his hand,” muttered Sonia.
“His lordship has been very kind to act in this,” said Señora Alvarez. “The punishment is worse than this canalla would be likely to receive if he stood before a judge.”
She never called him “his lordship.” Arthur pushed on in a circle of frowns. “With that settled, I thought we might talk about what comes next. What would be most helpful to you.”
“You want us out of your house,” said Sonia.
“You know you cannot remain here,” said the señora.
She spoke more harshly than Arthur would have.
“I do not wish to,” said Jeanne. “It is very dull.”
“Jeanne!”
The girl tossed her head. “Eh bien, señora, I am grateful.” She acknowledged Arthur with a curtsy. “I thank you, sir. But I want to dance. It is what I love.”
“And now that you are feeling better, you would like to go back to the theater,” said Arthur.
“Yes, my lord.”
Several others nodded as if they felt the same.
“Poppy’s going to work at the theater too,” said Tom. “Mrs. Scanlon says she sews a treat, and she’ll be glad to have her.”
Jill gave Poppy an astonished look. “Who?”
“The woman who manages the costumes for the plays,” replied Poppy.
“But… What about me?”
Jill had come to rely on Poppy for direction, Arthur saw. Even though they had not known each other long.
“I cannot dance anymore,” said Odile. “Perhaps never again.” She looked frightened.
“So what would you like?” Arthur asked her.
Odile simply stared at him with wide, anxious eyes.
“Perhaps a place to stay,” said Señora Alvarez. “A…refuge when needed.” She said the word with a combination of reverence and melancholy.
“We might hire a house in London that could be used for such a purpose.” In fact, Arthur had already sent out inquiries and unearthed several possibilities in neighborhoods that were safe but not overly fussy about their denizens’ occupations.
“Is this what they call the royal we?” asked the señora, as if he’d mocked her.
Arthur didn’t understand why she was so prickly today. He’d been careful not to seem to dictate.
“And you are to pay for this,” Señora Alvarez added. “Forever?�
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“I expect Miss Finch would join in to help. And her friends. We would set up a fund.” He might have paid for it all himself, but that would cause talk. More talk. There was quite enough of that already. He turned to the dancers. “What do you think of this plan?”
“A place to go and stay for free?” asked Maria.
“Yes.”
“For as long as we want?” asked Jill. “Without any rent?”
“There would have to be rules about that,” said the señora.
Arthur nearly objected, until he saw the nods of agreement. “You shall make them,” he said to Señora Alvarez. “With others you choose to consult. Women should oversee everything about this place, I think.”
Odile narrowed her eyes as if trying to see some trick in this suggestion. This was the world they navigated, Arthur thought, continually waiting for an unpredictable hammer blow to fall. He’d had no notion before he met Señora Alvarez.
His visitors all agreed that this seemed a good plan. And over the next few days, the arrangements were made. A suitable house was found and engaged. Arthur went to call on Miss Harriet Finch and ask for her help. Alone, as the señora claimed to be too busy to accompany him. Miss Finch quickly agreed to contribute. “People may wonder at your interest in such a cause,” Arthur warned her.
She shrugged. “The thing I have discovered about being a great heiress is that people will accept a host of eccentricities if they come with money,” she answered. “It is one of the few advantages.”
“Señora Alvarez hopes that you will serve as one of the overseers of the new refuge.” He had been told to ask this.
Miss Finch looked flattered and intrigued. “I will. Perhaps I can do some good in the world. At least until I am harangued into marriage and all the money is handed over to my husband.”
“You can find a husband who would also like to help,” he suggested.
“You are a rare breed, Lord Macklin. I don’t expect to meet another like you.”
He shook his head and told her she was wrong, but she had clearly not been convinced.
