by Erica Vetsch
“Madam, that’s enough.” Marcus looked at her sharply. “Charlotte was my choice, and she is my duchess. She has my permission and my support in her endeavors to help women in need, wherever that may be. She graces the Haverly name beautifully. I’ve heard enough on the subject. If you cannot treat my wife with courtesy, perhaps it would be better if you returned to Haverly Manor and took up residence in the dower house.”
Fire flared in his mother’s eyes for a moment, and then her face crumpled like a smacked baby’s. “Why do you treat me so shabbily? I’m only looking out for her, trying to guide her. And when I voice my opinion, you threaten to send me to the country?” She dabbed at the corner of her eye with her napkin. “Your brother never would’ve treated me in such a manner.”
Perhaps if Father or Neville had put their foot down with her domineering ways sooner, Marcus wouldn’t be left to deal with the aftermath of their indulgences. When would this ordeal by domesticity end?
“You know I mean no disrespect, madam, but I am the head of this house, and Charlotte is my wife. I will not have you making disparaging remarks about her, nor will I have you throwing Cilla at my head. That topic is forever closed.” He sent a stern look his mother’s way, then lightened his tone. “As it happens, Charlotte could use your assistance, and so could I. We’re planning a party.” One thing about his mother, she could be easily diverted.
“A party? Here?” She beamed, all atwitter now. “Yes, how lovely. A dinner party? A Venetian breakfast? A musical evening?”
“Our plans are more elaborate, I fear. We’re going to have a house party, a week of staying guests culminating in a masquerade ball.”
And she was off like a thoroughbred at Epsom on Derby Day. Instantly Marcus regretted unveiling their plans so early on. Charlotte set down her toast and put her hands in her lap, lowering her eyes.
“Stop, madam.” Marcus held up his hand to halt the spate of words and plans. “You misunderstand me. Charlotte will be in total charge of the planning. I am sure there are aspects she will delegate to your capable hands. We’ve only just begun strategizing, but at the end of the day, it is Charlotte who will have total command. You and I will be at her beck and call.”
His mother gulped, face falling into familiar, petulant lines.
“Take it or leave it, madam. You may help when asked, but you may not take charge. It’s always best to lay out our expectations in the beginning, isn’t it? That way there are no misunderstandings.”
Charlotte’s aspect brightened, and he smiled at her, going so far as to reach out and clasp her hand in her lap and raise it to his lips. “We are yours to command, my dear.”
The butler entered the room carrying a silver salver. “The morning post, Your Grace. And the carriage is at the front steps.”
He’d forgotten. He was supposed to be at Westminster in thirty minutes.
The disappointed look in his wife’s eyes at his dashing away yet again was harder to bear than if she had protested aloud. Guilt pressed around him again as he rose.
“I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
CHAPTER 12
“THAT’S WHY I want you to come to Haverly House for the party.” Charlotte finished winding the strip of cloth into a tidy roll of bandage and reached for another. She still marveled at the way God worked. She never would have thought six months ago that her place of refuge and purpose would be found in a former madam’s rescue house. “You want to establish a training facility for these women someday to give them another option besides walking the streets. Why not test your ideas on a smaller scale?”
Aunt Dolly stopped rocking, and she ceased knitting, which meant Charlotte had her full attention. “I do. It’s long been a dream of mine. But is your house party really the place to first explore the possibilities?”
“Where better? I need to hire more staff because of the extra work the party will cause, especially with guests staying over. I’ll need an additional laundress, at least two maids, and a helper for the cook. You can come, either as one of the guests if you will, or if you’re not comfortable with that, then as a supervisor. You can work with the housekeeper to see that everything runs smoothly. It would give you an excellent opportunity to see what should be done or not done when setting up your training school.”
Aunt Dolly resumed her knitting and rocking, her eyes narrowed. “I couldn’t come as your guest. How would you explain me? And could you imagine the vapors your mother-in-law would go into if you had a former brothel owner sitting across from her at dinner? But it would be a fine chance for some of the girls to learn skills …” She looked up. “What about your staff? Would they accept our girls and work with them?”
Charlotte considered what she knew of the housekeeper and cook, which wasn’t much. The dowager had kept her hands firmly on the reins of running the house, and she didn’t appear enamored of the idea of turning over any responsibility to Charlotte. “You leave that to me.” It was past time Charlotte took control of her house. If the current staff couldn’t find it in their hearts to help women in need, then she would hire new staff.
After a long period of silence, Aunt Dolly looked up. “Yes, I accept your offer. If you’re certain. Now, who should we take with us?”
Charlotte was beginning to appreciate Dolly’s straightforward approach. Once she made a decision, she was ready to act on it. No waffling about her.
“You know the prospects better than I. Who do you think sincerely wants to change? Who do you think will be the most successful? Wouldn’t it be wise to choose those you think would have the easiest transition, and the most success, so that you can use them as examples for the future?” Charlotte picked up the last fabric strip and began to roll it.
“You’re wise beyond your years, young lady. All through last autumn, I prayed God would send someone to help me here. Someone with a good heart who wouldn’t condemn these ladies, who would see their potential instead of their sins, and He sent me you.” Aunt Dolly reached for her scissors and snipped her yarn. “There. All I have to do is weave in the ends, and another pair of stockings is done.”
Charlotte’s throat thickened, and she swallowed hard. She had never been called the answer to anyone’s prayers before. The words were like balm to her soul. God saw her as a valuable part of His plans. Now if only her husband would do the same. Marcus saw her as useful, but was she valuable to him?
A crash in the hallway below had them both looking up. Footsteps pounded up the stairs, and Belinda wrenched open the door, staggering inside. “Hurry. It’s bad.” She had blood on her hands and apron, and her eyes were stark.
Pulse jumping, Charlotte stood so fast the bandage dropped from her hands and raced across the floor, unwinding as it went. If Belinda, who couldn’t be rattled by a hurricane, thought a situation bad, it must be. She didn’t wait for Aunt Dolly before heading downstairs.
The woman crumpled in the foyer was unrecognizable. Her face was a mass of swelling and blood, her hair hung in clumps, and she barely clasped her ripped dress to her bosom. Bruises marked nearly every inch of her exposed skin in angry red marks that would soon turn purple. A moan escaped her split and bleeding lips.
Belinda held on to the newel post, eyes wide, and May’s face was white and taut. It dawned on Charlotte that they were all standing around staring and not helping at all, and she took a grip on herself.
“May, get to the kitchen and stoke the fire. Put water on to boil, then head for the well and get plenty of fresh water. Belinda, go prepare the bed at the head of the stairs. Spread some towels to spare the sheets. Then bring bandages, salves, and the sewing kit.” Charlotte issued her orders as she bent beside the woman.
“Go … away. Not … you.” The words came from stiff, swollen lips. Feeble hands tried to push Charlotte away.
“I’m sorry. We’ll get you into a bed as soon as we can. It will hurt, but you can’t stay on the floor.” Charlotte reached for her again, only to be rebuffed.
“No. Not �
�� you!” The woman spit blood, coughing and holding her ribs. She glared at Charlotte through swollen slits, tears streaming from her eyes, and recognition hit Charlotte like a stab of hot light.
“Pippa!”
She dropped to her knees, wanting to gather her sister into her arms, but not touching her.
“That’s … right … dear … sister.” She spat again, her chin covered with blood. “Pippa, your dark … secret. Bet you’re sorry you … ever found out … about me.”
Exasperation mingled with anger. Not at Pippa, but at whomever would treat anyone, much less her sister, this way. “Oh, don’t be more foolish than you have to be. Let us help you. If you didn’t want help, why did you come here?”
Charlotte pressed herself up from the floor and went to the front door.
Scanning the street, she found Partridge at the far end, coming her way, holding a paper-wrapped bundle in his hand, bringing it to his lips every few steps. When he spied her, he lengthened his stride, gobbling the last of a meat pie as he reached the stairs.
“Are you ready to leave? I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I went down to the pub for a bit of lunch.” He stuffed the paper into his pocket.
“No, I need your help.” She stood back and motioned for him to come inside.
He paused, his hand on the rail. “The boss said I wasn’t to go inside.”
“As a rule, I agree with him, but while you were gone, a woman arrived, and she’s badly hurt. I need your help to get her upstairs to a bed. Please, Partridge. I’ll take responsibility for you going against the duke’s wishes in this matter.”
Belinda had come back downstairs with a clean sheet and draped it around Pippa, who lay on the floor with her swollen eyes closed. Aunt Dolly bent over her, spooning laudanum through her split lips. “There, that will help with the pain.”
“Belinda, go down the street and fetch her mother. Amelia will want to be here,” Charlotte ordered.
“She’s not there. Went to the shops.” Pippa’s hand trembled, and a tear leaked out of the corner of her eye, tracking over the swelling and bruises.
As gently as he could, Partridge bent and lifted her in his arms. She looked so small and fragile against his bulk, her head resting on his shoulder. “Where should I take her?”
Charlotte led the way up the stairs and into the first bedroom. He laid Pippa on the bed, and she moaned again, cradling her ribs, taking shallow breaths. Her eyes remained closed.
“I’ll go down the street and wait for her mum to come back. Send the young one if you want me to fetch a doctor.” Partridge backed out of the room, and Charlotte sent him a silent thank-you before turning to Pippa again.
“What happened?” Charlotte asked. “Who did this to you?”
“We’ll talk about it later. First things first.” Aunt Dolly bustled in, the medicine chest under her arm. “May’s coming with the water. Belinda, you have those towels?”
The injuries were more extensive than Charlotte had feared. At Aunt Dolly’s behest, she cataloged them on a piece of paper. Aunt Dolly kept a file on each patient. Some of those files were depressingly thick.
A possible broken nose, blackened eyes, split lip. Several loosened teeth. “Broken ribs here on the left side, and she’s got two broken fingers,” Aunt Dolly recited as she examined Pippa.
“Should we send for a physician?” Charlotte asked.
“No,” Pippa protested, her voice croaking. “No doctors. No one can know. And I don’t want her here.” She indicated Charlotte by lifting one hand feebly.
Aunt Dolly dipped the corner of a towel into the basin and began to gently remove some of the gore. “All right. No doctor just yet. Belinda, take some money and go to the apothecary. Bring back some more laudanum, some comfrey, and some arrowroot. May, you head to the butcher and bring back a pair of chickens. We’re going to need some broth.” They hurried to do her bidding. “As for Charlotte, you should be thankful she is here, Pippa Cashel. If she wasn’t, we wouldn’t have the money to buy the things you’re going to need.”
“What shall I do?” Charlotte felt so helpless and discouraged, knowing that Pippa didn’t want her here, but wanting, needing, to aid her somehow.
“Take over here. I need to get something from the kitchen.” Aunt Dolly handed over the cloth.
Charlotte knelt beside the bed, easing back Pippa’s brown hair, feeling the stickiness of blood in the curls.
“Leave me be.” Pippa protested, but her words were weak.
“I will. Later.” Charlotte began at the hairline and dabbed gently, the cloth coming away red. “Where does it hurt the most?”
“Ribs … hand … face.” Fat tears leaked from Pippa’s eyes and trailed toward her ears. She tried to sniff, but winced.
As softly as she could, Charlotte wicked up the tears. She folded a damp towel and laid it over Pippa’s eyes to help with the swelling. Then using the scissors from the medical chest, she cut away her sister’s torn dress. She should have recognized it at once. Pippa had been wearing it the first time they’d met. The peacock-blue silk, ruined now with rips and blood, fell away, and Charlotte gathered it into a bundle, leaving Pippa’s chemise and petticoat in place. She pulled up the counterpane to ward off the chill in the room.
“I’ll get you a nightgown and wrapper in a while. The worst of the bleeding has stopped, but I think you’re going to need some stitches.” She touched Pippa’s hairline, where a jagged gash still oozed. “We’re going to need to wrap those ribs, and we’ll splint those fingers. When some of the swelling goes down, we’ll be able to tell if your nose is broken.”
A sob escaped Pippa’s lips. “I’ll look like a gargoyle.”
Charlotte swallowed and refreshed the cloth over Pippa’s eyes. “Who did this to you?”
Pippa stirred, her features moving as if trying to frown, but her face was too swollen. “It’s not your concern.”
Gripping the rag so hard that water droplets leaked out and hit her dress, Charlotte said, “You are my concern. We’re sisters whether you like it or not. I want to help you. Why won’t you let me help you?”
With great effort, Pippa swept the cloth from her eyes and forced her lids open. “Why? Why would you want to help me? I’m a dirty, dark secret, remember? You shouldn’t even know about me. I’m an outcast, thrown out by our father.” She all but spat the last sentence before letting her body go limp and turning her face away from Charlotte.
“Our father is wrong. If it is any consolation to you, he doesn’t love me any more than he loves you.”
“I don’t want his love. Love never gets you anywhere. It’s just a word people say when they want something.” Her words had slowed and begun to slur. The laudanum taking effect. “Don’t ask me again who did this. If he ever found out I told anyone, he’d most likely kill me, and then he’d kill you. He’s a dangerous man. That’s all you need to know. The other girls in the house know enough to keep their heads down and pretend nothing is happening when this man gets into a rage. He would have done the same and worse to one of them if they had intervened. They don’t know who he is, and if they’re smart, they won’t try to find out.”
“Then you must let me help you.” He’d kill her? What kind of man would do that? “Tell me who he is so he can be stopped.”
She stirred on the pillow. “You can’t stop him. He’s one of the most powerful men in the country. Who would believe me over him? I’m a nobody. I’m a … Cyprian …” Her voice trailed away.
Aunt Dolly returned, and May followed carrying a can of gently steaming water.
Charlotte drew the older woman aside. “I don’t care what you have to do—make sure Pippa is one of the girls you bring to Haverly House.”
Aunt Dolly’s eyes filled with doubt. “She won’t come. She’s the most popular courtesan in London.”
“Convince her. Tell her she won’t have to work, that she can just recuperate. And she can hide. She won’t tell me who did this to her, but she’s afraid of him. Sh
e says he might kill her.”
“I’ll try, but she’s a stubborn woman. And proud. I’ve tried to help her before, convince her to leave the life. I’ve tried to share Jesus with her, but she doesn’t want to listen. And being killed by a client is an all-too-real danger for women like her. It’s an evil world.” Aunt Dolly’s shoulders slumped, and she aged before Charlotte’s eyes.
Charlotte glanced back at her sister. “She came here for help. Maybe it’s the foothold we need to reach her.”
“The house is going to be full to the rafters.” Charlotte studied the guest list, and Marcus studied her. Ever since she’d tracked him down to the attic that night, he’d made more of an effort to spend time with her, and planning the party provided a convenient reason.
Not that it was difficult. On the contrary, he found it all too easy to be with her. She had an intelligent mind, a quick tongue, and a surprising sense of humor. From what he’d been able to glean about her upbringing, levity and enjoyment hadn’t been part of the equation, yet somehow she had a great capacity for fun.
She shuffled through papers on the desk until she found the one she was looking for. “I’ve picked up Diana’s habit of making lists. I had no idea so much went into entertaining.” She lowered her chin and looked at him through her top lashes. “You might have chosen something simpler for my first foray into the world of hosting.”
“I thought you liked a challenge.” He put on an innocent look. “You could always hand everything over to my mother if it’s too much for you.” He didn’t have to wait long for her reaction.
