A Simple Lady

by Carolynn Carey

  A few minutes later, Gerald suggested that he leave his horses in the care of his groom while he and Elizabeth went for a walk in Green Park, and Elizabeth agreed. She was pleased she had done so when they entered the park and found that the crowds were thin. She was still too upset to feel up to making casual conversation with chance-met acquaintances.

  She and Gerald strolled in silence for several minutes. Busily replaying in her mind every disastrous second of her parents’ visit, Elizabeth was not aware that Gerald also appeared disturbed until he stopped under a spreading elm and turned to her, an expression of distress darkening his eyes.

  “I have been longing to see you alone for a minute, my dear Elizabeth, to express my deep regrets for having introduced you to Ethel Stanhope. While it is true that she and I are distantly related, I had not seen the lady in several years and was certainly unaware of her connection with Agatha Hibber. I was truly horrified when Kenrick informed me that Ethel had taken you to Mrs. Hibber’s gaming house. I would not have blamed him had he landed me a facer. I certainly deserved it for having been so careless in making you acquainted with that female. Can you ever forgive me?”

  Having that very afternoon experienced the humiliation of seeing good intentions go awry, Elizabeth knew she couldn’t blame Gerald for his blunder, even though it had cost her many uncomfortable minutes. Besides, his mistake had also resulted in drawing her and Kenrick closer, and Elizabeth had realized that she very much wanted to become better acquainted with her husband.

  “Well,” she said, smiling a bit mischievously, “I will forgive you if you will drive me to a particular place I wish to see.”

  “Gladly, my lady.” Gerald’s face instantly brightened. “I would drive you to the ends of the earth if by doing so I could earn your forgiveness.”

  “Oh, I do not wish to go that far,” Elizabeth said, laughing a bit too brightly. “I only wish to drive past Bethlem Hospital.”

  Gerald became suddenly solemn. “You wish to see Bedlam?” he asked, his tone incredulous.

  “Yes, I do.” Elizabeth raised her chin determinedly. She could not explain even to herself why she wished to see that notorious madhouse. Despite her mother’s parting threat, she had no fear that she herself would ever become an inmate there. Still, she could not help wondering what the infamous hospital looked like.

  Gerald was gnawing on his lip. “I am not at all sure Kenrick would want me to take you there,” he said.

  “But my husband told me himself that he felt I should learn more about the darker side of life in London,” Elizabeth responded quickly. “And if you do not take me, I shall hire a hackney and go alone.”

  “Good God! I know Kenrick would not want you riding about London in a hackney, especially alone. Are you certain this is what you want to do?”

  “Positive,” Elizabeth replied with a stubborn set to her jaw.

  “Very well, then. I can drive you past the building, but visitation is strictly controlled these days, you know. A few years ago, the curious populace could pay an attendant for admission and then look their fill at the patients chained in cells like wild animals. We are much more humane today. Now one must obtain a governor’s ticket to gain admission in order to see the hospital inmates.”

  Elizabeth shuddered. “I have no desire to view the poor wretches who are housed there. I merely wish to see the edifice. May we go?”

  “Very well,” Gerald responded, his tone noticeably lacking in enthusiasm. “Let us return to the curricle.”

  In less than ten minutes, Elizabeth was seated beside Gerald as he guided his horses along Piccadilly in preparation for turning toward Moorfields.

  Bethlem Hospital was not at all what Elizabeth had anticipated. The tales she had heard of Bedlam had led her to expect a hulking pile shrouded by a dismal mist. Instead, as she admitted to herself while sitting in Gerald’s curricle and staring across the green lawns surrounding the asylum, the structure itself was very attractive.

  Gerald observed Elizabeth’s amazement with a smile. “John Evelyn once likened Bethlem Hospital to the Tuileries,” he said.

  “I see the resemblance,” Elizabeth admitted. “Still, despite the building’s beauty, there is an atmosphere about the place that makes me sad. Do you feel it? Is it an aura of hopelessness, do you suppose?”

  Gerald shrugged. “Doubtless I am less sensitive than you, my dear. I feel nothing out of the ordinary. Are you ready to return to Kenrick House?”

  “Yes, thank you. But wait! Look, Gerald. Those boys are leading that child as though he were a dog. They have a rope tied around his neck.”

  Gerald turned to look at the small group approaching the curricle. Four unkempt boys who appeared to be in their early teens were, indeed, dragging behind them a scruffy lad of no more than seven or eight years. The little fellow’s hands were tied in front of him.

  “Hello, gov’ner.” One of the older boys, observing that the group had commanded Gerald’s attention, appeared to believe he had found someone who could provide him with information. “We’ve brung a new inmate fer Bedlam. Can ye tell me where we ought to take ’im?”

  Gerald’s lip curled in distaste. “I cannot,” he said tersely, turning his attention back to his horses and lifting the reins.

  “Wait, Gerald,” Elizabeth cried, placing her hand on his arm. “I wish to speak to that child.” Without waiting for help, she jumped from the curricle onto the walk in front of the group of children.

  With a muffled curse, Gerald called for his groom to go to the horses’ heads and quickly descended to hurry to Elizabeth’s side.

  “Why are you taking this child to Bedlam?” she was asking.

  The largest of the boys answered. “Billy’s a dummy and an orphan to boot. His ma died last week, and there ain’t nobody left who can take care of ’im. We could of let ’im die in the streets, but I’d promised ’is Ma to see if I couldn’t find ’im someplace to live. Bedlam is the only place I figured would take ’im in.”

  “Well, you will not be able to get him admitted today,” Gerald announced, impatience clear in his tone. “I recall reading that hospital admission is obtained only by petition to the governors and to the committee and that they sit only on Saturdays. This is Thursday. You will have to bring him back in two days.”

  “There, now, Harry,” another of the boys called to the young man who had responded to Elizabeth’s question. “I told ye this was a waste of time. Mayhaps ye’ll agree now to drown ’im like we should of done to start with.”

  “Shut up, Freddy,” Harry said, turning to glare at the second youth.

  “Drown?” Elizabeth repeated, her tone imbued with horror. “Surely you would not murder this child?”

  “Nay. ’Twouldn’t be murder, lady,” another of the boys informed her. “Billy’s jest a simpleminded dummy.”

  “He is a human being,” Elizabeth replied firmly. Pushing past two of the larger boys, she smiled as she knelt in front of the little captive. “Hello, Billy,” she said softly, looking into his eyes. “I would like to be your friend. I would like to help you. Will you allow me to do that?”

  The child said nothing, but Elizabeth was certain she saw a flicker of understanding deep in those staring eyes.

  “He can’t talk, lady,” Harry informed her, his scathing tone expressing obvious disgust with what he perceived to be Elizabeth’s own lack of understanding. “I’ve already told ye. Billy’s a dummy.”

  “Perhaps,” Elizabeth murmured, still staring into the little boy’s eyes. What, if anything, she wondered, was hidden in those dark blue depths? Surely she had detected fear there, along with some comprehension of what was happening to him.

  She stood resolutely and began untying the rope that had been cutting into the little boy’s thin neck.

  “Hey,” Freddy yelled. “Ye can’t do that. We need that rope to lead ’im with.”

  “Yes,” Elizabeth said, turning to glare at the older boys. “And, no doubt, for binding his arms and
legs before you drown him. Well, you will not be drowning this boy. I am taking him home with me.”

  Gerald groaned under cover of the cheers of the older boys who had rushed to help Elizabeth untie the knot.

  “Thank ye, ma’am,” Harry said, his wide grin expressing his relief. “And jest ye remember, if Billy’s too much trouble, ye can always bring ’im back to Bedlam.”

  “Billy could never be that much trouble,” Elizabeth assured the youths, allowing Gerald to help her back into the curricle. Then she held out her arms for the child.

  Gerald was muttering something about fleas when he took his seat beside Elizabeth and snapped his whip above the horses’ heads to hurry them on their way.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Maneuvering his phaeton through the bustling London streets presented few difficulties for the Marquess of Kenrick. His innate skill, combined with years of experience, called for little concentration on his part, a fact he didn’t find especially gratifying on this particular afternoon. Had it been necessary for him to focus on his driving, he would have had less time to dwell on the anxieties of the last few days.

  One thing he could be thankful for. Homer Smithfield appeared to be well on his way to recovery, despite the doctor’s less-than-optimistic prognostications when Kenrick first arrived at Oak Groves. Although the bullet had miraculously missed all vital organs when it plowed into Homer’s back, the ensuing fever, which had raged for three days and nights, had threatened to finish what the bullet had begun.

  Kenrick had grown attached to Homer Smithfield over the years. Homer had been bailiff at Oak Groves long before Kenrick came into his inheritance, and the older man had done much to help the young marquess understand the significance of his legacy. Riding with Homer over the fields and through the woodlands of his family’s oldest residence, meeting the tenants who had farmed the land long before the new heir was born, understanding the efforts that were required to maintain such an estate—all had given Kenrick a sense of belonging he had found nowhere else.

  Seeing his old friend brought low by a bullet in the back infuriated Kenrick, but he quickly realized his anger was ineffectual. What Homer needed was not vengeance but constant nursing and encouragement, both of which Kenrick provided, choosing to spend most of his time in the sick room until Homer was out of danger.

  The following days were filled with overseeing the early harvesting, calling on the tenants to reassure them about Homer’s condition, and, at the first opportunity, visiting the local magistrate, who had written off the shooting as the accidental act of an unknown poacher. Although Kenrick did not believe a poacher was responsible for the wounding of his friend, he had no other theory for which he could offer proof and so decided not to press the matter at the moment.

  The day before his unexpected return to London, Kenrick had spent much of the morning riding about the estate so he could assure Homer that all was in order. Then he sequestered himself in the library to work on the estate books. It had been years since he had dealt with the seemingly endless columns of figures, and he found the chore unusually fatiguing. After two tedious hours, he decided to reward himself with a glass of brandy from the sideboard, but before he had even pushed back from his desk, the library door was thrust open and the butler stepped inside.

  “My lord,” Drowell exclaimed, his expression harried. “I am aware that you are not at home to guests today, but the Earl and Countess of Ravingate insist on seeing you.”

  “Damnation,” Kenrick muttered beneath his breath just before his in-laws swept into the room. Their matching frowns suggested their visit was going to be less than congenial. Still, as he was aware, the role of host carried with it the necessity of observing the conventions. He stood, walked around his desk, and moved forward to greet his guests.

  “Good day,” he said, smiling as pleasantly as possible in the face of such somber glowers. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  The countess wasted no time on pleasantries. “We’ve just come from a visit with our poor daughter in London and were horrified by her condition. We hurried here to demand that you return Elizabeth to the country before the poor child’s wits are completely overset. Not that they are not already, of course.” She looked about the room, selected a settee, and lowered her frame into it with a weary sigh. The earl sat beside her.

  Smiling stiffly, Kenrick struggled to subdue the fury that had surged through him at his guests’ entrance. He still strongly suspected his in-laws of attempting to dupe him when they arranged his marriage to Elizabeth. Their present assertions about Elizabeth’s disordered intellect only fed his suspicions. Still, he realized no good would come of flinging accusations at them, so he contented himself by merely regarding them with raised eyebrows. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression that as my wife, Elizabeth is now my responsibility.”

  “Not when you subject her to so much excitement that her mind becomes disturbed,” the earl said, slamming his fist onto the silk-covered arm of the settee. “The countess and I have discussed Elizabeth’s condition and very much fear that you have tried to force so much information into her poor intellect that she has lost all ability to reason.”

  “Nonsense,” Kenrick replied. “Elizabeth’s mind is no more disordered than my own and probably much more capable of absorbing information. What occurred in London that has caused you so much concern?”

  The earl and countess began simultaneous accounts of their visit with Elizabeth, each talking so loudly that Kenrick could distinguish only bits of a sentence here and there. After five minutes, he had concluded that his in-laws were enraged because Elizabeth had incorrectly identified an ancient Greek as a Roman—or was it a Roman as a Greek? Suppressing a moan, he strode to the sideboard where he poured himself a generous measure of brandy. He had wanted a drink before his in-laws arrived. That desire had now quadrupled.

  “Then,” the Countess of Ravingate continued, “Elizabeth shouted at me! She has always been simpleminded, I will admit, but prior to your taking her to London, she was also a respectful and an agreeable child.”

  Kenrick took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, suppressing a strong desire to tell his in-laws that if Elizabeth had succumbed to temptation and shouted at them, her action was surely a sign of sanity and not the opposite.

  Instead, he ventured a defense of Elizabeth’s supposed ignorance. “I have found that most people possess only a rudimentary understanding of both the ancient Greeks and the Romans. Surely, just because Elizabeth incorrectly identified one of them—”

  “You do not understand,” the earl interrupted brusquely. “It was not her lack of knowledge that upset us. It was her certainty that she was correct and her ensuing behavior in asserting her convictions. At one point, sir, she was shouting out her erroneous opinion while down on her hands and knees with her head stuck under a chair.”

  Kenrick nearly choked on his brandy. Such behavior, he was forced to admit to himself, was far from normal. He sat down quickly, concern for Elizabeth slamming into his consciousness. She had seemed to be adjusting well to life in London when he left. Of course, she had been upset by that unfortunate experience in Agatha Hibber’s house, but her actions that day had been perfectly understandable. Such stories were common among novices to city life, and Elizabeth had seemed only to lack town bronze, not common sense. Had he erred in allowing her to stay in town with his mother? Had he unknowingly contributed to some mental defect that was even now gaining greater control over Elizabeth’s faculties?

  “I will return to London immediately,” he said, standing and starting toward the doorway. “And I promise you both that I will do my best to insure Elizabeth’s well being and her happiness.” He left his in-laws sitting alone in the library while he hurried to begin making preparations for a return to London.

  Kenrick breathed a sigh of relief as he pulled his phaeton to a stop in front of Kenrick House and tossed the reins to a groom. Not once during his frantic trip had he tried to
analyze why his concern for his wife ran so deep. He only knew that seeing Elizabeth and assuring himself that her mind was still whole were essential to his own sanity.

  Having jumped down from his perch, Kenrick was hurrying toward the front door when it was opened from within to allow for the departure of two guests. The marquess stopped short. What in the devil, he wondered, unconsciously frowning, had Gerald and that silly friend of his, Peregrine Dutton, been doing at Kenrick House?

  “Hello, Kenrick,” Dutton called, a wide smile lighting his round and slightly vacuous face. “Been calling on your wife and mother. They aren’t expecting you back today. Said they didn’t know when you would return from the country, so stands to reason they aren’t expecting you today. Wasn’t expecting me either because I haven’t ever called on them before, but Gerald wanted me to bear him company, and a fellow can’t say no to a friend.”

  “Hello, Perry,” Kenrick said, bowing slightly to the young man he knew to be a bit dull-witted but harmless.

  Gerald, unlike his friend, was not smiling, nor was his expression particularly welcoming.

  “Well, stands to reason,” Dutton continued, happily unaware of any restraint on the part of the cousins. “Can’t turn a friend down when he asks a simple favor. ‘Come with me to see the nodcock,’ he said, and so here I am. Even brought a box of candy for the little dummy.”

  “Nodcock? Dummy?” Kenrick repeated, his eyes suddenly burning with a fury so intense that Dutton gasped and took two stumbling steps backwards. When Kenrick spoke again, it was through clenched teeth. “You may either retract those words, sir, or name your seconds.”

  Dutton had begun to tremble, his hands splayed in front of him, when Gerald leisurely stepped forward.

  “Kindly refrain from jumping to conclusions, Kenrick,” he said, a half smile lifting the corners of his lips. “Perry is not referring to Elizabeth.”