A Tarnished Heart

by Leslie Dicken

  Refusing to answer her, he instead motioned to the landlord. “Time now to go.” The calm words echoed in the nearly empty room.

  “No, ye can’t,” Sarah cried.

  Lizzie turned back to the girl’s pale face, sickly in the poor lighting. “We’ll find another way. We must.”

  “Please, no.”

  But Markham had already ushered the landlord across the room. The man cast a lecherous glance over his shoulder and then shuffled down the steps. Markham followed, and they heard the front door close behind them.

  Lizzie sat down on the edge of the bed. Her hands shaking, she clutched her skirts by the fistful.

  Sarah sat up and scooted away from her, then yanked her thin, stained nightdress over her knees. “Why are ye meddlin’ in our affairs?”

  Lizzie swallowed a gulp of air. “That man was going—going to rape you, don’t you realize that?”

  “Nay, he’d stop. ’Twasn’t part of the deal to…” She shifted her gaze to the smoldering fire in the hearth.

  “What was the agreement? To what? Touching you covered a month’s rent?”

  “’Twould’ve only given us more time.”

  “Only more time?” Lizzie felt horror settle over her, curdling her blood, tarnishing her very bones. Mama had never taught her how to deal with something so wrenching as a child allowing her body to be used as a promissory note.

  “And now ye’ve ruined it.” Sarah’s shining eyes appeared enormous in her pinched face. “We ’ave three months rent ter pay and there’s not enough.”

  A soft cry echoed from the room below. Annabel was awake.

  “Well, I’m sure after I speak with your mother, she’ll be more willing to accept some help. Or a loan, at least.”

  “No!” Sarah scrambled from the bed, her eyes wild. “Ye can’t tell Mam.”

  “She must know what that man asked you to do.”

  The girl lifted a determined chin. “’Twas me. I offered. I couldn’t let…”

  “What?”

  Sarah bit her lip and shook her head.

  Frustrated, Lizzie hurried down the steps and retrieved the baby from her bassinet. She sat Annabel into a cracked wooden chair and found a hard piece of crust on the table left over from breakfast. Once the baby was satisfied, Lizzie marched straight over to Sarah, who’d come down and sat on the bottom step.

  Anger wiped away her fear, determination engulfed her helplessness. “You will give me a good reason for not telling your mother or I will do so the minute she walks in the door.”

  With a trembling sigh, she pointed to her little sister. “She’s the reason.”

  “I’m sorry? Annabel?”

  Sarah dropped her head in her hands. “This ain’t the first time we can’t pay the rent.”

  “What does that have to do with Annabel?”

  She lifted that tangle of brown hair, and glared with fierce eyes. “Me pa died near four years ago.”

  A crushing pressure strangled Lizzie, as if the walls collapsed on top of her. Her lungs stopped functioning. “Annabel…is she? Her father is…?”

  To her horror, Sarah nodded. “After Annabel came, Mama swore she’d never let ’nother man use her like that.”

  “Oh, God.” Lizzie dropped down to the bed again. Her gut roiled, burned, forcing a wave of nausea up her throat. She clenched her jaw against the assault. “Oh, God.”

  “See, ye cannot tell Mama ’bout today.”

  “Then why?” Her voice croaked. “Why did you do it?”

  “’Cuz I knew ’twould work. Mama’s been workin’ two or three jobs lately, barely sleepin’.” Sarah’s pale, drawn face turned towards her. “I had ter get us more time.”

  The front door burst opened, causing them both to gasp in alarm. But it was only Markham with that same guarded look in his eyes. How did he manage to keep himself apart from this awfulness?

  “He’ll not be back,” he said, his face frozen.

  “But we’ll be on the streets.”

  Markham shook his head but would not look at them. His gaze was fixed on Annabel. “I think not. Miss Parker, the carriage is waiting.”

  Lizzie jumped to her feet, indignation firing in her veins. “I will not leave her.”

  “We have an engagement to attend,” he replied in a calm voice, as if he cared nothing for Sarah’s welfare. “We are to leave now to prepare.”

  An engagement? Did he truly believe she’d want to dance at some ball after what just happened today? The audacity of that man and his ridiculous societal obligations. “Go without me.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly as they focused on her. “I told you that man will not be returning today.”

  “How can I trust you?”

  “Why should you not?”

  Blast him. There were a hundred reasons why she shouldn’t trust him. But none of which she’d air in front of Sarah. Lizzie crossed her arms under her chest, where her heart still shuddered for what it witnessed today. “I can miss this event tonight. No one notices me anyway.”

  “I do.” His jaw snapped shut. A vein pulsed on his forehead as he inhaled a deep breath. “Tonight is the dowager’s birthday party. She will expect you there.”

  Lizzie sighed. She must go. It was one thing to embarrass Markham and potential suitors, quite another to show bad manners to her hostess. No one at the party would care about Sarah or her lot in life anyway.

  The strain on Markham’s face eased a bit when she finally nodded at him. He went over to Sarah, whispered something in her ear, and then headed for the door once the girl had assented to his demands.

  “Please, Sarah,” Lizzie said, her throat aching with the checked sob, with the fear that terrible lecher may return once they left. “Never let that man, or any other, touch you like that again. It isn’t worth it.”

  But Sarah was staring at her baby sister, who happily banged the hard crust on her tray.

  Markham touched her elbow. Together they left the gloomy room, where ugliness did not just lurk in corners but reached out and grabbed its occupants by the throat. Even the delightful and innocent Annabel could not escape it. Beauty had eluded them all.

  Markham swirled red liquid in his hand. He thought the drink might soothe his gut, the way he thought a smoke might. But neither had eased the hollow ache inside his ribs.

  He thought he would not care for those children at the Docks. They had their lot in life, sad and wretched as it might be. They served a purpose, just as all of God’s creatures did. But what became of them within their desolate world never crossed his mind.

  But they certainly mattered to Miss Parker. And today, they affected him as well.

  He stood in that tiny room, saw that girl giving the only thing she could offer to a grown man, and he thought of his son. He thought of the pleasures and advantages Lucas enjoyed, the food he could eat, the warm bed he could sleep upon. Markham thought how his son would never have to shame himself to pay rent, never have to barter his integrity to survive.

  Fury, anguish, guilt, helplessness collided within Markham as they were forced to bear witness to today’s misery. And yet, he could not bring them to the surface. He could not face the intensity of his emotions, allow his control to slip when he needed to be strong for Miss Parker. No, he could not think of her that way, not anymore. She was his Elizabeth. His Lizzie.

  Markham set the glass on the table and left the noisy game room, where men shouted at one another over a card game they played. The music from the orchestra grew louder as he made his way down the dim hall. Candelabra cast their flickering shadows across the floor but the gentle light did not soothe his soul.

  The scent of jasmine filled his nostrils before he reached the closed ballroom doors. From the shadowed alcove, a woman stepped forward, her skirts rustling in the empty hallway. “And so my patience has paid off.”

  Markham tensed at the voice. “I’ve not come this way to see you,” he said, not glancing at her as he passed.

  “No? Perhaps
to see your country girl then?”

  “Have you nothing better to do than harass me?”

  She took a step closer, her perfume stirring the headache that began hours ago. “It isn’t harassing that I want to do.”

  Markham flinched as her breath blew across his ear. He moved past her but she wrapped her fingers around his arm.

  “Oh, do I remember the hard strength in these muscles,” she purred. “I want to feel them again. I want to feel your hands on me.”

  Her solicitation soured his mouth, turned the drink in his stomach. “Stop, Lady Fallston.”

  But she moved closer, her silver bodice pressing against his chest. A gloved hand slid from his arm over his jacket and down the front of his trousers.

  Markham leaped back.

  “That’s what I want.” Her throaty laughter echoed off the shadowed walls. “Again.”

  “Find your husband.”

  “Ha. That old man? He can’t give me what you can.” She reached for him again. “What you will give me.”

  His pulse leaped at his temples. “I will bring you the ring on Saturday.” The jeweler promised him it would be ready within the next day or so. God, let that appease her.

  “Good evening, Lady Fallston.”

  “Why Saturday? Why not now?” Her fingers curled around his arm. “Or better yet, forget the ring and give me yourself. We can disappear upstairs now, no one will notice.”

  Markham shook her off. “There are plenty of other men who would be happy to oblige you. Feel free to take your pick. I’ll have a servant prepare you a room.”

  Her chuckle aggravated his nerves. “I’m aware I can have other men, Evan. But they are no match for you.”

  He held his tongue while a gentleman went past them then disappeared into the ballroom. Once they were again alone, he turned to glare at her. “Rakes abound in London, Lady Fallston. There are, no doubt, even better lovers than myself. Find one.”

  Without waiting for a reply, Markham continued down the hall.

  “You’ll regret rebuffing me,” she called out, a wavering desperation lurking behind the words. “I always get what I want.”

  He bit back a response. She only sought to engage him further. His best reply would be none at all.

  The chandelier’s candles glared off the gold inlay ceiling and multiple mirrors of the ballroom, assaulting Markham’s unaccustomed eyes. Guests mingled along the perimeter of the room and danced on the polished floor, their voices a low chatter against the backdrop of the music. Scanning the crowd, he looked for Miss Parker.

  They had not spoken since they left Wapping. She immediately withdrew into silence in the carriage and he had not much to utter himself. What could he say? Once again, he tried to block the image from his mind.

  Sourness filled his mouth. Markham swallowed, but the taste remained.

  Finally, he spotted her. Dressed in a vibrant blue dress adorned with small rosebuds, she danced with Alcott. Markham moved closer to the dance floor, his dull ache now coupled with a pulsating jealousy.

  But one look at Miss Parker’s face and he knew he had no reason to worry tonight. Her tiny smile did not reach the misery in her eyes, nor brighten the paleness of her cheeks. She came tonight because she knew it was expected of her.

  The music notes drifted to an end. Markham watched as Alcott gave her a small bow and melted into the crowd. Who was next on her dance card? Could he supersede her next partner?

  Devil take it, he had to. He must hold her in his arms.

  The band began the waltz and Markham headed straight for her. She turned, waiting for her next partner, when he took hold of her arm.

  Miss Parker gasped. “Oh. But you aren’t my—”

  He placed one hand on her waist and took her other in his own. “Does it matter?”

  For all of her trying, she could not hide the glimmer in her green eyes or the soft intake of breath. Just as their first kiss in the carriage, and every one that followed after, Miss Parker yearned for his touch.

  She tried to hide it from him. She often succeeded at resisting him. But in her heart she wanted him.

  “You look lovely tonight,” he murmured.

  Her tight smile and silence revealed her equally sour mood. Normally, a sharp retort would spring from her lips. Oddly, he missed it. Somehow, he felt that nothing between them would ever be as it was. After today, their banter would feel hollow.

  Markham continued with the small pleasantries, unsure what else to say. “I’m sure the dowager appreciates you being here.”

  She stared past him, her freckled face unusually pallid under the flickering light. “It would be rude of me not to attend,” she answered absently.

  Markham led her tiny waiflike figure around the floor, barely hearing the music. He breathed in the now-familiar rosy scent of her hair. Her curls were twisted and bound atop her head, leaving the creamy skin of her neck and shoulders exposed. Though he forever longed to taste that skin.

  Once again the drink in Markham’s stomach turned.

  Miss Parker shifted under his hand and nearly tripped the next step. He glanced down at her face and her sad, shining eyes nearly undid him. He had never witnessed her vulnerability before.

  Markham held his breath, resisting the impulse to brush a teardrop from her lashes.

  “Will he return?” she asked, the words nearly a whisper against the strains of the violin.

  “No.” He had made sure of it. The man now had enough rent money to last them through the end of the year.

  “But how can you be so sure?”

  He cleared his throat. “I am. You must trust me.”

  “Won’t you at least tell me what you whispered to Sarah?”

  Markham shook his head. He could not tell Miss Parker of his deed. She had accused him once of only throwing money onto a situation, not investing of himself and his heart. Those that really care, she had said, give of themselves not just their purses.

  But Markham had to do something today. He had to make certain that lecher had no reason to return. At the moment, paying their rent had seemed the only option.

  “Will you tell me nothing to ease the pain in my heart?”

  “He will not return.” But it must not have been enough, for she bit her lip and glanced away.

  Markham wanted to kiss that abused lip, hold her in his arms, ease the sadness in her soul. His Lizzie cared not for lavish gowns or brilliant gems. Opulent houses or fine horseflesh did not raise her spirits. No, his future bride genuinely worried for the disposition and welfare of those in need. And somehow she was changing his views too.

  The waltz ended. Still not looking at him, Miss Parker asked, “You think it too early for me to retire to my room? I believe I am feeling ill.”

  He hated the aching in her voice, the weakness in her stance. He’d give just about anything to have her sparring with him again.

  “Take your leave.” He bent low to her ear. “I will pass your regrets on to the Dowager Countess.”

  She graced him with a smile, those green eyes revealing her surprise. So, she expected him to deny her departure. How heartless she thought him.

  “Goodnight then.”

  She made her way through the crowd and to the ballroom doors. She slipped past the harsh glare of Lady Fallston and disappeared from his sight.

  Markham winced at the pain worsening in his skull, at the emptiness widening in chest. He wanted to follow Lizzie, take her in his arms and kiss away her sorrow. But he could not leave.

  The music began again. He was next on Lady Harriet’s dance card.

  Chapter Sixteen

  How could a week have gone by already? The illness that assaulted Lizzie the night of the dowager’s party had weakened her for too long. Nausea and weakness had taken their toll on her body and spirit, but she must go back to the Longs’ today. Too much time had passed.

  Hot tears dampened her eyes, burning her throat. She’d had no word if that disgusting landlord had returned. For n
ights Lizzie had tossed in her bed, nightmare visions of that lecherous man atop her body. She’d push the man off, only to have him then lie upon Sarah.

  The fever must have brought on such horrific dreams. Perhaps the wretched memories alone did it.

  Lizzie pushed aside the lace curtain to peer at the wide section of Grosvenor Square then up at the rooftops. Sunshine danced with the passing clouds, hinting at the possibility of a warmer day.

  Lizzie sighed and swept a brush through her hair. Why wouldn’t Markham tell her what he said to Sarah? Why did he feel so certain that man would not return?

  Though he showed no emotion that afternoon, Lizzie could sense a change in him as they danced at the party. Deeper lines around his eyes, a pallor beneath those chiseled features. Markham’s bottomless eyes held sympathy, not the usual disdain or desire.

  Had that afternoon had an effect on him? Perhaps he’d parted from his stance on pushing the government programs to work for the poor and actually pulled money from his purse. But that would not change their lot in life much. Not nearly enough.

  Lizzie tossed the brush on to her bed and had one of the maids come and help her quickly dress in one of her simple dresses from home. She would grab a few biscuits left over from breakfast and eat on the way to see Elizabeth and the children.

  Sounds of cleaning and dishes clanking resonated through the house. The servants were doing their chores, but where was everyone else? If the others were gone, she’d have no carriage to take to Wapping. And she just couldn’t see spending money on a rented hackney.

  “Is Lord Markham gone?” Lizzie asked the first servant she saw.

  The girl squeaked an unintelligible answer and vanished down the stairwell. Lizzie stood by the door, twisting her hands. Somehow or another she must get over there.

  “Are ye looking for Lord Markham, miss?”

  Lizzie swung around at the woman’s voice. The shrewd, no-nonsense housekeeper stood at the top of the servant staircase.

  “Yes. Do you know where he’s gone?”