“No.” Gerard handed over the money, which the turnkey shoved into his pocket, not bothering to bite the gold coins to confirm their veracity. The jailer led the way out, grumbling under his breath.
Gerard tried to clear a path for the lady over the sticky, uneven flagstones, avoiding the groping arms and legs snaking at them as they passed. He was glad to see her gown held clear of the floor by her high pattens, and he wondered anew how women managed to walk in such high, stacked contraptions, more like acrobat’s stilts than proper shoes. She obviously knew more about this place than he had. His own shoes were ruined. He kept going, trying to keep his attention on the woman walking in front of him. The two men he’d just freed could make their own way out.
They didn’t stop until they stood outside. Gerard took several deep breaths of the crisp, spring air to empty his lungs of the stench of madness.
“It could be a country house,” said the lady.
Gerard glanced at her. “From the outside.” The gleaming white pilasters adorning the front door looked like the entrance to any great mansion. Only the shadows of the bars set behind the glazed windows revealed the true nature of this monstrosity. Perhaps the gates of hell looked as civilized.
His coach waited a short distance away, but the young lady needed to get her breath.
It was unnaturally quiet here. The Bethlem Hospital, known to everyone as Bedlam, fronted Moorfields, one of the largest open spaces in London, cultivated and civilized; a cruel juxtaposition, if one happened to be on the wrong side. Gerard was glad to be out, although he’d never forget what he had seen today.
A familiar lethargy swept over him, the exhaustion that seemed so much a part of him these days. He would have to fight unconsciousness until he could rest. He beckoned to his footmen, standing near the coach he’d arrived in. The men walked towards them.
Stretton groaned and slumped to the ground. Gerard turned too late to catch him, but his footmen sprang into action and hurried to support the nearly unconscious peer. Stretton’s grey eyes glinted through half-closed lids. “Need a bed. I’ll be all right now, but I need somewhere to sleep.” He sniffed. “And a bath.”
“Will your servants be expecting you?” Gerard asked.
Stretton shook his head. “House closed.” He passed out.
Gerard sighed. “We’ll take him to Boscobel House.” Two burly footmen lifted the recumbent earl and bore him away to the coach.
Gerard addressed his next problem. “May we take you somewhere, ma’am?” A pang of compassion went through him, unusual because it affected him without warning. The woman appeared ready for anything, feet set apart in a determined stance, mouth set in a firm line, but her tilted chin and the pain in her eyes told a different story. Her brother stood next to her, head bowed submissively, waiting for his fate to descend.
She forced a smile, which trembled slightly at the corners before she controlled it. “I have a lodging at Vinegar Yard. It’s not far.”
Gerard couldn’t believe the address. “Vinegar Yard? You can’t possibly mean it! That place isn’t fit for respectable people, much less viscounts’ daughters.”
Lady Bradley shrugged. “It’s quiet, and that’s what George needs. And my father won’t think of looking for us there.”
Gerard’s attention snapped back, fighting through his lethargy. “Why don’t you want your father to find you?”
Lady Bradley glanced at her brother, her softened gaze compassionate and loving. Gerard knew a desire for her to look at him in the same way and was surprised. He tried very hard not to see women, not to connect with them. It was better that way.
This young lady appealed to his protective instincts, her slight form, proudly erect, inviting no pity. “He committed George. Had him put in the Incurables ward.”
“Is your brother dangerous? Does he have fits or mania?” Without thinking, Gerard stepped closer, the better to protect the young woman from her mad brother. She stepped closer to George.
“No. He’s just a bit simple. He’s the best brother in the world.” At her fond tone, George gave her the sweetest smile Gerard had ever seen. Pure love, untinged by possession or passion.
He swallowed, subduing his unwarranted jealousy. “Why would your father put him in such a dreadful place?”
The answer was so simply put he nearly missed its significance. “He hates George because he isn’t as bright as other men. He wants our younger brother Simon to inherit.”
Gerard felt anger towards the unseen Simon. “Where is your younger brother?”
“Abroad, on the Grand Tour, or he would be here in my place. He’s under age, so he has little choice in what he does.”
“And your father allows you to live in a place like Vinegar Yard?” The idea of a father who allowed his daughter to live in such a place appalled him.
Lady Marriott faced him squarely. “I needed a place where Father couldn’t find us. I’m lodged in the house of a respectable woman. I have the attic all to myself.”
In common lodging houses, the attic was the cheapest place available after the cellar. She made it sound like the best place in the house. “You have no one you can turn to? No one who will take your part?”
She shook her head. Her eyes were fearless, bold and velvety brown. “We’ll manage.
He couldn’t abandon her. “You’ll come back with me. We can deny your father the house, if necessary.”
Gerard saw hope enter the young woman’s eyes only to be replaced by flat despair. “Father is in the process of having George declared incurable. If he finds out where we are, he’ll have George back here before the week’s out, and while he can’t compel me, he can compel my brother.”
In a single, blinding flash, Gerard understood. Lord Pendford was trying to kill his son. By committing George to this lunatic asylum, he was driving the boy to true madness and exposing him to violence.
He felt sick, and anger welled against the unknown viscount. “You must certainly come. As my sister’s guest, for propriety’s sake, and we will see what can be done. Please come.” He sent out his powers of persuasion, limited now by his increasing weakness, but she rejected it effortlessly. Did she know she could do this, or were her mental powers unknown to her? He couldn’t let her go. He had to know more, and Stretton, who had intimated that he had information, was in no state to impart anything.
Gerard saw the moment Lady Bradley gave in. She glanced at her brother and then back at him. “Thank you, sir. We are deeply beholden to you.”
Chapter Two
Faith couldn’t like it. She had heard of the Duke of Boscobel and his children—who hadn’t? But it went against the grain for her to accept anything. If not for George, she would have made her excuses and left.
She stared across the well-appointed study to where the duke and his daughter stood, still and quiet. Lady Deborah was dark-haired like her brother, tall, graceful, with a Rubenesque figure encased in a gown of rose-pink watered silk, the skirts held out by fashionable panniers. Her air of confidence that might have daunted Faith was assuaged by her kindness and humanity. But gowned in full fashionable magnificence, she could hold her own with kings. Faith found her ladyship intimidating.
Lord Ellesmere’s voice broke the silence. “Father, I have brought Lady Bradley and her brother Lord Fordhouse to stay for a while.”
Faith curtsied, slightly too low, her worn skirts sweeping the expensive carpet. The way the duke faced her, ponderously and with deliberate hauteur, seemed to demand obeisance. At her, “George,” her brother made his bow, stiff and awkward but perfectly respectable.
The duke regarded them both with a gimlet stare. “I believe you brought Lord Stretton too. Why isn’t he here?”
“He’s unwell,” Gerard said. “I had him taken straight to a guest room.”
The duke sighed heavily. “I don’t approve of that young man. However, you, Lady Bradley and Lord Fordhouse, are welcome.”
Hearing the duke’s voice soften, Faith lifted
her head. She saw a hard man, tall and craggy-featured, his grey hair tied back in a simple queue. He stood rigidly straight, despite being of somewhat advanced years. His taffeta coat was formal, unlike his son’s plainer country coat, the skirts stiffly held out with buckram, the waistcoat heavily embroidered. Faith wondered how he would have appeared in Bedlam. Probably as compelling as he was here.
Her brother kept his head down, but Faith had yet to find anyone who could intimidate her. She stared back.
“I hope you enjoy your stay with us, my dear.” The duke turned away.
Faith wondered how he managed to prevent his nose wrinkling at the stench emanating from her brother and herself. She had wanted to put herself to rights, but Lord Ellesmere had insisted on the immediate interview. She washed every morning, but after she’d visited George, she might as well not have bothered, for she smelled just as bad as everyone else in the place.
She turned to leave the room to find his lordship standing ready to open the door for them. He followed them out and after he’d closed the door, spoke to Faith in a low voice. “I know you must be tired by now, but I thought it best to get it over with. In about half an hour, he will call me back to the study to explain everything. What would you like me to tell him?”
“The truth, if you please,” Faith said firmly.
His teeth gleamed in a half smile. “No dissimulation?”
“I see no point in it. I won’t stay under any kind of false pretences.” She met his dark gaze boldly, as she had his father’s. Where the duke had eyes of pale blue, his son possessed a fine pair of silver-grey eyes, disconcertingly pale, but rimmed in black and edged with thick, sooty lashes.
“You are brave, Lady Bradley.”
“No, sir, I merely believe in facing problems head-on.”
He nodded. “Most of the time I would agree with you, but sometimes it’s wiser to dissemble.”
She put her chin. “I have never found it so.”
Lord Ellesmere shrugged and moved back, seemingly disinterested in Faith’s opinion. “Deborah will see you comfortably settled. Would you excuse me?” At her nod, he bowed and left, going towards a door at the back of the hall.
Faith felt strangely bereft, as though her champion had abandoned her. Foolish, she upbraided herself. At the age of six and twenty, it was far too late for her to look for a champion. But the grand Lady Deborah, although appearing perfectly affable, seemed far less approachable somehow.
Having seen George ensconced in a comfortable chamber, Faith followed Lady Deborah next door. Well-appointed, at the rear of the house, it was furnished in mahogany with light green drapes. She turned to Lady Deborah. “What a lovely room!”
Lady Deborah’s eyes shone with pleasure. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it. I take great enjoyment from the arrangement of the household. I’ve ordered a bath for you, I hope you don’t mind.”
“Mind? I could kiss you!” She spoke impulsively, the sheer delight of the suggestion forcing past her reticence before her ladyship. It had been so long since she could afford such a luxury.
Lady Deborah gave her another smile, a little less full. Perhaps, Faith thought, her ladyship might have thought that Faith needed the bath. However, she was sure to sponge herself down every morning, even if the soap was the harsher, acidic variety and the water cold. She refused to allow poverty to grind her down. “Gerard will have your luggage conveyed here from your lodgings, so if you don’t mind borrowing a gown from me until it arrives, we can have this one laundered.”
Faith glanced down at her serviceable brown gown. “It used to be a fine gown, but it’s seen some rough treatment lately.”
“No matter. I have enough for two.” With a gracious nod, Lady Deborah left Faith.
Gerard sought the outdoors when he was unhappy or needed to think. He glanced up from his contemplations to see Deborah reaching out to him. He took her hands and forced a smile. “Do you mind the subterfuge? Will you say that you met Lady Bradley before and she is your guest?”
“Of course.” Deborah met his gaze, her eyes sombre. “You’re attracted to her, aren’t you?” Typical of his sister to get right to the heart of the matter.
Gerard knew better than to dissimulate. Deborah always saw the truth. “Yes. She’s an attractive woman.” He shrugged. “I’ve been attracted to women before.”
“It’s the first time you’ve been attracted to a woman staying in our house.”
Gerard admitted she was right, but it didn’t matter. He didn’t know exactly how much time he had. It was worse, not knowing. “I can bear it.”
She pressed his hands before she released them. She moved into the shade of a tree and pulled her shawl closer against the growing chill of the approaching evening. He couldn’t see her expression any more. “It’s not fair, Gerard. Why does it have to be you?” Her voice was tinged with sadness.
He gave a harsh laugh. “Why anyone?”
“It may not happen. It may be a mistake.”
No point hoping. He knew that, and so should she. “No, my dear. I’ve seen the best doctors money can buy. I am going to die, and soon—”
He broke off when he saw the pain in his sister’s eyes. At the insistence of the duke, they kept the secret from the rest of the world. Gerard was dying. Every day the fatigue grew worse, every day Gerard felt more distanced. He thought he had come to terms with it, but sometimes, when he saw the dawn creep rosily over the horizon, when he saw a beautiful woman or received a letter from a friend abroad, he felt a pang of bitterness. Some things were beyond him forever.
In the room next to Faith’s, George sat on the end of his bed, his head in his hands. When Faith touched him, he flinched away. “Leave me alone!” he wailed before lifting his head to shoot her a sideways glance. His face transformed into breathtaking joy when he recognized her. “Faith!” He threw himself at her.
George was small for his age but still man-sized. The innocence in his face, the childlike open stare, often fooled people into thinking he was younger, but he was quite a weight to hurl himself around with such abandon. Faith, used to such behaviour, only laughed and let his weight bear her backward on to the soft bed, her brother clumsily sprawling over her. “Get up, George, do!”
After a moment, George obeyed her. “Faith, don’t let him send me back!”
“I won’t.” He would not go back to that place, even if she had to run to the ends of the earth, dragging him behind her. He was simple, not mad, and she loved him. “We can stay here for a while. There’s a bath ordered for you. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Stay with me?”
Faith sighed. She’d yearned for her own immersion in hot water. If she had to bathe her brother, her bath would be stone cold by the time she could use it. Oh well, at least she would be clean. It was a long time since she’d been properly clean. “Of course I’ll help you in your bath.”
The door opened on her last remark and a man not dressed in footman’s livery, but in decent ordinary clothes, entered. “Lord Fordhouse? Your bath is being brought, my lord.”
“He has asked me to help him,” said Faith. “There will be no need for other servants.”
The servant frowned. “If I may say so, my lady, your own ablutions will spoil if you do not attend to them. I have a sister who is not as quick as her siblings and I was used to caring for her, so I could perhaps help you.” Faith thought that was a kind way of putting it. She warmed to the man. “My name is Pearson, my lady.” He advanced into the room and knelt in front of George, the better to look into his face. “Lord Fordhouse?”
“He prefers to be addressed as George,” Faith said apologetically. “Would you mind?”
“No, Lady Bradley, I’m here to serve you and your brother. George, is it?”
George’s eyes filled with tears. “Yes!” After a pause he added, “Thank you!”
“I am James,” the footman told him gently. “Will you allow me to help you with your bath, so your sister might have her
s?”
George looked doubtfully at Faith, his mouth loose and wetly open. Faith recognized the signs. George was ready to weep. “I won’t go if you don’t want me to.”
George stared at Faith, his mouth trembling, but his eyes determined. “No, you go.”
Faith got to her feet, tears not far away. It was the bravest thing she had ever seen. For all he knew, James could be another in the long list of men who treated him with contempt.
The least she could do was honour her brother’s courage. “I’ll only be next door. If you shout, I’ll hear you.”
George nodded and Faith left, using the connecting door so he could see where to come if he needed her.
A housemaid waited, ready to serve her. She indicated a gown thrown on the bed, a loose sacque of fine silk. “Lady Deborah says she will send you more presently.”
Faith blushed. She hated accepting charity from strangers, but she didn’t have clothes suitable for this milieu, so she had little choice.
She allowed the maid to help her to undress, and she slid into the bath set in front of the fireplace. Faith was glad of the hot water and the fire blazing in the hearth and couldn’t repress a sigh of sheer pleasure. The maid stayed discreetly in the background while Faith took a complete and thorough wash. After she had rinsed her hair twice and passed the sponge over her legs and feet one last time, she stood and allowed the maid to wrap her in a soft towel, luxuriating in the fresh scent of her own body. She hadn’t felt so clean for a long time.
She refused her stays and dressed in the lawn shift and blue sacque, the loose folds moulding to her body when she moved. The best silk, light and comfortable. She asked the maid to have the rest of her clothes laundered when they arrived, and dismissed her.
Her room overlooked the garden at the back of the house, a haven of green, dotted with the colourful flowers planted in the beds and borders. The sash window was open. She leaned out, breathing the rose-scented air. Heavenly. She savoured the moment of peace in a life of turmoil.
Lightning Unbound: Even Gods Fall in Love, Book 1 Page 2
