Loving Lucy

by Lynne Connolly

  Chapter Eleven

  Potter drew a breath and told him everything she had discovered, from the time she had seen Sir Geoffrey lead Lady Lucy upstairs to the journey to his lordship’s door. He listened in silence, but his face got progressively grimmer as she described her adventure, and at one point his expression contorted into something like pain. “It’s my fault,” he murmured when she had done. “I should have gone with her, I should never have let her face it alone.”

  He stood up and went to the window, staring out at the busy scene in the street outside. The inn was busy all through the night, horses, coaches and people arriving and leaving constantly. After about ten minutes, he turned back to her. “I’ve told them we’re Mr and Mrs. Stanley, and you are our maid. When you go, I’ll tell them you’ve gone to look after your sick mother. How is your mother, by the way?” He essayed a grin.

  “Perfectly well, thank you sir.” She echoed his grin. It didn’t make anything better.

  “I’ll go home tomorrow and pack a bag,” he said. “I’ll give my valet absence of leave and come back here. As far as anyone knows, I’ve gone to Newmarket to stay with friends for a few days. That’s not unusual for me.” His voice was dispassionate, finding relief from the pain in planning. “I’ll tell the landlady here my wife’s taken a chill. I’ll have to nurse her myself - “ he shrugged at Potter’s evident disapproval. “There’s no other way. The fewer people know about this the better. The important thing is to keep our whereabouts a secret. You know why, don’t you?”

  “Because if her ladyship finds out where her daughter is, she’ll come and fetch her, and make her marry Sir Geoffrey.”

  “Absolutely. And I’m determined that she will not. He’ll kill her in a twelvemonth. I don’t know how we will manage without any scandal, but we must do our best. Can you return here?”

  “It’s my half-day off tomorrow, my lord.”

  “But I can’t take your day away from you.”

  Potter was surprised. Not many lords would have considered that. “I don’t mind. In fact I’d like to help, my lord.”

  “Better start calling me sir,” he advised her. “I’m Mr. Stanley here. I appreciate your kindness. I promise no harm will come to you because of this affair. If her ladyship finds out, come to me and I’ll make it right. Understood?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Good. Now if I give you some money can you buy Lady Lucy some clothes? Some which would suit a provincial lady, not too grand?”

  She wondered at this but agreed readily enough. She enjoyed shopping, and didn’t do enough of it herself. She fancied she knew exactly what was needed. “Yes sir.”

  “Have you time to help me to settle Lady Lucy in bed?” he asked then. “She’s still in no case to help herself.”

  Lucy still seemed to be in a trance, staring, sitting perfectly still. She didn’t try to help when Potter untied the strings of her bonnet, undid the buttons of her pelisse.

  Lord Royston left the room while Potter got Lucy ready for bed, coming back in half an hour. He was surprised to see Lucy laid on her stomach. “Does she always sleep like that?”

  “No sir,” Potter studied him in silence for a moment. Well, if he was to nurse her, he’d better see the worst. “I think we should bathe her wounds now. We weren’t able to do it properly at the house; we were more worried about getting her away.”

  “I see. Very well.”

  Potter watched him carefully when she drew the night dress up. If there had been the slightest sign of desire anywhere about him, she would have stopped at once, thought again, but all she saw was concern and pain. His forehead creased, and she thought she saw a tear streak down his cheek. All he said was “Dear God.” but in his tone there was shock and loathing for the perpetrator. Potter knew then that she could leave her ladyship safely in his care.

  Hot water had been brought up and left outside. They brought it in and poured some of it into the basin. His lordship carried the basin over to the bed and laid it on the night stand. Together, they dipped soft cloths in the water and dabbed at the wounds, clearing away the congealed blood, trying not to hurt. Lady Lucy didn’t flinch once. It was as though she slept, but her eyes were still open.

  When they had done Potter gently folded the night dress down and pulled up the bedcovers. Lord Royston looked about the room and found a blanket. “I’ll sleep by the fire.”

  “I can stay tonight,” Potter said, “But I have to leave in the morning.”

  “But you have to work. You may sleep by the fire. I can sleep tomorrow, when she does.”

  He wouldn’t let her argue, so she sat in the chair and pulled up the blanket around her. She’d known worse. With all the excitement and stress of the evening it wasn’t long before she fell asleep.

  ***

  Lucy opened her eyes. She was mildly surprised to find herself lying on her stomach, not her usual method of sleeping. She stretched and it was only then she remembered. It flooded back in on her, a wave of memories, a nightmarish remembrance, together with the pain. She gasped, and cried out, but softly.

  “Lucy?” A masculine voice, but not the one she dreaded to hear. This one was both deeper and softer. Philip. What was he doing here? She tried to turn, and, wincing made it on to her side.

  “Lucy?” he repeated. She saw him then, coming across the room to sit on the bed. But where was this room, and how did she get here? She couldn’t remember a thing after Geoffrey had - no, she couldn’t think of it. Not yet.

  She saw Philip smile reassuringly. “Don’t worry. Nobody knows where you are.”

  “Not even me.”

  “Touché.” His smile warmed her. “We’re at the King’s Arms in the City - not an inn our friends would use.”

  She stared at him, bewildered and frightened. “What’s happening? Please, tell me.”

  “First things first. You must be thirsty. I only have water, but I’ll ring for some tea directly, if you wish it. The landlady here thinks you’ve caught a chill. She also thinks we’re married.”

  She looked at him wide eyed, but let him slip an arm around her shoulders and help her to sit up. She found it hurt, but it was possible. She drank the water avidly, finding she was thirsty, her head supported by his shoulder, but as soon as she had done, he leant her gently on her side back against the pillows and resumed his seat on the bed.

  “Now I’ll tell you what I can. You were brought to me by a chambermaid. Your Aunt Honoria helped, but she doesn’t know where you are. Neither does your mother.”

  “Oh but Mama will worry so much.” Lucy cried, concerned for her mother’s distress.

  “She’ll also make you marry Sanders.” Lucy shuddered at the mention of his name. Philip looked away, seemingly unable to met her eyes. “You should know that I’ve been looking after you, but I’ve tried to be as careful as possible to preserve your modesty.”

  “I don’t think I have any left.” Her mouth twisted up at one side when she remembered what had been done to her. If she didn’t smile, she would cry, and she didn’t want to turn into a watering-pot. It wouldn’t help anything. He smiled in sympathy. “What happened to you wasn’t your fault. I want to try to make it better.” She saw such a look of sincerity in his face she believed him at once.

  “I’m still hoping to get us out of this with the least scandal,” he explained. “Your mother has let it be known that you’ve been taken ill and gone into the country for a while. She hasn’t cancelled your betrothal, and nor will she. My servants think I’m at Newmarket with some friends of mine. So we’re both legitimately absent. Some people have thought your mother is a little unfeeling not to accompany you, but the explanations seem to have been accepted, and nobody has connected them. Not even your mother.”

  “How long?”

  “Two days. You’ve slept, and eaten, but you haven’t been there. I thought - I was very worried, Lucy. I’m so glad you’re back with us at last.” His eyes warmed with his smile.

  Lucy was ap
palled. Two days at the mercy of anyone, two days she couldn’t remember, no matter how hard she tried. “I don’t remember a thing since -,” she broke off, unable to face the terrible thing that had been done to her. “May I send my mother a letter?”

  “Not yet. She’s incandescent with rage. Let her wait and calm down before we tell her where you are.”

  “Oh poor Mama.”

  He stared at her in astonishment. “How can you be sorry for the woman who allowed this to happen? Who would still see you married to Sanders if she could find you?”

  “She didn’t know he would do this.” Lucy said. “She thought she was allowing - something else.”

  “What?”

  She found the words. “Early consummation of the marriage.” She blushed.

  His face darkened. “No, Lucy.” He stood up and gook a hasty turn around the room. “What you went through wasn’t consummation. Never think that.” He looked back to where she lay, totally still, white faced against the whiter pillows. “I’m sorry, Lucy. There’s no need to think about it now. The most important thing is that you get better. Would you like some tea?”

  “Yes please.” He went away to see to it.

  Left alone, Lucy could try to come to terms with this development, try to think out what had happened to her. How could Geoffrey have done this to her? She couldn’t see the marks on her back, but she could feel them, every one of them. They felt terrible, sore and stiff. She didn’t like to think of anyone seeing them, much less Philip. She moved her shoulders experimentally and then wished she hadn’t. As for the other thing - she couldn’t believe that had happened. She needed more time to come to terms with that.

  Philip came back followed by a motherly looking woman carrying a tray on which was a serviceable tea pot, some cups and a plate of bread and butter. She suddenly felt hungry. “Mrs. Stanley.” said the woman. “So nice to see you’re feeling better. We were most concerned about you, my husband and I, but now you’re sitting up you must feel on the mend. You can be out, about and enjoying the sights of London with your husband here. So disappointing, to come up to look about you and be smitten on your first day with such a severe chill.”

  “I’m quite susceptible to them,” Lucy ventured softly, and saw Philip smile.

  “She is indeed,” he said fondly, the epitome of the devoted husband.

  Lucy felt suddenly shy when the landlady left. Philip brought her cup over to her and looked at her doubtfully. “Can you manage this?” His question was an indication to her of how much he had done for her in the last day or two. She nodded, blushing again, and sat up, wincing at the sting of the wounds. She took the cup carefully.

  “Philip? Will you tell me what you’ve been doing the past few days?”

  He took a sip of his tea before he answered her. “I’ve bathed your wounds, put some ointment on them. I’ve helped you to eat. I’ve washed you and brushed your hair. Apart from that, very little.” If he hoped to make her laugh, he was to be disappointed.

  Distressed, Lucy hung her head. “I’m ashamed.”

  “Oh no, please don’t be. You’ve been ill, just as though you’d had a fever. I’ve only done what any other nurse would do.”

  “But you’re not a nurse.”

  “I’m not sure, after the last few days,” he said with a wry smile of his own. “Drink your tea.”

  She obediently took a sip, found it good, and drank some more. “What happens now?”

  “I’m damned if I know. You can’t go home just yet.”

  She looked surprised. “Why not?”

  “Because your mother is still set on you marrying Sir Geoffrey. When I went to my house to collect my gear, she called. I had to receive her; she all but pushed her way in. She asked where you were and when I asked her what she meant, she told me you’d foolishly run off. I of course indicated concern, but she said she had a good idea where you had gone and I wasn’t to concern myself with it.” He hastened to reassure her when he saw the look of alarm cross her face. “Don’t worry, she hasn’t the faintest idea where you are. I think she said that to stop me looking for you. She doesn’t want me anywhere near you, although the danger to you doesn’t come from me.” His mouth set in a hard line. “I asked what could have made you do such a thing. She told me you had taken Sir Geoffrey in a sudden, capricious dislike, but she was sure as soon as you returned you would see the error of your ways and resume your engagement.”

  “Has anyone told her what he did?” Lucy was confused by this reaction in her mother, not sure why she should say that.

  I don’t know. But even to do what she did shows a lack of motherly care and respect I wouldn’t have expected, even in her. I can’t think why she’s so set on this marriage, but it seems she is.”

  “She hates scandal,” Lucy offered. “She’ll hate what happens when it all comes out.”

  He nodded. “But it comes to something when someone will sacrifice their family to social convention. This may create a far greater scandal than if you had merely called it off.”

  Lucy sighed. “I fear you’re right,” she said dejectedly, and finished her tea. When she leaned over to put the empty cup on the nightstand, he was there to take it from her and refill it. “I went home and tried to call it off. I told Geoffrey I couldn’t marry him after all. Those papers I saw at Mr. Chumleigh’s told me what I should have suspected. Then Mama allowed him to - to take me upstairs, and I was afraid, but I still thought he would behave like a gentleman and respect my wishes.” Tears stood in her eyes but she resolutely blinked them away and took another draught of her tea.

  Philip was angry, his eyes sparking fire, but it wasn’t for her. “If it wouldn’t create even more scandal I’d call him out. I knew he had - certain tendencies, but I never dreamed he’d think it right to use them on a lady.”

  Now it was Lucy’s turn to feel anger. “How did you know? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I wish I had. I wish I’d never allowed you to go back to that house.” He looked away, but not before she saw his face contort in pain.

  “How did you know?” she asked again, partly to distract him from his self-guilt. It wasn’t his fault, in no way could she blame him.

  He looked up at her, nothing between them now, all barriers down. “I went to school with him. Boys can be very cruel, but he was worse than most. Some of them still bear the scars of what he did to them. He laughed, seemed to enjoy inflicting the pain.”

  “Yes.”

  He glanced at her with concern but carried on. “Then - you know - the women men resort to.”

  He seemed embarrassed, so she helped him. “Cyprians. Ladies of the night.”

  He grinned. “Yes, them. He gained a certain reputation. There are houses where you can give and receive that kind of vicious pleasure, and he is known in them. The most notorious has just banned him.”

  She thought about it. She still couldn’t believe it. “People enjoy it?” She put her cup on the nightstand.

  “I’m afraid so,” he told her. “Most of the customers of these establishments are sensible enough to put a strict line between that place and the rest of their lives. I hoped Sanders was one of that ilk, but it seems not. I’m so sorry, Lucy. For everything he did to you. For not getting you away sooner. For not going with you when you decided to break it off with him.”

  “Thank you.” She could accept that, but it would take time for the true horror of what she had so narrowly escaped to strike home, “but none of this is your fault. I don’t see why you should concern yourself this much.”

  He waved a careless hand, and then turned to put down his own cup so she couldn’t see his face. “I care about you, my dear. I always did.”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “I know that now.”

  “Do you?” When he turned back to her his face held friendship. “Then some good has come of it. I hope we can always be friends.”

  She stared at him, and then smiled. “Yes.” How could she ever have doubted him? He had b
een her friend for so long, and the estrangement had been wholly on her mother’s side. But Lucy had been a good, obedient daughter. It would take time for her to come to terms with what she had learned.

  “But now, I need to be your nurse,” he reminded her. “I’m keeping the wounds clean and applying ointment, that’s all.”

  She looked at him apprehensively. “I suppose you’ve seen everything.” She looked at him, tried to think of him as the brother she had never had, but she couldn’t quite achieve this. The best she could do was put him in the category of ‘friend.’ Even that wasn’t enough.

  “I’m trying very hard not to notice.” He gave her a lopsided grin.

  “I don’t think I can be modest now.” Without further words she lay down and turned on to her stomach. She felt him pull the covers down and then her night dress up. She shivered, despite her best efforts to keep still.

  “I know,” he soothed, “but there’s no one else to do it, and it has to be done, otherwise there might be infection. Believe me, my - dear, there’s no need to fear me.”

  “I know that now,” she said, trying to keep her voice level.

  He brought some warm water in a bowl over to the bed and laid it on the floor. She heard the sound of a cloth being wrung out and then felt the warmth on her back. “Will you tell me what it looks like? Please keep talking. Don’t let me think.”

  Her voice nearly broke, but he spoke to her as though he hadn’t heard it. “The marks on your shoulders didn’t cut the skin - they’re healing nicely. His tone was steady. Lucy found listening made her forget the intimate nature of his ministrations, and she breathed deeply to regain her composure. “He’s cut through lower down,” he continued. “But there’s no infection, it’s all healing well. In a day or two you won’t need this any more.” His hands were gentle but sure, and he didn’t hurt her once.

  “Will it scar?”

  “I don’t know. But if it does, none of them will show when you’re dressed.” He was attending to the wounds on her bottom and thighs now, and she could feel by the soreness that this was where the marks were at their worst. His touch was the same as it had been higher up. Then she felt him dry her, with gentle pats from a soft towel. “Nearly done now.”