The Wicked Waif

by Lancaster, Mary

  “He were lying wrong. My ma wouldn’t have the midwife or the doctor for shame.”

  “Shame of what?” Tillie asked blankly.

  “I’m not married,” the girl said defiantly.

  Tillie frowned. “I’ve a feeling you’re better off with a baby than a husband.”

  A surprised laugh escaped the other girl. “Well that’s a novel way of looking at it! Anyway, Mrs. Grant—who’s the vicar’s wife and has a gorgeous little baby of her own—called in when my pains were starting, and then Dr. Lampton came anyway. He brought me here and turned the baby so he could be born. But he says neither of us is strong enough to leave.”

  “Are you content to be here?”

  “Yes, for I don’t think I could cope on my own. Got no energy. And they’re kind here, hardly lecture me at all. I’m Annie, by the way. Annie Doone. And this is little George.”

  “After the king?” Tillie said, and then frowned. How did she know the king was called George when she didn’t know her own name?

  In any case, Annie shook her head. “After his father.”

  Tillie looked at her. “What happened to his father?”

  “I don’t know.” Annie said. “It’s like he vanished off the end of the world.”

  “Except there is no end,” Tillie said, hoping to comfort. “It just goes all the way round until you’re back where you started. Perhaps your George—big George—will end up back here with you.”

  Annie smiled, though tears glistened in her eyes.

  Distracting her, Tillie said, “Annie, is there a looking glass here?”

  “I’ve got one,” Annie said proudly. “In the drawer. Borrow it whenever you wish.”

  Tillie reached down and opened the drawer in the bedside table between them. She found an old hand-held glass with several cracks, but she took it anyway and sat up, peering at the face that stared back at her.

  She touched her eyes and cheeks and lips, as though the contact might turn them from a stranger’s features into her own. From her appearance, she was no older than Annie, but that didn’t really help. She tried lifting up her hair, as it might look pinned, but nothing looked familiar to her.

  “You’re very pretty, miss,” Annie assured her.

  “So are you, Annie,” Tillie said. “But I’m not sure it helps either of us.”

  Chapter Three

  Luncheon in the hospital was a decent meal that Tillie didn’t really want, then suddenly wolfed anyhow because as soon as she started, she realized how hungry was. She had no idea when she’d last eaten.

  Annie ate with gusto, too, and then invited Tillie to admire little George’s beautiful eyes, for the baby had wakened and she was about to feed him. Tillie slid out of bed in her borrowed night rail to get a closer look and agreed that she had never seen more beautiful eyes than George’s.

  “Mind you,” Annie pointed out. “To all intents and purposes, you haven’t seen many eyes, have you?”

  “I suppose not.”

  “Major Doverton’s eyes are very fine,” Annie mused.

  Tillie smiled. “Do you think so? I am sure they are nowhere near George’s beauty.” Though it was true they were very fine. Dark and deep, with lurking laughter and hidden pain. She glanced from the baby to Annie. “Do you know the major?”

  “Lord, no, we don’t exactly move in the same circles! He commanded the 44th, or at least those left behind when the rest went to Spain. Until they all came home again with Colonel Gordon. The men like him. And the quality folks in town. But he’s a bit of a mystery.”

  “How so?” Tillie asked, intrigued.

  Annie shrugged. “He just doesn’t mix much. He never goes to the tavern or misbehaves. Goes to the assembly room balls sometimes. I hear some have cast their lures out to him but he never bites.”

  “Then he isn’t married?” Tillie asked in surprise.

  “No, not that I ever heard.”

  There was no reason for that to please Tillie and yet it did.

  “What are you doing out of bed, Tillie?” Mrs. Brown demanded from the doorway. “Doctor said bed until tomorrow at the earliest!”

  “Well, it’s almost bed,” Tillie wheedled. “I only stepped across to see little George.”

  “Then oblige me by stepping back and making yourself decent to greet Mrs. Grant.”

  Tillie bolted back into bed. She had already apologized to Mrs. Brown and the other staff, but she owed Mrs. Grant rather more. However, the vicar’s wife sailed into the room without waiting.

  “Oh goodness, there’s no need of formality,” she said. “We are all women, after all. Why, you are looking so much better than this morning!”

  “I feel much better,” Tillie acknowledged. “And I owe you so much gratitude and so many apologies, I don’t know where to begin.”

  “Then don’t. We’ll take it as understood. For in truth, I did nothing but lend you a sofa and ask my servants to look after you.”

  “But I was unappreciative and rude,” Tillie said. “Will you pass my apologies also to Mr. Grant?”

  “Of course, though there is as little need.” She turned to the other girl. “And how are you, Annie? Both doing better, I hear.”

  “Definitely, ma’am,” Annie said fervently.

  For a few minutes, the two exchanged baby news and experiences, to which Tillie had nothing to contribute, although she drank it all in until Mrs. Grant turned back to her.

  “Major Doverton tells me your name is Tillie.”

  “Maybe,” Tillie said cautiously. “I have a feeling I heard it a lot. Or perhaps said it a lot. And I remembered the king’s name is George!”

  “And the queen’s?” Mrs. Grant asked mildly.

  “Charlotte.”

  “And their eldest son?”

  “George, the Prince Regent. I do seem to know these things. I know we have been at war with France for years and are now at peace. I could recite you the countries of the globe—although I will spare you—but still I could not tell you a thing about myself.”

  Mrs. Grant, who carried a book under one arm, set it on the bed beside her. “And can you read the title of this?”

  “The Mysteries of Udolpho,” Tillie read, picking it up and looking at the spine. “By Mrs. Radcliffe.”

  “Have you read it?”

  Tillie frowned. “I don’t know. But I do know Mrs. Radcliffe writes delightfully gothic romances.”

  “Keep it,” Mrs. Grant said. She seemed to be looking at Tillie’s hands on the book. “Perhaps if you read it, it will help jog your memory. Who knows? At least it will entertain you.”

  “Thank you,” Tillie said, touched. “I think I will enjoy it.”

  “Now,” Mrs. Grant said, a little more briskly. “Providing Dr. Lampton sees no harm in it, Major Doverton would like you to meet the crew of The Phoenix tomorrow morning. Would you object to that?”

  “No…will he be there?”

  “The major? Oh, yes.”

  Tillie gave a quick smile. It might have been relief, or pleasure. She couldn’t tell. She lifted her gaze to Mrs. Grant’s face. “Do you know him well?”

  “No, I can’t say I do.” Mrs. Grant regarded her thoughtfully, then added, “He is a much more private person than many of the officers in Blackhaven. But I do know he is a good man. He has helped many people here, including friends of mine. And he organized the rescue last night, as well as bringing you and several others ashore in the storm.”

  “I think he has a tragedy in his life.”

  Mrs. Grant blinked. “If he does, I don’t know what it is.”

  Mrs. Brown reappeared and took the baby while her underlings wrestled Annie into a robe. Then, they all went for a short promenade to the nursery where the baby would stay while Annie napped.

  “They look after her very well,” Tillie observed as Mrs. Grant stood to leave also. “Mrs. Grant?” she added on impulse. “Did you know little George’s father?”

  She shook her head. “No. Annie hasn’t told
me who he is.”

  “His name was George and he vanished.”

  “Sadly, that is often the way of it.”

  “Then you think he vanished deliberately?” Tillie asked her.

  “I don’t know. But neither is good, is it? Either something bad happened to him, keeping him from her, or else he has simply abandoned her.”

  Tillie nodded, frowning, then shook herself and smiled. “Thank you for everything, Mrs. Grant, including the book.”

  “You’re welcome. Dr. Lampton will let you know about meeting the crew tomorrow.”

  *

  In the morning, after examining her, Dr. Lampton pronounced her fit to go to the vicarage. “Mrs. Grant will send her carriage for you. It isn’t far to walk, but I would prefer you to rest.”

  “Thank you,” Tillie said meekly. She suspected all this resting was about to irk her, but since she had only just apologized to Dr. Lampton for previous rudeness, she held herself in check.

  “And what of your memory?” he asked her. “Have you remembered anything more?”

  She shook her head, feeling again that odd, fearful tilt, as though she were about to fall back into the airless, spinning darkness. She grasped the side of the bed, as though to anchor herself there.

  Dr. Lampton followed the gesture but said only, “Don’t worry. It can take time. Major Doverton and Mr. Winslow, the magistrate, are trying to trace your family so you will at least have the comfort of knowing who you are. And familiar faces may well jog your memory.” He stood up, and his gaze fell on the book Mrs. Grant had left for her. “Have you been reading it?”

  “Yes, we began it yesterday evening,” Tillie replied.

  “Both of you?” As though amused, Lampton turned to include Annie, who was feeding little George.

  “Oh yes,” Annie said fervently. “Tillie read it aloud to me. It’s wonderful!”

  “That it is,” the doctor agreed with a certain ambiguity not lost on Tillie. Some people despised such tales, though she wasn’t quite sure how she knew this. Some words, some tone of voice hovered on the edge of her memory, but eluded her.

  When the doctor left, Tillie found it hard to contain her excitement. She was impatient to be up and off to the vicarage, and she had actually climbed out of bed with the intention of going in search of her clothes when Mrs. Cross brought them to her.

  It was only as she took off her night rail that she realized her body was covered in bruises. She paused, staring at them. She supposed such injuries were inevitable from bouncing and spinning in the box, from deliberately throwing herself against the sides…

  “Goodness,” Annie said, awed. “Those must be painful.”

  “I suppose it explains why it aches to do anything.” And she was certainly relieved Mrs. Cross had brought her no stays. The chemise and gown and warm pelisse were all vaguely familiar, though only because she recalled them clinging wetly to her body, and then being wrestled off her. She had been shaking uncontrollably at the time, yet was far too numb to feel the cold.

  She shivered, banishing the memory as Mrs. Cross fastened the gown.

  “My, how splendid you look,” Annie approved from her bed. Little George had fallen asleep in her arms. “I thought you talked all proper—now you look like a lady, too. No wonder you can read.”

  Tillie looked doubtfully at her sea-damaged gown and pelisse. “I won’t look like a lady without a hat of some kind. Lord, and I must pin up my hair.”

  “Here. I’ll do that for you,” Annie offered. “George won’t mind.”

  “And I’ll fetch your cloak from the drying room,” added Mrs. Cross, who had become very helpful and friendly since Tillie’s humble apology. “You can pull the hood over your hair while you’re outside.”

  “You look lovely,” Annie said warmly when she was ready to depart.

  Tillie cast her a grateful if doubtful smile. For some reason, she wanted Major Doverton to see her as more than the half-drowned rat he’d rescued from the sea.

  Stepping into the carriage seemed a quite familiar act. But then, Dr. Lampton had brought her to the hospital in a carriage. Any others were beyond the reach of her memory.

  It was a short five-minute drive to the vicarage. Tillie’s heart beat hard the whole way, because she might recognize the sailors from The Phoenix, because they might know her. Because maybe one of them had shut her in a box, leaving her to die when the ship foundered against the rocks.

  And because she would see Major Doverton again. For although she was finding her feet in this strange life, she felt more comfortable when he was with her.

  She kept her hood up inside the carriage and gazed out the window at Blackhaven. Between the buildings, she glimpsed the sea, and further round the coast, a castle perched on the cliff, looking down over the town and the coast. The town was small, but quite picturesque, although clearly growing. A large hotel took pride of place in the main street, and on the other side of the road, a coffee house, a porticoed entrance to the Assembly Rooms, and several quality shops. Wealthy people resided here.

  When the carriage stopped outside the vicarage, she waited for the door to be opened for her and the steps let down. Yes, this was natural to her…

  The servant who admitted her appeared to recognize her, and with a civil bow, took her cloak and conducted her to the drawing room. As she walked in, her heart lifted, because she had begun to be afraid the major wouldn’t be there after all, but he sat on the sofa beside Mrs. Grant, apparently in serious conversation, though both stood as she entered.

  Mrs. Grant hurried toward her, hand stretched out. “Tillie, how well you look!”

  “Thank you, I feel much better,” she managed. “Annie tried to hide this ugly dressing in my hair, but I’m not sure how successful she was.”

  “Very,” Mrs. Grant assured her, and moved aside.

  Major Doverton stood in front of her. Her heart gave a funny little flutter as she looked up and up. She had never stood beside him before and hadn’t realized he was so tall. More than that, he overwhelmed her. The kindness and the pain in his eyes, the small scar on his cheek, the sheer character in his harsh-featured yet handsome face—all hit her in the stomach like a blow. Winded, she could not speak.

  His eyes twinkled. “Miss Waif,” he said, bowing. “I hope you are feeling as well as you look,”

  “Miss Waif?” she managed. “Surely that cannot be my name?”

  “I don’t see why not,” he teased. “Until we learn the truth, you are Miss Tillie Waif, a gift of the sea.”

  She frowned. “I think I am rather taken from the sea which makes me more plunder than gift.”

  “Miss Plunder doesn’t roll off the tongue so easily.”

  A breath of laughter escaped her. “I didn’t realize you talked so much nonsense.” Of course, it had been designed to put her at her ease, and it succeeded.

  “Come, sit for a moment,” Mrs. Grant urged. “We’ll have some refreshment in just a little, after you meet The Phoenix seamen.”

  Tillie sat on the sofa with Mrs. Grant beside her and turned earnestly toward her.

  “My husband is with them just now,” Mrs. Grant continued. She hesitated, then said, “The thing is, as well as hoping to jog your memory, we want to catch them unaware, see how they react when you are suddenly introduced to them.”

  Distress twisted through Tillie, but she would not give in to it. She lifted her chin. “Because one of them put me in the box?”

  “It does seem likely,” Major Doverton said quietly.

  “I wonder what I did to inspire such hatred.”

  “The fault is not yours,” he said at once. “And putting you there was not necessarily malicious. Also…one man died that night. It could have been him. But this is at least something to try if you are willing.”

  She nodded. “I am.”

  “The captain—Captain Smith—did not appear to know anything about you,” Mrs. Grant added, “but he did have warning we were asking him to meet a lady we’
d found in the sea.”

  “If you’re ready,” Doverton said, offering her his arm, “we could get it over with quickly.”

  Tillie stood at once, took his arm determinedly, and followed Mrs. Grant out of the room and across the hall to another apartment at the back of the house. Of course, they had not wanted the men to see her walking up the path.

  Her stomach tightened with tension. “Will you be with me?” she blurted to the major.

  “Of course. As will Mr. and Mrs. Grant. And Brent,” he added, nodding to the servant, who suddenly threw open the door.

  Chapter Four

  Her fingers tightened on the major’s coat as she walked into a good-sized study. The walls were lined with books, and a large, cluttered desk clearly had pride of place in the room under normal circumstances. Right now, several ordinary seamen stood around, looking awkward. Only slightly less so were their officers, including the one who stood beside the vicar at the fireplace.

  Silence fell as all heads turned toward her and Major Doverton. One of these men, probably, had nailed her into a wooden box to die in the darkness. She shivered, and Doverton’s hand covered hers on his arm in an instinctive gesture of comfort. It gave her the courage to meet every gaze she encountered on her excruciating walk across the study to the vicar.

  Mr. Grant smiled. “How wonderful to see you looking so well.”

  “I wanted to thank you in person for your hospitality,” she said. “I may have seemed unappreciative at the time.”

  His eyes twinkled. “Let us call it shyness. And indeed, it was our pleasure. Allow me to introduce your fellow survivor, Captain Smith.”

  She met the captain’s frowning stare, even forced herself to offer her hand. But she felt no recognition, and saw none in his unhappy face.

  “No idea how you got among us,” he said stiffly, as though it were her fault—which, of course, it might have been. “But very glad to see you alive and well. This is my first mate and my navigator, Mr. Yates and Mr. Wilson.”