The Wicked Waif

by Lancaster, Mary

  “How extraordinary,” Mrs. Gordon exclaimed.

  “Not that extraordinary, m’dear,” the colonel said casually. “We had a few men lost their memories over the years, didn’t we, Dove? Fellow at Badajoz for one.”

  “Yes, sir, he remembered most of his life eventually, but he never remembered how he got the injury.”

  “Was your injury to your head, Major?” Captain Blackshaw asked. His voice was casual, but the look in his eyes was contemptuous and challenging.

  Too much wine and resentment, Dove thought with some contempt of his own. “No,” he replied shortly, and turned back to Mrs. Gordon.

  “I just wondered what kept you from active duty for so long,” Blackshaw continued. “Injured at Salamanca back in July of 1812, and yet nearly two years later, by the time we finally defeated Bonaparte, you still hadn’t rejoined the rest of your battalion.”

  Doverton cast him a look of lazy amusement. “Looking for easy promotion, Blackshaw? I’m not going to die yet.”

  There was ripple of slightly uneasy laughter which caused Blackshaw to flush with anger. Kit Grantham’s lips moved under cover of the noise, clearly warning Blackshaw off. It might work for this evening, but sooner or later, there was going to be real confrontation with Blackshaw. Doverton didn’t know why, and right now, didn’t much care. The very thought made him weary. Maybe it was time to sell out and grow roses. Or lemon trees. It would, finally, be a peaceful end for a man who had lived for war.

  An image flashed through his mind. Sitting under a lemon tree in the sunshine, with his head on Tillie’s lap. She smiled down at him, stroked his hair.

  He banished the picture with a curl of his lip and turned back to Mrs. Gordon, who was saying, “I expect you will go to the Assembly ball next week.”

  “I expect I shall,” he agreed and wondered if there was a way for Tillie to go.

  He had to stop thinking about her. Whatever she had wondered aloud, he was sure she was no courtesan. In a lascivious moment, he had almost wished she were. He had to remind himself he barely knew the girl. And even then, he knew about as much as she did.

  “Stay for another brandy, Dove,” the colonel suggested when he finally excused himself after the interminable meal.

  “I won’t, sir, thank you. I have someone to see.”

  “Not the waif with no memory?” Gordon said with a grin.

  “No one half so pretty, sir, I assure you.” Amid the general laughter, he left the table and returned with relief to his own rooms, where he found Cully waiting along with a good-looking young soldier.

  They both leapt to their feet as Dove entered. The young soldier stood particularly straight and stiff.

  “Gunn, sir,” Cully said. “From Mr. Blackshaw’s company.”

  “Of course you are,” Dove murmured with an internal groan. “Thank you for your time, Gunn. I hope Cully told you you’re not in trouble. I’m merely looking for someone and I believe you might know him. One George Trent? From another regiment, though I don’t know which.”

  “Yes sir, I know Trent. He pulled me back behind the lines after I was shot at Burgos. Saved my life, I reckon.”

  “It sounds like it. When did you last see him?”

  Gunn considered. “Must have been when he came to Blackhaven last spring, just before I went back to the war. Though it was all over by the time I got there…”

  “Was he injured, too?” Dove asked.

  “Lost a hand, sir. Invalided out, poor bastard. But he was coping very well.”

  This wasn’t quite what Dove had expected to hear. Nor exactly what Tillie had told him. “Poor bastard indeed. Did he by any chance step out with a girl from Blackhaven?”

  “None of my business, sir,” Gunn said at once.

  “Unfortunately, it has become mine.”

  “I don’t know, sir. We met Annie Doone in Whalen and he seemed quite taken with her. Beyond that,” Gurney said firmly. “I know nothing.”

  “But you know Annie Doone has a baby? Don’t you think Trent would like to know?”

  “Seems to me if he did, he’d be here,” Gunn said bluntly.

  “Where is he?”

  “No idea, sir. He’s got family somewhere near Manchester.”

  “Is he married, Gunn?”

  “Wasn’t then, to my knowledge.”

  “Got an address for him?”

  “No, sir. He don’t have mine, either. He just turned up at the barracks one day, out of the blue, asking for me.”

  “Don’t you have any way of finding him?”

  Gunn hesitated. “I know of an alehouse in Manchester.”

  Dove groaned inwardly. “Tell me.”

  *

  Apart from waking up once in the middle of the night and panicking because the lamp had gone out, Tillie slept well. On the other hand, Annie’s night had been disturbed. She had been wakened by Tillie’s terrified thrashing about the room to find a light and had risen to light a stub of candle for her. In the morning, she wanted to sleep longer than George would allow.

  “What’s the matter with him?” she demanded, frightened. “Call Mrs. Brown for me, Miss Tillie!”

  “He’s crying,” Tillie said, gazing at her in consternation. “Isn’t he meant to do that when he’s hungry?”

  Annie picked him up. “Well, he never has before.” As soon as she put him to her breast, he stopped crying.

  Since Dr. Lampton came in just then, he was quickly told the story of the crying and assured Annie that this was, in fact, a sign of improved health. “Keep feeding him,” he commanded, “and I will take a look at him later, just to be sure.” He turned to Tillie. “And how are you this morning?”

  “I feel fine. Still a little stiff and sore, but a short walk yesterday seemed to help.” She gave a tentative smile. “I should not be taking up space in your hospital, but I’m not sure where else I can go.”

  “I’ll look into it for you,” he said surprisingly. “For now, sit down so that I can examine the wound on your head.”

  Tillie obeyed and was gratified to hear the wound was still clean and healing well.

  Mrs. Brown stuck her head around the door.

  “He cried!” Annie told her triumphantly.

  “Well, that is good news,” Mrs. Brown said complacently. “Of course, he will plague you now that he knows how! Doctor, Major Doverton is here.”

  Tillie’s heart lurched at mention of the major.

  “I’ll be down in half an hour,” Dr. Lampton said irritably.

  “Oh, no, he doesn’t want to see you, but Miss Tillie.”

  Tillie’s breath caught. She could hardly refrain from smiling.

  Dr. Lampton’s lips twitched as he sat back and regarded her. “Do you want to see Major Doverton?”

  “I would be happy to,” Tillie managed, blushing.

  “I see.” He stood up. “Well, get dressed while I speak to him.”

  As Tillie dressed in haste in her only garments, it came to her that this was not normal for her. Though she could not recall any other garments specifically, she was sure she had owned many, that it was normal to have a choice and make decisions about them. Or perhaps that was merely wishful thinking.

  At any rate, with Mrs. Brown to help with fastenings, she was soon dressed with her hair brushed and pinned. She could not help hurrying downstairs to the foyer, where she discovered Dr. Lampton still in conversation with Major Doverton.

  They sat on a wooden bench, leaning forward, talking quietly and intensely. It was the major who saw her first. His eyes seemed to light up immediately, his lips curving into a spontaneous smile that made butterflies soar in her stomach.

  Dr. Lampton stopped talking and turned toward her. They both stood and walked to meet her. She offered Major Doverton her hand—a little shyly since she was once more overwhelmed by the sheer size and presence of the man.

  He bowed over it politely. “Miss Tillie. Dr. Lampton has just given his permission for you to go to the pump room and take th
e waters.”

  Lampton shrugged. “It won’t do you any harm. In fact, the fresh air and the company of people may well do you good. Forgive me, I have other patients to see. Good morning.” In his abrupt way, he strode off.

  The major said, “I happily offer my escort. But if you would rather go with Mrs.—”

  “Thank you, you’re very kind,” she said, already walking toward the door.

  “Your confinement to the hospital is irking you,” he observed, holding the door for her.

  “I have nothing to do but read and talk to Annie. They don’t like me to prowl around the corridors, let alone run there. I feel I will atrophy!”

  He grinned and followed her outside, where he offered his arm.

  The hospital was an old country house built on the edges of Blackhaven. There was a pleasant path down to the road, which continued as a track running parallel to the road into town. It made for a charming walk, especially in the sharp winter sunshine with the remains of frost still glistening on the ground.

  “Were you and Dr. Lampton discussing me all that time?” she blurted, watching the speckled patterns of sun on the path beneath the trees and hedges.

  “Oh, no. We had moved on to the health of a friend. I understand Lampton is pleased with your recovery.”

  “Oh, good. I wondered if there was some secret complication he did not wish to tell me!”

  Doverton blinked. “He would not tell me, let alone leave you in the dark! To another subject, I believe I have discovered a way to Annie’s Trent.”

  “You have found Big George?” she exclaimed. “Already? How clever of you!”

  “Hardly that clever! I spoke to his friend Gunn who only has the name of a Manchester alehouse—The Brown Jug—where they vaguely agreed to meet at some point in the future, although it never happened. I have written to the landlord, but I’ve no idea if the place has some connection to—er—Big George, or if he merely drinks in the establishment. I would go there in person, but my duties, combined with a visit from my brother, prevent me doing so this week.”

  “Oh, of course not, this is wonderful. Thank you.”

  “Gunn does not believe Trent was married when he was here last year. But… did Annie mention he had lost a hand in the war?”

  Her eyes flew to his, stricken. “No. I didn’t know that…”

  “Are we sure it’s the same man?”

  “I’ll ask her,” Tillie said, frowning. “But you know, she is such an accepting creature… I can imagine that once she had got used to his injury, it would not enter her head as a means of describing him to anyone else, if you see what I mean.”

  “I do,” Doverton said thoughtfully. “It is a pleasant trait. I think you like this Annie.”

  “She is quite fun and extremely kind,” Tillie said enthusiastically and found herself telling him all about last night’s candle incident, even though she hadn’t meant to since it reflected so poorly on her.

  But as she talked, the funny side of it came out, and he laughed at her description of blundering into furniture, knocking the all-important lamp onto the floor, and rousing Annie, who’d threatened the supposed intruders with blood-curdling punishments.

  The major had a good laugh, deep and rich and infectious. It made her feel instantly better about everything, and she wanted to hear it again. But then, realizing she was still smiling at him, she hastily collected herself.

  “And what of our mysterious sailors?” she asked. “Are they still in Blackhaven?”

  “Yes. Grant cunningly organized a service of thanksgiving for them at church tomorrow, so they are really bound to stay until after that. Will you go?”

  “I don’t know. To be honest, I had lost track of the days of the week! Will you?”

  “Perhaps. I don’t go very often, but I might feel obliged to since I was involved in the rescue. As were you!”

  “Yes, but who will give thanks for a waif who remembers nothing, thrust upon the community at vast expense?”

  “Blackhaven.” His lips curved. “It’s a funny little place, full of curiosity and gossip and increasing numbers of strangers. But you’ll find they accept everyone with kindness. Like your friend Annie.”

  “And yet, they don’t accept her because she has a baby out of wedlock.”

  “Sadly, that is universal,” he observed. “But when everyone is used to her again, I’m sure it will all die down.”

  “But no one else—no one else respectable—will marry her, will they?”

  “A man who loved her would.”

  She frowned up at him. “Do you think Big George loves her?”

  “I can’t know that.” He hesitated. “But it seems to me, if he did, he would have come back to her long before this.”

  “And if we make him come back, if we force him to marry Annie to make her respectable, and he does not love her… they will be miserable together.”

  “What is misery compared to respectability?” he said lightly, and yet she recognized the wryness in his voice, along with a hint of something that could have been bitterness.

  She said, “If I had to choose, I think I would rather have happiness instead of the respectability.” She frowned. “You know, I really might be a courtesan with morals like that.”

  A shout of laughter escaped the major. “Don’t say so in company,” he begged. “You might as well retain your respectability as long as you can.”

  “Are you making fun of me?” she asked with a quick smile.

  “Only a little. For what it’s worth, you do not behave like a courtesan.”

  “Truly? Have you met any, then?”

  “One or two,” he said gravely.

  She opened her mouth to ask more questions, but he caught her gaze with mock severity.

  “Don’t dare ask me for details! Let me just say you seem to be a modest, educated young lady with an unruly tongue.”

  She frowned. “Perhaps I simply don’t remember how I normally behave. I could have forgotten how to flirt and be coquettish and however else it is such women go on.”

  “Anyone would think you wanted to be a courtesan.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “No, I think I would hate it. Having to spend time with horrid men I would rather not even exchange distant bows with, just for money. Although, I have only a vague idea of how such things work. I could have forgotten that, too.”

  “It will be a blessing,” he assured her.

  “Actually, it probably would. I don’t want to remember the horrid men, who are probably ugly and fat from over-indulgence, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, I’m sure of it,” he said faintly.

  She laughed. “I’m sorry. You are right about the unruly tongue. I shall be glad not to be a courtesan. I suppose I’m trying to think of the worst so I won’t be disappointed when I finally remember my life.”

  “I don’t believe you’ll be disappointed,” he said quietly. “And if you are…well, this is a fine opportunity for you to change things and be who you wish to be.”

  She liked that idea and mulled it over for the rest of their walk. In between times, she asked the major lots of questions about Blackhaven, and he pointed out landmarks like the circulating library, the ice parlor, and the new theatre.

  “What is that place?” she asked once as they strolled past a rather gloomy but solid old building set back from the main road. It wasn’t clear whether it was one large house built around a courtyard or a smaller house with several out-buildings.

  “They still call it The King’s Head,” Doverton replied. “It used to be an inn, but I believe it was disused even before they built the hotel.”

  “A hotel sounds very smart,” she observed.

  “Oh, it is, and very expensive, too. Between you and me, I think many visitors and travelers would welcome a respectable, reasonably priced inn. Not everyone can afford the hotel or wishes to risk the sailors’ tavern by the market, which is little better than a thieves’ den.”

  “What an exciting
little town it is,” Tillie observed, amused.

  “You have no idea,” Major Doverton murmured.

  When they entered the pump room, a noticeable silence fell as everyone turned to look at them. It was only an instant before conversation started up once more, but it was enough to make her wonder what on earth everyone thought of her. They must know she was the unknown woman discovered alone at sea, unclaimed by anyone, with no business being on board the ship.

  “Sit and rest here,” Doverton said kindly, handing her onto one of the cushioned benches. “Make yourself comfortable while I fetch you some of this famous water.”

  Mrs. Grant hurried through the door before he had even left her. “Ah, there you are,” she said as though delighted. “I’m sorry to be a little late! Babies do consume one’s time! Major, how kind of you to escort our guest.”

  Although flustered, Tillie realized at once that the vicar’s wife was throwing the cloak of her own respectability around her. She was touched, for Mrs. Grant had no need to do more than bow to her. But she sat beside Tillie, making civil conversation until Doverton returned with a glass of water for them each.

  “I’m hoping for greater energy since my confinement,” Mrs. Grant said. “Also, it brings me out every day, which Dr. Lampton approves of, even if he denounces the charlatanism of the spring water claims.”

  “Do you think the waters would help Annie?” Tillie asked.

  “I understand it is good food and rest that will help Annie,” Mrs. Grant said, “but of course, you may take her a bottle if you wish. Dr. Lampton would not object. At least it doesn’t taste nasty like the Bath waters.”

  As Doverton sat down beside them, Tillie sipped her water. It was cool, clear, and fresh.

  A little later, another beautiful young woman came to join them. She was around the same age as Mrs. Grant, spoke with an exotically foreign accent, and knew both Tillie’s companions by name.

  “This is Tillie,” Mrs. Grant told her. “Whom Major Doverton rescued from the storm. Tillie, Princess von Rheinwald, who is engaged to marry Dr. Lampton.”

  Tillie, who had known nothing about the doctor’s private life, was most intrigued by this information. A princess and a doctor seemed an odd match. She greeted the princess civilly and asked her about her own country—“a tiny principality in Germany which is about to vanish into the peace at Vienna,” the princess said. “My son will retain some lands but no political power. It is the new Europe, and perhaps it will be better.”