The Wicked Waif

by Lancaster, Mary

  Like my own life, Tillie thought. Perhaps…

  Chapter Six

  “So,” Major Doverton said as he escorted her back to the hospital. “What do you think of your first glimpse into Blackhaven society?”

  “I found everyone very kind and friendly.” Several ladies and a few gentlemen had stopped to greet her companions. Tillie had been introduced and included in the conversations. “But I rather think it is their thoughts of me that matter.”

  A frown tugged at his brow. “What do you mean?”

  “I feel… I was being looked over, tested for basic courtesy or manners. Or grammar, for all I know.”

  “Perhaps, among some.” He hesitated while a farmer’s cart trundled past on the road. “And perhaps Mrs. Grant and the princess were trying to determine your background as a means to help you. Even to nudge your memory into something it recognizes.”

  “I wasn’t criticizing them,” she assured Doverton. “I just noticed it. Believe me, I have questioned myself in much the same way!”

  “It does not make you angry?”

  “How could it?” she said ruefully. “I imagine I, too, would be wary of a complete stranger thrust upon my community with no clue as to her family or character.”

  “It is harder for you,” he pointed out.

  “But I’m holding on to what you said. I can be whoever and whatever I wish to be.”

  “And what is that?” He drew her off the road as the distant sounds of horses and carriage wheels reached them from around the bend.

  “I haven’t decided yet. But I think I would like to do some good in the world.”

  “That is very worthy,” he murmured.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Yes, but I don’t want to be worthy. In fact, I don’t think I could be if I tried. I have no money to be charitable or generous, but in some way, I would just like to make people…feel better. As you do.”

  He glanced at her, clearly startled. She couldn’t read his expression, yet a fleeting smile flickered across his face. “You already do. It’s your gift, not mine.”

  An intense stab of pleasure deprived her of breath and the witty response she wanted to make. And then, distracting them both, a carriage drawn by four horses swept around the bend, followed by a gentleman on horseback, who quickened his pace to catch up with the carriage as soon as they were all on straight road.

  The horseman glanced across the road at Tillie and Doverton without a great deal of curiosity and then abruptly, his head snapped back round to them again, and he reined in his horse.

  “Dove!” he shouted. “By God, it is you!”

  “Ash?” As though stunned, Doverton stopped in his tracks. The rider kicked his horse back into motion, trotting toward them. His hand was already held down to seize and grip the major’s.

  “Good God,” Doverton said, shaking hands enthusiastically. A huge smile had formed on his face, one of rare, unmixed pleasure. “I can hardly believe my eyes! What on earth brings you to Blackhaven?”

  “You do, of course! Or more precisely, your brother and sister-in-law. When I heard they were coming, I thought I might as well join them—since you were quite clearly not going to visit me in the south any time soon.”

  “You mean John and Ellen are in that carriage currently disappearing toward the horizon?”

  “Well, toward the town,” the rider corrected, his gaze at last landing on Tillie. “But forgive my rudeness! Introduce us, Dove.”

  “Tillie, this reprobate is my oldest friend, Mr. Robert Ashton. Ash, this is Tillie.”

  Since he appeared to be such a good friend of Doverton’s, she smiled and gave him her hand, which he bent from the saddle to shake. “Just Tillie?” he teased.

  “So far,” Tillie replied. “It’s a long story.”

  “I look forward to hearing it.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you have much more interesting things to discuss,” Tillie said lightly. “Major, thank you for your escort, but I shall easily go the rest of the way alone and let you join your friend and your family.”

  “No, you won’t,” Doverton said firmly. “I shall escort you the rest of the way and give Ash and John a few minutes to settle in before I descend upon them. Are you all at the hotel?”

  “Indeed, we are.”

  “Then give me half an hour,” Doverton said.

  Mr. Ashton tipped his hat with an engaging grin and wheeled around to gallop after the carriage.

  “What a pleasant surprise for you,” Tillie murmured as they walked on. “Did you not know they were coming?”

  “Oh, I knew about John and Ellen, although I didn’t expect them until later in the day. But I’d no idea Ash was coming, too.”

  However, now that they were alone and walking on, he seemed to sink into silence. When she glanced at him, a faint frown creased his brow and he seemed deep in thought.

  “Go and follow them back,” she said gently. “I would not for the world keep you from your family.”

  At once, his brow cleared and he covered her hand on his arm. “I know you would not. I have plenty of time to see them, and at this moment, I would far rather be with you.”

  She flushed with pleasure, hoping he could not see the heightened color in her face. But still she sensed unease. “What is wrong?” she asked curiously. “Have you quarreled with your brother?”

  “No.” His smile was twisted, at once rueful and amused. “Quite the opposite. Oh, don’t misunderstand me, I would not swap my brother or any of them for the world. Only…families fuss so and make things more—” He broke off with a quick laugh. “Truly, I am glad to see them here.”

  She thought that was probably true, but his pleasure was most definitely mixed with something uneasy. She wondered if it was the fact he had been seen with her, a nameless waif without family or character, whom he did not wish to introduce to his family. The thought depressed her, made her ashamed, although there was nothing she could do about it until her memory came back.

  She wanted her memory for more than familiarity and comfort now. She wanted it to make him comfortable, which was a confusing enough thought without the added appreciation that when her memory did return, it might not make anyone comfortable.

  *

  Dove found his waif a little too quiet and thoughtful on the second half of their journey, as though she imagined he was only there from duty. In fact, that was ridiculously far from the truth. The more he talked to her, the more he liked her. He liked her compassion and humor, her imagination, the outrageous things she said in perfect innocence, or at least he believed it was perfect innocence.

  He wished John and Ellen hadn’t driven down the road at that particular moment. For some reason, he’d wanted to keep his family separate from Tillie. Not because he was ashamed of either, but because they would talk to each other. Because Tillie would learn the truth and inevitably change toward him. He didn’t think he could bear her pity.

  But they parted on good terms in the hospital foyer. She gave him her hand and smiled in a way that melted his heart. And he walked back to town knowing that, with her, he was on dangerous ground.

  As he’d promised, he went straight to the hotel and was conducted to his brother’s rooms.

  The door was open and the voice of Ellen, his sister-in-law, drifted out to him. “…my dear, it is good if he is out for long walks. It shows how much better he is feeling.”

  “Ellen, I know Dominic, and he would go anyway, however he was feeling! It does not make excessive exercise good for him.”

  “Good for whom?” Dove asked, strolling into the room.

  At once, Ellen flew across to greet him, her face wreathed in genuine smiles, although her eyes were anxious as they devoured his face. John came more slowly, holding out his hand as though he expected Dove to be too weak to grip it.

  “How are you?” Dove asked, smiling.

  “Well, of course.”

  “You look it,” Dove agreed. “As does Ellen! But where is your enormous family?”<
br />
  “With my sister, as you very well know,” Ellen scolded. “And six children is not so enormous!”

  “Of course it is,” Dove teased, but he could not distract them for long.

  “More to the point,” John said heavily, “how are you?”

  “Well, as you see. Shall we dine here at the hotel this evening? They do a very tolerable dinner.”

  “By all means,” John said. “Sit, sit, you must be exhausted.”

  “Not in the slightest,” Dove said, although, obligingly, he sat opposite his brother.

  “How far did you walk?”

  “Barely any distance. I assure you it’s no trouble to me. I ride, too, and row. I am perfectly well.”

  John sighed, misery in his eyes. “Yes, but you aren’t, are you?”

  Death could often be harder on those left behind. The dying, with warning, could come to terms with it or panic or rage against the Almighty. Whatever, it had an end in sight. Those who loved them merely had an extended period of grief to deal with.

  “I am fine for now,” Dove said patiently. “If I wasn’t capable of doing my duty, the regiment would not have me here, would they? Cheery up, John, I shan’t turn up my toes just yet. Ellen,” he added, changing the subject with relief, “I have got vouchers for the assembly room ball next week. I thought you would like it.”

  “Do you go to balls?” Ellen blurted.

  Dove fixed his smile determinedly. “I even dance, and I shall take no refusal from you.”

  *

  Although the clouds had darkened, Tillie still wandered around the enclosed garden at the back of the hospital. She forced herself to remember the darkness, weaving and jolting with the movement of the ship before the waves had come crashing in. Desperately, she tried to look beyond the darkness, to how she’d come to be on the ship and why. Did she live in Liverpool? Were her family looking for her? Surely, with Major Doverton looking for them…

  Dove, she remembered, smiling faintly. His friend Ashley had called him Dove. She rather liked that.

  Hastily, she dragged her mind back to the darkness. How had she got there?

  Tillie. What had made her latch on to that name? She had vaguely imagined a voice saying it. Her voice? Or someone calling to her. Who?

  “Tillie!” Mrs. Cross exclaimed. “You’ll catch your death of cold out here! Come in, now. Mrs. Grant would like to speak to you.”

  “Oh!” Hastily, Tillie turned her steps toward Mrs. Brown and the door back inside.

  The door led into what once must have been a pleasant apartment. It was somewhat soulless now, with a bare wooden floor, one small table, and four aging armchairs set in a row. Convalescing patients used it sometimes. The view from the window over the cliffs and to the sea was agreeable. Only Mrs. Grant occupied the room just now, since Mrs. Cross had hurried away about her duties.

  “You must feel I’m haunting you,” Mrs. Grant said with a quick smile. “I hope you are not sick of the sight of me.”

  “Of course not! How could I be? I am always glad to see you.”

  “I wanted to talk to you about this earlier, but I needed to speak first to Dr. Lampton and to my husband. Which I have now done. So…would you be comfortable staying at the vicarage until we can locate your family?”

  It was so totally unexpected that Tillie’s jaw dropped. “At the vicarage?” she repeated, stunned.

  “I know.” Mrs. Grant sighed. “It’s not peaceful. People come and go all the time to see Tris—or me, for I am, you know, an incorrigible social butterfly! And then there is Nichola who is not so well-mannered as little George and cries with a lot more gusto. But we do have space. There is a spare bedchamber about as far from my own and the nursery as one can get without actually leaving the house.”

  Tillie couldn’t help smiling. “Oh, you are so kind inviting me! It seems I must either impose upon the hospital or upon you, for I have no money to stay at the hotel or anywhere else, or even to return to Liverpool.” She frowned. “If that is where I came from.”

  “No, no, absolutely you must stay in Blackhaven, for Major Doverton and Tris and Mr. Winslow all wrote in their letters that you were here. This is where your family will come to look for you.”

  Not for the first time, Tillie wondered if she wanted them to come for her. What if they had caused her to be put in the box for some reason?

  “Tillie.” Mrs. Grant leaned forward, touching her hand in friendly spirit. “Leaving aside the needs of the hospital, I think we must consider yours. Wherever you came from, you were clearly brought up a lady. We must consider your reputation as well as the environment most likely to connect to your memories. Dr. Lampton is in favor of the move.”

  “And the vicar?”

  “Of course! He’s glad to welcome you to our house.”

  Tillie swallowed, her thoughts flitting to poor Annie and little George.

  But someone else needed her bed. And in the vicarage, she would not be so confined. “I have but one sea-stained gown,” she managed. “I will disgrace you.”

  “Oh, nonsense. Besides, I have trunks full of clothes I have not yet given away. Are we agreed, then?”

  “Thank you,” Tillie said, giving in with relief. “Just until I find my family. I would be most grateful for your hospitality.”

  *

  “So, who’s the girl?” Ash asked, pouring Dove a glass of wine. They sat in Ashley’s rooms, which were on the other side of the passage from John and Ellen’s.

  Dove smiled faintly and took the glass. “A waif from the sea.”

  “Then it’s true.”

  Dove raised his eyebrows. “What is?”

  “The hotel porter is very talkative. When he heard John’s name, he asked if he was related to you and told heroic tales of you rescuing sailors and a beautiful young lady from a storm.”

  “Ah, no wonder John grilled me about my health. Without mentioning the storm, of course.”

  Ash shrugged. “He’s proud of you, but he hates to think of you risking yourself just now.”

  Dove’s lips twisted. “I risked myself in the army for nine years, and to a far greater degree. What’s the damned difference? I’m already dying.”

  A flash of pain struck Ashley’s eyes, quickly hidden, “That’s the damned difference. He can’t help it. He wants you to live as long as possible and die gracefully in your bed, not throw yourself into the sea in a heroic gesture that deprives you of whatever time you have left.”

  Dove took a mouthful of brandy. “And what do you think?”

  “I think it’s your business and your life. But he can’t help how he feels any more than you can. You’re his little brother.”

  “I know.” Dove let out a short laugh. “Damn him.”

  “So, what about this waif? She’s extraordinarily pretty.”

  “I know.”

  “Who is she?”

  “That, I don’t know, and neither does she. She was injured and remembers nothing before the storm.”

  “What a pity. I was hoping she was someone happy to be taken advantage of.”

  Dove laughed more easily this time. “She did point out that she might be a courtesan. Don’t tell Ellen that because I’m as sure as I can be of anything that she isn’t!”

  “I didn’t mention her to John and Ellen at all.”

  “What a model of discretion you are in your old age,” Dove marveled, setting his finished glass on the table. “Shall we go down for dinner? And you can tell me everything that’s been happening at home.”

  *

  Since the vicar did not come home for tea, Tillie spent her time getting to know Mrs. Grant and little Nichola.

  “What an unusual name,” she said.

  “She’s called after Dr. Lampton, who delivered her early on Christmas morning. My little Christmas miracle.”

  “More of a miracle than any other baby?” Tillie asked, gazing down at the sleeping infant.

  Mrs. Grant smiled. “For me, yes. The doctors said I was b
arren, and certainly I never gave my first husband children.”

  Intrigued, Tillie would have asked more, only she was still on her best behavior and bit her tongue.

  “Come,” Mrs. Grant said. “Let us take advantage of my miracle’s brief sleep and look at some gowns!”

  In Tillie’s very comfortable guest bedchamber, she rang the bell, and an instant later, a lady’s maid appeared. “Little, bring some gowns that might suit Miss Tillie.”

  Little looked her up and down assessingly, but she seemed more resigned than disapproving. Before long, she returned with an armful of gowns.

  Thus began a rather amusing hour trying on various garments, some of which swamped Tillie and others which looked far too splendid, inspiring a self-mocking strut in front of the looking glass. Mrs. Grant went off into peals of laughter, and it wasn’t long before they were getting on famously.

  At the end of the hour, Little went off to alter two evening gowns, a ball gown, and three morning gowns, and Tillie became the proud owner of several chemises, stockings, garters, stays, and gloves. She even had a bonnet and a red wool winter cloak.

  “Do you really not need all this?”

  “Lord, no. I was wantonly extravagant when I lived in London. I have given lots away, but it seems there is always more! And then, I am a slightly different shape since giving birth!”

  “That is temporary, is it not? Besides, you may easily have them altered.”

  “Well, I might, once you are restored to your family and no longer need them. Ah, listen, I think that is Tristram home. I’ll leave you for now, but come down to the drawing room whenever you wish. Dinner will be at seven…probably!”

  With a quick smile, Mrs. Grant left her. Tillie sank down on the comfortable bed, feeling the fine silk embroidery of the coverlet, and beneath, cool, fine linen sheets. There was something familiar about the textures. They were not new to her. She closed her eyes, letting her mind wander, but it only came back to darkness, and then to Major Doverton.