Saints and Sinners

by Karen V. Wasylowski

  “No.”

  “Oh dear. Then you had better speak with Mrs. Cardew, the head housekeeper, she always needs someone.”

  “Pardon me, there seems to be a misapprehension, sir. I should actually like to have a word with…” she glanced at the slip of paper in her hand and gulped, “…with the Honorable Mark Fitzwilliam. If I may.”

  “I beg your pardon?” Drake’s eyes fairly popped from their sockets.

  “This is the home of Lord Richard Fitzwilliam, is it not?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Well, I was sent by… the hospital.” With her free hand Martha crossed her fingers behind her back. It wasn’t a very big lie – she had been to the hospital to beg for her job back when fate took a hand.

  An hour earlier, Matron Sheady and Martha, longtime nursing co-workers, had sat down to discuss all that occurred during the older woman’s absence. The Matron, after inquiring about Martha’s hospital recovery from the knock on her head, explained – in all astonishment – that the patient they believed to be have been a drunken sailor was, in fact, the son of this very angry, very powerful, earl, the entire incident having turned into a frightful political mess.

  Therefore, for the sake of the hospital, and the future of the Nursing School, they were being forced to dismiss Martha without character. Matron further explained that she was aware the entire incident had not really been Martha’s fault; however, if she remained on the hospital staff police would need to be informed, reports written, and, heavens, what a disaster that would be with the nursing school only two years old. It was all very unfortunate, but their hands were tied, the political climate being what it was. There really was nothing more she could do.

  Tories were in power.

  “In fact,” Matron Sheady complained, “Your dismissal could not have come at a more inconvenient time. I have before me a request from the very same Earl Fitzwilliam for nursing assistance at his home; can you believe it? First, he threatens to burn us down for incompetence, then he requests our help. The cheek of the upper classes!

  “Well, the Board of Directors is insistent we do whatever we can to oblige him, even knowing it will leave us with two fewer nurses now. So, you see Sister Clarke, we are all suffering, in our own way. I do sympathize with you, I truly do.” What was unspoken between them was the knowledge that no other hospital would consider hiring the very capable nurse for the foreseeable future, if ever.

  “What am I to do? How shall I support myself? Where will I live?” Now that her recovery was complete, and since she was no longer employed there, she would be required to vacate her room in the nurses’ quarters as soon as possible. “Do you know of anywhere I might find employment? Please, Matron, help me.”

  “Actually, there is one place; but, I daresay with your experience and knowledge it would not be to your liking.”

  “Yes, it will; may I know of it?”

  “Well,” the woman cleared her throat. “I have heard from one of our Board members that there is dire need for dependable kitchen help at the County Asylum. It might only be for a few months, a year at most, until the unfortunate ‘incident’ is forgotten. Then I may revisit your employ with the board; after all, you are a most excellent nurse, we do hate to lose you.”

  Incident? Martha had intervened to save a man’s life and was struck by the doctor for her ‘impudence’ as he called it. She might have lost her own life if not for her mass of hair softening the blow. Martha blanched at the position offered. “May I please be provided with at least an introductory letter from the hospital? Please. Could you ask Mr. Hastings again?”

  That was highly unlikely, Matron reflected, seeing as the fellow was still hiding in his office after the dressing down he’d received from Fitzwilliam. Still, the woman really was an exceptional nurse and had always acted in the best interests of her patients. “Wait here for a moment and I’ll have a word with him.”

  So, she waited, nervously. Moments turned into minutes feeling like hours… and then, suddenly, a wicked idea came to Martha. After verifying that the hallway was empty, she ran around Matron’s desk, snatched up the letter from Lord Fitzwilliam and slipped it into her reticule. Her heart was pounding when Matron returned moments later with a rather disappointing note to provide any future employer.

  Well, it didn’t matter now what he wrote. When they found out what she was about to do, no hospital, even the asylum, would hire her ever again.

  Drake was momentarily stunned. “I don’t believe he expected someone so quickly. Won’t you come in and wait for a moment?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” She had found him. Somewhere in this house lay her Bob Cratchit – actually, now he was her Mark Fitzwilliam. She loved repeating the name Mark Fitzwilliam. Even if she only had one minute with him it would be enough. She needed to see him again, hear his voice. She wondered if he would feel the same now for her as he had at the hospital, feared he could now regret their kisses, wondered if he even thought about them half as much as she. “I believe the hospital is eager to return to his lordship’s good graces.”

  “I shouldn’t wonder.” Drake looked over his shoulder then whispered. “His lordship can be quite startling when he’s up in arms.”

  “I hear he terrified everyone.”

  “And with good reason, I must say. Poor Master Mark. I shall tell his lordship you’ve arrived.”

  “His lordship? Can I not just go up and see Master Mark?”

  “No, of course not. I am certain his lordship will wish to speak with you first. What is your name, please?”

  “My name?”

  Drake tilted his head and waited. Of course, she’d have to give them a name. Hopefully, the Earl had never asked for it during the confrontation at the hospital, had never even seen her because she’d been knocked out cold and removed from the scene before his arrival. No, she doubted he had bothered with particulars at all once they believed she was dead. Besides, she only had a little while until the hospital actually did send someone. She sighed and took a chance. “Annie Kelly.”

  “Drake, what is bothering Alfred?”

  “I beg pardon, sir.”

  “My dog here, Alfred; he won’t eat.”

  “Ah. I doubt he likes Brussel sprouts very well, your lordship.”

  Fitzwilliam grunted. “I don’t suppose you would care for these? No. Never hurts to ask. If only my daughters would cease including them in every goddamn meal sent to me. By the way, Drake, you don’t happen to know where they’ve hidden my brandy, do you?”

  “Yes, sir. However, I am not at liberty to inform you that it is in the base of the hand painted, Swedish Mora clock your lordship brought back from Copenhagen in 1813.”

  “The one with the naked woman etched on the inside panel?”

  “I was unaware we had more than one Swedish Mora clock, your lordship.”

  “We don’t. I just love remembering… the… naked… woman. Ah, there is that lovely bottle! Thank you, Drake; you may yet receive that increase in pay for which you’ve been waiting so patiently all these years.” He poured himself a glass. As he took his first sip he noticed Drake hadn’t moved. “You’ve not left.”

  “No, indeed, sir.”

  “You see what a keen observer I am of my surroundings? So, did you wish to speak with me about something else?”

  “Yes, your lordship. The woman you requested from the hospital has arrived.”

  “Oh, I seriously doubt that, Drake. I only sent the request a few hours ago.”

  “I am all astonishment, sir.”

  “Bloody hell. Sometimes I believe I actually impress you, Drake. You weren’t aware I was this important, were you? All right, then. Why don’t you send her up and we’ll have ourselves a little chin wag. One never knows – perhaps she likes Brussel sprouts.”

  Chapter 22

  It was silent as a tomb in the foyer once the echoes of Drake’s footfalls slowly faded away. She was mad to have come here, she should leave. She really should. If she le
ft now no one would be any the wiser; and, perhaps she could still secure a position at another hospital in a few months. When she turned to leave however, she remembered she had given them Annie’s name. Good heavens, why on earth had she done that? Now Annie might be blamed. Obviously, she hadn’t thought this through enough.

  Or, at all. Oh, what difference does it make? Matron will realize Annie’s not at fault. She’ll know immediately who stole the note and will be furious with me. Why do I act so rashly with this man?

  She began to pace as she waited, noticing furniture collected from a dizzying array of periods. Tudor sideboards and tables stood beside Queen Anne and Georgian cabinets, Egyptian urns, golden French plates and draperies, Russian silver. There were Italian masters, a Rembrandt, a Vermeer, and, oddly enough, a huge portrait of George Washington over the fireplace. Across the wall hung an imposing array of ancestral portraits and Medieval tapestries. Gracious. It brought back memories of her own father’s eclectic collections from Scandinavia, England, the orient and India – a soldier’s journey. It also brought to mind his rejection of her and her husband, the loss of that life of privilege she had once known...

  “Madam.”

  Martha jumped, clutching a hand to her chest. She hadn’t heard the butler’s return.

  “If you would follow me. His lordship will see you now.”

  “Currently his sisters and cousins are tending to him, or his brothers run in and out with the delicacy of a herd of bison. I fear if it is allowed to continue as is, someone will perish.”

  Her face went pale, her eyes anxious. “Is your son that ill?” The woman’s fear that his son might truly be in dire peril was obvious, which Fitzwilliam found odd.

  “No. No, he’s splendid. My fear is he’ll kill the others. Perhaps I should clarify that remark. His relatives are driving him mad. It would help us tremendously if you would take over his daily care, provide whatever assistance you can.”

  “I shall do my best, sir.” He could see her immediate and intense relief. There was something off about the entire situation – she arrived much too quickly and without the letter of introduction he had requested from the hospital; and, she was studiously avoiding looking him in the eye. Very suspicious indeed, but he’d sort her out. He had too many children to be fooled by any youngster for very long. Besides, she didn’t appear to mean Mark any harm, only wished to meet him… and, she was awfully pretty – might do the boy some good, spice up his day.

  Besides, he had already sent a footman to the hospital to confirm her identity. He just needed to stall her a bit.

  “Miss Kelly, might I ask, were you acquainted with the nurse responsible for my boy’s abhorrent treatment? I gather she was involved in some sort of physical altercation with one of the doctors and that she may have severely injured herself from a fall which is a pity since I planned to have her punished for her base incompetence.”

  Hearing the lie that she had mistreated Mark offended Martha, however she was also terrified the hospital’s fear of this man might land her in prison. She would need to say something to throw him off her scent. “You speak of Martha Clarke. Wonderful nurse, compassionate woman; unfortunately, she passed away recently, injuries incurred from her fall. Tragic. I never knew her myself.”

  “Really?” Fitzwilliam narrowed his eyes. “This entire episode is so bizarre. Surprised the hospital never told me. Are you quite certain she died?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Pardon me, madam, but if you are unacquainted with this woman, how do you know for certain she’s dead?”

  Martha’s mind blanked out for only a moment. “I attended her burial.”

  “Ah. Yes, well, that would do it.” Fitzwilliam tapped out his pipe, all the while watching the young woman intently. “I say, before we go up, I don’t suppose you’d want any Brussel’s sprouts? No… don’t really blame you. Well, why don’t I take you up to meet Mark now.”

  Martha followed the older gentleman while several large and small dogs bounded past. They made their way down a hallway, then across the gallery overlooking the front entranceway, up a beautiful flight of stairs then turning down another, shorter hallway until they reached a set of large double doors at the end. “This was once our boys’ wing, oh this was many years ago when all the children were home. Of course, it feels like they’re still here. They never fully leave, do they; keep returning over and over and over – well, that’s another story entirely.

  “The girls occupied the hallway opposite. We called this floor of the house ‘the barracks’ then, most of it is closed off now. Mark maintains a bedroom with his own library and sitting room here, as well as having a flat of rooms in Kensington.” As the Earl spoke, he rapped loudly on the door. “Mark, are you decent?”

  “Come in, father. I’m bathed, shaved and completely pissed out.”

  Fitzwilliam opened the door and peaked inside, “mind your words. I’ve a young lady with me.”

  Mark groaned. “It had better not be Alice, Kathy, or the Mary’s. I’d rather lose my leg than have any of them change this bandage again.”

  Fitzwilliam turned to Martha. “He’s not usually so irritable. Please wait here. I’ll come for you when Mark is ready.”

  She nodded and took a seat outside the door, her heart pounding, she wanted to laugh and cry at once. His voice! It was his voice! She wondered what he would say to her when they met again, prayed he would not stare at her in some love-sick daze but only motion her forward. She pressed her hand to her cheeks. Hopefully he would not attempt a kiss in front of his father.

  But what if he now thought her wanton after their embraces at the hospital? That would be horrible! She was a decent woman. Nothing was her fault! Perhaps she had been vulnerable, lonely because of the holiday – no, she needed to be honest with herself, there was something between them and had been from the first. Some mysterious bond, an impulsiveness that had overtaken their good sense.

  The moment she heard Mark speak again she jumped up and, unable to control herself a moment longer, pressed her ear to the door.

  “What have the girls done now?”

  “What haven’t they done? Alice came to visit and sat on my foot, I awoke to find the Mary’s saying a rosary over my head as if I were entombed. The boys are no better, roughhousing around me, telling me horror stories about amputations; thank goodness for my nieces and nephews. Only sensible ones in the family. Oh, by the way, do you know if I’ve received a reply from Lucille?”

  Mark knew marriage was not in the cards for the couple and never would be but unfortunately, when Bunny had heard of his accident, she had taken for granted all was back to normal and had written him that very thing in a long letter. After all, she’d said, they’d been great friends forever and would both dearly miss their energetic lovemaking (he’d not read that part to his father).

  But something had changed for Mark – what it was he hadn’t a clue. He no longer desired a lifetime with a woman he’d never love. There was something better waiting for him. Somewhere. He merely had to get out there and find it, wherever it was. “I want this wedding business settled as quickly as possible. She’s been very patient with me.”

  “Give it time, Mark; you only just returned her letter. Besides, let there be no more talk of weddings until after your brother Andrew, and Anne Marie and Jamie, arrive back from Canada next week. There is just so much turmoil my heart can handle.”

  “Deceitful old punter. You’re strong as an ox.”

  “True. How’s your arm?”

  “Well, pretty awful. Kathy was supposed to help me with the exercises, but she talks so much about the children we never get anything done. And Luke and Andrew are too rough. And the Mary’s keep crying and feeling my forehead. When is the physical trainer going to start? When is that Bath chair we ordered arriving?”

  “Always in such a rush, what is your hurry?”

  “I have no idea. Suppose I feel helpless here, useless.”

  “The trainer wil
l begin on Thursday, and the chair will be here later today.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “I have a surprise for you.”

  “Dear God, whenever you say that it sends chills down my spine.”

  “Such ingratitude. I’ll have you know I’ve engaged a private nurse to care for you. Hopefully, that will reduce the bickering going on here, as well as some of these small house fires…”

  “A nurse?” Something sparked to life within him, an ember of memory.

  “Her name is Kelly. Something Kelly. Or Keeley something. Do you remember her?”

  “No. Yes, perhaps.” Why was his heart beginning to race? Some memory about shoes? “Bring her in, I’d like to speak with her. I have so many questions. Where are my slippers?”

  “Stop! Don’t you dare try and get up! Whatever is the matter with you today? You wait right where you are, and I’ll call her in.”

  However, when Fitzwilliam opened the door he found the sitting room empty. “Madam? Bloody hell, now what,” he muttered. Walking out to the hallway he saw the nurse running away. “Wait!” he called to her just as she reached the stairs. “Madam! What in blazes is going on here?”

  Martha turned to him, tears streaming down her face. Her greatest fear had been confirmed – Mark belonged to another woman.

  “Miss Kelly? Wait!”

  “Pardon me, Lord Fitzwilliam.” She struggled to compose herself. “I am terribly sorry, sir. However, I don’t believe I shall be able to care for your son after all. Do forgive me.”

  “No, I do not forgive you! Whatever is the matter? Hold on there!”

  She was down the stairs and out the door before Fitzwilliam even reached the top landing.

  “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  He returned to his son’s room, irritated beyond belief. “Of all the idiotic things – the woman bolted! Queer as duck’s breath. She ran down the stairs and out the door… now, what’s the matter with you? You look pale as the sheets.”