Marrying Winterborne
Page 85
“Would you like some as well?” she asked Helen.
“No, thank you, I believe I’ll retire early to bed.” Helen hesitated, gathering her nerves. “May I speak with your ladyship?”
“Of course. Come into the parlor with me.” They entered the room, which was cold despite the fire on the grate. Lady Berwick sat on the chaise and shivered. “Give the fire a stir, if you will.”
Helen went to the hearth, picked up a poker, and prodded the coals until she had built up a cheerful blaze. Holding her hands near the flooding heat, she said sheepishly, “About my disappearance with Mr. Winterborne—”
“There is no need to explain. I approve.”
Helen gave her a stupefied glance. “You—you do?”
“I told you in this very parlor that you must do whatever is necessary to marry Mr. Winterborne. In other circumstances, I would object strenuously, of course. But if allowing him liberties will bind him closer to you and make the marriage more of a certainty, I am willing to look the other way. A wise chaperone accepts that one must occasionally lose the battle to win the war.”
Nonplussed, Helen said, “You are remarkably . . .” ruthless. “. . . practical, my lady.”
“We must use the means we have at our disposal.” Lady Berwick looked resigned. “It’s often said that a woman’s weapon is her tongue . . . but it’s far from our only one.”
Chapter 27
IN THE MORNING, A penny-post letter came for Helen while Lady Berwick was breakfasting in her room and the twins were still abed.
As the butler brought the envelope to her on a silver tray, Helen saw in a glance that it was from Ada Tapley. Her hand trembled as she picked it up. “I would prefer that you not mention this letter to anyone.”
The butler gave her an impassive glance. “Yes, my lady.”
Waiting until he had left the morning room, Helen opened the gummed envelope and took out the letter. Her gaze sped over the crookedly penned lines.
Milady,
You wrote to ask about the babe they gave me to raise. I named her Charity to remind her she might be set out on the street except for the pity of others, and she must try to be deserving. She was always a good girl what gave me no trouble, but the payments for her upkeep weren’t enough. I asked every year for an increase, and they never gave so much as a farthing extra. Five months ago I had no choice but to send her to the Stepney Orphans Asylum at St. George-in-the-East.
I wrote to the solicitor to say I would fetch her back if he would make it worth my while, but no reply never came. I pray someday there’ll be a hard judgment on the heartless old screw for letting the poor child end in such a place. Since she never had no family name, they call her Charity Wednesday, on account that’s the day I sent her there. If there is anything you can do for the girl, bless you for it. She’s a sore burden on my conscience.
Yours Truly,
Ada Tapley
Helen was grateful that she hadn’t yet eaten breakfast. She wouldn’t have been able to keep it down after reading the letter. Springing from her chair, she walked back and forth with one hand pressed to her mouth.
Her little half sister was completely alone, and had been for months, in an institution where she might have been starved and abused, or become ill.
Although Helen had never believed herself to be capable of violence, she wanted to kill Albion Vance in the most painful way possible. She wished it were possible to kill a man multiple times—she would enjoy making him suffer.
At the moment, however, she had to think only of Charity. The child had to be removed from the orphan’s asylum immediately. A home must be found for her, a place where she would be treated with kindness.
First, Helen had to find out if the little girl had even survived this long.
She tried to push away the panic and fury long enough to think clearly. She had to go to the Stepney orphanage, find Charity, and bring her to Ravenel House. What were the rules for removing a child from such an institution? Was it possible to do it without having to give her real name?
She needed help.
But who could she go to? Not Rhys, and certainly not Lady Berwick, who would tell her to forget the child’s existence. Kathleen and Devon were too far away. West had told her to send for him if she needed him, but even though she would trust him implicitly with her own life, Helen wasn’t sure how he would react to this. It had not escaped her that West had a streak of ruthless pragmatism, not unlike Lady Berwick.
She thought of Dr. Gibson, who had told her, “You’re welcome to send for me if you need a friend, for any reason.” Had she meant it? Could she be counted on?
It was a risk. Dr. Gibson was employed by Rhys, and she might go to him directly. Or she might refuse to become involved, fearing his disapproval. But then Helen remembered the woman’s incisive green eyes and brisk, independent manner, and thought, she fears nothing. Moreover, Dr. Gibson was familiar with London, and had been inside an orphanage before, and must know something about how they were run.
Although Helen was reluctant to test a friendship before it had even started, Garrett Gibson was her best chance to save Charity. And for some reason, based on nothing but instinct, she felt sure that Dr. Gibson would help her.
“WHY DO YOU wish to see a doctor?” Lady Berwick asked, looking up from the writing desk in her room. “Another headache?”
“No ma’am,” Helen said, standing at the threshold. “It’s a female complaint.”
The countess’s lips pursed like the closure of a drawstring reticule. For a woman who discussed the breeding and reproduction of horses with ease, she was surprisingly uncomfortable when talking about the same processes in the human species. Unless it was in the small, exclusive circle of her society friends. “Have you tried the hot water bottle?”
“No, thank you, I believe I’ll retire early to bed.” Helen hesitated, gathering her nerves. “May I speak with your ladyship?”
“Of course. Come into the parlor with me.” They entered the room, which was cold despite the fire on the grate. Lady Berwick sat on the chaise and shivered. “Give the fire a stir, if you will.”
Helen went to the hearth, picked up a poker, and prodded the coals until she had built up a cheerful blaze. Holding her hands near the flooding heat, she said sheepishly, “About my disappearance with Mr. Winterborne—”
“There is no need to explain. I approve.”
Helen gave her a stupefied glance. “You—you do?”
“I told you in this very parlor that you must do whatever is necessary to marry Mr. Winterborne. In other circumstances, I would object strenuously, of course. But if allowing him liberties will bind him closer to you and make the marriage more of a certainty, I am willing to look the other way. A wise chaperone accepts that one must occasionally lose the battle to win the war.”
Nonplussed, Helen said, “You are remarkably . . .” ruthless. “. . . practical, my lady.”
“We must use the means we have at our disposal.” Lady Berwick looked resigned. “It’s often said that a woman’s weapon is her tongue . . . but it’s far from our only one.”
Chapter 27
IN THE MORNING, A penny-post letter came for Helen while Lady Berwick was breakfasting in her room and the twins were still abed.
As the butler brought the envelope to her on a silver tray, Helen saw in a glance that it was from Ada Tapley. Her hand trembled as she picked it up. “I would prefer that you not mention this letter to anyone.”
The butler gave her an impassive glance. “Yes, my lady.”
Waiting until he had left the morning room, Helen opened the gummed envelope and took out the letter. Her gaze sped over the crookedly penned lines.
Milady,
You wrote to ask about the babe they gave me to raise. I named her Charity to remind her she might be set out on the street except for the pity of others, and she must try to be deserving. She was always a good girl what gave me no trouble, but the payments for her upkeep weren’t enough. I asked every year for an increase, and they never gave so much as a farthing extra. Five months ago I had no choice but to send her to the Stepney Orphans Asylum at St. George-in-the-East.
I wrote to the solicitor to say I would fetch her back if he would make it worth my while, but no reply never came. I pray someday there’ll be a hard judgment on the heartless old screw for letting the poor child end in such a place. Since she never had no family name, they call her Charity Wednesday, on account that’s the day I sent her there. If there is anything you can do for the girl, bless you for it. She’s a sore burden on my conscience.
Yours Truly,
Ada Tapley
Helen was grateful that she hadn’t yet eaten breakfast. She wouldn’t have been able to keep it down after reading the letter. Springing from her chair, she walked back and forth with one hand pressed to her mouth.
Her little half sister was completely alone, and had been for months, in an institution where she might have been starved and abused, or become ill.
Although Helen had never believed herself to be capable of violence, she wanted to kill Albion Vance in the most painful way possible. She wished it were possible to kill a man multiple times—she would enjoy making him suffer.
At the moment, however, she had to think only of Charity. The child had to be removed from the orphan’s asylum immediately. A home must be found for her, a place where she would be treated with kindness.
First, Helen had to find out if the little girl had even survived this long.
She tried to push away the panic and fury long enough to think clearly. She had to go to the Stepney orphanage, find Charity, and bring her to Ravenel House. What were the rules for removing a child from such an institution? Was it possible to do it without having to give her real name?
She needed help.
But who could she go to? Not Rhys, and certainly not Lady Berwick, who would tell her to forget the child’s existence. Kathleen and Devon were too far away. West had told her to send for him if she needed him, but even though she would trust him implicitly with her own life, Helen wasn’t sure how he would react to this. It had not escaped her that West had a streak of ruthless pragmatism, not unlike Lady Berwick.
She thought of Dr. Gibson, who had told her, “You’re welcome to send for me if you need a friend, for any reason.” Had she meant it? Could she be counted on?
It was a risk. Dr. Gibson was employed by Rhys, and she might go to him directly. Or she might refuse to become involved, fearing his disapproval. But then Helen remembered the woman’s incisive green eyes and brisk, independent manner, and thought, she fears nothing. Moreover, Dr. Gibson was familiar with London, and had been inside an orphanage before, and must know something about how they were run.
Although Helen was reluctant to test a friendship before it had even started, Garrett Gibson was her best chance to save Charity. And for some reason, based on nothing but instinct, she felt sure that Dr. Gibson would help her.
“WHY DO YOU wish to see a doctor?” Lady Berwick asked, looking up from the writing desk in her room. “Another headache?”
“No ma’am,” Helen said, standing at the threshold. “It’s a female complaint.”
The countess’s lips pursed like the closure of a drawstring reticule. For a woman who discussed the breeding and reproduction of horses with ease, she was surprisingly uncomfortable when talking about the same processes in the human species. Unless it was in the small, exclusive circle of her society friends. “Have you tried the hot water bottle?”
