Marrying Winterborne
Page 92
After one glance at the pair, who seemed to tower over her, Charity retreated behind Helen’s skirts.
“What can we do?” Cassandra asked.
Helen had never loved her sisters more than she did at that moment, for offering help before demanding explanations. “This is Charity,” she said quietly. “I fetched her today from an orphanage, and she needs to be cleaned and fed.”
“We’ll take care of that.” Pandora reached a hand down for the child. “Come with us, Charity, we’ll have lots of fun! I know games and songs and—”
“Pandora,” Helen interrupted, as the child shrank from the boisterous young woman. “Softly.” She lowered her voice as she continued. “You don’t know where she’s come from. Be gentle.” She glanced at Cassandra. “She’s afraid of baths. Do your best to clean her with damp cloths.”
Cassandra nodded, looking dubious.
Mrs. Abbott came to Helen’s side. “My lady, I’ll bring up trays of soup and bread for you and the little one.”
“Only for her. I’m not hungry.”
“You must,” the housekeeper insisted. “You look ready to faint.” Before Helen could reply, she turned and hurried toward the kitchen.
Helen glanced at the parlor. A chill of dread tightened the skin all over her body. She turned her attention to Charity. “Darling,” she murmured, “these are my sisters, Pandora and Cassandra. I want you to go with them, and let them take care of you while I talk to someone.”
The little girl was instantly alarmed. “Don’t leave me!”
“No, never. I’ll come to you in a few minutes. Please, Charity.” To her dismay, the child only clutched her more tightly, refusing to budge.
Cassandra was the one to solve the problem. Sinking down to her haunches, she smiled into Charity’s face. “Won’t you come with us?” she entreated softly. “We’re very nice. I’ll take you to a pretty room upstairs. There’s a cozy fire in the hearth, and a box that plays music. Six different melodies. Come let me show you.”
Cautiously the child emerged from the folds of Helen’s skirts and reached out to be carried.
After a disconcerted blink, Cassandra gathered her up and stood.
Pandora wore a resigned grin. “I’ve always said you were the nicer one.”
Helen waited until her sisters had reached the top of the stairs. She went to the parlor, thinking that no matter what Lady Berwick said, or how upset she was, it was nothing compared to what she had seen today. It haunted her, the knowledge of what some people were forced to suffer. She would never again be able to look at her privileged surroundings without some part of her brain contrasting them with the alleys and rookeries at Stepney.
Hesitating at the parlor threshold, she saw Lady Berwick on one of two chairs placed near the hearth. The countess’s face was stiff, as if it had been starched and set before the fire to dry. She didn’t even glance at Helen.
Helen went to the other chair and sat. “My lady, the child I brought with me—”
“I know who she is,” Lady Berwick snapped. “She has the look of her father. Will you take it upon yourself to collect all his bastards like so many stray cats?”
Helen stayed silent, looking into the fireplace, while Lady Berwick proceeded to lecture her in a tone that could have shaved the treads from a carriage wheel. Searing remarks were made about Helen’s character and upbringing, the Ravenels, the foolishness of women who thought they might somehow be exempt from the rules and judgments of society, and the many iniquities of Albion Vance and men in general.
She finally looked at Helen, her nostrils flaring and her chin vibrating with outrage. “I would never have expected this of you. This scheming! This dishonesty! You’re bent on self-destruction. Can’t you see, you reckless girl, that I’m trying to keep you from throwing away a life in which you could do enormous good for other people? You could help thousands of orphans instead of just one. Do you think me hard-hearted? I laud your compassion for that poor creature—you wish to help her, and you shall—but not this way. She is a danger to you, Helen. The resemblance she bears to you is ruinous. No one will look at the two of you without coming to the most disastrous conclusion. It won’t matter that it’s not true. Gossip never has to be true, it only has to be interesting.”
Helen stared at the older woman, realizing that although her countenance was coldly furious, and every nuance of her posture was overbearing . . . her eyes gave her away. They were filled with honest concern, true kindness, and caring. And anguish.
Lady Berwick was not fighting with her, she was fighting for her.
This is why Kathleen loves her, Helen thought.
When at last the countess fell silent, Helen regarded her with gratitude and melancholy resolve. “You’re right. About all of it. I agree with your ladyship, and I understand what I’m about to lose. But the fact is . . . Charity has to belong to someone. She has to be loved by someone. Who will, if I don’t?” At Lady Berwick’s frozen silence, Helen found herself going to her chair and sinking down to rest her head on the countess’s knees. She felt the older woman stiffen. “You took Kathleen in,” Helen said, “when she was only a year older than Charity. You loved her when no one else wanted her. She told me you saved her life.”
“Not at the expense of my own.” The countess took a wavering breath, and then Helen felt the light pressure of a hand on her head. “Why won’t you listen to me?”
“What can we do?” Cassandra asked.
Helen had never loved her sisters more than she did at that moment, for offering help before demanding explanations. “This is Charity,” she said quietly. “I fetched her today from an orphanage, and she needs to be cleaned and fed.”
“We’ll take care of that.” Pandora reached a hand down for the child. “Come with us, Charity, we’ll have lots of fun! I know games and songs and—”
“Pandora,” Helen interrupted, as the child shrank from the boisterous young woman. “Softly.” She lowered her voice as she continued. “You don’t know where she’s come from. Be gentle.” She glanced at Cassandra. “She’s afraid of baths. Do your best to clean her with damp cloths.”
Cassandra nodded, looking dubious.
Mrs. Abbott came to Helen’s side. “My lady, I’ll bring up trays of soup and bread for you and the little one.”
“Only for her. I’m not hungry.”
“You must,” the housekeeper insisted. “You look ready to faint.” Before Helen could reply, she turned and hurried toward the kitchen.
Helen glanced at the parlor. A chill of dread tightened the skin all over her body. She turned her attention to Charity. “Darling,” she murmured, “these are my sisters, Pandora and Cassandra. I want you to go with them, and let them take care of you while I talk to someone.”
The little girl was instantly alarmed. “Don’t leave me!”
“No, never. I’ll come to you in a few minutes. Please, Charity.” To her dismay, the child only clutched her more tightly, refusing to budge.
Cassandra was the one to solve the problem. Sinking down to her haunches, she smiled into Charity’s face. “Won’t you come with us?” she entreated softly. “We’re very nice. I’ll take you to a pretty room upstairs. There’s a cozy fire in the hearth, and a box that plays music. Six different melodies. Come let me show you.”
Cautiously the child emerged from the folds of Helen’s skirts and reached out to be carried.
After a disconcerted blink, Cassandra gathered her up and stood.
Pandora wore a resigned grin. “I’ve always said you were the nicer one.”
Helen waited until her sisters had reached the top of the stairs. She went to the parlor, thinking that no matter what Lady Berwick said, or how upset she was, it was nothing compared to what she had seen today. It haunted her, the knowledge of what some people were forced to suffer. She would never again be able to look at her privileged surroundings without some part of her brain contrasting them with the alleys and rookeries at Stepney.
Hesitating at the parlor threshold, she saw Lady Berwick on one of two chairs placed near the hearth. The countess’s face was stiff, as if it had been starched and set before the fire to dry. She didn’t even glance at Helen.
Helen went to the other chair and sat. “My lady, the child I brought with me—”
“I know who she is,” Lady Berwick snapped. “She has the look of her father. Will you take it upon yourself to collect all his bastards like so many stray cats?”
Helen stayed silent, looking into the fireplace, while Lady Berwick proceeded to lecture her in a tone that could have shaved the treads from a carriage wheel. Searing remarks were made about Helen’s character and upbringing, the Ravenels, the foolishness of women who thought they might somehow be exempt from the rules and judgments of society, and the many iniquities of Albion Vance and men in general.
She finally looked at Helen, her nostrils flaring and her chin vibrating with outrage. “I would never have expected this of you. This scheming! This dishonesty! You’re bent on self-destruction. Can’t you see, you reckless girl, that I’m trying to keep you from throwing away a life in which you could do enormous good for other people? You could help thousands of orphans instead of just one. Do you think me hard-hearted? I laud your compassion for that poor creature—you wish to help her, and you shall—but not this way. She is a danger to you, Helen. The resemblance she bears to you is ruinous. No one will look at the two of you without coming to the most disastrous conclusion. It won’t matter that it’s not true. Gossip never has to be true, it only has to be interesting.”
Helen stared at the older woman, realizing that although her countenance was coldly furious, and every nuance of her posture was overbearing . . . her eyes gave her away. They were filled with honest concern, true kindness, and caring. And anguish.
Lady Berwick was not fighting with her, she was fighting for her.
This is why Kathleen loves her, Helen thought.
When at last the countess fell silent, Helen regarded her with gratitude and melancholy resolve. “You’re right. About all of it. I agree with your ladyship, and I understand what I’m about to lose. But the fact is . . . Charity has to belong to someone. She has to be loved by someone. Who will, if I don’t?” At Lady Berwick’s frozen silence, Helen found herself going to her chair and sinking down to rest her head on the countess’s knees. She felt the older woman stiffen. “You took Kathleen in,” Helen said, “when she was only a year older than Charity. You loved her when no one else wanted her. She told me you saved her life.”
“Not at the expense of my own.” The countess took a wavering breath, and then Helen felt the light pressure of a hand on her head. “Why won’t you listen to me?”
