CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
“You do realize that we are expected at our dress fitting in fewer than two hours?” Ruby asked.
“Of course I do. That is why we must hurry. Now, get into the carriage.” Vi pushed her friend toward the waiting carriage, complete with a footman awaiting a lady to help into the conveyance.
“Do not wrinkle my lovely morning gown, I am moving as fast as possible.” Ruby grasped the footman’s outstretched hand and entered the carriage.
Vi followed hastily behind and settled on the forward-facing seat. “We will have plenty of time to make a quick detour before arriving at the dress shop.”
The look Ruby turned her way told Vi her friend did not believe for a second that they would arrive on time for their appointment, if at all.
“Ruby, I promise you will not miss your first ball—or the fitting to look beautiful at said first ball, trust me.”
Her friend relaxed against the cloth seat as the carriage pulled away from her father’s townhouse, headed toward East End.
“Does your father know where we are going?”
“Do you really think I would tell my father that we are headed to one of the worst parts of London, unchaperoned, with no other protection but our two lively servants?”
“I suppose not—”
“If I had, do you imagine that we would still be on our way there and not locked in my room?”
Ruby didn’t bother answering Vi’s question as a sullen look overtook her face.
Vi immediately felt badly for being so harsh. “I am sorry, I am only nervous about tonight.”
“Your sour mood has nothing to do with where we are headed at the moment?”
Her mood had everything to do with where they were headed. How could she tell them that this would be all the money she could give them? That no more would ever come? They would suffer, and she would be the cause of it. She could not live with that on her shoulders, but she had no idea how to continue as she had for the last seven years. Being at the mercy of her father was not easy—although having to depend on a husband for everything she needed in life would be much worse.
“Sometimes I wonder if you even hear me when I talk.” Ruby stared at her and Vi realized she had not answered her last question.
“I think I am a bit overwhelmed with everything at the moment. It is very likely that I will be shunned at the ball tonight . . . and in turn, you will also have a mark above your head.” It was true, Vi did worry about society accepting Ruby into their fold if she was scorned.
“They would not accept the invitation if they did not plan to give you a chance.” Ruby gave Vi a comforting smile.
Again, she wondered how her friend had gained such exemplary insight after being hidden away in the country for so many years. Vi hoped that what she said was true; she was unsure her father could handle more shame heaped upon his only daughter. “Your words are comforting.”
“It is you and me against the world!”
“Thankfully, I am not concerned with the world—only our small place in it.”
“Is society truly all that bad? My mother seems to enjoy her time in London immensely.”
“When you are in the upper echelon of the ton, it is wonderful. But when you fall from grace, it is a cruel and unforgiving place.” Vi tried not to let the sorrow she felt inside color her words. She was ashamed to admit that there had been a day when she had been among the chosen few in that upper echelon—and that she had taken such pleasure watching others’ heartrending fall.
But no more.
Her status in society now depended on others. She could only pray they were more kind then she’d been in her youth, although she did not believe she deserved their kindness or forgiveness.
“What is that awful smell?” Ruby grimaced and covered her nose. “This is worse than that time you convinced me a bit of manual labor would improve my constitution.” She fanned her rose-scented handkerchief in front of her face to ward off the offensive smells of the East End.
Vi peered out the window as they rolled through the impoverished neighborhood. She let the curtain fall back into place before addressing Ruby. “That is the smell of desperation, sorrow, and hopelessness—and exactly what I had hoped to change, at least for a small few.” A weak smile crossed her face.
The carriage rolled to a stop just north of the River Thames, where the smells of filth were the strongest. Ruby pulled her curtain back and gazed out at the building before them. “Oh, my.”
The curtain covering Vi’s window stayed in place. She could not bring herself to look out at the deplorable condition so many were forced to live in—while the likes of Lady Darlingiver spent small fortunes throwing extravagant parties. But she owed them an explanation, in person, about the promise she would be forced to forsake.
With a gust of cold morning air the door swung open, steps were placed outside, and a hand reached in to help Vi and Ruby alight. When she stepped out, Vi could no longer deny herself a glimpse of the place where she’d been sending every coin she could spare.
The tall, three-story building blocked the midday sun, casting a shadow over both Vi and her carriage. The paint peeled so severely it would likely need massive repairs to hold the walls together. Thankfully, all the windows and doors were intact.
“Shall we knock?”
Vi shook herself out of her haze and addressed the footman. “We will only be a few minutes.”
“Shall I announce your arrival?” he asked.
“That will not be necessary.”
“Yes, my lady.” He closed the door and took his place at the back of the carriage.
Both women stood facing the intimidating building, afraid to make the first move.
“Why would you not have the footman announce us?” Ruby whispered.
“Because it would do no good. They have no idea who Lady Viola Oberbrook is, or that I am the person funding their operation.” Vi chastened herself for not having the forethought to send word of her visit.
“And to think I was under the impression that an hour with the dressmaker would be more entertaining than this,” Ruby uttered as she took the first step toward the door.
Before Viola could follow, the door was thrown wide by a short, rotund woman clad in a stained blue dress, an apron of white tied securely around her waist. “An who ye be?” she asked, her hands coming to rest on her hips.
Vi wanted to laugh, but tamped the urge down. The woman looked just as Ruby did when she sought to scold Vi for something or other.
“Well? A pussycat got ye tongue? I be expect’n a delivery from the butcher soon and he be need’n to pull up right here, seeing as we don’t be have’n any alley in back.”
“I apologize—”
“No apologizing be need’n, jus move this here hack out of the way,” the woman said aggressively, cutting off Vi’s words.
The old Vi would have been affronted at the nerve of this woman calling her father’s barouche a hack, and would have promptly put her in her place. Instead, Viola took a calming breath and smiled. She turned to her driver and signaled him to drive around the block.
He nodded his head, and the carriage pulled into the stream of other passing conveyances.
“That be better—now, off with ye.” The woman made a swishing action with her hands as if to sweep Vi and Ruby down the block. “I don’t be need’n any uppity types hangin’ around or he’s likely not ta stop.” She turned and headed back toward the open doorway.
Viola forced a smile. “Are you Mrs. Hutton, by chance?”
The woman turned a quizzical eye on Vi and Ruby. Her back straightened and she smoothed her hands down her apron, as if to make herself more presentable to ladies of the upper class. “That be me.”
Vi stepped forward and outstretched her hand in greeting. “I am Lady Viola Oberbrook.”
Mrs. Hutton eyed her hand, but did not grasp it or respond.
“I am from Hampshire,” Vi continued.
“Oh, heavens and da
mnation,” the woman cried. “Please ye come in and I do be gett’n ye some tea.” She hurried up the stairs and into the dreary building, leaving Vi and Ruby on the stoop.
“Yes, much better than a dress fitting,” Ruby laughed. The few curls hanging around her face bounced with mirth, and she followed Mrs. Hutton.
Vi looked around her. The carriage was gone, and she feared they would be stranded in the East End. There was nothing for it but to break the news to this woman and hand over the rest of her money. She mimicked the woman’s actions, straightening her back and smoothing her skirt.
Once she entered, she heard Ruby further down the hall conversing with someone. She could not make out the words. The dim lighting showed off a well-cleaned, recently scrubbed passageway with several closed doors off each side, leading deeper into the building. Somewhere within, Viola heard more voices and footsteps. She’d pictured the house teeming with activity—an activity that had always been lacking at her country home.
A light flared further up ahead and she was able to see Ruby, perched on her haunches next to a small child who sat in an even smaller chair.
“Well, Samuel, I think you are very handsome, and I would not worry about what Abby says,” Ruby said to the child.
“That is very nice, miss.” Even with its soft tone, the boy’s high voice rang off the walls.
As Vi came closer, she studied the cherubic boy. His hair sat in short ringlets around his head, mirroring those that framed Ruby’s own. His blue eyes sparkled in the candlelight that Ruby held close. It was only when she was within a few feet that Vi realized the child was missing part of his right arm.
“Shot by his own papa.” Mrs. Hutton tsk-tsked at her side. The woman had appeared out of nowhere, startling Vi.
When she only looked on, the woman continued quietly. “Don’t be let’n him catch ye stare’n, and don’t be underestimating the youngster. He be right smart and will make a fine man someday.”
The optimism in the woman’s voice was hardly contagious given their surroundings. Vi could not help but wonder what would truly happen to poor Samuel in the years to come—after the last of her money ran dry. Would he be thrown into the street? Forced to labor in a work house? She doubted the boy would be able to keep up with others who were in possession of all their limbs.
“Don’t be look’n so glum, Lady Viola.” Mrs. Hutton laid a comforting hand on Vi’s shoulder. “Samuel here be one of the least affected here.”
Tears threatened to spill down her face as emotion welled inside her. She had not believed she would be affected as such—that she could be affected as such. The depth of her change—not outwardly, but deep within—was suddenly made real to her. She wanted to sink to the floor and cry for the unfairness of Samuel’s situation; to protest the dreariness of his life, and to rage for vengeance against the person responsible—his own father. The wall in the narrow hallway stood mere inches from her. Would she be so weak as to lean against it for strength?
But she knew she did not deserve the assistance of the wall or any person. Vi had caused this devastating feeling in others—in Cody and Winston’s father, and again in Brock when he had heard of the tragedy.
Vi may not have held the gun that took their lives, but she was responsible, just as Samuel’s father had been. She was no different than Samuel’s father. As she wanted vengeance against the man who had injured his own child, so should Brock want vengeance against her.
Could she blame Brock if he was the source of the rumor about her? It would not be fair to hold anger against him—he was the one entitled to anger and vengeance.
“M’lady, would ye like to meet the others?” Mrs. Hutton drew Vi from her dark thoughts.
A part of her did not think she could handle being face to face with any more devastation. But she answered, “Of course. I want to meet them all.” She knew she was punishing herself for her past transgressions, would continue to punish herself until the day she herself went to her grave.
Ruby stood. “It was lovely meeting you, Samuel. I would be honored if you would accompany me for ices one day soon.”
“Ye wouldn’t be try’n ta make Abby jealous, would ye?” he asked.
“I most certainly hope to.”
Vi wished she had the untainted heart her friend possessed.
“If’n I take ye to get ices we be courting, right?” The boy dropped his head and peeked out from under his brown curls.
“I would not let a man take me to Gunther’s if he was not officially courting me,” Ruby winked and continued. “I am a proper miss, after all.”
The boy’s unadulterated smile was all that Vi saw as she and Mrs. Hutton continued past the pair and moved further into the house. Even though the paint had peeled in places, the walls appeared freshly scrubbed. Vi could only hope the children were as well cared for as the property.
“We moved ta this spot nigh on three years ago.” The woman spoke with pride. “We be have’n ten bedrooms now and a nice kitchen, and even a garden in back.”
Based on her first glimpse of the place, Vi had feared the inside would be as ramshackle as its exterior, but that fear had been for naught. “Tell me about your last house,” Vi asked, to keep the woman talking and give herself time to look around.
“Oh, we were in a most dreadful place, m’lady. We be put’n seven, sumtimes eight, children to a room.” She tsk-tsked again. “That be no way to raise a horde of children, even ones as damaged as these.”
How long would it be before Mrs. Hutton and the children were forced to move into a smaller house again—or even worse, to the streets? “How many share rooms now?”
“Never over four to a room. Now we be have’n a school room and fine eating area. Right this way to me entertaining room.” She pushed a door open to reveal a sparsely furnished sitting room. The couch and chairs didn’t match, but they were clean. The rug covering the hardwood floor was worn through, and the drapes held more holes than the cheese Vi ordered from the dairy adjoining Foldgers Hall. “Do have a seat, and I be fetching ye some tea. The cook only comes in to prepare supper.” She sounded contrite, as if embarrassed that she could not offer Vi a proper tea setting with sugar, cream, and sandwiches.
“I would love a spot of plain tea. I enjoy the natural flavor of the leaves,” Vi said to soothe the woman’s unease.
“I be right back.” She moved out of the room and pulled the room shut until only a sliver of light filtered in through the crack.
This gave Viola a few minutes to take in her surroundings further. A thought struck her. The furniture from her sitting room at her father’s townhouse would suit the room perfectly. Yes, she could do one last thing for Mrs. Hutton and the children—and when money ran out, they could sell the pieces to pay the rent. It made Vi sick every time she walked into that sitting room, but here… Here, it would lighten the atmosphere and make this a home—for however long it lasted.
“Your dress is very pretty, miss.”
Vi turned slowly toward the door, not wanting to frighten whomever had spoken. A set of brown eyes stared through the crack in the door, a wisp of blonde hair swung through the opening. “Thank you. Would you like to come in and sit?”
“Mrs. Hutton says this room is for guests only. Not us children—but we never have any guests.”
The girl’s voice was cultured, as if she’d been born into a family of means.
“I am sure Mrs. Hutton will not mind if you keep me entertained while she makes the tea.”
“Are you sure?” The question in the girl’s voice did not hold fear or anxiety at being discovered in the sitting room, merely curiosity.
“I am very sure. Please join me and we can talk.”
The door was hesitantly pushed open and the girl moved into the room at an angle. Viola caught her breath at the angelic look of her: long blonde hair with startling brown, almost greenish, eyes, and her skin was so fair.
Vi padded the seat next to her on the sofa. “You can sit here.”
/> A smile lit her face and she turned to fully face Vi. When she did, Vi steadied her breathing and forced herself to remain impassive at the sight.
The left side of the girl’s face was horribly caved in, her eye sewn shut.
“What is your name?” Vi asked, pleased to note that her voice remained calm.
“My name was Lady Cynthia, but everyone here calls me Abby.” She perched on the seat next to Vi and arranged her skirt, crossing her ankles as a lady of the ton would do.
“Samuel’s Abby?”
The girl blushed. “I most certainly am not Samuel’s Abby. Did he tell you that? I should box his ears. He has not even asked my father if he might court me.”
Vi wanted to laugh, to pull the wounded girl to her and hug her tight. To promise her the world and beyond, but none of that would be appropriate. It was important—to Vi, at least—that the girl not think she was being judged because of her injury. “My apologies, Abby. That is a situation Samuel should rectify if he wishes to continue his association. How old are you?”
“Eleven. My birthday is next week and I will be twelve.”
“Almost a true lady of the ton. How long have you lived with Mrs. Hutton?”
The girl fidgeted uncomfortably. “Almost four years. My birthday will make it four years.”
Abby had come to live here on her birthday.
“Mrs. Hutton is going to make a cake—just for me.” The excitement in the girl’s voice was hard to miss. “Will you come to my party?”
“I would love to.”
“We do not have the money to send out fancy invitations . . .”
“That is okay. Do you mind if I bring a friend?”
“A man friend?” Abby giggled.
“No, my nearest and dearest friend, Ruby.” Why did thoughts of Brock pass through her mind? “She is here with me today.”
“Only if she brings a present.”
Viola did laugh then, a deep laugh. It felt good, something she had not known she needed. “Of course we will bring gifts. It would not be a birthday celebration without gifts.”
“Last year, Mrs. Hutton gave me the prettiest purple ribbon for my hair.”
“Purple is my favorite color, too.” Vi instinctually reached out and smoothed the girl’s hair, pushing it behind her one good ear. “What would you like this year?”
“To go live with my family again.” The request was so simply stated.
For the third time that morning, Vi wanted to fall to the floor and weep. The ton had not only shunned her, they had sheltered her from the unfairness of the real world.
At that moment, they both heard footsteps headed their way. Abby popped up off the couch. “I must be going. I have chores to do above stairs.”
“It was lovely meeting you.”
“Say you will come to my party.” The girl’s one good eye pleaded for Vi’s affirmative response.
“I would be delighted to.”
“Do not forget my gift. I have to go.” Abby slid through the door and under Mrs. Hutton’s arms, laden with the tea tray. “Good day, Mrs. Hutton. I am almost done with my chores.” She hurried down the hall without waiting for a response.
“That child will be the death of me, ye just wait and see.” Mrs. Hutton shook her head back and forth, but there was a gleam in her eye. She was clearly fond of Abby.
Vi realized that Mrs. Hutton was all she’d hoped for when she’d heard of the house taking care of children injured by firearms. She was caring and compassionate, much as Vi envisioned her own mother to be.
“She is a lovely child. What happened to her?” It was the question that Vi feared to ask but needed to know.
Mrs. Hutton set the tray down on the table, sat in a chair opposite Vi, and proceeded to pour the tea. “Our resident member of the ton. She and her nursemaid were walk’n to Abby’s papa’s fine house when a bloke tried to rob a coach, right there in broad daylight! Can ye imagine? His gun went off and the bullet hit poor Abby square in the side of her face.” Sadness filled her eyes. “Her papa wanted ta jus let the poor child die—right there in the dirty street. But not my sister, her nursemaid. She rushed Abby to the ol’ house and I called a doc. A whole year of yer money went to her be’n treated.” The woman could not meet Vi’s eyes.
Did she fear she’d misspent money? To save the girl?
“You did the right thing, Mrs. Hutton.”
“We ate no meat for nigh on two years ta make up for it. Part of me wished I coulda been strong enough ta let the child go to the Lord. What kinda life will she lead now? Never one where’n she belongs.” She paused and looked down at the chipped cup of tea she clung to. “Would ye be like’n some sugar?”
“No, thank you.” She had another question to ask, uncertain of how the woman would react to it. “Why do you call her Abby, and not Lady Cynthia?”
“Simple. When they come ta me most have been abandoned. Shunned by their families. Here, they be free to choose who they be want’n to be. They’re na longer street children— or members of the ton, in Abby’s case. They be belong’n ta me. There was a day that I was given the chance ta be anyone I wanted ta be. It be the least I can give ‘em—and some days it be the most I can afford.”
Oh, how Vi wished she could be someone else, anyone else. Who would she be if she had the choice?
Mrs. Hutton continued. “She had a doll at her home. A right pretty and expensive doll. Her name was Abby, and she had to leave the doll there. Her father would na allow her back to his home.”
Vi marveled at the woman’s ability to talk about the sadness of Abby’s situation without shedding a single tear, when she felt her insides being ripped out at the depravity of the girl’s father.
“Don’t be look’n all sorrowful for the girl. I be have’n plenty others here with far worse stories. Abby be one of the lucky ones—she be knowing the good life.”
“But does that not just make the pain all the more great, knowing what she lost?”
“Ye can look at it that way,” Mrs. Hutton said thoughtfully. “I prefer ta think she be knowin’ who she can be once agin.”
“But how?”
“Lady Viola—”
“Please call me Vi,” she interrupted.
“All right, Vi,” Mrs. Hutton said uncomfortably, “Abby is educated, far beyond that of most of my children. She’ll have options. I be hope’n she one day will take over the house.”
In that moment Vi resolved she would not—could not—crush this woman’s dreams and the future of all the children under her charge. Vi had to find another way to take care of these children . . . even if she had to sell everything she owned. Though even then, she knew the proceeds would not be nearly enough.
“Why are ye here, anyways?” Mrs. Hutton changed the subject, and Vi was grateful. “Did ye come to see that I not be misusing ye money?”
Vi had not come for that reason, although she’d been curious. It would have been easier to send a servant round with her money. “No, that is not why. I happened to be in town and wanted to drop off my donation personally.” She did not add that it might very well be her last.
“I be start’n to worry about ye. It had been a long time since ye last sent any. I feared ye had found another place for yer money.”
A long time since she had last sent money? But Connor had been in town less than a fortnight ago. He had said he dropped off the envelope. There would be a good explanation, she was sure.
“I do apologize for worrying you so.” Vi opened the small receptacle that dangled from her wrist and pulled out an envelope. “This should make up for that.”
The woman’s eyes were round and her hand shook as she took the thick bundled envelope she was handed. “M’lady? This is too much.”
“No, it is exactly right and sounds like I came just in time. Please make Abby an extra-special birthday cake. Something that will impress her father.”
Mrs. Hutton looked up. A new sorrow filled her eyes.
“Did I say
something wrong?” Vi spoke without thinking.
“Why would ye seek to impress her papa?”
Vi set down her cup, unsure how to answer. “It is only that when I asked her what she wanted for her special day, Abby said to live with her family again.”
“She is still going on about that . . .? Poor child.”
“Is everything all right with her family?”
“Oh, I am sure they be do’n quite fine, but I would not know. Ye see, I haven’t seen hide nor hair of them since Abby come to live here.”