by Regina Darcy
Charles took the man in, seeing the way his jowls wobbled with every word that escaped from his lips, the spittle that sprang from his tongue as he spoke. Lord Faversham was not a handsome gentleman, with his bald, shining head, his thick, ungainly fingers, and his large, protruding nose that seemed to be attempting to escape from the rest of his face.
Yet, it was not his appearance that made him unhandsome but rather the cruelty that was so evident in his features. His eyes were small and dark, his lips tending to pull into a thin line. There was no happiness in his eyes when he smiled, just an increasing sense of darkness. His hands were cold and grasping, even as they threw back another mouthful of whisky, his words lewd and filled with malicious intent. It was all Charles could do to remain still and simply listen.
He had a plan, and enduring Lord Faversham’s conversation for a short time was a part of it. Calling for more brandy, Charles watched with a growing satisfaction as the man threw back yet more liquor, becoming more addled by the minute.
Excellent. This was just as he needed Lord Faversham to be.
***
The coals were glowing low in the grate by the time Charles began to enact the rest of his plan. The other patrons had either gone to bed or were snoring where they sat or, in Lord Faversham’s case, lay across the table. Charles had encouraged the gentleman to join their game and delighted in taking everything he could from the fellow, whilst ensuring that Lord Faversham was plied with as much alcohol as he would take.
As a result, the despicable fellow was now both poorer and would not wake for some time.
Slowly, he moved towards the maid who was, he thought, still awake in the corner of the room. She had not moved whilst Lord Faversham had been about the taproom, staring at him with terrified eyes.
“What is your name, girl?” he whispered, watching as she jerked violently in her seat.
“Florence,” she whispered back, staring at him with wide eyes full of hope. “What is it you plan to do, sir?”
Charles drew in a breath and cranked his neck. “Something extremely foolish,” he replied with a wistful grin. “I have a carriage,” he continued. “The best I can offer is to take your mistress far from this place. I do not know what to do thereafter, but to secure her safety from Lord Faversham is the first matter to be dealt with. After all, she is not yet wed to him and, therefore, is still safe from his demands.”
The maid nodded, quickly getting out of her chair as Charles lit a taper from the glowing coals to light a candle.
“Quickly,” he said, handing it to her. “We must go with all swiftness. I do not know what state she will be in, but we must get her from the room to my carriage before anyone is aware of it.”
“The door,” the maid whispered, shaking her head. “It will be locked.”
Charles smiled, grateful that the innkeeper’s wife had been so willing to do as he had asked. “You need not worry, Florence. On the pretence of ordering more drinks, I asked the innkeeper’s lady to ensure that door is open for us. She did not take much persuading.” His lips curved all the more as he recalled how the lady had accepted the money from him but had muttered something under her breath about how gentlemen should be punished for treating their ladies with such cruelty.
The maid goggled at him for a moment and then, without another word, hurried towards the staircase, scurrying up it as quietly as she could. Charles followed, wincing with each creak and groan that emitted from the wood as he did so. Below him, no one stirred, and he could still hear Lord Faversham’s snores clearly.
It did not take long to find the door that led to Miss Wade’s room. The door was slightly ajar, which begged the question why Miss Wade had not escaped herself as yet. The question was not on his mind for long, for pushing open the door, he was horrified to see the young lady lying on the floor by a cold, dead fire, the back of her dress ripped, her figure crumbled in a heap.
The room was freezing, given that it was the dead of winter, and for a moment, Charles was afraid that she might have succumbed to the cold. The maid had dropped to her knees by her mistress’s prone form and was smoothing back the lady’s hair, tears falling from her eyes. Charles remained where he was, frozen in horror, as though he were too afraid to touch her.
Then, a small groan whispered up from the lady, and Charles’s heart leapt up into his throat. His blood roared to life, forcing him to move. Seeing the small, wooden bed in the corner, he grabbed the threadbare blanket and rushed to drop it over Miss Wade’s bruised back.
“I must tend to her,” Florence sobbed, looking up at him with ravaged eyes. “She is… she is…”
“There is no time,” Charles insisted as gently as he could. “We must get her to the carriage. I have already sent the servant boy out to prepare everything. Once we are safe away, we will find someone to take care of her. I promise you.”
Somehow, they managed to get Miss Wade up into his arms, although the agony etched across her face as he put one arm under her shoulders and around her back made him wince inwardly.
“I am sorry,” he murmured quietly. “I should have come to your aid sooner.”
Regret poured into his soul as he carried the young girl down the staircase, aware that not a single person moved as he did so. Lord Faversham was still snoring, the embers in the grate now so low that only shadows could be seen. The maid opened the front door for him, the cold air rushing into the room and wrapping about his shoulders.
“I have her belongings,” Florence whispered, a bag in her hand. “But I have no other gowns or the like.”
He shook his head, his feet crunching across the frosty ground as he made his way towards the waiting carriage that was lit up by the moonlight. “It matters not,” he said, as the carriage door was held open by the waiting servant boy. “I have money enough to buy her whatever she needs. All we need do now is remove ourselves from this dreadful place.”
Glad that he had not unpacked any of his things, and that, in fact, they were still aboard his carriage, Charles carefully and gingerly placed Miss Wade across the seats of the carriage. The maid came to sit on the floor of the carriage by her mistress’s head. He sat down carefully opposite the lady and gratefully accepted the blankets handed to him by his driver.
“As quickly as you can, my good man,” he muttered, handing the blankets to Florence. “Towards the coast, if you please. I intend to return us all to England.”
The carriage rolled away soon after, allowing Charles a small modicum of relief. Instructing Florence not to neglect herself, he ensured that she had a blanket of her own, as well as ensuring that Miss Wade was warm and snug as she lay across the seats.
His heart ached with his own neglect, his own foolishness in deciding that a young lady such as Miss Wade did not require his help. He had seen the maliciousness in that dreadful man’s eyes, had he not? He had known precisely what Lord Faversham had intended to do, and yet, he had decided to remain downstairs, telling himself that it was none of his concern.
The vision of her fragile form and bruised back reappeared swiftly in his mind, sending a shudder through him. Whilst he had every intention of returning to England, they would need to find somewhere to stop where the lady might be taken care of. They would require a doctor, and he would have to purchase new gowns for her also.
“You need not worry,” he said to Florence, although fully aware that he was reassuring himself as much as the maid. “Everything will be quite alright now. Your mistress is safe. You need not fear that monster anymore.”
Florence turned her head to look at him, her eyes shimmering with tears as the moonlight caught her expression. “Thank you, sir,” she whispered. “I do not even know your name.”
He cleared his throat, feeling a little awkward. “The Honourable Charles Ingraham,” he said with a small shrug. “I am glad to have been able to help Miss Wade.”
“I will tell her of your kindness and bravery as soon as she wakes,” the maid promised, turning her gaze back onto her
mistress. “She will be so grateful, sir. You have saved her from torment, Mr Ingraham, possibly even from death. To show her such kindness, sir, is goodness indeed. Bless you.”
FOUR
Pain sliced through her. It did not relent but seemed to grow as something stabbed at her afresh. A groan escaped her lips, forcing her to remove herself from the blackness that bound her.
“Careful now, Miss.”
Florence’s voice came to her as she let out another hiss of pain, blinking rapidly to clear her vision.
“You’re quite safe,” Florence said gently, pressing her hand. “You’re safe from Lord Faversham.”
“Where am I?” Julianna tried to sit up but realised that she was lying on her front. The pain from her back almost overwhelmed her.
Florence smiled brightly, although Julianna could see the upset in her eyes. “We’re at a doctor,” she said quietly. “He’s going to bind your back, and then we’ll be on our way. Look, there’s a new gown for you here!” She indicated just behind her, and Julianna saw a beautiful gown of light blue waiting for her. It looked warm enough, her eyes alighting on the cloak, muffler, bonnet, and boots that went with it.
“I don’t understand,” she whispered, fear rising in her throat. “Lord Faversham? Where is he?”
Florence shook her head. “He’s been left behind,” she said calmly. “Like I said, you don’t need to worry about him no more, Miss Wade. We’ve been saved.”
“Saved?” Julianna repeated, her throat rasping. “By whom?”
Her maid’s smile gentled. “A gentleman who was in the inn,” she explained as the doctor muttered something under his breath, his fingers careful and yet bringing Julianna a good deal of fresh pain. “He heard what Lord Faversham was doing and came to help you. I’m just sorry we couldn’t get to you before Lord Faversham started.” Her eyes began to fill with tears, her smile wobbling. “He is a terrible man, Miss.”
Julianna let out a long breath, her eyes fluttering close, as relief wound its way through her, chasing away some of her pain. The memory of what Lord Faversham had done to her began to resurface, forcing her breath to catch in her chest as she tried to battle against it. Taking a deep breath, she calmed her mind. If Florence was to be believed, she had nothing to fear any longer.
“You’ve been damage very badly, Miss Wade,” the doctor said gruffly, his English tinged with what Julianna presumed to be a French accent. “Whoever did this to you ought to be hanged.”
Julianna felt tears sting at her eyes and kept them firmly closed. “I’m afraid, doctor, that no one much cares about what he did,” she said quietly, her heart aching terribly with the painful, dreadful truth. “Is it quite bad?”
He grunted again. “They will need to be bandaged daily, but the bruises will fade and you will regain your flawless skin,” he said. “I shall give you a poultice for them. Some will require a longer time to heal than others, although the sea air will do them some good.”
Julianna’s eyes shot open. “The sea?” she repeated, looking at Florence.
“Yes, Miss,” Florence said, letting go of Julianna’s hand and getting to her feet. “We are to take the ship back to England.”
“Back to England?” Julianna repeated, feeling as though she were lost in a cloud of questions. “But why? And where am I to go thereafter?”
The doctor clicked his tongue, making Florence hurry around to Julianna’s head once more.
“You must calm yourself, miss,” she whispered, as the doctor prodded painfully at one of the wounds on Julianna’s back. “It is all taken care of. We shall be quite safe, and you will be very well looked after once we return to England’s shores. This Mr Ingraham has been very kind and has done everything he can to take care of you. I do not doubt that he will continue to prove himself to be a gentleman in these next few days.”
Julianna was forced to lapse into silence. She was encouraged to sit up and, thereafter, endured the indignity of having her back bound by the doctor, who appeared to care nothing for her nakedness. The pain in her back was still severe, but Julianna gritted her teeth and forced herself to bear it, slowly becoming aware that she had been given something of an escape, saved from Lord Faversham’s monstrous behaviour by this Mr Ingraham, who was a stranger to her. An overwhelming sense of gratitude filled her, rendering her almost speechless as she thought of this unknown man.
She had thought herself quite without hope, enduring Lord Faversham’s bullish and cruel actions as best she could until they had overcome her. His rage had been relentless. She had done her best to shield herself from his wrath.
Lost in her despair, she had prayed that her uncle would hear her cries and be moved to help her, even though he had been the one to drug her senseless with laudanum and take her to France.
It had all been for naught, and eventually, from the agony and shock of what she was being subjected to, she surrendered to the blissful relief of unconsciousness, welcoming it as though it were a friend. She could remember very little else.
“There now.” Florence smiled as the doctor finished securing her bindings in place. “You shall have a new gown and then meet Mr Ingraham, if you are ready to do so.”
“No tight bindings,” the doctor warned, snapping his bag closed. “And you must keep a careful watch and apply the poultice diligently so your mistress as swiftly as possible can recover her posture,” he addressed Florence, giving her a sharp look that had her nodding in agreement. “I am sorry for whatever has occurred to give you so much pain, Miss Wade,” he finished, now turning to her. “But I am glad that I have been able to assist you in this matter. I wish you a safe return to England.”
“Thank you,” she replied quickly. “Can I pay you for your trouble?” She did not know precisely how she was to do so, given that she had no money of her own and certainly no easy means of getting some.
“No, I thank you,” the doctor replied with a graceful inclination of his head. “Mr Ingraham has taken care of it all. Good day to you.”
“Good day,” Julianna murmured, staring after him in astonishment. This Mr Ingraham, whoever he was, was clearly a man of great generosity, which meant, she hoped, that there was reason enough for her to trust him.
“Come, Miss,” Florence encouraged, as Julianna looked around the small room which held nothing more than the bed she was lying on, a chair, and a small table in the corner. “We must get you dressed. You will feel much better soon, I am sure.”
Thankful that the fire in the grate was blazing merrily, Julianna carefully rose to her feet, feeling as though she was already on-board a ship, such was her unsteadiness. Florence was there in a trice, ready to take her arm and help her towards the chair, where she was able to sit again, in between Florence placing various garments over her head. Eventually, she was dressed and warm, although still rather weak from lack of food.
“If you are able, we may join Mr Ingraham in the private parlour for some food,” Florence suggested, carefully pinning up Julianna’s hair. “He did say that you were not to be pressed, however. It was only if you feel able.”
More than intrigued to meet her saviour and ask him specifically why he had been so inclined to help her, Julianna rose to her feet again and settled her shoulders, ignoring the stabbing pain that lanced her back. “Yes, I think I should like to meet him,” she said as Florence fussed around her. “Might I lean on your arm?”
“Of course,” Florence replied, still looking rather anxious. “Here, let me lead the way.”
Walking into the private parlour took some time, given the state of her back, but Julianna managed it with a head that was held high, determination rippling through her. She was more grateful than she could express to Mr Ingraham but did wonder what it was he expected to gain from such a rescue. Neither Florence nor the doctor had given her any indication of how old the gentleman was, so it was with some surprise that she greeted a rather handsome young man.
“Mr Ingraham?” she asked cautiously as the gentlem
an rose to his feet, his brown eyes filled with concern.
“Yes,” he said, offering her his arm. “May I say you are looking a good deal better than before, Miss? Please, do sit down here.”
She accepted his arm gratefully, allowing Florence the opportunity to fetch her something to eat. On placing the plate of food by her elbow, Florence then hurried off in search of tea.
Julianna allowed herself to study Mr Ingraham as he took his seat opposite her, glad of the blazing fire that warmed her toes. He was not overly tall but appeared rather broad in the shoulder, giving him an appearance of brute strength. She might have been somewhat afraid of him were it not for the kindness in his eyes and the warm smile on his lips. There was a little stubble around his chin, reminding her that he had, most likely, been very busy caring for her.
“Mr Ingraham,” she began, trying not to wince as she leaned back against the cushions. “I cannot thank you enough for what you have done for me. Truly, it is the greatest kindness anyone has ever given me.”
Mr Ingraham smiled back at her, although his expression remained veiled with concern. “You are most welcome, Miss Wade, and you need not fear that you shall be left alone now. I have every intention of escorting you to London and setting you up with the most wonderful gentleman imaginable as your husband.” He leaned forward, apparently fervent in his determination. “I shall not let Lord Faversham lay another finger on you.” So saying, he sat back in his chair, clearing his throat a little abruptly. “Although, that is to say, if you will allow me to aid you, of course.”
She flushed, a little taken aback by his determination for her future. “You are most kind, Mr Ingraham, but there is no reason for you to help me in such a way.” She watched him closely, seeing the way his eyes dropped from her face to fix themselves on the fire in the grate. “Is there a reason that you came to my aid?”
There was silence for a moment, broken only by the crackling of the fire. Mr Ingraham appeared to be considering her question, for it was some time until he spoke again.