The Patricia Kiyono Christmas Collection

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The Patricia Kiyono Christmas Collection Page 34

by Patricia Kiyono


  “The duchess loves these songs, so when you sing them, this will be your gift to her,” she explained.

  Since the little Peartree’s arrival was imminent, the duke and duchess rarely left the townhouse. Amelia spent much of the day in her sitting room, writing or reading. Phillip, when not at Parliament, spent his time with his wife, reading or pacing.

  That left Robert and Jeanne with more free time than usual. Jeanne, wanting to keep her hands busy, began knitting an assortment of gifts for the new baby. She noted that Robert often left the house in the mid-afternoon for a few hours. He would return, his face flushed from exertion. and his coat open, despite the chilly December temperatures. Where did he go that he would become so warm as to not need to bundle up?

  With each lesson, Robert seemed to be more comfortable with the idea of the children coming to the house. Jeanne noticed he didn’t act so distant and actually listened to the children when they asked questions. He addressed them by name rather than young man or young lady and even cracked a smile from time to time.

  On one particular evening, the students had just settled in their seats. “Where’s Andy?” someone asked.

  “I’m here,” a small voice responded. When he stepped out from behind one of the wide columns separating the chapel from the main sanctuary, Jeanne hardly recognized the poor boy. His left eye was swollen shut, and he walked with a limp. His breathing was labored, and blood ran from his lip. With a cry of distress, she ran to him.

  “You poor, dear boy.” She brought him to where Nancy waited with the napkins. Taking one, she wet it and gently washed his face. Behind her, she heard Robert talking to the rest of the students. He stopped abruptly when the church doors slammed open.

  Everyone froze, except Andy. He raced to the side of the room where the parents watched and hid under a bench where a large woman sat with her knitting. The woman quickly arranged her skirt so that the boy was completely hidden.

  A dirty, ill-kept bear of a man stumbled into the chapel. “Where’s me son? I know he’s hiding out ’ere. His mum tries ta hide ’im but I figured it out. He’s ’ere somewhere.” His slurred speech and rancid breath indicated a recent visit to a tavern.

  Jeanne made a move to confront the intruder, but Robert was faster. He planted himself in the man’s path. “Sir, you are disrupting this class, and I’ll thank you to leave,” Robert informed him.

  “Ye’ll thank me?” the man mocked in a high voice. “Thank me to leave, will ya? Aren’t you the fancy little gent.” His tone changed back to the menacing howl. “Where is he?”

  “Since you haven’t given me a name, I can’t tell you. Our lessons are not over, so unless this is an emergency, you will need to leave now.”

  “Since when does a wee bit of a man tell Archie Sommers what to do?” the man roared. “Nobody orders me about. Not my good-for-nothin’ wife, not my worthless son, and not you.” He reared back and brought his fist toward Robert’s head.

  Robert dodged it easily and delivered a blow to the man’s abdomen.

  Jeanne gasped and looked about for something to hit the man with, but soon realized her help wasn’t needed. Archie doubled over from the first punch, leaving himself open to several well-placed blows. Howling in pain, he lashed out blindly, but failed to connect with his target.

  Concerned for the children’s safety, Jeanne herded them toward their parents, who quickly moved to shield them against the intruder. A few of the men came forward, ready to assist, but Robert deftly avoided Archie’s fists while landing several solid punches. Finally, the larger man gave up and scrambled out of the chapel and through the main sanctuary, screaming for help.

  Robert, on the other hand, seemed hardly winded. He simply straightened his collar, pulled his vest down, ran a hand through his hair, and cleared his throat. “I apologize for the disruption. Let’s resume our lesson.”

  Jeanne clamped her gaping mouth closed. Realizing Andy still hid, she went over to the bench. “It’s all right, Andy. He’s gone.”

  The little boy crawled out and stared with big eyes. “Someone fought my papa?”

  “Er, yes. Mr. Townley got him to leave.”

  He stared at the valet. “How?”

  “It were a sight, it was,” declared the knitting woman. “Archie came in swingin’, but Mr. Townley stopped ’im and delivered a few blows to the gut. Archie didn’t like it one bit and tried ta fight back, but between the drink and Mr. Townley’s punches he weren’t no match. I never thought I’d see the day when a man in a fine suit would get the best of him, but Townley ’ere did a fine job.” She looked at Jeanne. “You’ll be safe enough with ’im as yer escort.”

  Jeanne had nothing to say, so she simply nodded. “Come, children. Let’s go back to our seats.”

  She held Andy’s hand and noticed he still limped. “Did your father… hurt you today?”

  He looked up at her with sad eyes. “He was hitting Mummy. And I tried to stop him. She begged me to go but I didn’t want to leave her alone with him…” He started to cry and she knelt, wrapping her arms around him.

  ~~~~

  Robert watched Jeanne comfort the little boy, and his heart ached. For the rest of the evening, he listened to his pupils with half an ear. Andy’s face showed the power of his father’s fists. How could a father do that to his own son? When Archie had taken a swing at him, he’d instinctively hit back. He’d surprised the man, who was apparently used to being the powerful one. And if he’d been sober, he might have been a formidable foe. Thankfully, drink had diminished his skill, and it had been easy to defeat him. This time.

  But who would protect Andy when he wasn’t in school?

  Chapter Seven

  “Do you think Andy will be safe tonight?” Robert asked as they walked back to the Bartlett townhouse.

  “I imagine he will stay at the church until his mother comes to tell him it’s safe to return home.”

  Robert stopped in his tracks. “He stays at the church?”

  “Yes. Andy told me when his father is home, his mother sends him to the church to hide. He sleeps under the pews so the clergy won’t find him. The last time his father came home Andy spent nearly a week there. That’s why I gave him the chance to win an extra sandwich last week.”

  “What a dreadful life for a young boy.”

  “I agree.” She tugged on his elbow then, and he realized they needed to keep walking.

  “He seems a bright enough child,” he observed. “It would be a pity if he ended up like his father.”

  “Yes. But I don’t know how much longer his mother will be able to protect him. She’s mentioned going to her parents’ home in Bedford. I hope she follows through.”

  “That would be best. He wouldn’t be able to continue lessons, but at least he would be safer.”

  They reached the townhouse, and the four of them descended the stairs to the servants’ entrance. Nancy placed the basket and food containers in the kitchen for the cook.

  Jeanne placed a hand on Robert’s arm.

  “I’m glad you stepped in and… protected Andy tonight. We were all fortunate your skills prevented him from coming in and causing harm to someone. Thank you.” She turned and left before he could respond.

  Robert and Giles took the hallway to the male servants’ quarters. Robert opened his door, ready to fall into his bed.

  “Mr. Townley.” Giles stopped him.

  “Yes, Newsome?”

  “You — you were astounding tonight. I was ready to come over to help you with that… that man, but you stopped him before I could get there. I never knew you were so handy with your fists.”

  “Ah. It’s not something a gentleman boasts about.”

  “I suppose not. But how did you learn to fight?”

  Robert sighed. “When I was young, a band of ruffians got the best of me. My father took me to Gentleman Jackson’s Saloon and arranged for me to have lessons with one of his apprentices.”

  Giles eyes widened, “Did you fight
against Gentleman John?”

  “No. But I’ve seen him.”

  “Tell me about it,” the young footman begged.

  “Perhaps another time. It’s late, and we must rise early tomorrow.”

  The young man nodded. “Yes, sir. Good night.” But he cast an admiring glance before trudging off to his room.

  Robert shook his head. His boxing lessons had done some good tonight. But Jeanne had looked disturbed on their way back. She’d sounded reluctant to offer her words of thanks. Was she disgusted with him for using his fists instead of his words to fend the man off? Did she consider him uncouth? Uncultured? What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t let that awful man come in and look for Andy. Or worse yet, find him.

  There was no way he could win.

  ~~~~

  Jeanne prepared for bed, thankful she didn’t have to share a room with the lively Nancy. The girl had been so impressed with Robert’s fighting skills, she hadn’t been able to contain herself once the men were out of sight.

  “Oh, Miss Brown, wasn’t Mr. Townley simply amazing? I never knew he was so strong! I’ll wager you always feel safe when you walk with him.”

  Jeanne had simply nodded. She didn’t correct the girl’s notion that she and Robert were courting. She just wanted to get to her room and think.

  It seemed Robert wasn’t as unfeeling and lofty as she’d thought. He was principled enough to stop the man from entering and possibly harming anyone. And he was strong enough to put his principles into action without even working up a sweat.

  As she climbed into her bed, her mind drifted back to bedtimes long ago, when another strong man had been the center of her world. Papa would kiss her good night and Maman would sing her to sleep. Instead of the sounds and smells of the city, the comforting lullaby of the farm creatures and the smell of Maman’s cooking told her she was safe and cared for. Maman, Papa, Jeanne, and baby Pierre. She’d never appreciated her life then, but looking back, she knew it was the last time she’d been truly happy. Even though grandpère could be unpleasant, most of the time it was just the four of them, and that was all right.

  Even after they’d moved to England, life had been good. They were together. Their home was smaller, but Papa seemed happier because he found work in the village. Maman was frustrated having to speak English all the time, but she’d done it for the man she loved. Jeanne and Pierre had learned to read and write in English, first from their father, and for a short time, from the vicar. Since Maman never stopped hoping that they could return to France, she spoke to them in French and made sure they read whatever French language literature she could find.

  But then Papa had died in the farm accident and the nightmare began. Maman hadn’t been able to reach her father for help. She didn’t know where to turn, and she stopped eating, stopped caring, and Jeanne had to be both mother and father to Pierre. As soon as she was old enough, Jeanne had gone to the village and found work with the Earl of Sudbury’s household. She’d regularly sent money to her mother, but never heard anything in return.

  When she’d finally had the chance to go back to the farm, she hadn’t been prepared for the horror of seeing the house burned to the ground. She learned from neighbors that her mother had died in the blaze, but no one knew what had happened to her brother.

  Poor little Pierre! Well, he wouldn’t be little any more. He’d been not quite five years old when the family moved to England, not long after the storming of the Bastille. He would now be nearly twenty-eight — if he was still alive.

  She rolled to her side and forced herself to think of other things. Dwelling on dark themes and wishing for a return of good times did no good. At well past thirty years of age, she was no wide-eyed miss. Her memories of happy times long past were all she would ever have.

  Chapter Eight

  The week before the Christmas party, the children’s excitement began to rise, and it was difficult to get any work done. Jeanne finally resorted to taking the young ones to some of the ancient plaques hanging near the chapel and having the children point out letters and then tracing them with their fingers. She heard the older children reciting their letter combinations: A, B, abb, A, C, ack, A, D, add… but this time they sang them to a silly tune. Had Robert arrived at that idea himself?

  After instruction, the entire group gathered for their treat: plum pudding, Cook’s specialty. She noticed Robert watching each child closely and nodding in satisfaction as the rules of etiquette they’d taught in previous sessions were followed.

  The children were dismissed and left with their parents, leaving Jeanne, Robert, Giles, and Nancy to pack things up. Jeanne had picked up the last napkin when she felt a tug on her skirt.

  “Please, Miss Brown. Could I take some of the leftover food for me mum? She hasn’t had anything to eat for days.”

  “Of course, Andy. Let me wrap some for you. Is — is your father still at your home?”

  The boy’s face darkened. “He’s there, but he — he doesn’t talk to us. Unless he’s yelling. And if he’s yelling, we get out of the way.”

  “Andy?” A soft voice called from the entrance to the cathedral. Jeanne barely heard it, but the little boy raced toward the cathedral entrance.

  “Mummy!” he called.

  Jeanne followed, wanting to see the mother who had to send her son away to hide from his own father. Perhaps she could use some help getting away herself.

  “Mummy, no! Mummy, wake up!”

  Jeanne raced to where the boy lay, sprawled over a tiny woman. His sobs echoed through the sanctuary. Reaching them, Jeanne noticed the woman had bruises covering her face and arms. She was small — not much larger than her son, and her emaciated condition indicated her son had told the truth about her not having eaten.

  She knelt over the woman and found she still breathed, though it was shallow. She felt Robert behind her and tried to ignore the sense of comfort she derived from his presence. “Nancy,” she called. “Please bring some water for this lady. And perhaps some food.”

  The two servants arrived quickly. Robert lifted the woman’s shoulders, and Nancy helped her drink.

  “Who did this to you?” Nancy asked, indicating the bruises.

  The woman’s lips moved, but no sound came.

  “It was my papa,” the boy spat. He paced as he spoke, his disgust for his father evident with every word. “’E came home again yesterday, yelling and hitting, and Mum sent me here. ’E’s always hitting, ‘cause ’e’s mad at people fer not lettin’ him work. I want to get strong so’s I can beat ’im the way ’e beats us.”

  “No, Andy.” The woman’s voice cracked, and her face etched in pain, but her purpose was clear. “I don’t want you to be like him. I want you to be better than that.” She looked up at the people surrounding her. “Please. Could you help me get home? I just need to rest, and then Andy and me, we’re going to go. We can stay with my parents in Bedford. I hope Archie won’t look for us there. The fresh air will be good for me boy. And maybe I can get work in the village. We’ll be happy there.”

  ~~~~

  Robert helped the woman up, but it was evident she didn’t have the strength to walk. He bent and scooped her into his arms then asked Andy to show the way to his home. Jeanne and the servants followed.

  Andy led the way through the dark streets, pointing out the rough spots in the road so that Robert wouldn’t trip. Jeanne and the others followed. Lecherous greetings followed them from both sides of the street, and they all stepped carefully to avoid the garbage strewn haphazardly in the road. Robert took shallow breaths through his mouth

  The boy finally stopped in front of a doorway. “Can you help me bring Mum inside, please?”

  Robert nodded and followed Andy into a dark room. He paused to allow Giles to come in with the lantern. The light made Robert wish he couldn’t see the squalor in which Andy and his mother lived. The one-room dwelling held no furniture, no windows, and absolutely no adornment. Even the tiniest of the servant’s quarters held
more appeal than that. On the floor in the far corner, a thin pallet covered with a single blanket served as the bed.

  “Put her down here.” Andy gestured to the pallet. “Could I give her some of your good soup, please?”

  “Give him everything we have left,” instructed Robert as he lay the woman on the pallet. Giles and Nancy nodded and set the remaining food down.

  Robert leaned down and placed a hand on Andy’s shoulder. “It isn’t safe for you and your mother to stay here. Your father could come back any time, and even if he doesn’t, this place isn’t enough to shelter you from the coming winter. I need to return to the duke’s home tonight, but I will be back with more food for the two of you and some other help. Your mother needs a doctor, and you need warmer clothes. And you must leave this place.”

  “But where would we go?”

  “Your mother mentioned her parents—”

  “Mummy must be confused. She gets that way sometimes after papa hits her. Her mum died last year, and her papa died before I was born. I remember she cried when she found out about her mum.”

  Robert’s heart clenched. The boy and his mother have no one else. He sighed. “We’ll have to arrange something. I don’t know what, but we need to get you out of here. I’ll be back, soon. I promise.”

  The boy nodded, hope shining from his eyes. “I’ll wait for you, Mr. Townley.”

  Chapter Nine

  Robert went through the motions of his duties the next morning, but his mind was elsewhere. It was back at the hovel with that poor little boy.

  How could a man beat his own wife and child? What would possess him to use so much force on those he supposedly loved? And why would he take his own failures out on them? Andy’s bruises were purple and covered most of his body. And the boy’s mother — a chill ran through Robert’s body as he recalled the broken heap of bones on the floor of the pile of wood they called home.

 

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