Sweet Asylum

by Tracy L. Ward

  “But I don’t need it.”

  “That may be, but your current state of apathy will be short-lived and then where will you be?” Jonas shifted in his seat and stole another glance at Margaret, who was unusually quiet. “I understand your apprehension,” Jonas said, as Ainsley cocked an eyebrow at the word, “but you’ll soon need to address this.” Jonas reached into an inner pocket and pulled a folded newspaper from his jacket. He handed it to Ainsley, ensuring he saw one article in particular.

  Amongst the numerous articles interviewing neighbours and acquaintances of the recently dispatched child killer, one inset titled “NOBLE DISGUISES AS DOCTOR” had been circled, most likely by Jonas’s pen. Ainsley pulled the paper closer as if disbelieving what was in ink.

  “What is it?” Margaret asked, inching closer to the edge of her seat.

  Putting his brandy glass down on the table beside him, Ainsley began to read. “During the course of this tragedy, it has come to the attention of this journalist that a certain gentleman from a prominent noble house has been leading a double life, masquerading as a surgeon for a particular London hospital.”

  Ainsley set the newspaper down and leaned back in his seat.

  Margaret lurched forward and plucked the paper from him. “Whether he is appropriately trained in the art of medicine, this journalist has yet to find out. More information to follow as it becomes available.”

  “I am ruined,” Ainsley whispered. “Father will have me killed.”

  “He doesn’t mention you by name,” Margaret pointed out. She looked to Jonas, who nodded.

  “No one has any clue,” Jonas added, “at least not that I can tell.”

  “I should have been more careful,” Ainsley said, downing the last of his brandy quickly. Suddenly he turned his attention to Jonas. “Why do you bring this to me? Nothing can be done for it now. I cannot return even if I wanted to.” Ainsley stood and began pacing the room, running his hands through his hair. He resisted the urge for another drink.

  “If you remain here talk will start, and eventually people will begin to put two and two together,” Jonas explained.

  Margaret nodded.

  “I told administrators your uncle passed away and you have been charged with settling his affairs,” Jonas said. “That will buy you some time, a week or two perhaps, but avoid the city for any more than that and you will be sniffed out.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ainsley said. “I am finished. Father will disinherit me. I made him a promise.”

  “This”—Margaret glanced to the newspaper—“Theodore Fenton doesn’t mention you by name.”

  “Peter, he was there that night,” Jonas said. “He knows what you and I know.”

  A look of questioning came over Margaret’s face.

  “If he wanted to reveal everything he could,” Jonas continued, “but he didn’t.”

  “What does he know?” Margaret asked. “Peter?”

  “Too much,” Ainsley said with a distant voice. “Far, far too much.”

  Chapter 6

  Its joy is trouble to my ear,

  Margaret peered over her hand of cards to Ivy, who sat across from her. The girl giggled, though Margaret couldn’t see beyond the backs of the cards. Ivy’s eyebrows alighted and Margaret could tell she was smiling. Margaret placed down the queen of diamonds and Ivy trumped it with a king of diamonds. Ivy giggled again. “I won the trick,” she said, sweeping the pair of cards away.

  Margaret nodded. She was winning, though barely. Ivy was a quick study at Piquet and if Margaret wasn’t careful she’d owe Ivy more chocolate and peppermint pieces than could be possessed.

  Ivy placed her last card and laughed, knowing Margaret couldn’t trump her king. Without waiting, she snatched the tiny bowl of candies that sat between them. Daintily she plucked out a square of chocolate and ate it, closing her eyes as if the sweet was the most delectable morsel she’d ever had. “Would you like one?” Ivy asked, opening her eyes suddenly, remembering her manners. “I’m fairly certain you let me win.”

  Margaret chose a peppermint and popped it in her mouth. “No,” Margaret corrected her, “you won all on your own.”

  Ivy beamed. “Where did you learn Piquet?” she asked.

  “My brother taught me,” Margaret said, gathering the cards from the table between them. “Apparently more than a few men have lost their shirts playing at the clubs. They tend to play for higher stakes than chocolate.”

  “Is Mr. Marshall a gambler?”

  Margaret nodded dismissively. “Most men are, to a certain degree.”

  “Yes,” Ivy answered thoughtfully. Then, after a longer pause, she spoke again. “He is a good man,” Ivy declared, slipping a peppermint into her mouth.

  Margaret paused momentarily. Ivy wasn’t the first person to say so. Even as a child, Margaret noticed her brother was guided by a strong sense of chivalry. His decision to go into medicine was completely in line with the type of man he desperately wanted to be. It wasn’t enough for him to throw money at a cause as their father did. Peter wanted to be more involved than that, to affect change through his own deeds, not just his family’s money and title. However, since their mother’s death the previous Christmas, Margaret had seen a marked change in him that she couldn’t quite put her finger on. He was angry and resentful, almost bitter, and it pained her greatly, especially since he hadn’t always been this way. Once obliging and empathic, he grew to be cynical and sour.

  “He was once,” Margaret said, unable to keep herself from uttering the truth. “He could be again, should he wish.”

  “I am grateful to him, nonetheless,” Ivy said lightheartedly. She smiled and peered into the bowl of sweets.

  Margaret watched the girl pick her way through the chocolate. Ivy was nymphlike, unbelievably slender and pale, almost sickly, when Margaret thought about it. “There must be someone who is worried about you,” she said.

  Ivy shook her head.

  “Your mother at least.”

  “My mother passed when I was a young child.”

  The words were spoken with indifference. Ivy was neither ashamed nor saddened and was merely repeating the fact, no doubt the same way it had been expressed to her since she was little.

  Margaret hesitated. “Your father then?” she asked.

  Ivy remained still, acting as if she hadn’t heard Margaret.

  “Your grandmother? Or aunt? Someone must be at their wits’ end looking for you.”

  Ivy swallowed and gently placed the bowl back on the table that sat between them. “I am a burden,” Ivy said, “more so now, and I wish to unburden them.”

  “Please don’t talk so—”

  “It is true!” Ivy’s eyes glared at Margaret, the easiness in her features gone. “I wish to be rid of this place and any memory of it.” Ivy softened suddenly. “If you would just let me go I promise I’ll never bother you again.”

  “You are not a prisoner here,” she said. “Our only wish is to keep you safe.”

  “Then you must let me leave.”

  “Where will you go?”

  Ivy opened her mouth to speak but stopped short.

  “I cannot help you unless you are honest with me,” Margaret said in a final plea.

  “You’d be less likely to help if you knew, Miss Margaret,” Ivy said.

  What could this slight, unassuming girl have done? Margaret studied her as she tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear while her cheek puffed out slightly from the peppermint. She looked both old and young at the same time, wise yet naïve as well. It was so confusing to Margaret, who couldn’t decipher any of the clues normally offered to her when she met someone new. The girl was obviously terrified at the prospect of returning to her home, wherever that may be.

  “I’m going to speak with my brother,” Margaret said at last. “I’m sure we can help, if you let us.”

  Ivy gave no answer. She merely pressed her lips together and looked to the lace pattern of the table cloth. Margaret stood s
lowly and stepped toward the door.

  “I’m not going to lock the door,” she said, turning to look at Ivy before she left the room. “You may leave if you like,” Margaret said, paying close attention so her voice did not quiver. “But I hope that you will choose to stay.”

  Ivy gave nothing away. Even a slight nod of acknowledgement would have been better than the blank stare that she gave Margaret. As Margaret left she pulled the door closed but left the key alone and said a silent prayer for the shattered girl that so desperately needed them.

  Margaret found Ainsley in his room, seated near the window. An open book was laid out on his leg but he wasn’t reading it. He propped up his chin on the heel of his palm as he stared out the window, which had a good view of the family’s stables and the pastures beyond. He didn’t move until Margaret was halfway across the room and then he only shifted his gaze to the floor. He placed a hand on his book but didn’t pick it up. When Margaret got close enough she could see their coachman, Walter, guiding the horses through the meadow to the farthest paddock.

  “Peter, I’ve come about Ivy. We need to help her,” Margaret said. She placed herself in front of him and sat down on the windowsill. “She is terrified.”

  “She should be,” Ainsley said, finally looking at her. “We could have both been terribly injured. I have no sympathy or patience for that girl.”

  Margaret nodded but it didn’t temper her resolve. “Wherever she came from, she is desperate not to return there.”

  Ainsley returned his gaze to the window. “I haven’t the inclination to help,” he said. “You know what happens when we get involved.”

  Unconsciously, Margaret’s hand went to the scarf at her neck. Ainsley saw it and turned his head.

  “I can’t let that happen again,” he said.

  “I can handle myself,” Margaret said, forcibly pulling her hand away.

  “Margaret, she’s a very troubled girl. I don’t know what she’s told you but I have to wonder if it’s true.”

  “There is no reason for her to invent falsehoods.” Margaret could feel herself becoming agitated. It was becoming very difficult to get her brother to see reason.

  “Isn’t there? We know nothing about this girl. She could have committed a crime and has escaped custody. She may have escaped from the workhouse. You don’t know the risk we take keeping her here.”

  “What do you suggest we do?” Margaret asked harshly.

  “That’s why I came up here, to think about it.” Ainsley folded his book and placed it on the table next to his chair. “I’m going to have to send for a constable.”

  “When?”

  “This evening.”

  “Peter, you mustn’t!”

  “I haven’t a choice! We cannot keep her here like some sort of pet. Whoever she belongs to, she must be returned to them.”

  Margaret stood, feeling the vibrations of her anger cascade down her legs to plant her firmly on the floor. “She doesn’t belong to anyone. She is practically a grown woman. She should have some say in the matter.”

  “I wish I could help, Margaret, but I can’t.”

  “Why not?” Margaret inched closer to him, which only seemed to aggravate him more.

  Ainsley stood, returning her challenge. “Because I can’t!”

  A tiny knock on the door ended their standoff.

  “A gentleman is here asking for His Lordship,” Julia said when they turned to the knock. “I’ve told him that Lord Marshall is away at present but he insists on speaking with someone. Should I tell him to leave a card?”

  Ainsley ran a hand through his hair and took a deep breath. “No, I will meet with him. Show him to the library. I will be down shortly.” Julia nodded and left.

  Ainsley gave a glance back to Margaret. “You are becoming quite the handful, Margaret,” he said, before leaving. Margaret suppressed a growl and followed him out the door. If Ainsley knew that she followed, he made no indication and did nothing to stop her. Jonas was exiting his room at the other end of the hall.

  “What’s going on?” he asked quietly as he and Margaret met in the hall.

  “I don’t know,” Margaret answered honestly.

  When Margaret and Jonas rounded the library door, she saw a man, not much older than Ainsley. He stood next to the desk where Ainsley had laid out his entomology supplies. A newspaper was grasped in the man’s hand but upon seeing them he quickly returned it to the desktop.

  “I’m Mr. Marshall, Lord Marshall’s son. Can I help you?” Ainsley asked cautiously. It was clear her brother didn’t recognize the man either.

  “Good day,” the man said, squaring his shoulders as he spoke. He coughed slightly before continuing. “My name is Garret Owen. I believe you’ve found my sister, Ivy.”

  Chapter 7

  Its ways I cannot bear to see,

  “I hope she hasn’t been too much trouble,” Garret said from his place on the sofa.

  Ainsley saw Margaret glance in his direction but he chose not to divulge anything. The four of them—Garret, Ainsley, Margaret, and Jonas—fell into an awkward silence as Julia brought in the tray for tea. Margaret stepped forward and gave Julia a nod.

  “How long has your sister been missing, Mr. Owen?” she asked as she poured.

  “Three days, miss, er, ma’am—I mean, Lady Marshall.” He stammered and then exhaled as if to calm his nerves.

  “Miss Marshall is sufficient,” Margaret said as she presented him with a cup of tea.

  Ainsley leaned into the arm of his chair and looked over Garret. A slender man, Garret looked to be in his early twenties and well situated, though Ainsley could not guess his profession. His suit, well fitted, was of good quality if a bit dated, Ainsley noted, and his shoes gave off a gleam indicative of regular care.

  “How did you know Ivy was here?” Ainsley asked.

  Garret swallowed. “My man, Truman, heard your maid speaking with the grocer’s wife,” he explained. “He waited to speak with her in the street, where they could speak without an audience, but he says he could not find her.”

  “You had alerted no one that she had disappeared,” Margaret said. “I imagine much turmoil could have been avoided.”

  Garret nodded and switched his gaze between Ainsley and Margaret. “Yes ma’am.” He hesitated slightly. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, a gesture of defeat, Ainsley thought. “My father is a very proud man. And given Ivy’s history in the village, he would not allow me to raise alarm.” Garret spoke slowly enough to pronounce each syllable, allowing the words to flow deliberately. “Ivy is…a special soul. She—” Garret looked up when Jonas shifted his weight in his chair. Suddenly, the man looked nervous and realized the peculiar looks he was generating from his audience. He laughed. “She is unlike any other.”

  Ainsley huffed. “I’ll drink to that.” He could feel Margaret’s daring gaze as he took a sip of tea. “We found your sister in our back woodlot,” Ainsley explained.

  “I will pay for any damages—” Garret shuffled forward in his seat, a reassuring hand pressing the air in front of him.

  Margaret was quick to shake her head. “There have been no damages.”

  Ainsley pressed his lips together and chose to avoid an awkward exchange. The woman needed to go. The sooner the better.

  “She was hypothermic,” Jonas interjected. “Were it not for these kind people she would have died from exposure.”

  “Yes, we are deeply indebted,” Garret answered slowly.

  Ainsley shook his head and slipped to the edge of his seat. “Certainly not,” he said. “We only care that she is safe.” He stood then, ready to hand her off and restore peace.

  Garret stood as well, a small smile spreading on his lips. Margaret stepped forward to receive his empty teacup. Garret looked beyond her to Jonas, who was the only one who remained seated. “You are the doctor then who treated her?”

  Jonas looked to both Ainsley and Margaret before replying. “Yes,” he lied.

  Garret
smiled a bit wider and reached out a hand to Ainsley. “I only ask because I saw this article here and thought…well, maybe…” His smile widened as he looked over the three of them. “Never mind. Thank you so much for your hospitality, sir. May I see my sister now?”

  “Of course,” Ainsley said. “Margaret?”

  Margaret paused. “You must stay and have dinner with us,” she said suddenly. “It would be a shame for you to come so far for such a short visit.”

  “’Tis not far, Lady Margaret,” he said. “We are only a mile or two down the road.”

  “Are you now?” Margaret kept a steady smile. “You shall stay nonetheless. We insist.”

  Ainsley’s mind raced at the prospect of dining with the girl and her brother. He already had an estranged aunt and a nearly grown nephew to endure.

  “Don’t you think that’s a good idea, Peter?” Margaret asked expectantly.

  Ainsley smiled. “A splendid idea.”

  “This is quite the spread you have here,” Garret said, over his plate of Cornish hen and cranberry salad. “I hope you haven’t gone to any great trouble on our account.”

  Ivy sat next to her brother but she barely touched any of her food. To Ainsley, she appeared rigid and ill at ease. She jumped slightly at any sudden noise or movement and endured numerous sideways glances from her brother.

  “No trouble at all,” Aunt Louisa said reassuringly.

  “Tell me, Mr. Owen, where do you and Ivy live exactly?” Margaret asked, looking down the table at him. “Owens is not a familiar name for me and we’ve owned The Briar for a number of years.”

  “We live at Summer Hill Farm, ma’am,” Garret said. “My father, brother, Samuel, and I breed and train racing horses.”

  “How interesting,” Aunt Louisa said. “You must be busy then.”

  “Yes ma’am,” Garret said. “We supply thoroughbreds to a number of local families, and some others as far as Brighton. We also lease horses for fox hunting and other diversions”—Garret glanced around the table—“should any of you have need of some.”