Gilding the Lady

by Nicole Byrd

  She pried and pushed with no result, then lost her temper and struck the ancient piece of wood with her fist. It came to pieces beneath her blow. Wincing—she had collected more splinters, but there was no time to worry about small pains—she pulled apart the remnants.

  “Get through it if you can,” Dominic urged from below.

  She looked down at him. “I will not leave you!”

  “You can bring back help, beloved, but go, if you can squeeze through. Use the rope to slide down.”

  But although she shoved the last pieces of broken shutter aside, she saw very soon that escape was impossible. The opening was too narrow.

  Now she could see the black sky outside, and oh, God, was that a flash of light? Yes, and she heard a bang. The fireworks had begun! How long till their own lethal fuse was lit by other explosions, and the building came down on top of them?

  She tried to push her head through the window’s space, but it was so small she could barely get her face into the opening, and her shoulders would never fit.

  “Quick,” she called down. “Throw me my shift.”

  The lantern would be better, but she did not trust herself to catch it if he tossed it, and, anyhow, the motion might put out the flame.

  He tried to throw the thin garment, but it was so light of weight, it was hard to get it high enough for her to catch. After several futile pitches, he wrapped it around one of her slippers and tossed both.

  Swaying on her perch, she grabbed the bundle. She unwrapped the shift and pushed the fabric through the square to wave like a flag.

  “Help!” she shrieked, and Dominic added his yells to her own. She fluttered her undergarment out the opening, and they made as much racket as they could.

  And every second she expected to feel the building tremble and the final explosion come. But still, they shouted.

  Until she heard a sound outside and motioned to Dominic to leave off. “Wait.” Then she put her mouth to the window. “Is someone there?”

  “What’s wrong?” a male voice called. “Who’s there? Did you get locked in?”

  “Yes, we need help,” she shouted toward the outside.

  Below her, Dominic turned toward the door. “ ’Ware the gunpowder! There is gunpowder outside the door. Look for a fuse and pull it loose, then move the boxes very carefully!”

  She repeated the warning, and after a few breathless minutes that seemed to stretch for years, she heard a reply. “Yes, I see it. Get away from the door. I will take the fuse off, and then get help.”

  “Oh, thank God, it worked.” She felt suddenly so weak she feared she would fall from her narrow perch.

  “Here, love,” Dominic called. “Come down, and bring your shift with you.”

  “What?” With a start, she realized she was still quite naked. Dominic, her lover, her husband-to-be, grinned up at her.

  “You might want to face the world with something on,” he suggested.

  “Oh, bloody hell,” she muttered. She pulled her now somewhat tattered shift back inside and started to lower herself from the rafter, only to fall—her exhausted limbs and shoulders seemed to have no strength left—into Dominic’s strong arms. He lowered her to her feet.

  She leaned against him, and he kissed her forehead, sweaty now and with her hair pasted to it. What she looked like, she hated to guess.

  “Well done! You are a marvel, my dearest. If we had had you in France, Napoleon would have been defeated in half the time.”

  She smiled weakly at his jest, then he helped her pull the shift over her head, and he wrapped his coat—also much the worse for wear—around her shoulders.

  Presently, they heard voices outside the door, and the sounds of boxes being moved. There had been no more explosions, she noted. Clarissa had been listening anxiously, still not totally reassured about their situation.

  She had thought she had resigned herself to dying together, but, strangely, the hope of rescue had brought back all her fears. Now she shivered inside Dominic’s arm until she heard the bolt slide back and saw, at long last, the door open.

  The face she saw at the door was a surprise.

  “Lord Gabriel!”

  “At your service,” he agreed. “Miss Fallon?”

  He looked from her to Dominic. Clarissa blushed and pushed a strand of hair out of her face. Her hand was bleeding, she noticed. It stung, too, but she had not yet had time to think about such minor details.

  “It’s a long story, and not what you think,” the earl said, his tone steady.

  Clarissa added, “We tore up my dress to make a rope so that I could climb to the window to get help. The man who locked us in and put the gunpowder at the door of the shed is a murderer!”

  “And came close to being successful at his killing once again, it appears from the boxes at the door,” Lord Gabriel agreed. “I have just now arrived home. My horse went lame, and I had to walk to the nearest village, then hire a total plodder who could amble along barely faster than I. As a result, I am much delayed, and I offer my apologies for missing your ball. Believe me, I have cursed every lost hour. Still, if I had not been on my way to the house from the stable just now, I would never have heard your calls. Everyone else is in front of the house waiting to see the fireworks go up.”

  Clarissa shivered, not sure if she would ever again find any enthusiasm for such a spectacle.

  “We need to get Miss Fallon inside and away from censorious eyes,” Dominic suggested.

  Lord Gabriel nodded. “I summoned two of my menservants to help, but my staff is discreet and well-trained. Ah, allow me to offer my coat, Miss Fallon. The one you are wearing has a slit in an unfortunate location.”

  Surprised, Clarissa glanced down at her breasts and found he was quite right. Blushing again, she accepted the new donation and wrapped it around her shoulders in place of Dominic’s ripped and torn jacket.

  At some point while she’d clambered on the beam above his head, Dominic had put on his shirt and pantaloons and was not quite as disreputable-looking as she. He put one arm around her now and with Lord Gabriel in front of them, they went as quickly as possible back to the house, in through a side door and then up the steps to Clarissa’s guestroom.

  To her great relief, even the visiting servants all seemed to be gathered outside waiting for the fireworks, and they met no one on the staircase or in the halls. And truly, she needed Dominic’s support. Now that the urgency of their peril had passed, her body had rebelled, and she felt so weak and trembly that she could barely stand.

  “I will find your sister-in-law and your maid,” Dominic told her. “You must have your hands dressed, and those splinters removed.”

  She nodded, too tired to argue though she winced at the thought. Suddenly, every part of her body seemed to hurt.

  “You were very brave, my love,” Dominic told her, bending to kiss her forehead gently. “You saved us, you know.”

  “I couldn’t have done it without you,” she protested, but she smiled at him, and her aches seemed to ease just a little. “Are we still betrothed? Since we are going to see the sun rise, after all?”

  “You must be jesting.” For moment, she heard the old arrogant aristocrat in his tone, and she narrowed her eyes at him, then blinked as he lifted one grimy, bloody hand so he could gently kiss her battered fingers. “Do you think I would risk losing the most incredible woman I have ever had the good fortune to find? We will marry as soon as is decent, and I shall never let you out of my sight again, or God knows what adventures you will lead us into.”

  “Good,” she said simply. Then he lay her back against her bed and went to find assistance.

  Lord Gabriel must have already alerted Gemma because her sister-in-law appeared very shortly afterward in the doorway.

  “Clarissa, thank goodness you are safe! I was out of my mind with worry. Oh, my dear, you are covered in blood!”

  “Some of it is only dirt,” Clarissa argued. “I’m all right, for the main.”

  “Oh,
and you’ll never suspect whom your brother has just caught lurking in the underbrush. Of all the strange things, how he should turn up here—” Gemma began.

  Clarissa was so shocked that she found she could sit, after all, although she grimaced at the pain in her shoulders as she pushed herself up. “He found our villain?”

  “Yes, Monsieur Meidenne. Why, oh, heavens, is he the one, tell me, Clarissa, what happened?”

  “He lured me outside with a fake message and locked us in the shed,” Clarissa said. “But tell me about Matthew.”

  “One of the dogs kept barking into the brush, and Matthew followed and found the man hiding there. He seemed to be waiting for something, but why—”

  Clarissa shivered. “He wanted to be sure,” she muttered. “He wanted to see us die in the explosion!”

  Matty arrived now, and she exclaimed in alarm when she saw her mistress’s condition.

  Gemma pulled herself together. “Bring warm water and bandages, and ask Lady Gabriel to bring up the powder she was using to dress Matthew’s wound,” she told the maid. The serving girl departed again, but Clarissa put out one hand.

  “Is Matthew all right?”

  “He has injured his shoulder again in the scuffle with the tutor, but he’s so pleased to have caught the villain—and will be even happier he did so when he finds out what that ruffian did to you tonight!—that I couldn’t reproach him,” Gemma explained. “Psyche was helping me see to him when Gabriel found us and explained that you needed me. Oh, Clarissa, thank God you are all of you safe.”

  “Thank heaven, indeed,” Clarissa echoed, but she winced when her sister-in-law hugged her. “Oh, ouch, sorry. I ache everywhere.”

  Matty brought up warm water. Between them, they bathed her and doctored her wounds. The splinters in her hands were removed, though painfully, and all her scrapes and cuts dressed and bandaged before she was put into a clean nightgown. If Gemma had any thoughts about what else might have happened inside the stone shed, Clarissa was thankful that she didn’t voice them. And Matthew was not allowed to see her until she was once more tucked into bed, exhausted but clean, and as limp as a wilted celery.

  “My dear girl,” he said, looking alarmed at the bruises that were beginning to show on her face and at her bandaged hands. “I shall wring the man’s neck myself for this, even before he goes before the magistrate!”

  She shook her head.

  “To be honest, I think I did most of this to myself,” she explained. “Trying to climb up to the window and find a way out of that building before the gunpowder blew up.”

  Matthew gritted his teeth. “It was still his fault, the villain, since he put you there!”

  “That’s true. And I am so glad you caught him, Matthew,” Clarissa assured him. “I shall heal, and now I can sleep easily again, knowing that he is no longer at liberty, free to hurt someone else or to threaten us again.”

  Smiling, her brother nodded, even though his eyes were grim. “If I have anything to say about it, the man will hang.”

  She shivered, and her brother leaned closer to kiss her forehead. “Try to rest, my dear. I will see you in the morning.”

  She was too tired to argue, but as he turned away, she opened her eyes and added, “Matthew, I believe that Dom—that Lord Whitby might wish to speak to you tomorrow.”

  “I rather thought he might,” her brother answered calmly. “Sleep well, Clarissa.”

  Perhaps, she thought, the nightmares would stop, at last, and she truly would sleep well. Although, perhaps there was one more thing she needed to do. . . .

  She shut her eyes and allowed her slumber to claim her.

  Epilogue

  They rode up to the building in Lord Whitby’s elegant chaise, and Clarissa found that, even with Dominic sitting close beside her, she had her still lightly bandaged hands clasped tightly together in her lap.

  “There’s no need to rush,” he told her. “You don’t have to do this today, my love.”

  “Yes, I do,” Clarissa contradicted, even though she smiled up at him, loving the concern she saw in his dark eyes. “It’s time, past time. You said I had to face my fears.”

  The carriage rolled to a stop, and she heard the horses stamp their feet and their harness jingle.

  Now the groom was at the door to help her out, and Dominic seemed to sense that she wished to step out first and be alone for just a moment.

  Bracing herself, she stared up at the large building in front of her. It was the same—and yet not at all what she remembered.

  Oh, it was still large and somewhat stark in its design, but where there had once been hard-packed dirt in front, now flowers bloomed. Rosebushes grew, adorned with pink and white blossoms, and ornamental grasses lined the walkway.

  The building’s glass windowpanes shone with polishing—when had she ever seen the windows clean? Amazed, Clarissa took a step forward, then another.

  The front door had been painted, and a new brass knocker installed. She walked slowly closer, then paused at the door itself, and found that Dominic had come up quietly behind her. He waited for her to make the last commitment.

  Her hand felt heavy, but she lifted the knocker and rapped at the door.

  Almost at once, it seemed, the door opened.

  A young woman in a neat uniform smiled at them. “Good morning, miss. Are you Miss Fallon? Lady Gabriel said you would be coming to visit.”

  Feeling a little numb, Clarissa acknowledged the query and greeted the girl. Her voice sounded faraway to her own ears and a little shrill. Still, she tried to smile normally and managed to introduce Lord Whitby, then she took a few steps into the hall.

  The old stench of rancid pork and boiled cabbage was missing. She smelled beeswax and soap, and the walls were clean, and the floors shining. It seemed quite a different place from the dark and gloomy interior of her memories.

  “Shall I show you anything in particular, Miss Fallon?” the girl asked.

  Clarissa shook her head.

  “Perhaps we might just look about us for a while,” Dominic suggested.

  The girl dipped them a curtsy. “Of course, my lord, miss.”

  Clarissa turned toward the stairs, and she knew that Dominic followed. But she was lost in her own memories. The third stair from the bottom—here was where she had stumbled and twisted her ankle most painfully while fleeing the wrath of the matron. Of course, the woman always caught her, but she’d run away, anyhow.

  She didn’t realize she had spoken aloud until Dominic gripped her shoulders. “That must have been very hurtful, my love.”

  “Yes,” she said, looking down at the now clean steps, remembering the small girl who had sobbed and sworn and cowered from the matron’s blows, but who was always defiant inside, and often muttered words that elicited further beating. Clarissa felt her eyes dampen, in sympathy with that child who had hurt so often, been abused and alone.

  But she was no longer a child, no longer weak and defenseless. The matron she remembered was dead. And she would not be alone, ever again.

  Dominic offered her his arm, and this time, she leaned on it, taking comfort from his nearness. Together, they climbed the rest of the flight.

  She found the attic room where she had once slept and was amazed to find that the room had been whitewashed, the beds were clean and made up with thick blankets, and the air smelled pleasant with the scent of lavender.

  She paused long enough to touch one of the beds and caress the thick wool blanket, comforted to know that children were no longer shivering here in cold darkness.

  Dominic watched her but held his tongue.

  The next room was obviously a schoolroom. She didn’t wish to go in and interrupt the lesson so she paused to the side of the doorway and glanced in. Sitting before long tables, the benches were full of small children, girls who bent over their slates and books as a hum of youthful industry hung over the room. The girls she could see were dressed neatly, their faces scrubbed and their hair brushed, and they
looked well fed and quite unafraid.

  She stepped back out of sight, and again, she rubbed her cheeks, feeling the dampness as tears escaped her control.

  “My darling, this is too hard,” Dominic whispered.

  She shook her head. “No,” she said. “They are happy tears—for happy children, don’t you see?”

  “I see,” he agreed.

  “Lady Gabriel and Gemma and the other ladies on the board, and the new matron and teachers, have done so much, it is so changed, so much better. I would not have known this place,” she told him. “Oh, I am so glad. I will come back and help, too, truly I will.”

  “I know.” He held her close in the quiet of the empty hall. She clung to him for a few moments, then took the handkerchief he offered and wiped her cheeks.

  “And the nightmares will not return,” she predicted. “I will make new memories to replace them.”

  He smiled at her. “Courageous to the core,” he said, his tone caressing. She gave him her widest smile.

  They descended the staircase, and this time she saw no lingering ghosts.

  On the ground floor, Clarissa paused long enough to say good-bye to the young assistant who had greeted them and to promise to return soon.

  Then they walked outdoors, away from the tall front of the foundling home, and Dominic helped her back inside the chaise. The coachman flicked his whip, and the team pulled the carriage forward.

  “I believe you have a fitting this afternoon for your wedding dress,” he reminded her.

  “Oh, bloody hell, yes,” she said, holding his hand again as she leaned to take one last look as the big building fell behind them. “I thought a coming-out ball was difficult to plan, but a wedding is even worse.”

  He laughed, and she laughed with him, and, turning in the seat to face London and her future, lifted her lips for his kiss.

  Note to Readers

  Obviously, this book continues the story line begun in Vision in Blue, when Matthew Fallon searched for his lost sister, and we first visited the foundling home. Readers may like to know that this small and ill-supervised institution is not the same orphanage as the much larger London Foundling Home, which dates back to the eighteenth century.