by Julia Donner
“I wonder, Showers, has Mrs. Treadwell’s maid mentioned anything downstairs?”
Showers hung ironed, unused neckwear on a dowel. His back was turned as he slotted the dowel’s ends on a special holder in the wardrobe. He answered as he closed the doors. “She has not had much of an appetite of late. Quite unusual, according to Miss Enid.”
Gordon frowned at the glass as he fixed a pin to hold the folds in place. “Will dinner be on time?”
“Mrs. Treadwell pushed back the time for an hour, not knowing when you would return. Or if you planned to return before evening.”
“Your scold is duly noted and accepted, Showers. Where is she?”
“Drawing-room, sir. Has been for the last two hours.”
“Enough, Showers. Your subtle disgust is not so subtle. I will make my amends immediately.”
He thought he heard Showers wish him good luck under his breath as Gordon exited the dressing room. He quickly checked Adele’s rooms before heading downstairs. There was something different, an odd air to her rooms, unsettling. He shook off the premonition and hurried away to find her, consumed by an urgent need to be near her, to know that she was well and safe. He couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was wrong.
He found her sitting near the window, a book turned toward the twilight coming though the glowing panes. Golden lights sparkled in her curls at odds with the sadness dragging down the corners of her mouth. Reading something sad, no doubt, so he’d have to cheer her up during dinner.
When he leaned down to kiss her cheek, she suddenly wasn’t there, had moved away behind a couch. More than her physical absence from the window, he sensed an emotional distance separating them from where she now stood. He’d thought her a prickly sort when they’d first met, but this was entirely different, disorienting and confusing, as if they were strangers to each other, or worse, enemies.
When he took a step toward her, his hand upraised, she swiftly moved closer to the door. “Adele, wait. What is it?”
She turned around, keeping her gaze on the floor. Fear took the place of disorientation, a trickling chill that seeped into his vitals. He tried again, “Adele, won’t you please talk to me? Perhaps I can help.”
The loathing in her reply shocked him. “I am not in need of your help, sir, nor anyone’s for that matter.” She lifted her gaze and he almost stepped back from what he saw there. “It is my duty to inform you that I am with child, which means that our physical obligations are now at an end. You may inform Sir Charles that he shall become a grandparent in seven months. Good evening.”
When she again turned to leave, he swiftly moved to stop her, and she cringed away from his touch. Actually cringed.
“Adele, stop this! Whatever is going on, you must tell me. If I’ve done something inexcusable, as I certainly must have, you must allow me to explain. Beg forgiveness.”
She inched closer to the door handle, the book clutched to her chest like a shield. “There is nothing to forgive. We have done our part.”
“You seriously can’t be suggesting that…you can’t mean you’ll…turn me away.”
She relented enough to speak through tight lips. “Sir, you must suppose me an idiot to think that you will find yourself entirely bereft of female companionship. Is this not the way of our class? The original intent of our agreement? I supply the heir and direct my attention away from your female dalliances and liaisons. I know the rules, sir, and agreed to your terms. It is now your place to honor yours.”
Hurt fanned outrage. He grabbed her arm and pulled her close. Defiant, she didn’t pull away and bent on him an unflinching glare, which made his heart shrink. What had he done to cause her stare of…loathing? More than anything he wanted the laughing twinkle, teasing dare, or mischievous glint. All were buried now beneath an aversion he couldn’t understand.
“Madam, I gave you a vow of fidelity. There will be no other but you. How can you swing from adoring to hatred in hours? What have I done to credit this insult? I deserve an answer to that.”
For a brief, hope-filled moment, something flickered behind her stare. He blinked to stop the sting of tears when she said, “I have moved back to my rooms. It is my wish that you leave me in peace.”
Devastation made him lash out. “To write your lurid tales?”
“That is at an end. I’ve found a patron for my charity. In future, I need nothing from you.”
A part of him whispered to make her listen. She was a woman with sensual appetites and he knew how to satisfy them, but he would not. The thought of discrediting what they had shared by abusing it, turning something sacred into sordid, made his throat close up. But what he felt for her made him desperate.
“I could make you, Adele.”
Fear flickered, and he immediately understood that it came from an inability to sustain more hurt. She’d reached her limit, just as he was beginning to realize that he had not yet reached the limits of the misery to come. Whatever had happened to cause this unbelievable change in their marriage had demolished her. Since she wasn’t going to tell him, he would have to unearth it on his own. Painful as it might become, it had to be done to get his Adele back.
In a low-pitched warning, she said, “Do not come to my rooms. If you do, you will find the doors locked.”
“You need not worry. I won’t bother you.”
The door clicked shut when she left. He sank down on a chair and shoved his hands into his hair. What had happened in the course of a few hours? And then the other thing she’d told him fully registered. He was to be a father.
Chapter 21
Gordon hammered his fist on the locked door, rattling the hinges. “Damn it, Adele, open this door before I kick it in!”
“Sir.” Gordon shot a warning glare over his shoulder.
“Not now, Showers.”
“She’s gone out. Left early this morning.”
Every curse and epithet he’d ever heard came pouring out of his mouth. He jammed his hands on his hips and stared down at the toes of his boots until the rage cooled to a boil. “Did she say where?”
“No, but I believe I know. Spitalfields Manse.”
He jerked his head up. “In Spitalfields? What maggot’s got into her head to lead her to go there?”
“It’s her charity work, sir.”
“Charity?” What was wrong with him? All he could do was repeat everything, but so little of it made sense. And then it did. “How do you know about it?”
“Any trivial or necessary bit of information can be had with the correct amount of bribe.”
“How do you acquire the funds to pay for bribes?”
“Why, from you, sir. When you and Mrs. Treadwell provided me with my present situation, an overlarge spending budget came attached. This is not a large residence. Enough left over for other priorities.”
“Other priorities? Damn and blast, I’m doing it again. Where are my gloves? No, I won’t be needing the hat.” He headed down the passageway to the staircase at the front of the house. “Did you also acquire the address?”
Nimble and sounding more than a little pleased, Showers provided it, and somehow got his rotund self ahead on the stairs and to the front door, but Gordon veered down the hallway toward the back of the house. Showers jogged after him, spouting directions to Spitalfields Manse.
When he entered the stable, Gordon found Josh rubbing down the gray stud. The undergroom pulled a forelock. “Sorry, sir. I’d been told you wouldn’t be riding today and took him out for exercise.”
Gordon lifted the saddle from the wall and handed it to Josh. “This pad is damp. Find another and I hadn’t planned to need him today.”
The bridle hung nearby, waiting to be cleaned. and Gordon lifted it from the hook. He dunked the bit in a nearby water pail and slipped it into the stud’s mouth while Josh tacked up the saddle. “Did you happen to see when Mrs. Treadwell left?”
“Must have been three hours ago. Sir Harry Collyns came in his curricle. Smart looking pair o
f true blacks and a tiger on the back. Little guy but a bruiser. Drove east.”
Gordon nodded and swung up onto the saddle, glad the horse was warmed for a fast ride, afternoon traffic be damned. The stud could leap a loaded wagon. He’d seen him do it and had no qualms about learning if the fellow could do it with more weight on his back.
“Extend my regrets when Mr. Chadwick and Arbothnot arrive.”
“Will tell Mr. Chadwick, sir, but Mr. Arbothnot followed Sir Harry and Mrs. Treadwell. Had his own carriage and Miss Percival with him.”
More confused than ever, Gordon dashed away from the stable and down South Audley to the East End. He didn’t need his pistol to put a period to Sir Harry, and Tookie was conveniently nearby to act as second. Then he would make sense of what was going on in his wife’s stubborn head.
Chapter 22
Adele had no interest in watching Sir Harry thrashing Beadle. For all she cared, the lout could be reduced to a bloody mass for what he’d done. Tears and horror swamped her chest as she stared in helpless agony at the smoldering building. Black smoke seeped through the Manse’s cracks and crevices. Mrs. Jeffries had gathered the children in a group and herded them down the street, away from the fire. All but one of the twenty-seven children were out and safe. The youngest of them, Lily, had gone to ground the minute she heard them shout the warning of a fire. The building now stood in the smoldering stage prior to full conflagration.
Mrs. Jeffries had been sending notes, each more dire than the last. Adele had to visit and was not about to ask for Gordon’s help. In desperation, she wrote to Sir Harry. Something had to be done.
Beadle had waited for Adele’s next visit, unknowing that Sir Harry planned to visit and tour the Manse. Once she was inside, he threw a flaming, greasy rag on a rubbish pile near the Manse’s back door. The fool then took a spot across the street to watch his handiwork. The blockhead had bragged about what he’d done, not realizing that the clean, tidily dressed lad standing nearby was one of the boys she had stolen from the lout. Little Seth had bright red hair and freckles after the years of soot and grime had been scrubbed away. His hatred for Beadle had not been diluted by time or distance. He’d darted down an alley and climbed in a window to warn the house. Everyone in the building dashed out into the street as Sir Harry called for a bucket brigade. From then on, everything had passed like a blur as she paced in front of the Manse, crying out for the little girl that hadn’t been found inside. Annabelle and Tookie held her back from going through the closed front door to find her.
She hadn’t noticed Gordon’s arrival until he grabbed her around the waist and carried her, protesting all the way, to the other side of the street.
“Stay back, Adele. When the flames take hold, it will be over in a flash.”
She grabbed his arm when he turned away. “Lily’s still in there! We can’t find her.”
Adele panicked when Gordon grabbed a bucket of water from the relay and dumped it over his head. He grabbed another bucket, plunged his gloves and handkerchief in the water and handed a bucket to Tookie. “Throw it on my back.”
“What are you doing, Gordon?”
“Don’t fuss, Adele. For once, do as I ask.” He tied the sopping handkerchief around his head so it covered his nose and mouth.
Tookie flung the water over his back and tossed the bucket aside. “Gordon, it’s no use. The floors inside are burning. The building could come down!”
Gordon turned to Adele. “Where does she usually keep herself?”
“The day room on the second floor. The door to the right at the top of the steps. No, Gordon. Don’t go. Tookie?”
Gordon tore free of her grip and lunged up the steps. Steam rose from his glove when he grabbed the door handle and pulled. He leaped to one side as fire, smoke and a hideous, high-pitched whistle escaped from inside. This was followed by eerie groans.
Tookie pulled Adele back when she started to follow, to stop Gordon from risking his life. Someone was screaming his name. From a distance, she saw and heard herself shrieking for him. Annabelle and Tookie wrapped their arms around her to hold her in place. Sir Harry left the unconscious Beadle on the street for the authorities and started to pour water over his head. He started up the steps but was unable to get through the sheets of fire enveloping the entrance. Buckets of water were tossed over him when he stumbled back to the street.
After the first blast of flames burst through the door, the crimson interior showed rippling flames on the ceiling but the floor and stairs intact. Glass shattered. The Manse groaned under the onslaught. It seemed like days since he’d disappeared inside, then a window overhead exploded, not from heat.
Gordon, shirt smoking and holding a jacket wrapped parcel, flew through the glass and landed on the backs of the horses pulling the water wagon away from the building. He rolled off and ended up on his side on the pavement.
Adele shoved away from the hands that held her and flung herself at Gordon. He sat up with a wince and unwrapped his jacket. Inside was Lily, head covered with his damp handkerchief, her face smudged and smiling.
Through the gap of missing front teeth, Lily said, “Jes anudder chim-mee fire, m’ledy.”
Gordon’s smile blazed white against his soot-smudged face. His singed hair smoldered. Sir Harry doused him with water, splashing Adele and the child. She didn’t care and hugged them close, weeping and babbling. Lily squirmed free and took the hand Sir Harry offered, climbing him like a monkey, instantly enamored with his golden hair.
Adele snuggled against Gordon’s chest, uncaring that they sat in the street as ashes floated down around them. Gordon had more sense. He stood and picked her up. She clutched him around the neck, not caring where they were going. She only knew that she had to keep holding on to him to assure herself that he lived.
Against her ear, he said, “I’d run back in that damn inferno to hear that again.”
Rubbing her hand over her face, she croaked, “What?”
“When I brought the girl out, you threw yourself at me and cried, all feminine and sweet-like, Oh, Gordon, my love, are you burned anywhere?”
His falsetto voice made her choke on a laugh. “I most certainly never said anything so silly.”
He sat them on the tail end of a cart, arranging her on his lap. He permitted her to use her soaked handkerchief to clean some of the soot from his face and dab at the smoldering sparks on his shirt. She huffed a sigh. “I fear I’m making a hash of this. Oh, you beast, you scared me horribly.”
“You didn’t want me to save Lily?”
“Don’t be an idiot. I thought the fire too far gone to find her alive.”
“She’s little. I supposed that she would stay close to the floor and in a corner. Found her right by the window. Grabbed her up and out we went. Now tell me again.”
“I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“Don’t pout and look away. If you tell me, I’ll take you home, have a bath drawn and we’ll share it.”
“Again I say, you’re a silly man. Why should I want to bathe in the same filthy water as you? Do you have any idea how dreadfully you smell? But I should take into account that it is due to your courageous rescue of our precious Lily. You must admit that she is an adorable child.”
“I’m not sure I noticed. The point was to snatch her up and get away from the flames. If nothing else, I deserve a reward.” He nuzzled her other ear. “You could wash me, just like nurse used to do.”
“You wretched man. Of all the…how old were you when your nurse last bathed you?”
He smirked. “That’s a secret, but not what we could do in the bath. I’ll provide you with precise instructions.” He waggled his eyebrows.
Tookie, his arm around Annabelle’s shoulders, stood watching as the Manse began to burn in earnest. Sheets of flames, along with popping and screeching noises came from the dying building. Gordon took her to them when the heat intensified. Lily was wriggling in Sir Harry’s arms, trying to get free, spouting bad
words as she cried to be let down to kick the fallen Beadle.
They retreated down the street as adjoining buildings caught fire, trudging through sight-seers heading toward the fires. Annabelle, Tookie, and Sir Harry, carrying Lily, followed. All of the children were accounted for, settling everyone’s fears.
Sir Harry hitched Lily higher in his arms. “I know of a place where some of the children can stay together until something can be arranged.”
Adele wearily nodded. “Have Mrs. Jeffries separate them into groups. If there isn’t enough room, send them to me.”
Children piled onto Tookie’s carriage with Annabelle as Mrs. Jeffries led a cavalcade of hackneys. A few lads found places up behind Sir Harry’s curricle and in each other’s laps.
Gordon flipped a coin to the boy holding his horse. “Well, wife, do you mind riding home on my lap or up behind?”
She stared at the building where so much of her time, money and dreams were being consumed by flames, walls of brick collapsing, sending up beautiful clouds of sparks. Her pride and efforts seemed such a waste of time, so empty, useless. Tears seared trickling tracks down her cheeks.
“Oh, Gordon, what am I going to do now? All of those children without a roof over their heads, their clothes and books, gone.”
He put his arm around her shoulders and propped his chin on her head. After a while, he said. “We have a house in the Chilterns.”
She leaned back and looked up. The reflection of the fires flickered in his eyes. “Are you sure, Gordon? It’s not an easy responsibility, seeing after so many children, and not one that will end in a month or two.” When he withdrew, she said, “I think riding up behind you would be more comfortable.”
“What? Oh, of course.”
For a moment, he blinked at his horse, as if just realizing that he held the reins. He mounted and reached down for her. Beneath his hooded gaze, she saw hurt and bleak resignation. She took his hand and put her slipper on the toe of his boot as he hoisted, swinging her up behind him. While arranging her skirts, she struggled to understand what she’d seen in his eyes, the pain and disappointment.