‘He didn’t want to see it. He called Sally a whore and turned her away, saying she was less than nothing to him, even though she gave him the letter Hugh had written—’
When he broke off, Victoria put her hand on his arm. ‘You don’t have to go on. I can see how painful this is for you—’
‘Nowhere near as painful as it was for them,’ Alistair ground out. ‘As I said, I eventually found Helena. She had been living in a brothel. The worst kind of place. I wasn’t surprised she ran away before I got there. It took me another two months to find her again, but I did, entirely by chance in a part of town I’d never gone to before. I knew her at once. She was standing at the other side of the road and, though she was thin and dressed in old clothes, she still had the brightest red hair I’d ever seen.’
‘She must have been so happy to see you.’
Alistair shook his head. ‘She didn’t know who I was. To her I was just another man. Another customer, for all she knew. I called her by name and she looked up, but she made no move to come closer. But our eyes met across the street, and when I saw that she was crying I knew I had to do something.’
Victoria didn’t want to hear any more. She knew the story didn’t have a happy ending. Alistair’s next words confirmed it. ‘At that moment, a carriage turned on to the street,’ he said woodenly. ‘A large carriage, drawn by four young horses. It was travelling too fast, the driver having lost control of the team during the turn. Everyone got out of the way and everything should have been fine. But Helena looked at that carriage, looked back at me and then, calmly and purposefully, walked out into the street.’
‘Dear God!’
‘There was nothing I could do,’ Alistair said softly. ‘She was in the street before I even realised she was moving. The carriage didn’t stop. The people inside never knew what happened. But I knew. She was my brother’s only child,’ Alistair said, drawing a long, painful breath. ‘And I watched her die in front of my eyes. I’ve never forgiven myself for that.’
‘But it wasn’t your fault!’ Victoria said desperately. ‘You said it yourself, you didn’t have time to do anything. Everything happened so fast.’
‘I know, and I don’t blame myself for what happened that day,’ Alistair said. ‘I blame myself for not having done anything in the years that led up to it. For not reaching out to her and Sally sooner, when I could have made a difference in their lives—’ Alistair broke off, ran his hand through his hair. His eyes were bleak and filled with sadness. ‘After Helena’s death, I made enquiries into her life. I couldn’t imagine what would have driven an eight-year-old child to throw herself under the wheels of a carriage, but sadly, I found out. When I learned what her life had been, I came to understand the sense of desperation she must have felt. The feeling of utter abandonment. And the day I watched her die was the day my life changed,’ Alistair said. ‘The very next week I hired Mrs Hutchins, installed her in this house and set about the business of collecting children. I didn’t want to see what happened to Helena happen to someone else. I might not have been able to save her, but I was damned if I was going to sit by and let it happen to children like Jenny and Alice.’
It was a heartwrenching story, one of the most tragic Victoria had ever heard. But it explained why Alistair had been so determined to set up the orphanage. It also brought home to her just how noble was the man she had fallen in love with. ‘I am...so very sorry,’ she said, knowing how totally inadequate the words were. ‘I can’t imagine how terrible it must have been for you.’
‘Helena’s death is something I live with every day,’ Alistair said quietly. ‘And every day it inspires me to do more. I suppose if there’s anything good to have come out of all this, that would be it.’ He looked up, blinking hard. ‘But now, I’ve kept you talking long enough. Come.’
Together they walked towards the carriage. Alistair opened the door and helped Victoria to get in. After he closed the door behind her, she watched him take a step back, then saw him signal the coachman to drive on.
As the carriage moved off, she had to fight the urge to turn around and look back.
Angelique showed no such restraint. ‘Merde, ’e is so good looking!’
‘Turn around, Angelique.’ Victoria’s voice was stiff. ‘It is not polite to stare.’
‘Pah, you English. You do not know when it is good to look and when it is not.’
‘I am perfectly aware of when it is appropriate to look,’ Victoria said. ‘This is not one of those times.’
‘But ’e likes you! Did you not see ze look on ’is face? ’E is in love wiz you!’
Victoria squeezed her eyes shut. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Mr Devlin is not in love with me!’
‘But—’
‘And we will not talk about this any more.’
‘But ’e is ze one you ’ave been crying over...and now I see it is for no good reason—’
‘Enough!’ Victoria said firmly. ‘This conversation is at an end!’
Angelique grudgingly subsided as Victoria opened her eyes and stared blindly through the window. Her composure was badly shaken and her confidence even more so.
She hadn’t expected to run into Alistair today. Nor had she been prepared for the heartwrenching story he had just told her. She hoped more than ever that Mrs Hutchins would honour her request and keep silent about the money. The last thing she needed was to have Alistair seek her out to express his thanks.
She wasn’t strong enough to see him again.
Besides, she hadn’t made the gesture to be recognised by him. She had done it for the children, just as he had. Everything he’d done, he had done in memory of Helena—a child who should never have died and whose tragic life story Alistair had just shared with her.
The less she saw of him now, the better off they would both be.
* * *
Alistair watched the carriage until it turned the corner and drove out of sight. Only then did he turn around and start for the front door.
The encounter had shaken him. He’d tried telling himself that he wasn’t in love with Victoria Bretton. He had almost convinced himself that his feelings were under control and that when he saw her again, he wouldn’t feel this burning desire to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. But he was wrong. The sight of her a few minutes ago, of those beautiful blue eyes and that tempting mouth, had shattered his illusions and brought home to him all that he had lost...and everything he had been trying to forget.
Victoria Bretton would not be shaken. For all her
duplicity, she still remained uppermost in his heart.
He went inside, not in the best of humours, and found his housekeeper clearing up the remnants of her visit.
‘Such a delightful lady,’ Mrs Hutchins said. ‘Imagine a fine lady like her coming all the way down here just to see the children. I never heard the like.’
‘Did you know she was coming?’ Alistair asked
quietly.
‘Hadn’t a clue. I was that shocked when I opened the door and saw her standing there. But she’s got a good heart, has Miss Bretton,’ Mrs Hutchins said. ‘Not like those society ladies who think about nothing but their own pleasures. Very generous, she is.’
‘Generous?’ Alistair said. ‘Did she bring something for the children?’
The housekeeper flushed. ‘Indeed, a lovely big hamper of food and sweets, as well as magazines for the girls and books for the boys. They’ll think it’s Christmas when I take it all up to them.’
‘Hmm.’ Then he saw the envelope lying on the table. ‘What’s that?’
Mrs Hutchins followed his gaze—and blanched. ‘Nothing. Just some letters I was going through.’
‘You were looking at letters while Miss Bretton was here?’
‘No. I was looking at them...before she arrived.’
But A
listair’s instincts were raised. ‘Mrs Hutchins, what is in that envelope?’
‘I told you, sir. Letters, that’s all.’
‘Only letters.’ Alistair put his hands behind his back. ‘Show one to me.’
The housekeeper’s cheeks burned. ‘Sir!’
‘I don’t want to read it. Just to see it.’
‘I’d really rather not.’
‘Very well. Then simply hold open the envelope and let me look inside.’
This request had the effect of flustering the housekeeper even more, but as if realising she wasn’t going to win, she sighed, and handed him the envelope.
Alistair took it and glanced at the contents. He didn’t say a word. After a few minutes, he handed it back. ‘Thank you.’
‘You might as well keep it, sir,’ she said. ‘It’s for the children and I don’t like having that much money around the place.’
He nodded and slipped it into his pocket. ‘Thank you, Mrs Hutchins.’
It was clear the housekeeper didn’t know what to say, so, being an intelligent woman, she said nothing.
Alistair went upstairs to check on the children. He spent forty-five minutes with them, talking of everyday things, checking on the state of their health as he read to them and making sure everything was as it should be. He was uncommonly pleased at how well Jenny was progressing, convinced for the first time that she would recover from her ordeal. Even Molly and Margaret looked better and Teddy was definitely on the mend. They would all benefit from their move to the country where the fresh country air would do wonders for their spirits.
With that thought in mind, Alistair bid good afternoon to Mrs Hutchins and returned to his carriage where, climbing up into the seat, he sat thinking for a few minutes. Then, reaching a decision, he flicked the reins and set off, his destination not Berkeley Square, but Green Street.
* * *
Victoria did not immediately return home after her visit to the orphanage. Having no desire to face her mother or father in the aftermath of everything Alistair had told her, she directed James to take her to Hatchard’s where, surrounded by books and papers, she took time to think about everything that had happened, about her relationship with Alistair and what her prospects for the future were.
Now more than ever she had to get away. To put distance between herself and the man she loved. To give herself room to breathe and hopefully to forget about her impossible dreams.
Her parents wouldn’t be pleased at her plans to go abroad, of course. To her mother, the idea of a woman travelling alone would be incomprehensible. There were dangers untold for young ladies who undertook such voyages and the sooner such outlandish ideas were laid to rest, the better.
No, her mother would definitely not be pleased.
Her father, on the other hand, would hopefully be more open-minded. He knew his elder daughter had a good head on her shoulders and that she was unlikely to do anything foolish. He would simply miss her and wish her to stay home for that reason.
As to setting up her own establishment, Victoria suspected neither of them would be happy about that. But, she had made up her mind and she intended to see it through. It was the best for all concerned. The time she planned to spend abroad would give her the breathing space she needed to settle matters in her own mind without reminders of home or Alistair Devlin serving as distractions, and having a place of her own when she returned would give her the freedom to live her life independently of anyone else.
It was the right thing to do. Not in the eyes of her family or society, but in her own. At the moment, that was all that mattered.
* * *
There was a line of carriages in the road when Victoria finally arrived in Green Street, but, preoccupied with her thoughts, she didn’t trouble herself to look at them. All she wanted was the peace and quiet of her own room where she could start making lists of what needed to be done.
Unfortunately, when Quince greeted her at the front door, it was with the message that her father wanted to see her in the drawing room as soon as she returned.
Wondering what could have prompted the request, Victoria took a moment to check her appearance in the hall mirror. She was uncommonly pale and pinched both cheeks several times to bring out some colour. Then she smoothed her hands over her skirt, adjusted her shawl and opened the door.
Her father was not the only person in the room. Laurence was leaning against the credenza with his arms crossed over his chest and another gentleman was standing with his back to her.
He turned around—and Victoria blanched. ‘Mr Devlin!’
She was so shocked to see him she didn’t notice the other gentleman standing by the window. A man who suddenly stepped forwards and said, ‘Have I the pleasure of addressing Miss Victoria Bretton?’
Confused and off stride, Victoria inclined her head. ‘You have, sir, though I confess you have the advantage of me.’
The unknown gentleman was well dressed, his jacket a masterpiece of tailoring, his boots polished to a brilliant sheen. He wore no jewellery other than a gold signet ring on his right hand and, while he was not handsome, he exuded an air of authority that must have been apparent to everyone in the room. ‘I hope you will forgive my calling upon you at home, Miss Bretton, but when I heard the news, I was determined to seek you out, since your uncle was not good enough to give me your direction.’
‘My uncle?’ Victoria glanced in bewilderment at her father. ‘Papa?’
‘Victoria, allow me to introduce Sir Michael Loftus,’ her father said, with an uncertain glance in Alistair’s direction. ‘He has come in the hopes of speaking to you. Or rather...to Valentine Lawe.’
* * *
Victoria had heard that one’s legs could give way during times of stress, but until this moment had never experienced how singularly unpleasant a sensation it could be. She reached for the back of a nearby chair, her fingers digging into the soft upholstery. ‘Sir Michael,’ she whispered. ‘How...do you do?’
‘Very well, given what I hope to hear in the next few minutes.’
Alistair, who had been directing curious glances between her and Sir Michael, said, ‘Would someone be good enough to tell me what is going on?’
‘Mr Devlin, forgive me,’ her father said quickly. ‘This is Sir Michael Loftus. Theatre critic for the Morning Chronicle.’
‘Devlin,’ Sir Michael said with a slight bow.
‘Sir Michael. I’ve read a few of your critiques,’ Alistair said. ‘You speak your mind.’
‘I see no point in doing otherwise,’ the gentleman said with an arrogant twist to his lips. ‘I have a responsibility to the theatre-going public. If a performance is brilliant, I am happy to say so. If it is flawed, I am equally quick to make my opinion known, though in as constructive a manner as possible.’
‘I’m not sure constructive would be the word I’d use,’ Alistair observed drily. ‘In some cases, your reviews have been harsh to the point of condemnation.’
The other man shrugged. ‘I am not to blame if the material is substandard. I only offer my professional opinion based on what I see. However, as to my reason for being here, I heard a very interesting rumour and decided it was worthy of following up.’
‘Indeed?’ Mr Bretton said. ‘What rumour might that be?’
The critic stared at him for a moment, then smiled. ‘Come now, Mr Bretton, you must have heard that your daughter is reputed to be the famous playwright Valentine Lawe?’
‘Oh, that rumour. Yes, we’ve heard it, but we paid it no mind.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because it isn’t true.’
Victoria saw Alistair’s head whip round, but Sir Michael was already speaking. ‘Really? Then I wonder if you would be good enough to tell me how it came to be? I’m not sure if you are aware,’ that gentleman said, ‘but I
have been trying to arrange a meeting between Lawe and myself for quite some time now, but Templeton has been singularly effective at putting me off. Most recently, he informed me that Lawe was travelling on the Continent. It would seem...’ he said, turning to stare at Victoria, ‘that he was not being entirely truthful in that regard.’
Victoria’s mind was spinning. A quick glance in Alistair’s direction gave her no indication as to what he might be thinking. His features could have been cast in stone for all the emotion she saw on his face.
By contrast, her brother seemed almost at ease as he walked towards the fireplace, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. ‘Why did you wish to meet Mr Lawe in person, Sir Michael?’
‘Because I would very much like to talk to him about his next play. I have had discussions with Mr Elliston at Drury Lane, and he is interested in seeing Lawe’s work performed there. The Gryphon is all very well, but everyone knows it hasn’t the reputation of Drury Lane or Covent Garden,’ Sir Michael said in a condescending tone. ‘When I advised Templeton of this, I was told I would have to wait because Lawe was out of the country. Not once did he mention that the fellow was actually a relative, or that he was in fact living right here on Green Street.’ There was a brief silence as Sir Michael glanced around the room. ‘Well? Is no one going to tell me what I want to hear? You’re all looking at me as though I were mad.’
‘No, not mad, Sir Michael,’ her father said with a regretful smile, ‘just misinformed. The rumour is not true. My daughter is not Valentine Lawe.’
Victoria stopped breathing. She was aware of Alistair’s head again turning in her direction, but she couldn’t meet his gaze. Not after her father had just contradicted everything she’d told him.
‘What about the rumour that Miss Signy Chermonde started the story?’ Sir Michael continued. ‘Do you also deny that?’
‘No, because I am not in a position to deny or confirm it,’ Mr Bretton said. ‘I’m not even aware if my daughter is acquainted with the actress.’
‘But if she were, why would Miss Chermonde tell such an outlandish story? What has she to gain? Surely only a personal grievance would prompt her to lash out in such a way?’
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