by Desconocido
The Bow Street man brought her a small sack of kindling he must have snatched from the kitchens and Penelope began the sad task of finding other graves. By the time she was done, the total number of dead had reached two and thirty and she was exhausted in mind and soul. She climbed up the steps to find the brothel utterly silent. Penelope idly wondered how many had been dragged away to face prison, a trial, and undoubtedly, a hanging. After what she had seen, she found that she simply did not care what happened to any of them.
She stepped outside and found herself immediately wrapped in Ashton’s strong arms. Penelope tossed aside the cloth she had worn over her face and pressed close to him. She tried to find some strength and comfort in his arms. “Brant wants to take Faith home now,” he said. “I have already sent the boys home.”
“Thank you.”
“Let me take you home as well.”
“Nay, we will go with Brant.”
“Penelope, you look utterly exhausted.”
“Is it a long journey?”
“No, her father is the vicar in a small village just to the south of the city.”
“Then I will come with you.”
“Why?”
“Because I have seen Faith. I have talked with her. Brant may have questions.” She sighed. “It may also be something needed to get Faith’s brothers and sisters to see the truth about their father and that was what Faith asked of us.”
Ashton frowned. “Brant might have questions but surely those can wait? S’truth, mayhap this is something he should do alone. You can always warn her brothers and sisters later.”
“Nay. You see, there is something Faith told me that I did not tell Brant. I need to tell him. I am just not sure how. If the confrontation with the vicar does not bring the whole ugly truth out, I shall have to speak up.”
“What could be uglier than a man selling his own daughter to a brothel?”
“Oh, the vicar did not do that. He did sell Faith in a way, taking coin and letting someone else drag her away. I think he also suspected what fate awaited her but did not care. It was that someone else who saw that the poor girl was sold into that hell.”
Ashton had a very bad feeling about what she would say, but he still asked, “Who?”
“Lady Mallam.”
Ashton pressed his face against her neck and cursed for a long time before he lifted his head. “Let us get this over with.”
Brant refused to allow Faith’s body to be put anywhere but on a carriage seat. Penelope could understand his aversion to her remains being treated like luggage, but it meant that he rode alone with the dead. Perhaps it was for the best, she decided as she joined the others in the second carriage. The man needed time to grieve privately. It might give him the strength to endure the next blow.
She leaned against Ashton as she struggled to forget what she had seen in those cellars. All four men were silent and Penelope suspected they were also trying to fight back the ugly memories of that place. It was hard to conceive how anyone could have such a complete disregard for life. Mrs. Cratchitt was a monster.
“He is eaten up with guilt for not looking for her,” said Whitney, abruptly breaking the heavy silence.
Ashton nodded. “It will take him a long while to understand that he did nothing wrong in believing the word of a vicar all thought was such a pious man.”
“How would a vicar in a little village south of London know where to sell his daughter?”
After a quick glance at Penelope, who nodded, Ashton told them about Lady Mallam’s part in it all. “We all know she was not happy with his choice but I never would have thought her capable of such a crime against an innocent woman.”
Once their shock had passed, Ashton’s friends began to discuss how they could help Brant and what should be done about Lady Mallam. Penelope closed her eyes and allowed herself to dose lightly against Ashton. She was not looking forward to the confrontation with the vicar but she needed to make certain that her promises to Faith were fulfilled.
When the carriage stopped, she sat up and blinked her eyes. It took her a moment to shake off her weariness. Just as she was about to ask what they should do next, Cornell cursed and leapt from the carriage. Whitney and Victor quickly followed. As Ashton helped her out, she saw that Brant had already grabbed the vicar and was dragging him toward the carriage where Faith’s body rested.
“This is not good,” muttered Ashton.
“I do not see what is wrong with him being angry at the man who sent his own daughter to her death,” said Penelope as she hurried to keep up with his long strides.
“I cannot be sure how far Brant’s anger and grief will make him go, and I do not think it is a sight for them to see.” He nodded toward the house.
At first Penelope saw only the house. It was a pretty thatched-roofed cottage surrounded by flower beds. She wondered how anything so pretty and innocent looking could house such a man. Then she saw the children. There were eight of them. Four boys and four girls. They all stood just outside the door of the house watching Brant’s rough treatment of their father with wide eyes. She suspected seeing five gentlemen who were so obviously of the aristocracy only added to their fear.
Just as she took a step toward them, the largest of the four boys began to move toward the carriage where Brant had opened the door and was shoving the vicar inside, his siblings hesitantly following him. “Ashton, do not let the children see the body,” she said as she caught up with him. “Try to keep them back. They should not see their sister like that.”
“Look upon what you have done to your own child,” Brant said as he reached in and yanked the blanket back to reveal Faith’s body. “You lied. She never went off with a soldier. You sold her to a brothel and she died there.”
“No! No!” The vicar tried to scramble back, to put some distance between himself and the body of his child. “I never sent her to such a place of sin.”
“But you sold her to someone, did you not? Got yourself a fat bag of gold for her, too.”
Penelope glanced at the children and could tell by their expressions that they had knowledge of the money. She was pleased to see that Ashton had Victor’s help in holding them back from the carriage but nothing could save them from hearing the whole ugly truth of what had been done to Faith. They would be warned about their father as Faith had wanted, but Penelope could not help worrying over how deeply it would hurt them.
“I needed money!” the man shouted and cried out when Brant tossed him to the ground. “I have so many children and being the vicar here does not pay well. What was I to do? I could barely keep food on the table.”
“You could have let me marry her as I intended to do. I spoke to you of it, gave Faith a ring. We would have been wed as soon as the banns were read. That would have helped.”
The vicar shook his head. “No, she would not allow that. She threatened my position. I had to do it.”
“She?”
It was only one word but Penelope knew she was not the only one who heard a lot in that one small word that was alarming. Fury. Grief. Dread. Cornell and Whitney quickly moved closer to Brant. She began to doubt her opinion that it would be best if Brant heard the truth about his mother from the vicar’s own lips. What the man had just said was as good as pointing the finger right at Lady Mallam. Only that woman could be she and Brant had the wit to know it. He looked dangerous.
The vicar obviously sensed the danger he was in for he began to scramble backward, like some strange crab. Brant kept pace with the man’s awkward attempt to escape. It was an eerie dance made all the more so by the way Cornell and Whitney moved to keep pace with Brant. Penelope felt her insides tighten painfully as she waited for something, anything, to happen.
“You said she.” Brant’s voice sounded more like a predator’s growl than any other voice she had ever heard. “She threatened to take away your position here. There is only one who could do that. Aside from me, that is. Are you telling me it was my own mother who paid you and then
took Faith away?”
The vicar opened his mouth but nothing came out. To Penelope’s astonishment, the oldest boy abruptly pushed past Ashton and Victor and confronted Brant. She saw a flicker of hope lighten the vicar’s face but the hard, furious look of disgust his son gave him vanquished it.
“I am Peter Beeman, his eldest son,” the boy said. “It was Lady Mallam who came to have a private talk with Father just before our Faith disappeared. I cannot tell you what was said but suddenly there was money again.” Peter sighed, his eyes gleaming with tears that he struggled to keep from falling. “I would rather we had Faith.” He glanced toward the carriage. “We will bury her. I will not have my father lead the service—”
“Peter!” Beeman shouted but quailed when Brant glared at him.
“It would be a blasphemy considering he is the one who sent her to her death.”
“I did not!”
Peter stared down at his father, his siblings slipping up to stand beside him all wearing the same look of utter disdain and fury. “Yes, you did. You knew there was no chance she would ever return to us. That is why you told the lie about her running off to Spain with a soldier. I have no doubt you have already composed the letter telling us she has died. You but waited for the right time. And just where did you think a woman who was so adamantly against our Faith marrying her son would send the girl? I think she told you. Mayhap not directly, but she said enough that you knew what our sister’s fate would be and you did not care.”
“No, son, I would never.”
“I mean to bury her in the plot near my home,” said Brant, both he and Peter ignoring the sputtering vicar. “I will send word when it is time for the ceremony. You and your siblings are welcome. Your father is not. Believe me in this”—he looked down at Beeman—“I would throw you out of this cottage, this village, if not for these children.” Brant looked back at Peter. “You will tell me the moment you think he is trying to be rid of any of you or to hurt you in any way. I may not be able to do so legally, but I now name myself your guardian. Treat me as such.”
Brant started to get into the carriage but his friends quickly moved to his side. And Victor asked, “Do you need us to come with you to confront your mother?”
For one long moment, Brant stared at the blanket-wrapped form of the young woman he had wanted to marry and then looked at Victor. “I have no mother.”
Chapter Fifteen
Ashton stared down at a sleeping Penelope, her face still streaked with tears. It had been a horrific day. He worried about Brant, but knew his friend had meant it when he had insisted Ashton take Penelope home and stay with her. Cornell, Victor, and Whitney would watch over Brant, he assured himself. The man had not really requested any assistance, but he had it. Ashton suspected his other friends were in for a very uncomfortable time. The way Brant had said he had no mother had held a deep note of finality to it.
He could not believe what the woman had done. Since the day he had met Brant when they were still boys, Lady Mallam had ruled her son with an iron hand. As Brant had changed from boy to man, he had rebelled against his mother’s control but he had remained a dutiful son. She had gone too far this time. She had murdered the woman Brant loved simply because she had not approved of the match of her son and a lowly vicar’s daughter. They could not prove that Lady Mallam’s intention was to cause Faith’s death but placing a sweet country innocent, the daughter of a vicar, in a brothel could only lead to the worst of consequences.
And how had the woman known about Mrs. Cratchitt’s? How had she known who to get to do her filthy work for her? It might not hurt to see if one could find out the answers to those questions. Lady Mallam was not going to take well to being disowned by her son. Considering what she had done the last time Brant had stood firm for what he wanted, Ashton believed she would bear careful watching.
What Penelope had done at the brothel had stunned him, too, but in a good way. It had been astonishing, almost miraculous. No one could watch her speaking to the dead, helping them find peace and seeking the truth from them, without believing. It was either believe or think her utterly mad. And Penelope was not mad.
He had ceased a long time ago to think her some charlatan who made money off the gullible people of the world, but he had never fully believed that she had some special gift that allowed her to speak to the dead. He had seen her insistence that she could speak to the dead as an adorable eccentricity, curious about her family and their claims but very doubtful that anyone could do the things she claimed they could do. That doubt was fully vanquished now. He was feeling just a bit like an ass.
Since he now believed that Penelope could see the dead, could even find where the bodies were buried, it meant there was a good chance that the whispers about the Wherlockes and the Vaughns were all true. There was an alarming thought. It was even more alarming when he realized that the house he was taking her back to was packed full of Wherlockes and Vaughns. Twelve of them. How many more of them had gifts? Had Penelope been telling him the truth when she had spoken of all the children having such unusual skills?
He had not seen that yet, but had noticed odd things about a few of them. There was no denying Hector could tell when someone lied but was it a keen eye for such tics and twitches that gave a person away or a true gift? Septimus most definitely had a touch that eased a person’s pain, even a highly respected doctor believing in that gift. Paul claimed he could see things but complained that he had not learned how to give his warnings in a way that helped anyone. The boy had certainly known when there was danger approaching several times.
That sort of thing was not so hard to accept, he thought and nodded to himself as he gently stroked Penelope’s hair. However, a boy who could help heal with just a touch? A little girl who caused a storm when she was unhappy? Another boy who could toss things around without lifting a finger?
Ashton frowned. He had seen that; he just had not wanted to let the memory of it stick in his mind. Now that he was trying to be accepting of the miraculous, he could let himself think of the time when the men had ransacked the house. Jerome had definitely been hurling things at the intruders yet he had never lifted a finger.
He leaned his head against the back of the seat. It was something he could turn round in his mind again and again but it would make no difference. He was caught up in a world he did not fully understand and he had to accept that.
The carriage pulled to a halt in front of the Wherlocke Warren an hour later. Ashton nudged Penelope awake, smiling at the childish way she rubbed her eyes. Promising her he would return later, he gave her a kiss at the door and handed her into the care of her brothers. In desperate need of a bath and a change of clothes, he leapt back in the carriage and ordered his driver to take him home.
Penelope stood in the doorway for a moment and watched Ashton’s carriage disappear before shutting the door. It was going to be a lot of work but what she really needed was a long soak in a hot bath. She could still smell the dead on herself and she wanted that dark scent gone so that she could begin to dim the power of the memories of all she had seen today.
To her relief, one of the footmen, or NedTed as she had begun to call the two men in her mind, immediately offered to bring hot water up to her bedchamber. It was nice to have servants, she mused as she went up the stairs. Half the way up the stairs she suddenly realized that there had been something different about the house. She paused and stared back down into the hall. Her brothers stood at the bottom of the stairs, grinning up at her. That was suspicious in itself. Then she gasped as her mind finally grasped what was different.
Where was the destruction caused by the men who had broken into her home last night? They had not had time to clean up much before going to the brothel yet the hall looked cleaner than it had before the attack. She ran down the stairs and into the parlor, stopping in the doorway to gape at the room, which had been an utter mess only hours before. The few broken pieces of furniture were gone, replaced by pieces far better than she
could afford.
“Who did this?” she asked, sensing her brothers and NedTed behind her.
“His lordship sent over some men to give me and Ned a hand in cleaning up the mess,” said the one who was obviously Ted. “They brought a few things with them from the attics of Radmoor House ’cause his lordship said he could see that some of your furniture was badly broken. Sent some maids, too, and they cleaned everything to a real shine for you.”
Penelope went through the rest of the downstairs although the damage had not been as severe in any of the other rooms. Everything was scrubbed clean and she found several more pieces of furniture she had not owned or bought. She did not know whether to let her pride rule and complain about Radmoor taking charge without her knowledge, or simply accept a kindness. Penelope saw Ted walk by with two buckets of steaming water and decided she would consider the matter while she bathed.
Ashton sank down into the hot tub with a sigh of pleasure. That pleasure vanished rapidly when his mother strode into the room. He grabbed a washing rag and placed it over his privates. She might be his mother but he was far past the age where he could comfortably allow her to view him utterly naked.
“So modest,” Lady Mary said and giggled as she sat down on the bed and looked at him. “Was it very bad? I noticed your man walking by muttering about burning your clothes.”
“Was what so very bad?” The look she gave him told Ashton she was not going to let him play that game, that somehow she had found out where they had gone today. He sighed. “Yes, it was very bad. How did you know?”
“Gossip is already starting to wend its way through London.” She nodded when he cursed softly. “It appears there were a few gentlemen there rather early in the day. One even got dragged off to the Bow Street Office before he was identified and released.” She smiled. “’Tis difficult to recognize an earl when he has none of his trappings on.”
Ashton laughed. “I am surprised they would admit to where they had been.”