The Lady's Hero

by Carolyn R. Scheidies

  When he awoke, surprisingly refreshed, he sat up and noticed his clothes had been pressed and laid out by Jeremiah’s manservant. In India, Edward had learned to wake at the slightest movement or sound. Away from the compound, he had learned not to let down his guard. Danger lurked from nature—animal and human.

  Many did not care for the gospel of love and hope he and his fellow missionaries shared. He shuddered at the thought of what some native religions practiced. Riffling his fingers through his blond hair, Edward sighed and rose to his feet to wash and dress. Here he let down his guard and it felt...good.

  He rose more refreshed than, than... He frowned. In truth, he had not felt so rested since long before the letter arrived from Angella. William Carey had been correct, as usual. Edward had needed a break, needed time to reconnect with his past, his family, his home.

  Did his stubbornness cause the situation with his sister? The thought was not to be borne. With a deep sigh, he began to dress. He knew when dinner was served. His mentor set a routine that had not been altered in all the years Edward had been in London studying for the ministry.

  Edward stopped just inside the double doors to the dining hall. The full table was not a surprise. Reverend Jeremiah enjoyed filling his table with students, pastors, bishops and missionaries from different persuasions. Edward recalled, with a slight smile, the energetic conversions and discussions of faith, politics and more around the table laden with enough food to keep even the ever-hungry students satisfied.

  However, it wasn’t the memories that kept him rooted to the spot. For a man who gave little consideration to his clothing, that is exactly why he hesitated. Even the students who, from his own experience, he knew scarcely had a pence to fly with wore clothing that made his look shabby by comparison. He noted that the cut of the jackets had changed since he’d left for India, and many even wore long pants instead of breeches. He had all but decided to back out of the room when the minister noticed him and waved him into the room. Getting up, Jeremiah offered him an empty seat to his right—a place of honor.

  There was little Edward could do but accept graciously. He nodded as Jeremiah embarrassed him with praise. For that evening Edward was able to force aside his primary reason for returning to England and for his trip to London and speak of his missionary work in India.

  For all his eloquence and warmth toward him, Edward sensed his host was astute enough to sense something amiss. After the guests departed and the students were either out with friends or studying in their rooms, Jeremiah sat down with Edward in the parlor.

  “What is it, Edward? What’s bothering you?” The older man’s solicitude broke Edward’s reserve.

  Haltingly he explained the situation. He finished with a question. “I cared not for either the vicar or Lady Margaret by half, but might they speak the truth of the matter?” Almost of its own volition another followed. “How could Lucashire...or Angella...?”

  Though Edward took care not to vent his frustration on the clergyman, he realized the minister heard the undertone of rage. With concern, the man surveyed the younger man. He remained silent for so long, he discomfited Edward.

  “Have I greatly misread the situation? What am I to do?”

  Getting to his feet, his mentor told him, “Stop. Pray. Meditate. Listen. Wait. Discover the truth of the matter. See if there’s any truth in the charges leveled against either the Earl of Lucashire or your sister. What you heard may have all been a hum. You have good reason to doubt those two talebearers. Don’t do anything foolish. We’ll find the truth. Meanwhile, I can use you here.”

  Edward glanced down at his worn jacket. “I fear that most of what I have is scarce presentable.” His lips twisted ruefully. “Not exactly slap up to the mark.”

  His host laughed. “Never you mind about that. I’ll fix you up right and tight. Styles have changed, lad. Pantaloons are in every man’s wardrobe these days.”

  “I cannot let—”

  “Lad, you cannot stop me from doing what I wish to do.” He paused. “Consider the starched-up nobs who have the blunt to assist in your work. How you present yourself does matter.” The man paused again. “Edward. Think of a new wardrobe as part of my support.”

  Edward knew from experience there was no gainsaying his mentor. He merely nodded.

  With that handled, the minister reverted to the situation with Angella. “Edward, I see you still struggle with anger. It does no good and halts rational thought. Rein in that temper long enough to discover the truth of the matter. Then we can decide how best to proceed. Until you properly deal with this situation, you cannot fully put your mind to your calling.”

  Edward soon found himself fitted for clothes, which better fit his lean frame and were more in fashion than those he’d brought back with him from India. Edward’s mentor and friend allowed him little time to lie around and mope about the situation he might find with his sister. Almost every evening, students, pastors and professors filled the mentor’s table. The discussions and debates were lively and challenging, though the mentor never allowed those discussions to get out of hand or to descend into personal attacks.

  In the semi-isolation of his work in India, where he often ministered with little support and certainly none of the caliber of interaction he found in London, Edward realized he’d let his critical thinking skills lapse. He now enjoyed the challenge and thrust of the exchanges. He also found himself going back to the Word to dig for truth and to discover if mayhap some of his positions needed some adjustment.

  He began to truly understand the need for fellowship and how easy it was to isolate yourself. It was not healthy. He had indeed needed to return to England and was glad for Reverend Jeremiah’s quiet teaching.

  At times, and though the minister refused to admit to it, Edward sensed he chose the company with him in mind. Other times, he accompanied the minister on a round of meetings, events and ministry opportunities. He found himself sharing about his work in small unpretentious chapels and in opulent drawing rooms with the cream of the ton. He felt comfortable in the first setting and out of place in the second, but he gave thanks his background and training helped him present himself credibly at either venue.

  Regardless of the location or the status of the audience, before speaking Edward sent up a prayer for wisdom. When he concentrated on telling stories about his work in India, he found both audiences responded. As he spoke about his work in opulent parlors filled with individuals and couples with an array of titles, he found some interested, some asking to assist financially because they believed in what he was doing and some who agreed to donate because, Edward suspected, they wanted to appear generous and self-sacrificing. Edward did not care what the motivation. He was grateful for whatever help they offered.

  “I really need to spend time looking for my sister,” he told his mentor as they headed out to another speaking engagement.

  For a moment, the minister said nothing. “You’ve had any number of opportunities, Edward. Have you considered your sister or Lucashire might well attend one of the events at which you speak?”

  He paused before urging the horse into a faster gait. “Mayhap they will find you.”

  Edward kept himself from slapping his forehead. “Of course. I should be on the lookout for them when I’m out with you.” So far, nothing had come of it, but from then on Edward kept his eyes open for anyone who resembled an older version of the young girl he once protected from village bullies.

  He couldn’t help also looking around for the face of the woman whose image refused to leave his thoughts. In fact, since arriving in London, Edward found that Betsy often inhabited his dreams—pleasant dreams.

  Not many days hence, the thick London air and city congestion started to bother Edward, so used to wide-open places and clean air. Again he accompanied Reverend Jeremiah to speak about his work. Truth be told, he would rather have stayed
home and rested. Edward was weary, deep down, and the schedule he was keeping did not help. He yawned behind his hand, noting the slight smile on Reverend Jeremiah’s face.

  “Do not say anything, Reverend Jeremiah. Even now you have more stamina than most students.”

  They chatted then about inconsequential things, marking time as they traveled. The carriage was well sprung and the horse frisky and moving as quickly as the pastor allowed.

  The afternoon sun beat down hot and bright, a nice change from the chill and fog that often enveloped London. At times, Edward had the urge to ride out into the countryside just to breathe in fresh, clean air and not the stale congestion of the city. He sighed. That would probably not happen until his mission was complete—to find his sister and get her settled someplace safe. That, too, remained a bit of a puzzle, though the pastor promised to assist him in that regard when the time came to do so. For that he was grateful.

  The location to which they drove was not an easy find, and Edward sensed even his mentor was getting a bit restive over the time lost in heading in one wrong direction after another. “It should not be that difficult to find,” the pastor said, not for the first time. The horse nodded as though in agreement, blowing and leaning into the harness.

  Edward cleared his throat. “Would you wish me to inquire at one of these establishments or houses?”

  He waited more than a heartbeat or two for the older man to reply. “Not...yet. We still have time.”

  Edward swallowed a grin. As much as he admired and respected the older pastor, he also recalled ramming into his stubborn side a time or two. The man prided himself on knowing London. Not finding the address had to dearly vex him.

  Two turns later, they came upon a carriage listing seriously to one side. A tall gentleman with windswept hair lifted a petite woman from the vehicle along with two young boys. The pastor drove up beside them. “Might we be of assistance?”

  The man’s gray eyes assessed them. “Seems our carriage wheel was loose. Needs to be fixed before we can continue.”

  Edward was used to fending for himself in the countryside of India. “I could help with the repairs.”

  “That would be most appreciated.” The gentleman walked over to them. The pastor nodded first to the gentleman and then the lady. “Lord Alistair. Lady Alistair.”

  Alistair smiled. “You have me at a disadvantage.”

  The pastor introduced himself and turned toward Edward. At that moment, one of the horses, uneasy at the restraint on his bridle by the coachman at his head, threw up his head. The coachman, not expecting the move, was flung to one side. That in turn caused both lead horses to start and pull forward, putting them all at risk.

  In a thrice, Edward leaped from the vehicle to the horses and grabbed the harness. With soft words, he quickly had them calmed. The coachman, unhurt but rubbing his shoulder, took back control. “Thank you, sir. Caught me wrong, there.”

  Alistair echoed his thanks. Edward discovered Alistair was no starched-up peer. He put his efforts as much as did Edward in tightening the wheel and making sure the carriage was ready for travel. “We’re heading out of town for a few days, so I appreciate the quick assistance.” Alistair handed his wife and sons back into the carriage before one last thank-you.

  He clasped Edward’s hand. “If there is ought you need, we’ll be back in town in a week, two at the most. Find us at Alistair House.”

  Edward thought of Angella. If he had not found her direction by the time Lord Alistair returned, mayhap the man would assist Edward in finding her. Now was not the time to ask. Instead, he motioned toward the pastor. He asked after the address they sought. Lord Alistair provided clear directions.

  Edward and his mentor watched the carriage head out of sight. With Alistair’s directions, they had little trouble locating the hall.

  As they reached their destination, Edward glanced over at the pastor. “I don’t think that was happenstance.”

  The pastor prepared to step down, stopped and surveyed Edward. “No, it wasn’t and, I am convinced, for more reasons than we even realize.”

  Edward tried to figure out what his mentor meant as he followed him into the building.

  A couple of days later, Reverend Jeremiah approached him about another matter entirely. “Our congregation helps support a small work in a less-than-prosperous part of town.”

  Edward’s eyebrows rose at the location—one of the least desirable places a person wanted to find himself in. He’d worked at missions in those areas before he left for India while he was still in school. The needs were so great. Young women had little recourse but to sell themselves for a scrap of bread. Children, scarcely more than toddlers really, begged on the street corners. Starvation in the villages of deprived India was one thing, but it was criminal to find such deprivation, even starvation, in the land where more food was wasted at some dinners given by Prinny than several families could eat in a month. It was frustrating, infuriating and horrible. “I take it you can use my involvement. Whatever you ask, I will do my best. As long as I have opportunity to find my sister’s direction.”

  That’s how Edward found himself driving a worn, old-fashioned rig with a gray horse that had seen better days toward a part of town that gave him pause. No one with any sense would drive a new vehicle down there or dress in the mode. It was best to blend in as much as possible. Fortunately, his clothes from India were perfect for this assignment.

  It wasn’t a place anyone went alone, but he had no other choice. Before Edward left, his mentor had handed him a small pistol that now resided in his pocket. He clucked and shook the reins enough to keep the gray going at a pace that kept them ahead of the mongrel dogs eying them from the side of the roadway.

  The animal was amiable enough and worked in the harness with a will. He passed by fancy carriages, cabriolets and other smart turnouts. Even the servant drivers of the rigs turned up their noses at his less-than-fashionable getup. Where he was headed, fashionable was not a positive word and would only pose danger.

  He left behind the wider streets for narrow, rutted ways that could scarcely be called roads. Large, imposing mansions gave way to modest dwellings. As he turned down another street, odors assailed Edward’s nose. The smells of rotted food and unwashed bodies mingled with those of unsanitary conditions. The upper crust, thanks to Brummel, had revolutionized their concept on cleanliness, and the nobility now regularly bathed and wore clean clothes. Those conditions did not apply to this segment of the population.

  Water was not readily available and filth piled up in the troughs beneath the shacks whose owners probably called houses. It reminded Edward sharply of India, and strangely enough, he missed his work, missed his people. He did not belong in England. Not anymore. Still and all, he must discover the truth about Angella and make certain to see to her future. That was worry enough.

  His thoughts turned to the young woman, Betsy, he’d met so long ago. He hoped to see her, as well, before he returned to India. He had little to offer any woman, especially one as fine as the woman whom he couldn’t get out of his mind or, when he was honest, his heart. Nonetheless, he had a compulsion to look her up if she was indeed in London.

  “Lord, are You in this?” He shook his head. What a strange prayer. Of course, God was in control of everything. Frowning, Edward pulled the gray to one side and stopped. By now he should have arrived at what his mentor described as a small, unpretentious white clapboard building with a cross on the front.

  Pulling out a piece of parchment paper on which the pastor had written the directions, Edward checked it while keeping an eye out for the mangy dogs creeping toward his rig. He turned a street too soon. Tucking the paper back into his pocket, Edward took up the reins. While he didn’t usually use the whip, he used it now as a threat to two black-and-white half-starved mutts that managed to get within a couple of feet of the horse.r />
  Recognizing danger, the gray flipped its ears back toward him and shifted nervously. The animal eagerly, seemingly almost relieved, headed out in a trot. Turning his vehicle about, Edward found his way to the right street. Ahead was the mission exactly like what his mentor had described. As he drove up, a young woman was struggling with a man, wearing a fashionable top coat, who had little business being in this part of town.

  “Let me go!” The woman pushed against the man, who almost lost his hold. Cursing, he grabbed her arm with so much force, she cried out in pain.

  Though Edward had no notion of who the woman was, he could not stand by and allow any woman to be so treated. “I say, sir. Let her go.”

  Realizing he was being observed, the man grunted. “She’s mine. Get your own girl. They’re on every street corner.”

  At this the young woman turned crimson. Her eyes widened. “I am not one of your girls or any girl, for that matter. Now let me go.”

  Even at that distance, Edward took note of the woman’s tense, resisting body.

  “No other sort would be in this place,” the man reasoned. He began all but dragging her along with him. Edward saw a closed carriage up the street. The fashionable turnout revealed much to Edward. How many peers sought their less-than-genteel pleasures down here far from their families and the wagging tongues of polite society? Most turned a blind eye to such goings-on, claiming, “Men will be men.”

  The absolute terror on the woman’s face forced Edward to action. Without considering further, he slapped the reins and aimed the horse down the street. The man had the woman halfway across, while she dragged her feet, fighting every inch of the way. The woman’s attire was not that of a woman of a certain stamp. Did not the man realize she was attired as a gently bred female? Apparently not. He suspected the peer was a bit bosky.

  He was not a great whip, so he lifted up a prayer. “Help me do this, Lord, please.”

  Driving up next to the peer and the young woman, he held out his hand and yanked the young woman practically into his lap. The man stumbled back.