“Millie? Lena?”
“I’m here,” said a small voice beside Burke.
“Joe, and Nick? Stevie?”
She waited until all had replied, then nodded. “All right, we have them all, I could not sleep if I had left them there.”
She sounded her brisk self, and Burke shook his head in admiration. After days in that hellhole, she had come out still thinking of the children instead of herself. What a wife he had.
He motioned to the footmen, and the carriages started up. Some men were clinging to the sides of the carriages, standing on the footholds, while others were running along beside, still holding the lighted torches and pistols. They made their way slowly in the darkness with their precious loads.
A tiny voice came from somewhere down between Lesley and himself. Burke bent down. “What is it, my dear?”
“Are you her man?” said the hoarse little voice.
Burke looked across at Lesley. “Yes, I am her man,” he said. “For ever and for ever.”
“She said you would come. She said you would, but I didn’t think you would. But you come.”
Big eyes from the boy in Lesley’s arms blinked at Burke. He said nothing, just examined Burke intently whenever the lights shone into the carriage.
Lesley was shivering with reaction. The miracle she had prayed for had happened, Burke had come, he had rescued her and Sandy and all the children. When she had heard his voice calling into the darkness of that chill cellar, she had almost fainted with joy.
They rattled through the dark London streets, with faint street lights now to add to the torches. A constable paused to stare after them, dark shapes slithered away into alleys as they came along.
They drew up at last outside the door to the townhouse. The door was flung open at once. Mortimer stood there, tears pouring down his face.
“Oh, God be thanked, God be thanked,” he whispered as he came out to help them from the carriages and assist them into the warm house.
At sight of the children streaming in, Viola and Mrs Grigson and Mrs Meredith all stared, then went into action. They took the dirty thin children upstairs with them to the nurseries, all seven of them, Sandy included. Lesley would have followed, but Netta took charge, to give her a bath and take away the filthy dress at arm’s length, returning to wash her long red-gold hair again and again.
Burke came up presently. He came in as she was sitting on the couch before the fire, wearily drying her hair with a towel. He took the towel and stood behind her to help her. He wiped each thick strand carefully, held the towel to her wet head, then again wiped each strand.
“Do you want to tell me about it tonight, or in the morning?” he asked gently.
Lesley was almost too weary to smile when Netta exclaimed, “Laws, Mr Burke, it’s morning already! Look outside, it’s dawn.”
“Yes, it is, and bed for you, Netta,” he said. “You’ve waited up all the night.”
“Longer than that,” she sniffed, and pulled up her apron to wipe her eyes. “What a scare we did have, Miss Lesley!”
Burke reached into his pocket, took out the pendant and put it about Lesley’s throat. “This first,” he said, and bent and kissed her forehead.
“My pendant!” Lesley exclaimed. “How, how did you find it?”
They exchanged stories, she told about her abduction by Guy Janssen. “He did take me to Sandy, but he told that awful woman to kill us both and throw our bodies in the river in lime.” She shuddered.
Burke listened in silence, sitting beside her now. Netta was cleaning up the wet towels, having the tub taken away to be emptied.
Lesley told about the children. “Such brave, courageous little things, they reminded me of Freddie. Oh, how did he come to be here?” she added.
So Burke told her all that had happened since she had disappeared. “I am very grateful to Freddie,” he said, and seemed to choke on the words. “Without him ... I dread to think ... we might still be searching today...”
Netta, having heard the story, discreetly left the room and shut the door after her.
“Yes, we must get some sleep,” said Lesley wearily.
“I’ll tuck you into bed,” said Burke tenderly. He ruffled her hair. “It is almost dry.”
The daylight was coming in the windows. As Lesley removed her robe and slipped into the wide bed, he closed the curtains and adjusted the draperies so that the sunlight would not disturb her. The bed felt so soft after the hard, cold dirt floor, and the blankets were a heavenly luxury.
Burke came over to the bed, bent and kissed her. “I am so grateful to have you back,” he said in a low tone.
“Thank God you came, Burke. I think ... she meant to kill us soon ... she was worried and angry, drinking heavily...”
He shivered, and finally went to his room. He returned presently, to find her tossing and turning. “Cannot you sleep, my love?” he asked. He was wearing his robe over his nightshirt.
“No, I drift off, then think I am in that horrible place again,” she shuddered. She stretched out her hand to him. “Please, Burke, stay with me?”
“Of course, love,” he said, and removed his robe. He slid into the bed with her and took her gently into his arms.
Lesley put her head on his shoulder, with a sigh of relief. She was half asleep, but had not dared to let go completely of her consciousness. She was so afraid she would wake and find this was a dream, that she had not returned home after all. But in Burke’s warm, strong arms, she felt safe.
“The children, and Sandy?” she murmured.
“Bathed, in fresh clothes, some much too large,” he said, and he was smiling, she thought by his tone. “Fed on porridge and milk and bread, and stuck into bed, out of which they are falling regularly. Viola finally thought to put chairs on the sides.”
“Oh, poor dears.”
“They asked me when I wanted them to go out stealing,” he said, holding her close to him. “One little fellow, is his name Nick? He said, very briskly — reminded me of Freddie — said he was better than Peg Mahaffey thought, he could do a right good job of stealing anything I wanted. I shall turn over the lot to Edgar!”
She laughed, with tears in her eyes. “Oh, Burke, what shall we do with them? I cannot let them return to that horrible life.”
“We shall take them to Penhallow with us, to get them well and strong again. Perhaps they will be adopted as Freddie was, or we shall keep them ourselves. That lovely little girl, Lena, what a sweet child she is.”
Lesley curled up more closely to him, she could not get close enough, warm enough. “You are a dear man,” she murmured sleepily. His arms tightened, then loosened to hold her gently once more. “That is a wonderful idea. Take them to Penhallow.”
Lesley slept at last, secure even in her sleep. She wakened finally, to find the sun going down. Burke had left her, the pillow was dented where his head had lain. She touched the pillow thoughtfully, a half-smile on her lips.
The next days were busy ones. The children remained much in the nursery rooms, wary of everyone, peeping around doors as anyone approached. They were afraid to go out, even into the gardens. Viola and Edgar tried to solve that. They each took a child by the hand, and walked outside in the sunshine for a time, two children for half an hour, then another two. But still the children were afraid, worried for fear they would be “snatched” again. Even Sandy showed signs of recurring fears and nightmares.
Guy Janssen was found by naval officers — tipped off by Frank Dalrymple — sleeping in a bed in an inn on the coast. Complacently waiting for a good ship to France, he was nabbed and brought back in irons to London to await trial.
Peg Mahaffey’s nightmare came true: she also was put in jail, to await trial on charges of abusing the children entrusted to her “orphanage,” of stealing, and of the attempted murder of Lesley and Sandy.
Aunt and Uncle Stukely were called to account for the heavy funds they had taken. They would be fined heavily at least, if not imprisoned, and they awaited their
trial with foreboding. The Stukelys had been turned out of the Dalrymple townhouse; Frank had taken it over, to be kept for his own use until Sandy’s majority. He would be stationed on the coast for at least two years, and would use the house during his leaves. He meant to change the decorations, he told Lesley. “Cannot abide those colours!”
The Stukelys had opened their own house again, reluctantly, complaining to all who would listen how small it was, how poor, how ungrateful the Dalrymples were to them for taking care of them.
Lesley was glad when they were able to remove to the country. Burke had them all pack up and take off as soon as he could settle everything into the hands of the solicitors. The children were wide-eyed and amazed as they rolled south out of London. Freddie was interpreter for them and to them.
He explained to them they would not be put to work in mills, nor abused. He explained patiently that the food was there to be eaten now, they did not have to steal bread and put it in their pillows to be eaten tomorrow.
It would take a long time for them to change their ways, to understand the different society in which they would be living. Freddie told them they might pick apples to eat. “What is an apple?” Stevie wanted to know.
Penny told him. She had seen them on the fruit stands, and had even eaten one once.
Lesley laughed and cried with them, told them stories, held them on her lap, cuddled them. They were more natural with her than with Viola, dear though she was, or Mrs Grigson, or Mrs Meredith. After all, Lesley had been in the cellar with them.
Penhallow looked beautiful to them all when the carriages rolled into the lane approaching the magnificent country home. Servants had been sent ahead to open up the house. Autumn hazed the countryside, ripe apples hung from the trees in the orchard giving off a fragrance of ripe fruit. The flowers in the beds around the pond were gloriously crimson and gold, mingling with spikes of blue columbine and larkspur, tall gladioli, red foxglove, golden mums. The sun struck the windowpanes and they seemed to smile at Lesley as she leaned eagerly from the carriage window.
The children filled the nurseries. Maids had been hired from the village to take care of them. Sandy ran about and played, out in the gardens, but had to coax the others to come with him. They finally dared it, cautiously. After all, the vistas were so wide open, so long, that they could see any stranger coming from a distance, and run and hide, as Nick said.
Lesley sat in her parlour upstairs and gazed from the windows thoughtfully out over the gazebo and gardens. It seemed years since she had been here, not months. And what pain had occurred, what danger, and tribulation, and yes — happiness.
Burke was so kind and good to her. He was so patient, so gentle. He lay with her every night, but he had not forced her to become his real wife.
With a sigh, she returned to her papers. She was wearing a loose negligée that morning, she had breakfasted alone, and now she was intent on her task.
She was writing a long paper to be delivered at the town hall, with Burke’s consent. It was on child abuse, illustrated vividly with her and Sandy’s experiences, and those of the children they had brought back with them. The town council had actually requested the paper, awed by what had happened to her and curious about the children they had seen.
Lesley was scribbling away hastily, her pen going faster and faster across the pages, when Burke entered. Her cheeks were warm as her emotions rose.
“What are you writing, my dear?” Burke enquired, coming up to the table.
“Writing my speech on child abuse. Oh, Burke, what terrors they have seen, at their young ages!”
He bent over and kissed her forehead, and teased a red-gold curl that fell over her brow. She had not bound up her hair today; it hung about her shoulders in long curls, and little wispy tendrils teased about her ears.
“Must it be written this morning?” he asked.
She thought innocently that he would take her driving. “Oh, no, Burke, do you wish to go out?”
“No, I wish to remain indoors, glorious though the day is,” he said, a twinkle in his dark brown eyes. “You know, though I have told you that I love you, you have never responded to this?”
She flushed, she fiddled with the pen awkwardly. “You have been ... very good ... to me,” she murmured.
“That is very kind of you to say so,” he said solemnly. “Is that all I may expect? You do not reciprocate my feelings?”
She glanced up shyly. He did not look as sober as his voice. His dark eyes danced wickedly. “Burke,” she reproached. “You ... you taunt me...”
“As Lena would say, am I your man?” he asked.
Her cheeks were very hot now. She put her hands to them. “Oh, Burke, you know ... you know that you are,” she said daringly.
He pulled her up from the chair and folded her into his arms. “Then tell me so!”
“I do ... do love ... you, Burke,” she whispered.
He gazed down tenderly into her glowing face. “And I love you ... so very much, my very dear,” he said, and his mouth came slowly to hers.
They lay in bed in the master bedroom for a long time that beautiful day. His kisses were sweeter than honey, sweeter than that made by the bees droning happily among the flowers and returning to their hives. He whispered that her breasts were lovelier than apples, her skin softer than the thick green grass. She was more fragrant than the breeze over the orchards and flowers.
Lesley cried out softly when he took her, but she was more than ready for him. Her arms closed fiercely about him, she shook her head when he whispered he was sorry for the pain.
“The pain had to come first,” she said softly. “As it did for us both, before we could discover we loved each other. Oh, I do love you, Burke...”
He caressed her with his hands, with his lips, and neither slept for hours. There was too much time to make up, so much to say, so many confessions to make, so many caresses to exchange.
And when they were quiet, she lay with her head on his shoulder, and moved her hand slowly over his chest. “I never dreamed a woman could be so happy,” she said in his ear.
When he smiled, she knew what he thought, and her caress turned to a light pummelling of his chest.
“And I know you think I have changed my tune,” she charged fiercely.
He captured her fist and kissed it. “I have changed my tune, also, and now we sing sweetly together, my bird,” he said, and they both laughed.
***
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Copyright © The Estate of Janet Louise Roberts, 1980
The Estate of Janet Louise Roberts has asserted their right to be identified as the author of this work.
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This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
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eBook ISBN: 978-1-80055-200-5
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The Ruby Heart: A classic Regency love story Page 21