by Fanny Finch
Her voice was firm, loud and clear when she responded.
“My identity is of no consequence to you. Since you decided to take the law into your hands and make a public spectacle of this matter, I do believe it is the concern of every person you have drawn to this scene. Shopping activities have been disrupted and I find this particular spectacle rather unpleasing. I wish it to end.
“Hand the boy over to me, instead of the constables. You get your money and I shall see to it that you never see his face on these streets again.”
“What? Ye think takin’ this one off the streets is gon’ make any difference?”
His words fanned the embers of anger that had begun to burn inside of her. Disgust for this man filled her.
“Give him five pounds.”
Frances widened her eyes in question but she knew better than to question Eleanor in public. So, she withdrew a pouch from her reticule and did as she was told.
The man received the money too eagerly and counted it. When he saw that it was indeed five pounds, his jaw dropped.
“That loaf is worth no more than five cents. This is beyond five times what he stole.”
“I do believe you shall be gracious enough to give out bread to other children like him, who may happen around your store, would you not?”
Eleanor raised her chin proudly. “If our actions can make a difference, even if only for a day, then it is our duty, bestowed upon us by our Lord, to make them so.”
The man was apparently at a loss for words, but Eleanor had no interest in hearing any more words from him. She simply stepped around him and walked over to the boy. He still lay on the ground, looking up at her in awe.
Murmurs rose around them, but she ignored it all. Reaching out her hand, she held it mid-air and offered the boy the kindest of gazes she could. She needed the child to trust that she would not hurt him if he went with her.
She remained that way for some seconds, aware of the hundreds of gazes on her in that moment. It gnawed at her, but feeling slightly protected behind her veil, she managed to keep her anxiety at bay.
Just when she begun to lose hope, the little boy reached out his hand and took hers.
A surge of relief soared inside of her, overwhelming her with happiness. She smiled as she helped him up.
Only, as she straightened herself and turned to go back the way she had come, an unfortunate thing happened.
Her veil fell.
Chapter 4
Shock held her frozen as her face became bare for the whole market to see.
It took her seconds to shake the shock off, reach for her veil, and put it back in place. Nevertheless, those seconds were enough for people who remembered her face to put the pieces of the puzzle together.
The murmuring increased and she could hear people gasp aloud.
“Lady Grenshire!”
An English rose, they’d called her once, and her beauty and grace were admired by many. But then things changed, and she was named a flower poisonous.
A Night Rose, the rumors called her, briary and treacherous, that brought only bad luck.
She turned to look at Frances, whose eyes were wide open in apprehension. Every reasonable thought vanished from Eleanor’s head.
She felt as though she had just been stripped naked in front of all these many people. No matter what they said, she felt she had no thorns to protect her whatsoever.
As she stood, rooted in that spot, she looked around the crowd and saw thoughts of her on their faces. They were unpleasant thoughts, written in their smirks, and frowns, and sneers.
Silently, she sent a prayer up above, wishing that the ground open and swallow her.
Then, she felt something squeeze her hand and she looked down to see the boy she had rescued, looking up at her reassuringly.
He squeezed again as if offering her strength. It was a much-needed gesture and Eleanor welcomed the strength he gave.
As she drew it in, her airway finally cleared and she could suddenly breathe again.
The stale breath left her, giving way for fresh breath to flood her lungs, and she realized that she had not even been aware of the fact that she had been holding her breath.
Alas, now she could breathe and by breathing, she could think. The first thought that came to mind was to leave, with her pride intact.
Deciding to do just that, she squared her shoulders once more, and rose her chin in the air. Then, she began to walk.
She was almost at Frances’s side when the trader spoke again, causing her to halt.
“Lady Grenshire? Cow’s skin! Who would have thought? Ye have returned to London, after all these years, and already taking in strays, milady?”
He scoffed. “Do ye believe that forgiveness will be earned ‘cause of it? That yer sins will be erased?”
His words pierced right through her like a spear, hitting Eleanor where it hurt the most.
Her heart squeezed and her chest tightened. She contemplated the wisest thing to do in this situation, whether to give him a befitting reply or simply walk away.
The words of a man she had loved greatly rung in her ears, and as those words did, she saw his smiling eyes and lips. She remembered the day as clear as sky.
“Don’t get in the mud with pigs, dear Eleanor. They will enjoy it, you won’t.”
Her decision was apparent. She kept her back turned to the trader, unwilling to dignify him with a response.
Just as she was about to resume walking, another voice stopped her.
“That is no way to speak to a lady now, is it? You may be common folk, but surely, you were taught lessons on propriety and basic etiquette, were you not?”
Eleanor’s body turned of its own will to look at the gentleman who had come to her rescue.
There he was, standing tall and proud in all his glory. The most handsome man she had seen in a while.
Her eyes held his for a brief moment, and she saw that clear grey gaze that looked like it held a million secrets. She would know about secrets in a person’s eyes. She saw such reflection in her own, whenever she looked in the mirror.
Her throat suddenly felt dry and as she swallowed, the man broke eye contact and turned to look sternly at the trader.
“What say you, Mr. Rogers? Have you suddenly gone deaf? Mute?”
He started walking closer to them and as he did, the trader took steps back, as if afraid of what this gentleman would do to him.
A hush enveloped the crowd, halting the loud murmurs that had been raging just seconds ago.
The man finally came to stop just two feet away from Eleanor, and five feet away from the trader. This closely, Eleanor could see his features more clearly. His face had hard lines, a chiseled jaw and tight lips.
His eyes were small, and atop his head, sat a mass of neat blond hair which he held tied back. The same blond hair ran down the side of his face along the line of his jaw.
His skin was fair but still darker than hers, no doubt by much time in the sun. This close, Eleanor realized that he was even better-looking than she had presumed.
The fact that she noticed this man in such manner, stirred an uncomfortable feeling within her.
“Your Grace…” the trader stammered.
Eleanor jerked her head in his direction, then looked back at the man. Your Grace?
Indeed, he truly appeared to be a man of high status. The way he carried himself and the way his shoulders stood broad and squared.
It was the posture of a man who knew his worth, the power it brought him, and how to wield that power.
His dressing was also impeccable, in the latest fashion. He wore a pair of grey pantaloons, black hessian boots, a white shirt, grey double-breasted waist coat, and a black tail coat.
His cravat spotted a delicate and skilful embroidery and it was tied in the fanciest of knots. He held his hat in his hand - he had it taken off as he approached her. His other hand held an elegantly carved stick, with a silver crest as its crown.
He pinned
a heavy gaze on the trader and Eleanor could feel the man - Mr. Rogers, as he had been called - shrivel beside her. Surely, the identity of this man was well-known and he was well-respected. But who could he be?
“Have you nothing to say for yourself, Mr. Rogers?”
“No, Your Grace, of course not. I apologize. I am aware of the simple manners of the society. I should never have used such language on a lady of apparent status, or any lady. I overstepped.”
All the while, he kept his head bowed, not daring to hold the gentleman’s gaze. It was a wonder that he had managed to utter the sentence without stuttering, or wetting his breeches. From where Eleanor stood, it appeared as though he was fighting a battle against doing just that.
The man seemed unimpressed by the show of ingenuine remorse, as unimpressed as Eleanor felt. Nevertheless, he went ahead to say, “It is not I who you owe an apology, Mr. Rogers. It is the lady.”
Rogers swiftly turned to Eleanor, and dipped in a very deep bow. Earnestly, he offered his apologies.
“Milady, I do not know what overcame me. That was impetuous and absolutely impertinent of me. I pray thee, forgive my misgivings. It shall ne’er happen again. I was wrong. I offer my sincerest apologies.”
Anyone could see through the farce. Eleanor saw through it most of them all. Nevertheless, she had grown weary of the entire event and wished for it to be brought to an end.
So, heaving a deep sigh, she simply said, “Consider all forgiven, Mr Rogers. All I request is that you remember our business, and feed more hungry children this week. I bid you good day.”
“Most gracious, my lady! You are most gracious. I thank ye!”
Those particular words sounded sincere, but Eleanor could not be bothered to be moved. He was simply happy that he had been left off easily.
Ignoring him, she turned to look at the gentleman who had come to her aid.
The way Rogers had addressed him, let her know that he was a duke. Swiftly, she sunk into a shallow but graceful curtsy.
“Many thanks, Your Grace,” she said as she rose. “You did not have to, but you came to my rescue nonetheless. I shall remember this kind deed. You are indeed gracious.”
For the first time since she set her eyes upon the man, she saw his lips perk up in what she could only hope was a smile - a very small one.
It was gone in an instant.
“I did it not for gratitude, simply for the fact that it was what was right to be done. Sadly, our society loses regard for the women folk day by day. And society comprises of men like Mr Rogers here.”
He looked at the boy whom she held. Then he looked back at her, and nodded his head in the little boy’s direction.
“A great deed you did, saving the child from the spectacle. The constables’ office is the worst place for children like this to go. No one owns them, so they are treated as nobodies.
“I wish it were not so, yet it is sadly the world we live in. It is something I hope to change in good time, nevertheless.”
There was a pause as he looked at the crowd which had begun to thin out. Then, he returned his gaze to her.
“I had been watching the scene unfold and was just about to intervene, when you did. You meant what you said about caring for the child, did you not?”
Eleanor had been so captivated by his voice and the way his words flowed out powerfully, yet softly, that it took her a moment to process the question he had asked.
She shook her head as she did, bringing herself back to the present.
One look at the boy who looked back at her with hopeful eyes, confirmed the decision she had made in a haste. “Yes. I meant every word of it.”
“Very good then. These streets are no place for a young girl.”
Eleanor was about to counter that she was no girl but a grown woman, but she quickly fathomed he was speaking of the boy she held.
“A girl?” she asked, the confusion in her voice loud.
The man looked at the child once more, and back at her. “Yes. Anyone with trained eyes would see at first glance that that is no boy.
“The bone structure is different, delicate. Facial features are feminine and hair is too long and healthy for a boy to have grown it.”
Eleanor’s eyes widened at this revelation, and she took one good look at the child.
Her eyes widened further when she saw the truth of his words for herself. Ah. Indeed, the gentleman was right.
The girl had done a good job to disguise herself in men’s clothing. Yet, on a closer look, it was obvious. She was a girl, through and true.
A fresh wave of anger surged through Eleanor again. She fought to keep it bridled.
To think that the girl would have had to suffer such injustice! And what if the wrong person had realized that she was a girl child?
It was not spoken of, nevertheless, it was no secret that there were men who derived pleasure from doing evil things to little children.
Indeed, these streets were no place for a girl. More than before, she felt a sense of protectiveness towards this girl. She looked into those blue pools and a message passed between the two of them.
She would protect her. She would keep her in her care, under her wing, and the girl would never have to steal or beg for food for as long as Eleanor had the power to control that.
Eleanor had no children. In all probability, she would never have children, no matter how much this pained her. But she could help children that weren’t hers.
A powerful urge to take the girl into her embrace rose in her, but she dampened it. Later, she promised herself. Then, she looked up at the gentleman.
“That was quite perceptive, my lord. I never guessed it. Thank you. Now, I am even gladder that I stepped in.”
He nodded as he wore his hat. “As I am. I also express admiration for your kind heart. Now, you must forgive me for I am in a hurry and I have to take my leave.”
He looked at the young girl by her side, once again. His eyes reflected the kindness in his heart. “I am to be assured that she is in good hands?”
Eleanor nodded her head. “I shall take very good care of her. I am responsible for her from now on.”
This time, he was the one who nodded. Then, he bent in a bow. After rising, he said, “In that case my lady, I wish you God’s best. Fare well.”
She was charmed, utterly. “Fare well,” she repeated his words.
He cracked a small smile once more, and tipped his hat before turning to go.
It was not until he got onto his carriage, that she realized she had not learned his name.
Oh, so much for the encounter.
Nevertheless, she had thanked him well enough. That was a comforting thought to consider. It was just as well.
The whole scene was over, and now, they could return home. For a moment there, she had forgotten about her trepidation at being discovered. Now that it was over, it came to gnaw at her skin.
She tugged the girl’s hand, eager to be on their way. “Come, child, we must go now.”
With two strides, she joined Frances and her other maids and sent for the carriage to be brought around.
There had been enough shopping for today. Even the visit to the library would have to be postponed. She suddenly felt tired and needed to rest.
More than that, she could not wait to ask the girl questions about how she got to be on the streets in the first place.
They did not have to wait long before the carriage came to where they were. One by one, they were helped in by the footman. As Eleanor climbed, she caught wind of some whispers.
“Wasn’t that the Duke of Finchester? His Grace, Charles Duncan?” It was a woman’s voice.
Eleanor paused mid-way, curious to catch the rest of the conversation.
“Yes. It was. Word has it that he is a fearsome man, and quite formidable to make an enemy of,” another woman replied.
“Oh, but he is handsome, is he not? It’s been two years since he lost his wife. Do you think he may be considering taking
another wife this season?” the first woman asked again.
“Who knows? Even if he is, common folk like you and I do not stand a chance. Surely, you know this,” the second answered.
Deciding that she had heard enough, Eleanor took the last step and fully entered the carriage.
When they had all settled in, she gave three knocks, and the wheels began to roll the way home.