She was soon to learn otherwise.
Discovering the sealed rectangle partially tucked beneath the saucer, she picked it up and opened it.
Helen,
Upon reflection, I realized the obvious solution to the muddle you are in. The child, and all responsibility for her, belong to my nephew. It is finally time for him to solve one of the problems he has created. I have already sent word this morning that he is to retrieve his daughter forthwith, and do with her as he sees fit.
The matter is now out of your hands, as it should be.
I expect Mr. Vance to arrive within the hour. Have the child dressed and ready. Let us try not to make a scene when it comes time for her departure.
This is for the best. If you do not realize it now, you will soon.
Helen set the note down, breathing shallowly. The room seemed to revolve slowly around her. Vance would come, because he wanted Helen to marry Mr. Winterborne, and Charity was an obstacle to his plans. And if he took Charity away with him, the child would die. He wouldn’t kill her, but he would leave her in a situation in which she couldn’t survive. Which was more or less what he had already done.
You will take her over my dead body. Picking up the tea, Helen tried to swallow some, finding it difficult to guide the shaking rim to her lips. A splash of hot liquid fell on her bodice.
“Is something amiss, my lady?”
“Not amiss,” Helen replied, setting down the cup, “but Lady Berwick has requested that I have Charity dressed and ready for the day, in very short order. We need the clothes that were washed for her last night. Would you ask Mrs. Abbott to bring them to my room right away? I need to speak to her.”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Take the tray, please, and set it aside.”
After Agatha had left, Helen slid out of bed and ran to the wardrobe. She pulled out a velvet tapestry bag, took it to the dresser, and began to toss articles into it: a hairbrush, handkerchiefs, gloves, stockings, and a jar of salve. She threw in the tin of neuralgic powders—although she wouldn’t take one while traveling, she might very well need it by the time she reached her destination.
“Helen?” Charity sat up and regarded her with big, bright eyes. A hank of hair had sprung up near the top of her head like a bird’s plumage.
Helen smiled in spite of her suffocating panic, and went to her. “Good morning, my little chick.” She hugged her, while small trusting arms clasped her waist.
“You smell pretty.”
Helen released her with a fond stroke on her hair, went to the breakfast tray, and poured chocolate into the empty cup. Testing it with the tip of her pinkie finger, she found that it was warm but not too hot. “Do you like chocolate, Charity?”
The question was greeted with perplexed silence.
“Try it and see.” Helen gave her the cup carefully, curving the tiny fingers around the heated china.
The girl sampled it, smacked her lips, and looked at Helen with a wondering smile. She continued to drink it in birdlike sips, trying to make it last.
“I’ll be right back, darling,” Helen murmured. “I have to wake up my sleepyhead sisters.” Calmly she walked to the door. Once she was in the hallway, she ran like a madwoman to Cassandra’s room. Her sister was deep in slumber.
“Cassandra,” she whispered, patting and shaking her shoulder. “Please wake up. Help, I need help.”
“Too early,” Cassandra mumbled.
“Mr. Vance is coming within the hour. He’s going to take Charity away. Please, you must help me, I need to leave Ravenel House quickly.”
Cassandra sat bolt upright, giving her a befuddled glance. “What?”
“Get Pandora, and come to my room. Try to be quiet.”
In five minutes, the twins were in Helen’s bedroom. She handed them the note, and they read it in turn.
Pandora looked wrathful. “‘The matter is now out of your hands,’” she read aloud, a flush climbing her cheeks. “I hate her.”
“No, you mustn’t hate her,” Helen said softly. “She’s doing the wrong thing for the right reason.”
“I don’t care about the reason, the result is still revolting.”
Someone tapped quietly on the door. “Lady Helen?” came the housekeeper’s voice.
“Yes, come in.”
The housekeeper entered with a stack of neatly folded clothes. “All washed and mended,” she said. “There’s not much left of the stockings, but I patched them as well as I could.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Abbott. Charity will enjoy wearing nice clean clothes.” Helen gestured to the child on the bed, reminding them all that she could hear every word. She gave the note to the housekeeper and waited until she had read it before murmuring apologetically, “I wish I could explain the situation more fully to you, but—”
“You’re a Ravenel, my lady,” came Mrs. Abbott’s staunch reply. “That’s all I need to understand. What are you planning?”
“I’m going to Waterloo Station, to take the next train to Hampshire.”
“I’ll tell the driver to ready the carriage.”
“No, that would take too long, and they’ll notice, and we’d never be allowed to leave. I have to go to the main road by way of the servants’ door and take a hansom cab to the station.”
Mrs. Abbott looked alarmed. “My lady, a hansom—”
“Don’t worry about that. The problem is that when Mr. Vance realizes I’m not here, he’ll follow me to the station. It’s fairly obvious that Eversby Priory is the only place I could take Charity.”
“We’ll stall for you,” Pandora said. “We’ll lock your bedroom door and pretend to be helping with Charity.”
“I’ll speak to one of the footmen,” the housekeeper said quietly. “Mr. Vance’s carriage will be missing a perch-bolt when he tries to leave.”
Impulsively Helen snatched up her hand and kissed it.
Mrs. Abbott seemed slightly unnerved by the gesture. “There, there, my lady. I’ll send Agatha back up to help you dress.”
“We’ll take care of the rest,” Cassandra said.
The next few minutes were a strange, mad scramble of feverish activity and quiet murmurs. Helen had already donned her chemise and drawers by the time Agatha came to the room, and was struggling with her corset. In her haste, she couldn’t match the front hooks up correctly.
Agatha came to her, reached for the top of the busk, and began to hook it deftly. “My mum always says, ‘fast is slow and slow is fast.’”
“I’ll try to remember that,” Helen said ruefully.
After finishing the corset, the maid went to the wardrobe.
“No, don’t,” Helen said, realizing what she was looking for. “I’m not going to wear a bustle.”
“My lady?” the maid asked, looking shocked.
“Just pin up the loose parts of my traveling skirts in back,” Helen insisted. “I can’t walk in tiny steps today, I have to move.”
Agatha hurried back to her with a black traveling skirt and a white blouse.
On the other side of the room, Cassandra dressed Charity with remarkable speed, telling her with a smile that she was going on an outing with Helen. “Pandora, she has no bonnet or coat. Will you fetch her a shawl or something?”
Pandora dashed off to her room and returned with a shawl and a small, low-crowned felt hat trimmed with cord. Since there was no significant difference between girls’ and women’s hat styles, it would work well enough.
After helping Helen to don her black traveling jacket, Agatha asked, “Shall I run to the pantry and fetch something for you to take, my lady?”
Cassandra answered from the window, where she had gone after hearing a noise from outside. “No time,” she said tersely. “Mr. Vance’s carriage has arrived.”
Agatha gathered Helen’s loose locks, twisted them with a few violent jerks, pulled a few pins from her own hair, and anchored a simple knot high on Helen’s head. Pandora snatched a hat from the wardrobe and tossed it to the maid,
who caught it with one hand and fastened it just above the knot of hair.
“Do you have money?” Cassandra asked.
“Yes.” Helen strode to the tapestry bag, took out some gloves, and closed the top. “Charity,” she asked, shaping her mouth into a smile, “are you ready to go on an outing?”
The child nodded. With the hat covering the ragged mop of her hair, and the shawl concealing most of the orphanage uniform, she looked tidy and presentable.
Cassandra glanced over Helen. “You seem so calm.”
“My heart’s about to burst,” Helen said. “Quickly, let’s say good-bye.”
Cassandra kissed her cheek. “I love you,” she whispered, and crouched down to hug Charity.
Pandora followed suit, kissing Helen and bending to take Charity’s face in her hands. Apparently assuming that Pandora wanted to inspect her teeth, as she had the previous night, Charity opened her mouth to display her lower incisors.
Pandora grinned. Nudging the small mouth closed with a gentle finger, she kissed the child’s nose. Standing, she gave Helen a businesslike nod. “We’ll buy you as much time as we can.”
Picking up the tapestry bag, and taking Charity’s hand, Helen followed Agatha from the room. Immediately after she crossed the threshold, the door closed, and the key turned decisively in the lock.
Chapter 31
ALONG THE WAY TO Waterloo Station, in a hansom cab that jounced, tilted, and swayed with suicidal fervor, Helen discovered that it was easier to be brave in the presence of a child than when she was alone. She was so determined to keep Charity from worrying that she found herself making ridiculous comments, such as “Isn’t this exciting?” when they nearly crashed into an omnibus, or “How exhilarating!” when the wheels hit a hole in the road and the vehicle was briefly airborne. Charity remained silent, staring at the chaotic world rushing past them. She had a remarkable willingness to endure discomfort or uncertainty without complaining. Whenever Helen had been praised during her childhood, it had usually been for the same quality. She wasn’t certain that had been a good thing.
The hansom stopped on Waterloo Road beside one of the massive train sheds. Helen handed up the payment to the driver and grappled with her tapestry bag as she descended from the vehicle. She reached for Charity, who half-jumped, half-fell into her arms. Catching her neatly, Helen lowered her feet to the pavement. She felt a flicker of triumph. I couldn’t have done that with a bustle. Gripping the tapestry bag on one side and holding Charity’s hand on the other, Helen followed the flow of the crowd as it poured into the station.
The approach to the booking office was a narrow, convoluted path, leading through a collection of temporary structures. The station was in the process of yet another expansion, with the result that the waiting rooms and service areas were crudely constructed and unpainted. Keeping a firm grasp on Charity, Helen waited her turn in line, watching as parcel clerks, booking clerks, and porters rushed back and forth from the row of ticket counters. She reached the front of the line, where a clerk informed her that the train to Alton Station would depart in an hour and a half.
Helen bought two first-class tickets. She was relieved that they hadn’t missed the train, but she wished they didn’t have to wait for so long. Hopefully the twins and the servants could manage to detain Vance long enough to keep him from reaching the station before her train departed. She took Charity to a cluster of stalls that sold newspapers, books, penny journals and periodicals, boxed sandwiches, snacks, and tea. After buying a cup of milk and a bun for Charity, Helen browsed over the bookstalls and purchased a compendium of illustrated children’s stories.
They went to the first-class waiting area, furnished only with backless wooden benches. Some travelers complained about the lack of upholstered seating and the rough, unpainted walls, while others sat stoically. Helen found an empty bench in the corner, and settled there with Charity, keeping her tapestry bag at their feet. While the little girl ate the bun and drank her milk, Helen opened the book and paged through it.
Charity poked excitedly at an illustration of the three bears. “Do that one, Helen. That one.”
Helen smiled. “You’re not tired of it yet?”
Charity shook her head.
As Helen searched for the beginning of the story, she caught sight of another title: “The Red Shoes.” She paused and frowned. “Wait a moment, I have to fix something.” With a few deft tugs, she tore the hated story out of the book. Regretfully, a page of “Jack and the Beanstalk” had to be removed with it, but Helen considered it a worthwhile sacrifice.
Hearing the sound of ripping paper, a woman seated nearby glanced in their direction. She frowned in open disapproval at the sight of a book being mutilated in such a fashion. Feeling rebellious, Helen met the woman’s disdainful gaze as she crumpled the pages in her gloved hand. After dropping the wads of paper into her tapestry bag, Helen said in satisfaction, “There, that’s better.” She found “The Three Bears” and read it to Charity in a whisper.
As the minutes wore on, Helen glanced up frequently, fearing she would see Albion Vance walking toward her. What would she do if he found them? Would he try to take Charity by force? In a public conflict between a woman and a well-dressed, respectable-looking man, the man would almost certainly win. No one would lift a finger to help her.
The room was unheated, and icy draughts of air numbed Helen’s feet. She wiggled her toes until they prickled uncomfortably. The bench became progressively hard, and Charity lost interest in the book. She leaned against Helen, shivering. Wrapping the shawl more snugly around the child’s tiny frame, Helen wished she had brought a lap blanket. People left the waiting area, and others came, and the incessant shouts and train whistles and clamor began to fray Helen’s nerves.
Someone approached her directly, and her head jerked up in alarm, her heart hammering. To her relief, it was not Albion Vance but the small, elderly booking clerk who had sold her the ticket. He had a kind face, and a gray mustache with curled waxed tips that gave the impression of a perpetual smile.
“Pardon, ma’am,” he said quietly. “You’re on the next departure for Alton Station?”
Helen gave him a slight nod, briefly surprised at being called “ma’am” instead of “miss,” until she recalled that she had given her name as Mrs. Smith.
“There’s been a delay for at least an hour.”
Helen regarded him with dismay. “May I ask why?”
“It’s being kept waiting outside the station, as we have an insufficient number of platforms. A special train has caused delays for our scheduled departures.”
Another hour of waiting. Another hour for Albion Vance to find her. “Thank you for informing me.”
He spoke even more softly. “Ma’am, in light of circumstances, seeing as you’re the only one in here with a child . . . would you like to go to a more comfortable waiting area? We don’t always offer it, of course, but the little one seems cold . . .”
“This other waiting area is nearby?” Helen asked warily.
His smile nudged the points of his mustache higher. “The offices in back of the ticket counter. They’re warmer and quieter than here. You could rest in a soft chair while you wait.”
The offer was irresistible. Not only would they be more comfortable, but they would be tucked safely out of sight. “I wouldn’t want to miss my departure,” she said uncertainly.
“I’ll watch the clock for you.”
“Thank you.” Helen straightened Charity’s shawl and hat. “We’re going to wait in another room where it’s warmer,” she whispered. Picking up the tapestry bag, Helen ignored a multitude of small aches throughout her body. They followed the booking clerk out past the ticket counters, and went through a door that opened to a row of private office rooms. Heading to the last one in the row, the clerk opened it for Helen.
It was a nice room, neatly kept, with maps on the walls, a desk piled with schedules, books, and pamphlets, and a shuttered window that revealed a par
tial view of one of the main platforms. A small chair was positioned behind the desk, and a large comfortable-looking wingback occupied the corner.
“Will this be acceptable, my lady”?
“Yes. Thank you.” She smiled at him, even as her nerves crawled with a sudden feeling of apprehension.
The clerk left the office room, and Helen busied herself with making Charity comfortable. She set her in the large upholstered chair, wedging the tapestry bag at one side for her to rest on, and covering her with the shawl. Charity snuggled down in the chair immediately.
Going to the window, Helen stared at the busy platform.
A thought occurred to her. Had the booking clerk just called her “my lady”?
He had. She was so accustomed to the term, it had temporarily escaped her notice. But there was no way for him to know that she had a courtesy title. She hadn’t given him her real name.
Her stomach turned to ice.
Striding to the door, Helen opened it. The threshold was blocked by a man in a dark suit and a low-brimmed hat. She recognized the hat first, and then the blue eyes.
He was the young man who had come to help her and Dr. Gibson, when they had been harassed after leaving the Stepney Orphanage.
Staring at him in shock, Helen asked unsteadily, “Why are you here?”
He gave her a faint smile that seemed to be intended as reassurance. “Keeping an eye on you, my lady.”
She took a shaking breath. “I’m going to take my child and leave now.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Why not?”
“You’ll have to wait a bit longer.”
The door closed in her face.
Helen clenched her fists, furious with him, and the situation, and most of all herself. I shouldn’t have trusted a stranger. How stupid she’d been. Tears stung her eyes, and she struggled to keep from losing her self-control. After taking a few deep breaths, she glanced at Charity, who was drifting off to sleep, having absorbed enough new experiences for the time being.
Wandering to the window, Helen widened the shutters and stared at platform eight. A train had pulled in, bearing the same number as the train listed on her ticket. It hadn’t been delayed after all.