Marrying Winterborne

“Thank you, that is very generous of you, but . . . I must go today.” Helen paused. “Even if you cannot.”

“Lady Helen,” Dr. Gibson said quietly, “it’s no place for a gently bred woman. It exists at a level of human misery that would prove very distressing to someone who has led a sheltered life.”

Helen understood that the words were kindly meant, but they stung just the same. She was not delicate or weak-minded—she had already decided that she would muster whatever strength was necessary to do what had to be done. “I’ll manage,” she said. “If a four-year-old child has survived in such a place, I daresay I can endure one visit.”

“Could you not approach Mr. Winterborne? A man with his resources—”

“No, I don’t want him to know about this.”

Struck by Helen’s vehemence, Dr. Gibson regarded her with a speculative gaze. “Why must you be the one to handle this situation? Why would you take such a risk for a child who has only a slight connection to you?”

Helen was silent, afraid to reveal too much.

The other woman waited patiently. “If I am to help you, Lady Helen,” she said after a moment, “you must trust me.”

“My connection to the child is . . . more than slight.”

“I see.” The doctor paused before asking gently, “Is the child in fact yours? I wouldn’t judge you in the least for it, many women make mistakes.”

Helen flushed deeply. She forced herself to look directly at Dr. Gibson. “Charity is my half sister. Her father, Mr. Vance, had an affair with my mother long ago. Seducing and abandoning women is something of a sport to him.”

“Ah,” Dr. Gibson said softly. “So it is with many men. I see the vicious consequences of such sport, if we’re to call it that, whenever I visit the women and children who are suffering in workhouses. To my mind, castration would be the ideal solution.” She gave Helen a measuring glance. Appearing to make a decision, she stood abruptly. “Let’s be off, then.”

Helen blinked. “You’ll go with me? Now?”

“I certainly can’t let you do it alone. It would behoove us to leave at once. Daylight will start to wane at a quarter past six. We’ll have to send your driver and footman home and hire a hansom. It would be foolhardy to take a fine carriage to the place we’re going, and I doubt your footman would allow you to set one foot outside it, once he has a glimpse of the area.”

Helen followed her from the room to the hallway.

“Eliza,” Dr. Gibson called out. The plump housemaid reappeared. “I’m going out for the rest of the afternoon.” The maid helped her into her coat. “Look after my father,” Dr. Gibson continued, “and don’t let him have sweets.” Glancing at Helen, she said in a quick aside, “They play havoc with his digestion.”

“I never do, Dr. Gibson,” the housemaid protested. “We keep hiding ’em, but he sneaks past us and finds ’em anyway.”

Dr. Gibson frowned, putting on her hat and tugging on a pair of gloves. “I expect you to pay closer attention. For goodness’ sake, he’s as subtle as a war elephant when he comes down the stairs.”

“He’s light-footed when he’s after sweets,” the maid said defensively.

Turning to the hall tree, Dr. Gibson pulled out her walking stick by its curved handle, and caught it smartly in midair. “We may have need of this,” she said with the satisfaction of a well-armed woman on a mission. “Onward, my lady.”

Chapter 28

AFTER THE FOOTMAN AND driver were sent back to Ravenel house with the message that the appointment would take longer than expected, Helen and Dr. Gibson went on foot to Pancras Road. As they walked briskly, Dr. Gibson cautioned Helen about how to conduct herself in the East End, especially near the docklands area. “Stay aware of the environment. Take note of people in doorways, between buildings, or beside parked carriages. If anyone approaches you with a question, ignore them, even if it’s a woman or child. Always walk with purpose. Don’t ever look indecisive or lost, especially if you are, and never smile for any reason. If two people are walking toward you, don’t go between them.”

They reached a wide street, and stopped near a corner. “One can always find a hansom on the main thoroughfares,” Dr. Gibson continued. “Here’s one now.” She thrust her hand into the air. “They’re always running express, so take care not to be mown down as they approach the curbstone. Once he stops, we’ll have to seat ourselves and be quick about it. Hansom horses tend to start and jerk, so mind you don’t fall from the footboard while climbing in.”

Helen nodded tensely, her heart thumping as the two-wheeled vehicle came to a violent halt in front of them. Dr. Gibson ascended first after the folding door opened, ducking beneath the trailing reins.

Grimly determined, Helen climbed up after her, gripping the oval splashguard over the wheel for leverage. The narrow footboard was slippery with mud. To make matters worse, the weight and bulk of her bustle threatened to drag her backward. Somehow she managed to keep her balance, and lunged awkwardly into the cab.

“Well done,” Dr. Gibson said. She stopped Helen from reaching for the door. “The driver will close it with a lever.” She called out their destination to the driver through a trapdoor in the roof, after using her cane to poke at a newspaper that had fallen across the opening. The door swung shut, the vehicle jerked forward, and they proceeded along the street with rapidly increasing velocity.