Chapter Five
The carriage rattled with speed toward the heart of London. Evie shifted the small curtain and peered out the coach window into the gray-amber morning. She had ordered the carriage early with the intention of visiting the lending library to return a few books. She’d had a restless night, and had spent hours tossing, unable to find another way to help her papa out of the mess they were in, without marrying. They had to retrench, and it grieved her heart she could not cancel the several hats, laces, day dresses, and ball gowns she had ordered last week. If they were to cancel any items, it would be a signal of their precarious finances and the creditors would be knocking at their door before a solution was found.
“We have to return home before noon, Lady Evie, before your mother wakes,” Miss Rogers, her lady’s maid said. “The countess will be displeased to find us gone and no one to attend her.”
Evie nodded. She and Mamma had been sharing a lady’s maid for the past few months, though Mamma monopolized most of Miss Rogers’ time. She only saw to Evie’s hair and dressing whenever she headed out. Luckily Mamma always slept late whenever she attended a ball the night before. “You may return without me after we’ve visited the library. Please inform Mamma I’ve paid a call upon the Duchess of Wolverton. Her Grace will be kind enough to see me home in time for supper.”
Miss Rogers nodded and settled herself more comfortably against the squabs. Evie would indeed pay a call upon Adel. She wanted a few hours away from her mother’s pressure to accept Lord Ponsby’s more than generous marriage offer, so she could marshal her thoughts to a clear order. Perhaps she would allow her friend to talk her out of the rash plans that had been swirling in her head since last night, namely her intention to call upon Richard before returning home.
He mixes with undesirables…thugs…thieves.
“Have you heard report of the man some call the Saint, Miss Rogers, and the areas he frequents?”
Her lady’s maid’s eyes widened with speculation and Evie flushed.
“Is that why you’re dressed as you are, my lady?” she asked with a pointed glare at Evie’s attire.
Instinctively, Evie patted her head to ensure her hat was on firmly. She wore a light blue dress, a black Spencer jacket, and the hat with a veil. She’d had the notion to prevail upon Richard at his home, and her identity had to be protected. While she was discovering her reckless heart, Evie hoped she wasn’t foolish. Her veil and simple manner of dressing would see her protected from the avid scrutiny of anyone watching the coming and goings of his townhouse. “I am simply curious. If you are discomfited, I understand.”
Miss Rogers’s nose wrinkled and amusement lurked in the depth of her brown eyes. “I’ve heard of the marquess, my lady. They say he was able to use his influence and rescue Mrs. Trent’s son from the gallows only last month.”
From the gallows? “And who is Mrs. Trent?”
“She is a widow in Lambeth. Since her husband’s death, it has been hard to survive.”
“And her son’s crime?”
“He stole a pocket watch from a gentleman. It was valued at thirty guineas.” Admiration lit Miss Rogers’s eyes. “My uncle said little Tommy was to be transported, but the marquess visited the magistrate in the dead of night, and all was settled. No one knows what he did, my lady, but little Tommy was freed. And Mrs. Trent was provided for generously.”
“I see,” Evie said with quiet contemplation. “Very generous of the marquess.”
“Indeed, my lady, we were very glad when we heard the news. Genteel folks don’t normally care about us.”
“Do you know the family, Miss Rogers?”
“I do, Lady Evie, they are my neighbors.”
I see. The carriage jerked to a stop, and Evie opened the blinds. “Why have we stopped?”
Miss Rogers opened the small window and enquired of the coachman. She drew back the curtain and settled against the squabs. “There seems to be an accident, my lady, and there is traffic. John says he will divert and we’ll be at the library shortly.”
Evie nodded and heaved a sigh of relief as the carriage once again jolted into motion. “I hope no one was hurt,” she murmured, picking up the book she had been reading earlier.
A loud commotion had Evie opening the blinds once more. She peered outside, frowning, unfamiliar with the streets they traveled on. She leaned forward, pressing her face to the carriage window as she spied a man taking his fist to a small boy. Her breath hitched as those walking along the cobbled street kept about their business. Acting on an instinct she was sure to regret, she used her parasol and rapped the roof of the carriage.
“Lady Evelyn?” Miss Rogers queried sharply, her nose twitching with distaste as she spied where they were.
“You may stay here. I will be back shortly.”
Her maid threw her a scandalized look. “Surely I will be fired if I allow you to leave the carriage unaccompanied!”
“Well, come on then.” The carriage stopped, and she hurried down from the equipage, disgust churning through her along with anger to see the man was still beating the child.
“You there,” she snapped at the man holding the small boy by the scruff of the neck. “Unhand him.”
The man swung around and she faltered. “Lord Prendergast!” He was a friend of her brother and had been over to their home several times for dinner parties and balls. He’d always seemed so kind, affable, and unctuous with his dark red hair, gray eyes, and elegant physique.
The child he held in his grip was bloodied and crying.
“I am appalled, my lord. What cause would you have to treat a child so cruelly?”
“This child,” he spat, “tried to pick my pocket. He is fortunate I did not hand him over to the magistrate.”
Evie lifted her chin. “Did he succeed?”
“No.”
“Then I implore you to unhand the boy, my lord. He is hurt and terribly frightened. I cannot credit a gentleman would thrash a helpless child until he is bleeding.”
Lord Prendergast had the grace to flush and tugged at his cravat. He released his hold, and the boy scurried away without looking back.
“Thank you.”
His eyes warmed. “I’m always happy to oblige you, my lady. Would you allow me to escort you to your destination?”
“I am quite able to return to my carriage without an escort. My lady’s maid is with me.”
His lips tightened, but he did not press the issue. With a tip of his hat, he walked away and disappeared around a corner. No doubt her brother would hear of her interference and scold her most severely.
“I cannot credit no one intervened,” Evie said, glaring at people as they strolled along the busy street. She allowed her gaze to roam the buildings of one of the more derelict parts of town she had ever seen. Everything seemed so filthy, covered in soot and grime: the buildings, the children, the newspaper hawker, and the little boy bravely standing in the cold selling oranges. The sun hung low in the sky, and the place held a dreary bleakness she could not understand. Several passersby glanced at the carriage and perused her intently before reluctantly moving on. She glanced at Miss Rogers. “Where are we?”
“Near the Smithfield meat market, my lady.”
Evie had never been to this side of town before, a notion that appalled her, for their carriage ride had not been overly long. “Is this a slum?”
Miss Rogers hesitated. “No, my lady.” Her lady’s maid glanced at the two footmen who hovered a few paces behind them.
“I think it best we return to the carriage and be on our way,” Evie murmured, still unable to credit the difference in the surroundings. The buildings were fashioned crudely, and without the refinement she was long accustomed to. Many soiled children tried to approach her, but the footmen shooed them away.
A little girl broke away and ran up to her with outstretched arms. “Please, ma’am, a coin fer food.”
Evie’s nose wrinkled at the strong scent wafting from the girl. She was thin, with straggly and matted dark hair and boots with holes in them. The girl’s eyes were wide and frightened, or perhaps it was hunger and desperation. Evie’s heart twisted. She retrieved her small purse bag with a few coins and lurched back as several children swarmed her, overriding the protest from her lady’s maid and footmen. A hand darted and grabbed the purse from her clutches and the children ran away, scuffling with each other for the contents.
“You thieves,” Miss Rogers shouted.
“Leave them be, Miss Rogers, they are but hungry.”
“They are thieves, my lady. Would you like to make a report?”
“Of course not. They are desperate children.” Very much like the boy Richard had told her of, who had been sentenced to seven years in jail for stealing food. She couldn’t help noticing how the people were dressed poorly, too badly for the cold that was even now nipping at Evie’s bones. She frowned as her gaze landed on a small form lying still in the gutter, her hands hanging limply by her side. Evie gasped as a man pushing a cart loaded with oranges simply skirted around her.
“Look away, my lady, more than likely she is dead.”
“Dead?” Evie pressed a trembling hand to her stomach, hating the sick feeling twisting inside her. There were people sitting on the ground near the seemingly lifeless child, eating a round thing that resembled bread, a few were lying still, mostly men with missing limbs. Shock rolled over her like a tidal wave. “I…” Her throat closed. Who are they?
Suddenly, irrationally, she felt cold and afraid. This was poverty, not the fate her mother had been bemoaning. Instinctively, Evie realized this could not be the worst of it, as they were not in the heart of the slum. It seemed inconceivable she stood only on the periphery. As if someone else controlled her motions, she walked farther down the street, her gaze bouncing from one heartbreaking face of despair to another. Children, women, men in grimy and tattered army uniforms.
A woman of undetermined years rushed over to her, a child in her arms and two more clutching at her frock. “If ye please, miss, do you ’ave any coins for me youngons?”
“I…no, they took it all earlier,” Evie responded helplessly.
The woman hardly spared her a glance as she moved her begging to the gentleman behind Evie, even going as far as to grasp his jacket. Evie gasped when he cuffed the side of the woman’s head and she stumbled, the child slipping from her arm. Evie rushed over, stooping and helping them to their feet.
“Have you lost your damn senses?” a rough voice demanded from behind.
Richard. The oddest sensation tugged deep inside of her, and she wanted to fling herself into his arms. She was gripped gently and herded away to the side of a building.
“Explain yourself—what madness brought you here?”
She was unable to speak past the tears of shame and sorrow choking her.
“Evie, do you have any idea of the manner of risk you assumed?”
“A child was being beaten, and I reacted without much thought.” She swallowed past the growing lump in her throat. “I…I took my maid and two footmen.”
“They would not have been able to protect you,” he growled. He glanced at Miss Rogers, who hovered close by. “Go. I will return her home safely.”
Miss Rogers dipped into a quick curtsy. “Yes, my lord. I’ll let the countess know you’re calling on Her Grace, my lady,” she said and hurried away with the two footmen.
Richard shifted his regard to Evie, his eyes searching her face with disturbing intensity. “What is wrong? So help me God, I will bury the person who harmed you.”
“No one hurt me,” she gasped, stricken by the leashed violence thrumming from him.
“Then why are you crying?”
Oh! She swiped at the tears spilling over. Her gaze once more strayed to the begging children, the old street hawker, and the man without his limb lying in the gutter. “Their suffering shames me,” she blurted hoarsely.
“Don’t cry,” he said gruffly.
“How can I not? There are children here, who are cold, barely eating, with soot on their faces, and they are so…so meager in appearance. Meanwhile, we have balls after balls, with so much food and champagne discarded afterward.”
Evie commanded her fingers not to tremble. Tears once again burned the back of her eyes. She dropped her head to his chest, fighting to keep her composure. Her entire world had revolved around learning the delicate art of witty conversation, how to walk and dance with refined elegance, how to flirt artlessly, and how to capture a gentleman with at least ten thousand pounds a year. “How have I been so ignorant?”
A raw, ugly sound burst from her, and she swiped furiously at the tears streaming down her cheeks. With a low, indecipherable curse, Richard tugged her to him in full view of everyone.
“Don’t,” he ground out. “For Christ’s sake, Evie.”
“I’ve never given a thought to those who suffered. I was not even aware of the poverty and the despair. And how can that be when it is so plentiful? My life has been about my coming out, being the belle of each ball when this… I truly have been residing within a perfect gilded cage,” she choked out.
It was then she understood how he had changed, the distaste he felt for the ton and those who refused to aid the less fortunate. It had been shame that had broken him and hope that had reformed him into the man standing before her.
His hand moved in a slow, soothing stroke over her back. “Dammit, Evie, my words were never meant to drive you here.”
“They did not, it was happenstance the coachman diverted to this side.”
“Come, we cannot stay, there are footpads lurking around every corner,” he said, bundling her away toward his waiting carriage.
A protest welled in her throat. “Did you see the little girl lying over there on her side? I think…” She swallowed, fear burning her throat and squeezing the joy from her heart. “I think she is no longer living. Would you please check on her?”
He squeezed her gently, then released her and walked over to the small form hugging the side of the alley. Richard bent, moved the thin blanket, and examined the girl. He shrugged from his coat and then scooped her into his arms. Hope flared inside Evie. Unable to wait, she hurried over to him. “Does she live?”
“Yes, but she is faint from starvation. We must get her to Mrs. Cranston immediately.”
His courtesan widow?
They hurried toward his carriage, and in quick order, they were seated inside, and he gave orders to which the driver responded with alacrity. He bundled the child even more securely, holding her close to his chest, uncaring of her filth and the unpleasant odor wafting from her.
“There were men walking along the streets and they ignored her,” Evie said, firming her lips, hating the manner in which they trembled.
Golden eyes clashed with hers. “Hundreds of children die yearly on the streets of the city. Either from starvation or from the cold.”
She flinched. “I’ve not read of such atrocities.”
Cynicism twisted his lips into a cold sneer. “That is because the scandal sheets that report on which lady and lord are possibly having an affair are more sought after.”
She glanced out the small window, unable to withstand the condemnation in his gaze. They traveled in silence, and several minutes later the carriage rattled to a halt, and the door was opened by the coachman without delay. They descended and moved with briskness toward the large but very grim-looking house outside. She hurried to keep pace with him. “Where are we?”
“Cheapside district.”
“And Mrs. Cranston lives here?”
“Yes.”
“I…”
“You can wait in the carriage,” he clipped. “There is no doubt you are worried about the scandal if you were to be seen, though I hardly think any of your friends venture to this area of the city.”
Evie held her tongue, resenting the truth of his words. She followed him as the large oak door was opened without Richard knocking. He hurried down the hall, and she kept pace with him, noting the warm, inviting presence of the house. The rag-rolled walls were freshly painted in a cheerful pink and the furniture was made of solid dark wood. It was far from fashionable but looked practical and well polished.
“Mrs. Cranston,” he shouted.
A door was flung open, and Evie got a peek into a music room of sorts where several clean and lively children’s faces were gathered around a grand-pianoforte. The door closed, and the widow he had brought to the ball a few weeks ago bustled forward, her kind eyes curiously glancing from Richard to Evie.
“What have we here?” she murmured, shifting the blanket to study the child’s face. “Take her upstairs, Richard. I’ll have James fetch Dr. Campbell.”
He bounded up the stairs, and Evie remained frozen, unsure what to do. Mrs. Cranston clipped orders to a young maid for soup, dry toast, and for the doctor to be summoned. Everyone moved with purpose to do her bidding, and when the hallway was empty, she turned her attention to Evie.
Mrs. Cranston curtsied. “Lady Evelyn, it is a pleasure to see you again, despite the circumstances.”
“I… A pleasure to meet you,” she returned warmly, ashamed that a few weeks ago she had ignored Richard because she’d not wanted to be introduced to the woman before her now. Evie could not imagine the humiliation Mrs. Cranston had endured by the many cuts society directed her way. “Do you believe the girl will be well? She was lying on the ground and seemed insensate.”
“It is my duty and joy to see that she recovers. May I call for some refreshment for you before I attend the child?”
“Please direct all your attentions to her. I shall be fine.”
“Allow me to escort you to the parlor.” A few minutes later, Evie was comfortably situated in a tastefully furnished and spacious parlor with tea and biscuits despite her protest. Mrs. Cranston smiled, dropped into a shallow curtsy, and hurried away up the stairs. What was this place? How little she truly knew of Richard, of his cares, dreams, and hopes.
A few minutes later the door opened and he strolled in. She lowered the cup of tea to the small walnut table and stood. “Will she be well?”
An indecipherable emotion darkened his eyes. “The doctor is on his way, and Mrs. Cranston is currently bathing her and clipping her hair. She will also be fed soon.”
“What will happen to her now?”
“She will live here.”
“And here is?”
“One of many homes we’ve set up for abandoned children. There are two children to a room, but they have their own bed. There are governesses and tutors. They are taught to read, their numbers, and geography. We aim to ensure the children receive a tailored education that would allow them to obtain respectable positions and advance their prospects.”
“There are several such homes?”
“Twenty, at my last count.”
Oh! “We haven’t had much opportunity to speak on the things you are involved in now.” Embarrassment burned through her that he was one of the dearest persons in her life, and she had no notion of his efforts. How could they be of the same society but be such worlds apart?
“You’ve been busy.”
She could hardly find a suitable response. She had been busy planning the house party of the season and attending balls and musicales with her mother. Adel had informed Evie upon a few occasions of the schools and hospitals they were building for those less fortunate. And what had she done? Offered some of her pin money without any true caring to understand. Oh God.
“Will you tell me all of it?” Her words were the merest of whispers.
His eyes roamed slowly down the length of her, cynicism crossing his mien. “Do you truly desire to know?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve been in partnership with the Duke of Wolverton, the Earl of Blade, and a few other good men to help those who dwell in the slums of London. We are building affordable homes, schools, and hospitals.”
“Here, in the city?”
“A few here. Most are located near the edge of town, toward the countryside where the air is fresher, but where our men and women can still reach their employment in the center of town. Children are being rescued from baby farms, badly run orphanages, and from the slums of St. Giles. Stronger call for reforms are being made, but the lords are hard-hearted to the plight of England’s war casualties.”
He waved his arm for her to precede him from the parlor. She asked no questions as he left word with Mrs. Cranston that he would visit tomorrow and they departed the house. He steered them in the direction of his parked carriage.
She forced them to a halt. “Could we walk?”
He frowned, his golden eyes searching her face intently.
“I would hate to be enclosed in the carriage just now.”
“Let’s go,” he said gruffly, tugging her hand and looping it through his.
She glanced down at the intimate fashion in which he allowed her to hold onto him. “I suppose no one here cares about the strict rules of propriety that govern our world.”
“They do not.”
They moved away from the house, toward a busy street, strolling for the riverbank. The air was dank and cold, yet she felt a warmth unfurling through her soul. A child ran up to them and held out two apples.
“For you, guv’ner,” he said.
Richard took them, and as if by magic he flicked a coin in the air and the lad caught it with deft stealth. Pleasure settled on the boy’s face when he saw it was a sovereign. Evie was stunned at his generosity, and even more humbled as this repeated itself at least six more times before they reached the stone benches by a small park facing the river. They had procured a basket, questionable meat pies, apples, cinnamon buns, and oranges. The air was unpleasant, but she wouldn’t trade it for an opulent ballroom or a warm, well-decorated parlor. “The children…you are exceedingly kind to them.”
“Someone has to be. Poverty and slums dominate the eastern side of London.”
“Is it more terrible in other areas?”
His lips twitched. “There are badly built tenements. The infrastructure of the buildings is so terrible that they frequently collapse, with entire families being crushed in their beds. Yet increasingly families flock to the city desperately searching for jobs to fill the hungry bellies of their children, despite the poor disposal of waste, which has seen cholera and other diseases laying waste to dozens. Since the war, Evie…” A pained grimace crossed his face. “Since the war, so many children have been left orphans, women widowed, so many soldiers struggling to simply eat because they are unable to find employment. These are some of the grim realities of those who live in London stews. But we…our kind, live with obscene wealth in the opulence and privilege of polite society, completely unaffected by the plight of the poor,” he said, his mouth flattening with unhidden contempt.
Her throat tightened. “Do…you think most of our society are aware such hopelessness exists?” She couldn’t credit it that her mother and her father, whom she loved and respected so dearly, would be aware of the poverty that children slept and died in, and do naught.
“For those who are not aware, they choose to turn a blind eye. I turned a blind eye for years,” he said with a touch of regret and bitterness. “If not for how I found my daughter…I might never have cared about more than my estates, visiting my club, racing, gambling, keeping mistresses, and the general rubbish the young men of the ton indulge in. My time abroad with the army made me see suffering, but I could justify it as being in a war-torn country. This is different and very, very wrong.”
She touched his arm lightly. “Surely you cannot believe so. You gave to charities—”
“I donated thousands, but I found no caring until I met my daughter. These people, Evie, they need more than donations to some charities who may or may not help them. They need people like us, the engines of society, to care and to fight for them. What you saw tonight is only the tip of the desperation and despair blanketing London.”
“I am glad you found your Emily,” she said. “I don’t believe I’ve ever told you that.”
He tipped his head to the overcast sky. “When I located my daughter, she was being forced to pickpocket. And the men who had her tried to sell her to me.”
Evie flinched. “I beg your pardon?”
His mouth was set in a harsh line. “I had to pretend I was buying her…and the other children. The money was taken, and we fled, but the greed and evil in their heart encouraged them to follow us.” Tension stole through Richard, and something dark lurked within his gaze. “If I hadn’t found her, eventually my Emily would have been sent to the streets where she would be forced to sell her body for food, shelter…heat,” he admitted with a bluntness that stole Evie’s breath.
Dear Lord.
“I…” A spasm of pure disgust pierced her. She’d had no notion there were women and children who had to barter their bodies for basic human necessities. Worse, people existed who sold children. Once again, tears threatened to spill. “I cannot comprehend such a life.”
He began to absently stroke her arm, providing a comfort she’d not realized she craved.
“Is there more? I do not want to wilt from it. Please tell me.”
“There are many slums with women, men, and children sleeping in alleys and gutters. Homes that have never seen any heat in winter, a single room housing a family of ten or more, children working as pickpockets for those who run the underworld. Children working in factories and as chimney cleaners. Many have no recourse to doctors, hospitals, clean water, or good food. The country is in desperate need of political reform. It is Parliament and the House of Lords that rule Britain and leave those vulnerable to the clutches of ruthless and depraved men of London’s underworld. They are exploited and abused at every turn by the predators of the slums.”
“And you want to rescue them?”
“I want to offer a solution.”
She could hardly comprehend such a world existed only a few miles from the opulent mansion she resided in. A stiff wind blew from off the Thames, and Evie shivered, chafing her hand over her arms.
“Come here.”
Lifting a brow, she moved closer. He shrugged from his coat and bundled her into its wonderful warmth. If they were to be spied by someone of the ton, she would be irrefutably ruined. The notion now seemed so ridiculous it brought a smile to her lips.
“Let’s walk. It will help with the cold.”
They stood and strolled in silence toward the carriage. She pondered his words while his unfathomable gaze roamed the streets in that newly calculating manner of his. He had always seemed to her to be in possession of a quiet, self-contained power, but now something more volatile, more ruthless shimmered beneath the surface of the facade he presented to the world. The years of their easy banter and long walks together rushed through her thoughts. She could not believe that man still existed within him.
Was she foolish in her desire to wed him, when he was so changed from the man she had once thought she understood?