A Companion for Life (19 page)

“If you want to risk life and limb
transporting her to Bedlam be my guest. You’ll have to pay them to
take her.”

“We can’t leave. The horses need to rest. Go
upstairs and lay down. I’ll see to Grace.”

“See yourself to the devil; I’m leaving if I
have to take the mail coach. I’m not staying here to be murdered by
that fiend.”

“Mamma!” Grace appeared at the top of the
stairs clutching her chemise closed over her chest looking like a
frightened little girl. Tears gushed out of her two swollen eyes
and down her bruised cheeks. Her lips looked badly painted as
Morley’s blood dripped off her lips, spattering white linen.

“You wanted me to go, I’m going.”

“Mamma…I’m so tired. I want to go home.”

“You wanted to run away with Morley; so run
away.”

“I want to go home Mamma, I hate Morley.”

“I wash my hands of you.”

“What do you mean? Mamma!”

Penryth rubbed his throat and tried to sound
calm as he said, “Grace, go to the left room at the end of hall.
You can sleep there tonight. I’ll get your clothes from
Morley.”

“I hate you. I want my Mamma.”

“Your mamma isn’t feeling well. She hit her
head on the stairs. She needs to rest. She’ll be better in the
morning.”

“Yes, I’ll be far away from her; she’s no
longer my daughter.”

“Of course I’m your daughter. Mamma I feel
unwell. I need to go home.”

“How do you think I feel? You shoved me down
the stairs. I could have broken my neck. You’re lucky I don’t call
the local sheriff and have your arrested for attempted murder.”

“I didn’t…Mamma come back!” Grace wrenched
herself free from Penryth’s attempt to restrain her and ran down
the stairs after her mother. Cursing under his breath Penryth
followed at a run wishing he could snap his fingers and be home
with Lily, far away from Rosamund and her violent darling. In the
distance he could hear the horn announcing the approaching mail
coach. He fought his way through several frantic workers carrying
out sacks of post and the trunks for the passenger hoping to find
one of the four seats empty. There were only a few brief minutes
allowed for the transaction of post and passengers. If they weren’t
in place in the allotted time, the coach would leave without
them.

Pushing his way out into the yard Penryth
could see fast approaching carriage lamps lighting up a halo of
swirling sleet as if the coach was traveling in its own winter.
Grace glowed like an angel, the light from the Inn reflecting off
her white linen as she frantically tried to fight her way into her
mother’s arms. The two appeared deaf to the cursing ostlers
shouting at them to leave the yard. Another blast on the horn
warned the Inn yard of the approaching thunder. “Rosamund, the mail
coach is coming…get out of the yard!” There was no sign that either
heard. He could hear Grace sobbing, screaming demands that her
mother tell her that she loved her and then the world seemed to go
deathly still. Screaming horses were choked by the coachman as he
frantically pulled on the reins as they galloped towards the two
women; one wrestling to get away the other desperate to keep her
from leaving. Penryth could hear his heart pumping blood through
bursting veins as burning leg muscles carried him into the storm
swirling ahead of the oncoming vehicle. He mindlessly grabbed the
first body he could put his arms around and ran on out of the
oncoming hooves; the unexpected weight of his burden sent them both
hurtling into the mud. Screams of pain and fear stabbed his ears as
he clutched his charge frantically fighting to be free. Opening his
eyes, the white glow of Grace’s chemise made him feel sick with
equal amounts of relief and guilt as his ears rang with solitary
screams of fear and anger.

“Mamma!” Out of the corner of his eyes he
could see Rosamund’s red bonnet pressed into the mud. Swallowing
the urge to be sick he found his feet and forcibly carried the
screaming girl back into the Inn, up the stairs and into Morley’s
room. The rakehell was sitting on the bed next to an open
apothecary’s box bandaging bite marks and gashes made with razor
sharp nails.

Penryth held the sobbing girl in one arm and
scooped up her pile of clothes with the other. “I want my mamma…”
The girl collapsed against her hated uncle quietly sobbing.

Morley pulled a tiny green glass bottle out
of his box and held it out. “Give the she-devil enough laudanum to
sleep the journey home. Seven drops ought to save us both from
further injury. At least she only kicked you, she bit me…”

“Good. Perhaps you’ll think twice about
eloping with another innocent. If she were my daughter I’d kill
you.”

“Oh dear…Mr Bowen the rescuer of penniless
maidens doesn’t approve of my entertainments. Where’s your blood
man? Look at the wench in your arms; you know my better judgment
was overpowered by sweet temptations…she seduced me.” The
rakehell’s lips curled into a sneer that almost resembled a
smile.

Penryth raised an eyebrow. “Oh dear…those
bites might end up infected. You might die a slow painful death.
Perhaps if you drank the contents of that green bottle it would
speed up the process.”

Morley made a show of replacing the bottle in
the box with exaggerated affront. “You can’t help some people, but
then the Welsh aren’t ruling an empire are they? What have you got?
Slag heaps? Coal pits? Sheep? Mounds of dirt?”

“The Romans couldn’t beat us and neither will
you.”

“What’s there to beat? A few sheep and the
odd shepherd too drunk to remember which old woman he was courting
with his wooden spoon? It’s no wonder you settled for a fat ugly
penniless Anglo Saxon. She must seem a treat compared the trolls in
your country.”

“My wife loves me. Unlike you, I’ll never
have to question the paternity of my brats.” Penryth looked down to
find Grace’s sobs had become snores. He ignored the rakehell’s
deadly eyes and carried her to the room he’d hired for her mother
and put her to bed. What was he going to do with Rosamund? He
couldn’t travel back to London with a corpse on one side of the
carriage and a hysterical she-devil on the other. He wanted to hire
a horse and ride back to London, but his fresh aches and pains
suggested that might not be a sensible idea even if he could avoid
hungry highwaymen or freezing to death. Standing still he could see
the worry behind Lily’s last smile. He couldn’t take any more
stupid risks. The blood in his veins was rushing in circles
demanding to be taken home and placed in Lily’s arms, but there
were too many problems demanding immediate solutions. The first
thing he had to do was view the body. He grimaced in horror and
then forced himself to do his duty.

Not a word had been spoken during the
carriage ride back to London. On entering the city Penryth glanced
at the girl hunched against the opposite window. She was staring at
the floor, her eyes red and swollen from a continuous flow of tears
that had erupted watching her mother’s crude wooden casket being
lowered into the ground. He’d taken the decision to bury Rosamund
in the nearest church yard. Penryth couldn’t imagine the drunken Mr
Philips caring where his wife was buried and he wanted to ensure
that Lily and the children couldn’t accidentally see Rosamund in
that condition. Just thinking of it brought to mind the taste of
sick.

The carriage pulled up outside the Philips
house and Penryth climbed down to give his condolences to his
brother-in-law, but the house was all wrong. The shutters were all
open. There was no straw spread on the street outside the house to
deaden the sound of traffic. The curtains were devoid of mourning
black. Only a limp black ribbon on the door knocker indicated the
family was grieving. The footman knocked, but after several long
minutes there was no reply.

Cursing his luck Penryth tried himself;
someone would hear. Someone would answer the door so he could
unload his unwanted niece and rush home to his wife. He’d sent Lily
a letter outlining the tragedy and his burial plans, but hadn’t
received a reply. It couldn’t be four days since he’d kissed her
goodbye; it had to be at least four years. He was so close; a few
more streets and he’d be home. He might as well have been in India
waiting to embark homeward wondering if his ship would reach
England or sink in the depths of the sea; anything could happen in
fifteen minutes. He vented the hunger of his starving heart on the
door knocker. He couldn’t bear it. Someone had to come. It was
cold; his heart was freezing.

At his elbow, Grace Philip’s teeth paused in
their excessive chattering, “What is taking so long? I’m going to
freeze to death!”

A hesitant hand unlatched the door and opened
it an inch. “Yes?”

“Open the door before my nose freezes!”

A single masculine eye looked Miss Grace
Philips up and down with distaste. “I can’t let you in.”

“Don’t be absurd Jameson, I live here.”

“Not any more. Mr Philips says his eldest
daughter is dead.”

“I’m clearly alive; let me in!”

“I’m afraid you died in an accident with your
mother.”

Penryth’s stomach dropped around his knees.
He couldn’t be saddled with the graceless Miss Philips. “Open the
door Man. I wish to speak to Mr Philips.”

“Mr Philips isn’t home.”

Grace stood there looking confused. “What
about my things?”

“Mr Philips sent them to the pawn shop. I
understand he spent the funds at his club drinking sweet sack to
your memory.”

“I’m not dead.” The small words were choked
with fear.

“You are to Mr Philips. Good day.”

The door closed with a rude bang. Penryth
swore under his breath as he glanced down at the young beauty whose
red swollen eyes stared at the door with sightless horror as if it
had only just occurred to her she’d been disowned. “I’m not dead!
Why is Papa doing this? All I did was elope…”

“
The drunken wretch has seized a prime
opportunity to get rid of a bastard she-devil. He knows I’ll take
you home, even though I’d rather leave you here.” The hands on his
pocket watch wouldn’t begin moving until the horses were in motion.
“Get in. I want to go home. Hurry up!”

The girl stood there staring at him as if
he’d asked her to lift her skirts. “But
I haven’t any clothes…”

“
You’re the one who tried to elope with a
rakehell without even a clean chemise. Either get in the carriage
or
you’ll have to walk
to my house; I’m leaving in ten seconds.” Grace regally climbed in
and sat down sniffing away more tears. As soon as the carriage was
in motion Penryth breathed a sigh of relief. Only a few more
minutes and he’d be home. Thoughts of Lily drew his attention back
to his niece. “As long as you remain under my roof you’ll act like
a saint; do you understand?”

“
How can you be so horrid? I’ve just
lo
st my mother and all
my clothes.”

“Don’t forget your reputation and
virtue.”

“I didn’t lose my virtue!”

“That’s not what it looked like to me.”

“He said he was too tired to…you know. He
said we could make you and Mamma go away by moaning really loudly
though I don’t see what difference that would make. He said I had
to untie my chemise before opening the door and let him touch me so
I did. It didn’t matter because he said we’d be married soon…the
lying old turd. What woman would want to marry him? He has more
crow’s feet than Papa and he looks like any moment his skin is
going to split open and reveal a slimy snake. I’d rather marry Lord
Mulgrave and he looks like a rat.”

“Whatever didn’t happen you should start
praying I can persuade some foolish idiot to marry you; I won’t
have you ruining your Aunt Lily’s life under my roof.”

Her lips trembled as tears gushed from her
eyes making him sigh in irritation. “Who’s going to love me? If I
were your daughter would you tell me I’m beautiful?”

“Probably…”

Her wet eyes lit up. “Do you think I’m
beautiful?”

“
I’m your uncle. It doesn’t matter if
you’re beautiful.”

“
But now that Mamma is dead and I’m ruined
who’s going to tell me I’m beautiful?”

“
You’d do well to forget you’ve ever heard
the word and concentrate on more meaningful adjectives like kind,
generous, amiable, loving, sweet-tempered, etc…”

“But I want to be beautiful! Mamma says
people only love you if you’re beautiful.”

“
That isn’t true. When she was young your
Mamma was very beautiful. Because she was beautiful I thought I
loved her, but it wasn’t love. It was merely a desire to possess a
lovely object. She was never kind, amiable or sweet-tempered. Do
you want a husband who treats you like an object of value until
your beauty fades or would you rather have a man who loves the real
Grace Philips? Wouldn’t you rather be loved and valued for who you
are rather than what you look like? If you can find a fool to love
you, he’ll still think you beautiful even when you’re old and
wrinkled with hair on your chin.”

“
That doesn’t make any sense. How can
someone be beautiful if they aren’t beautiful?”

“
I think your Aunt Lily is the loveliest
woman in the world; more lovely than you.”

“You think Aunt Lily is more beautiful than
me?” Grace looked horrified as if he’d declared an intention to
murder Princess Charlotte. “You need spectacles!”

“There’s nothing wrong with my eyes. She’s a
pretty woman who’s lovely on the inside as well. She’s kind and she
appreciates kindness…you’re a snot. You think kindness is your due,
but it isn’t.”

Her lips trembled as tears gushed from her
eyes. “William loves me!”