With This Ring (19 page)

“
Papa and I are taking Kitty back to
Devon as soon as we can pack,” she said, biting off her words. “If
this … this scandal doesn’t follow us like a bad stink,
perhaps we can arrange a marriage with the squire’s son! The
squire’s
pimply son, Lydia, when she could have had a
marquis!”

“
I … can close up the house for
you, Mama,” Lydia whispered, “and follow later.”

Quicker than Lydia would have
imagined, her mother grabbed her by the hair and yanked her face
hard against the door frame.

“
I cannot think of anything you can
do that would ever induce me to want to see you again, Lydia. Not
anything,” she added for emphasis.

That was all. After another yank for
good measure, Mama released her and stormed from the room. Her
stomach in complete turmoil, her face on fire, Lydia sank to the
floor among the scattered letters. They rustled around her as she
drew her knees up close to her body and cried. She cried quietly,
not wishing to disturb her mother into a return visit to the book
room. When she finished, she dried her eyes on the hem of her
dress, then touched her cheek gingerly, wincing at the pain. Her
lip felt swollen, too. She touched it, then sighed and wiped the
blood on her petticoat, and rested her good cheek against her
knees. Who are these people who have raised me? she asked herself
in disbelief.

She sat there in silence for another
few minutes, mainly to assure herself that Mama would not return.
She nearly shrieked in fear when she heard footsteps, but they went
quickly past the book room door, so she knew it was a servant. When
the house was absolutely silent again, she left the room and
tiptoed upstairs. Kitty’s door was ajar, so she knew Mama was in
there. She crossed quietly on the other side of the hall and let
herself into her room.

She was almost afraid to look in the
mirror, but she forced herself, and then drew back in dismay. A
bruise—ugly and purple—stood out on her cheek like a carbuncle.
This will never do, she thought as she went to the basin for a
cloth and cold water. She sat rocking back and forth on her bed,
the cloth pressed to her cheek and her lip, which was swollen. But
only a little, she decided, after another look in the mirror. I
doubt it will be noticeable tomorrow.

Her cheek was hopeless, however.
Experience told her that in a week it would be just a fading
greenish-yellow. But meanwhile …. “Oh, bother,” she said. “Oh,
bother. This complicates matters.”

She sat back on her bed, wondering
what to do. The decision was made for her when Kitty began to
scream. Lydia clamped her hands to her ears, but the noise scarcely
diminished. Mama, did you inform her that she was returning to
Devon and destined for the squire’s son? Lydia thought. Truly I am
sorry for that, but Kitty, for all his spots and stammers, he is a
far better man than Lord Allsuch, who makes devilish
bets.

The screams continued, then turned
into loud sobs, and finally subsided. The eerie silence that
followed was twice as disturbing as the noise. Lydia sighed,
remembering outbursts at home, and Kitty’s stormy fits. “And my own
‘punishments,’ eh, Mama?” she said as she applied another compress
to her ruined cheek. Servants had an instinct about silence around
the manor. I wish my own were as good, she thought. I wish I knew
when to keep silent. Mama is right; I
am
stupid.

She said it out loud, and then
again, wondering why she did not believe it this time. “No, Lydia,
you were right to stand up and say what you did last night,” she
told herself. “Evil of that nature should not be tolerated, no
matter what Mama thinks.”

She thought again of the men at St.
Barnabas, both the sick and the dead, and their courage, and of
Major Reed’s numerous trips to Horse Guards on their behalf. I
think he has been using his own money to get them settled
elsewhere, she thought. He’s not afraid to say what he thinks. Her
hand went to her cheek. Of course, no one strikes him.

She knew what she had to do, but it
frightened her, so she remained where she was for a few minutes
more. I will count to ten, then I will be about it, she told
herself as she started counting slowly. She reached ten, and still
she did not move. She counted again, and this time she got to her
feet.

Her traveling dress buttoned up the
front, so she had no difficulty in putting it on. Sturdy shoes were
essential, so she rummaged about until she found them. The hat
would have to be a deep-brimmed one, to hide her bruised face. She
put it on and frowned. It was better than nothing, but not by much.
She drew on her best kid gloves, even though they were black and it
was the wrong season for black. I do not know that I will be able
to afford another pair like them for some time to come, she
thought.

Her bandbox was full, but she knew
she could carry it, since hackneys were beyond her price range now.
I am leaving so much behind! she thought with regret. My books, my
writing paper, my sketches. She paused at the desk, considering for
a moment whether she should leave a note, then decided against it.
I have nothing to say, she decided.

The ease with which she left the
house astonished her. The upstairs hall was deserted. She heard
Papa rustling about in his study when she passed it downstairs, but
she felt no inclination to stop. Worse than useless, sad little
man, she thought, tightening her lips together and wincing at the
sharp pain.

She feared that Stanton would be
stationed by the front door, but he was nowhere in sight. She was
almost disappointed. It would have been nice to say good-bye to
him.

Keeping her head down, she walked
east toward the city, and did not look back at the house. When she
turned from Holly Street, relief flooded her like warm rain. The
feeling lasted until the next corner, where she stopped. During her
rides to and from St. Barnabas, she had noticed an employment
registry office. Which corner? she asked herself as she started
moving again.

She saw it finally after a half
hour’s walk toward London’s center, “open after luncheon,” read the
sign in the window. The sign seemed to trigger her own hunger, even
though it was early in the morning. A bowl of an undetermined soup
yesterday at St. Barnabas had been her only recent meal, she
reminded herself. She had consumed nothing except great mounds of
humiliation since then. She looked about, wondering where one went
to eat in London. Another block took her past a public house, where
she could smell onion soup and the sharp odor of new
ale.

Working men went into the shop, but
no women. She knew she dared not go in there, so she kept walking
until she found a bakery. Standing in front of the window, she
caught a glimpse of her own reflection in the glass and stopped.
Her hand went to her cheek, and she lowered her head and turned
away.

She found a small park a block over,
and settled for a drink from the fountain, disturbed beyond words
by her own reflection, and the dreadful thought that no employment
agency would hire her with her face so bruised. It will be better
in a week, but what will I do until then? She had no idea. She felt
herself wilting inside. Panic started to rise, but she forced it
down and compelled herself to consider her situation.

An hour’s thought did nothing to
change the reality that she was hungry, in pain, and without
resources. I am too afraid to go into a public house, and right
now, my face will never recommend me to a potential employer, she
thought. I have three pounds to my name, and have no idea where to
stay, or how to afford it.

She shivered, despite the warmth of
the day, and looked around her. In another moment she was smiling.
“Well, at least I am not lost,” she said to a squirrel who sat on
her bench, looking hopeful. “That is something.”

She knew where she was. Another two
blocks would take her closer to the docks, but in sight of St.
Barnabas with its two spires, one of them stately, and the other
falling down, probably a ruin since the War of the Roses. Who would
ever have thought the old pile to look so good? she thought as she
rose. I have nowhere to go, so I might as well see if I can do some
good at St. Barnabas. “I have a hat there, too,” she reminded
herself. Just think, Lydia, if you can find your hat, you can pawn
the dear thing, providing that you know where to find a pawn store.
She picked up her bandbox and started off, resolving someday that
if she ever married and was blessed with children, she would teach
them useful skills, such as how to find a job, eat in public, and
pawn things.

Her smile lasted to the doors of St.
Barnabas, which were wide open, as usual. She peered inside, and
discovered to her distress that the place was nearly empty. Surely
not all those men died since yesterday, she thought in alarm. As
her eyes accustomed themselves to the gloom, she saw a few cots
remaining, and a surgeon.

“
They’re the ones who cannot be
moved, Miss Perkins.”

She looked around in surprise to see
the other surgeon. “But where are the others, sir?” she asked. “I
was hoping to help.”

He smiled at her. “My dear Miss
Perkins, you have already done more for them than anyone ever
could! After your speech last night, and a visit from the Duke of
Wellington himself this morning, those men were moved to better
quarters.” He gestured at the few remaining. “Poor fellows. We
cannot move them, but they won’t be long here.”

“
I am glad to have been of service,”
she said. “Tell me, do you know if there is a hatbox in the lady
chapel? I left a hat there yesterday and ….”

The surgeon laughed. “You were
always leaving your bonnets!”

“
I know, but this was a new one, and
I want it.”

Suddenly the other surgeon by the
altar motioned to his colleague beside her, so he nodded to her and
started toward the cots at a run. “You are welcome to look, Miss
Perkins,” he called to her over his shoulder. “Thank you again for
all you did.”

You’re welcome, she thought with
some satisfaction as she walked toward the lady chapel. She hoped,
just for a moment, that Major Reed would still be there, but he was
not. No, your bags were packed yesterday, she thought as she looked
around the bare room. Although what use you have for a darling chip
straw bonnet with cherries on it, I cannot tell.

She looked back into the chapel
itself and saw him sitting—one shoulder still higher than the
other—on a cot with one of his men. I can reclaim my bonnet at
least, she thought as she came across the floor toward him. Perhaps
he can tell me how to go about getting it pawned, although that is
hardly a subject I know how to bring up.

He stood up when she came closer
with a smile of appreciation on his face that faded as he saw her
bruised cheek. He took her arm before she could protest and led her
back toward the lady chapel, out of earshot of the others. “What in
God’s name happened to you?”

“
That’s no greeting,” she replied.
“It was dark, and I ran into a wall.”

He sat her down on the cot in the
lady chapel, untied the ribbons before she could stop him, and
pulled back the bonnet. He held her chin gently with his fingers
and turned her face toward the faint light from the clerestory
window. “My God, Lydia, save your breath. That was no accident.
That happened to me once in a taverna in Lisbon, when I had too
much fruit of the vine.”

You’re not slow, she thought. Figure
it out. Spare me the humiliation of having to tell you.

“
Whoever did this should be
flogged,” he said finally as he sat down next to her and stared
straight ahead. He took her hand. “It must hurt, Lydia,” he said,
his voice soft.

She nodded, and winked back the
tears. “It will be better in a week. It won’t even show then.” She
put her hand to her mouth. “I mean, I suppose it will be better
then.”

His sigh was so big that she could
feel it as well as hear it. “Not the first time, eh?”

She looked at him, then looked away
in embarrassment. “My plain speaking—I suppose you heard about what
happened last night—my plain speaking ruined Kitty’s chances with
that dreadful Lord Allsuch,” she whispered, her voice so low that
he had to lean close to hear. “I don’t know how I ever had the
nerve to speak out like that! I don’t know what possessed
me!”

He sighed again and released her
hand. “I would like to think that my children someday would be as
concerned as you are about the plight of others. I heard about it
this morning from General Picton.”

She dried her eyes, dabbing
carefully around her cheek, then rose and reached for her hat
again. “My plain speaking, as you so kindly term it, turned out to
be a luxury I could ill afford, in my case.” She replaced her
bonnet. “Sir, do you still have that bonnet you gave me? I know you
will think this dreadful of me, but I need to pawn it.” She smiled,
but couldn’t feel any mirth. “Provided I can figure out where to
take it.”

A whole range of emotions crossed
his face, none of which appealed to her. I should never have
mentioned the bonnet, she thought with regret. I think I will just
leave right now. “That’s wrong of me, and terribly rude, isn’t it?”
she said. ‘‘I think I’ll be on my way, Major Reed. So nice to have
met you. Best of luck to you in Northumberland.”