She came over to the bed and then she saw. Lady Lucinda was totally still, only her breathing making her move a little. Miss Simonson stood stock-still, and stared. Her mouth opened slightly and her pale eyes opened wide. “Dear God.” she managed at last. “What has he done?”
“Beaten and raped her,” said Potter in an emotionless tone.
Miss Simonson determinedly brushed away a tear. “No time for repining now,” she said, in as firm a tone as Potter had ever heard. “We must do something.”
“Yes. We must.”
Miss Honoria gave her a sharp glance. “More than clean her up, I mean. You’ve worked here for some time now; you know how things stand in this house.” Without waiting for a reply she continued; “Once her ladyship realises Lucy has been - has lost - is no longer pure, she will insist the marriage goes ahead. No scandal must ever cross this threshold, you know.” Her bitter look at her niece showed what she thought of that. “But I can’t see her marry that man. She tried to break it off tonight. This is the result. We know she doesn’t want him any more, we know that. So we must help her get away. Or I must.” She stared at Potter. “I am hoping you won’t tell what you’ve seen here tonight. Can I trust you?”
After that, Potter couldn’t disagree. She nodded.
“Good. Then I’ll contrive to get us out of this with the least hurt to either of us. Lucy must be saved from this man. But where can she go?”
“I have a place I can take her.”
“Where?” Miss Simonson looked at Potter but then said, hastily, “No, don’t say. I have a good idea, but don’t say. That way I can truly say I don’t know. But you can get there quite easily?”
“Yes madam.”
“Good. Then we have to get Lucy ready and into some clothes.” She looked around and saw the remains of Lucy’s clothes on the floor. They looked as if they had been torn off her, the expensive, heavy blue satin ruined; creased, torn and stained. “I think I’ll keep these,” said Miss Simonson thoughtfully.
She set her candle down on the night stand. “There’s some water in the jug. It’s cold but it’s better than nothing. If we need any more I’ll fetch mine.”
So saying the two women set to clean Lucy up a little. There wasn’t much they could do with the unconscious girl, but as they were applying another damp cloth and dabbing it carefully on her wounds she groaned and began to come to.
Miss Simonson immediately sat on the bed so she could be seen. Lucy’s heavenly blue eyes opened and the first thing she saw was her aunt. She smiled and stretched out a hand, but then winced when she felt the pain of her wounds. Horror filled her eyes, as the realisation came back to her. She didn’t seem able to speak.
Miss Simonson took her hand and patted it, trying to reassure her. “We’re going to find you somewhere to stay while this mess is sorted out. Don’t worry.” It was all she could think of to say, and it sounded painfully inadequate to Potter, but she couldn’t think of anything better.
The two women turned to more practical matters. Miss Simonson found a gown of soft cotton, and a lawn chemise. She didn’t concern herself with the stays Lucy usually wore. It took the two of them to dress her, one to hold her steady and the other to fasten buttons, push hands into long sleeves.
When they had dressed Lucy in a pelisse and hat, she looked perfectly respectable. Potter took very little time to slip into her own outdoor clothes. “If we call a hackney we’ll rouse the household,” she said while she dressed. “I’ll walk with her to the square and see if we can find something there. I think, madam, we should pack something for her ladyship.
A carpet-bag was found and several items hastily thrown into it. “I’ll send more if I can,” Miss Simonson promised. Then she looked at Potter, her soft grey eyes full of trouble. “Will you come back? You’ll be suspected if you don’t.” She stared at the embers in the grate. “I know.” Her face brightened. “I’ll say that I found you in tears when you came to light my fire in the morning. Your mother is very ill, you’ve just heard, and so you’re worried. I’ll give you leave to visit her. Will that do?”
“Yes, madam, that will do very well. Thank you. I’ll come back as soon as I’m able. Mrs Jenks will complain, but she’s a fair woman, and if you say you’ve given me leave she won’t be too upset.”
“Good.”
All through this, Lucy had not spoken a word, receding into numbness. It seemed that she was unaware of her surroundings. When she was asked to lift an arm to be dressed, or hold her foot out for her little kid boot to be fastened, she did so, but without comment, without seeming to notice. She stared in front of her, her only independent movement being the occasional blink. At least she was biddable, Potter thought in relief.
Getting down two flights of stairs and out of the front door was a nightmare.
Miss Honoria didn’t come with them in case they were discovered, but stood outside Lucy’s room, her niece’s ruined gown and chemise over her arm, and nodded her goodbyes. Now they were outside the room it wasn’t safe to talk
The first floor was the worst. This was where Lady Royston slept. She always claimed to be a very light sleeper, but she didn’t wake up tonight. Potter was glad this was a well regulated household; that everything was in its place and the stairs didn’t creak.
Slowly, carefully, Potter and her silent charge made their way to the front door. Potter held the carpet bag in one hand and kept her arm gently about Lady Lucy’s waist. When they got to the front door Potter slid the bolts back carefully. Not one of them squeaked. She knew where the key was kept and it was a matter of seconds to fetch it and carefully unlock the door, holding the key with both hands, just to be sure.
The cold March night surged in to the warmth of the house. Potter closed the door and turned the key in the lock. She put the key through the letterbox and heard the soft thud on the mat inside. Miss Simonson had promised to come downstairs and secure the door, but only when she was sure there was nobody stirring in the house. They tried to be as cautious as they could.
Potter didn’t feel safe until she had Lady Lucy in the Square at the end of the street, but to her dismay, there wasn’t a hackney carriage to be seen. She had hoped there would be some kind of function here in one of the great houses, with hackneys waiting outside with the chair men and the link boys, but the square was empty and deserted.
Sighing, she picked up the carpet bag again, took Lady Lucy’s hand and began to walk. At least they had less chance of meeting anyone unsavoury if it was quiet.
They walked down two sides of the square and then took one of the streets leading off it.
Although the walk was negligible, it seemed to take forever. Lady Lucy said nothing, just plodded on by Potter’s side. She had to concentrate to see where to go. She knew the way, but it was all so different at night. There were pavements in this part of the city, which was a blessing, but all the houses seemed the same in the night time, and except for the street names emblazoned on the corners, she would have got well and truly lost.
They got to
Grosvenor Square
at last. It was almost as deserted as the other, except there was something going on in the opposite corner to the house she was looking for, and there were more lights. The sound of merrymaking echoed across the gardens, and Potter tried to shrink back a little, to make herself and her charge less conspicuous. She approached a house and lifted the knocker, ready to wake the devil if she had to, but she heard the sound of carriage wheels and turned to see who was coming.
It was the elusive hackney she had searched for. She watched a gentleman get down and reach his hand into the capacious pocket of his greatcoat, but then he looked across at them. And froze.
He held his hand up to the hackney driver and strode across. “I thought I couldn’t be mistaken. Lucy. And Potter. At this time of night. What brings you here?”
“She’s been hurt, my lord,” Potter said directly. “I couldn’t think where else to go.”
“What.” He still kept his voice down. He looked at Lucy, took in her blank face and vacant expression. “What has happened? What made you bring her here?”
“She’s not safe at home, my lord.”
“Wait. I’ll pay off the hackney, then - no.”
He thought rapidly. “It would compromise her reputation too much to take her into my house. I have an idea - how long have you got before they miss you?”
“Till tomorrow afternoon, I think,” Potter replied. “Miss Honoria is going to say I’m visiting my sick mother.”
“Good.” He didn’t seem to notice the incongruity of welcoming someone’s illness. “We’ll take her somewhere else while you tell me what’s happened - then we can decide what to do.”
Potter could see the sense in that. If it became known that Lady Lucinda Moore had visited a single gentleman’s residence at the dead of night her reputation would be ruined, and all the more reason for Sir Geoffrey to marry her.
Lord Royston hurried them into the still waiting hackney carriage and gave the driver an address Potter didn’t quite hear. He swung up into the coach and sat down with them, Lucy between himself and Potter. She still stared in front of her with that terrible, blank stare. “It’s an inn in the City,” he explained tersely. “Perfectly respectable, but not the sort of place earls and countesses stay. We can say our coach has broken and we finished the journey in this. I’ll get us a room and we can talk in peace and decide what to do.”
Potter was doubtful that explanation would hold but she let him take control for the time being. She was exhausted. She had been up since six the previous day, laying fires and cleaning, and now it must be near two o’clock and still no sign of a bed for her. Resolutely, she pushed the thought aside.
They reached the inn quickly, one of the many
King’s Arms
that adorned the metropolis. It was a coaching inn, but not one of the main ones that stood at the junctions of the great roads which criss-crossed the country. Still, it had a yard and a coach stood in it.
Lord Royston took the carpet bag, put his arm around Lucy and walked inside to spin his tales. It seemed he was very good at it, because before too long they were led up to a comfortable bedchamber, although at such short notice Mrs. Tilson was unable to provide a room with a private parlour. Lord Royston dropped the carpet bag and looked around. “Yes,” he said to the curious landlady who stood by the door. “This will do very well, thank you.” He gave her a vail and she left without satisfying the other side of her nature. Venal would have to do.
He led Lucy to the bed and made her sit on it, then took a chair and sat in front of her. “Sanctuary. At least for the time being. Now will you please tell me what has been going on?”
Potter drew a breath and told him everything she had discovered, from the time she had seen Sir Geoffrey lead Lady Lucy upstairs to the journey to his lordship’s door. He listened in silence, but his face got progressively grimmer as she described her adventure, and at one point his expression contorted into something like pain. “It’s my fault,” he murmured when she had done. “I should have gone with her, I should never have let her face it alone.”
He stood up and went to the window, staring out at the busy scene in the street outside. The inn was busy all through the night, horses, coaches and people arriving and leaving constantly. After about ten minutes, he turned back to her. “I’ve told them we’re Mr and Mrs. Stanley, and you are our maid. When you go, I’ll tell them you’ve gone to look after your sick mother. How is your mother, by the way?” He essayed a grin.
“Perfectly well, thank you sir.” She echoed his grin. It didn’t make anything better.
“I’ll go home tomorrow and pack a bag,” he said. “I’ll give my valet absence of leave and come back here. As far as anyone knows, I’ve gone to
Newmarket
to stay with friends for a few days. That’s not unusual for me.” His voice was dispassionate, finding relief from the pain in planning. “I’ll tell the landlady here my wife’s taken a chill. I’ll have to nurse her myself - “ he shrugged at Potter’s evident disapproval. “There’s no other way. The fewer people know about this the better. The important thing is to keep our whereabouts a secret. You know why, don’t you?”
“Because if her ladyship finds out where her daughter is, she’ll come and fetch her, and make her marry Sir Geoffrey.”
“Absolutely. And I’m determined that she will not. He’ll kill her in a twelvemonth. I don’t know how we will manage without any scandal, but we must do our best. Can you return here?”
“It’s my half-day off tomorrow, my lord.”
“But I can’t take your day away from you.”
Potter was surprised. Not many lords would have considered that. “I don’t mind. In fact I’d like to help, my lord.”
“Better start calling me sir,” he advised her. “I’m Mr. Stanley here. I appreciate your kindness. I promise no harm will come to you because of this affair. If her ladyship finds out, come to me and I’ll make it right. Understood?”
“Yes sir.”
“Good. Now if I give you some money can you buy Lady Lucy some clothes? Some which would suit a provincial lady, not too grand?”
She wondered at this but agreed readily enough. She enjoyed shopping, and didn’t do enough of it herself. She fancied she knew exactly what was needed. “Yes sir.”
“Have you time to help me to settle Lady Lucy in bed?” he asked then. “She’s still in no case to help herself.”