Loving Lucy Read online

  Finally, she saw the import of all this, where it was leading to. “No.” She clutched the ring tighter, as though a genie would appear and help her out of all this.

  “My dear it happens all the time,” he said patiently. “Not usually, I’ll agree, in the home of the parents in law, but I can see the logic of her ladyship’s reasoning. She has a horror of social disgrace, does she not? A fine sense of who she should allow into her house and who she should deny. You won’t be able to deny me after this.”

  She looked up at him cautiously. “Please, Geoffrey, I don’t want - “

  “You’ll be begging me to stay in an hours’ time. But first, I have to make a few things clear.” He stood up, so he towered over her. “I will not have my wife prying into things which don’t concern her. I will have obedience in my own house, and my wife should set the example for all. You will do as I say, go where I tell you, even wear what I approve of. Is that clear?”

  She was still defiant, disbelieving. “No, Geoffrey, I will not.”

  “Oh yes you will,” he said softly. His lean strength was menacing, as never before.

  He glanced around the room, taking in the bed, the pretty accoutrements of a girl’s bedroom, and then he saw what he was looking for.

  He strode away from her and went to the corner of the room, bent and picked something up. When he came back to her, Lucy saw he was carrying her riding crop. “You will learn,” he said softly, a gleam in his eye which terrified Lucy. “And it might as well start now.” He bent down and gripped her arm. “Come on. Come to bed.”

  Chapter Ten

  Mary Potter counted herself lucky to have obtained a position in such a prestigious household. It had taken a few years, and she’d had to work her way up from housemaid in a simple household to her current position as head chambermaid here, but it had been worth it. The money was better, and there was even a prospect of her becoming lady’s maid, a position she had coveted since she was tiny.

  Well now she was nearly there. She sometimes assisted her ladyship’s maid with the laundering of the finer and more intimate items of her ladyship’s apparel, and was avidly learning the various lotions, potions, and what they were for. She might even be allowed to help dress her young ladyship, when a particularly grand toilette was called for. Like the upcoming nuptials.

  When the gentleman had accosted her in the Park that day, Potter had assumed that he was after what she broadly termed as “the usual” although it turned out not to be that. After informing him coldly that she was not that type of girl, he had said, “I can see that,” and led her aside. He proposed that she keep a special watch on one of the members of the household. “You need do nothing you feel compromises you or puts your position in any danger,” he assured her. “I merely wish to know that everything is as it should be.”

  She had smiled and agreed, pocketing the vail he gave her with pleasure. A fool and his money were soon parted, she thought, and better her pocket than someone else’s.

  She continued to meet the gentleman from time to time, sometimes going to his house, but using the servants’ entrance and claiming to have a message for him. She carried a piece of paper with her and was always allowed to see him personally. She told him very little. There was little to tell. Her ladyship was spending a great deal of money on her trousseau, she seemed very happy; she was looking forward to her wedding. It had seemed to be what the gentleman had wished to hear.

  But tonight there was a difference. Loud voices had been heard coming from the drawing room, voices raised in anger, and Mr. Lane had told Mrs. Jenks that her ladyship was in a fine temper. Potter didn’t know why, but she was somewhat surprised when she saw her young ladyship’s betrothed taking her upstairs, and then to be told he had left and her young ladyship was indisposed and not to be disturbed.

  Potter got worried. None of this was normal; none of it sounded right to her. Because of her exalted position in the house, she shared a room with only one other girl, and she was such a sound sleeper she regularly slept through thunderstorms. They were in bed quite early that night, as her ladyship returned with Miss Honoria from the opera and didn’t go out again. The house was at rest by midnight, an unusual occurrence in London.

  Potter cautiously got out of bed and picked up her clothes, just in case she needed them. She was very uneasy about affairs in the house by now, otherwise she would never have taken this risk. Carrying her clothes in a bundle, she made her way cautiously down the backstairs from her attic to the floor below, where her young ladyship had her room. Her mother slept on the floor below, but there was the danger of wakening Miss Honoria, whose room was opposite Lady Lucinda’s.

  The door opened noiselessly, as it did every morning when Potter went in to light the fire. She knew her way around this room in the dark. She put her clothes down in a heap by the door, and went over to the bed.

  Lady Lucinda was asleep. The gauzy drapes around the bed weren’t drawn, and the covers were thrown over her prostrate body anyhow. The room wasn’t in complete darkness, because the curtains and blinds at the windows were still open. The moon streamed through the window in a bright, silvery stream. The remains of a good fire still flickered in the grate, but it wasn’t banked up.

  Her ladyship lay very still on her stomach; her hair loosely tumbled over the pillow. From what she could see, Potter didn’t think her ladyship had any night attire on. She breathed out in relief. They had merely anticipated the wedding ceremony a little. Many lovers did it. She wasn’t sure how this one had been contrived, but it was obvious from the state of the bed and her ladyship’s lack of night attire.

  She would probably be very angry if she woke up and found Potter here, so the maid decided to leave and go back to bed. She castigated herself for the risk she had taken, and her foolishness.

  Then she saw something in the moonlight, which made her pause. She had seen love bites - red marks caused by passion - but this wasn’t circular. It was long and thin, and stretched from Lady Lucy’s shoulder down under the covers.

  In a daring movement, Potter twitched the bedclothes aside. She told herself that if her ladyship awoke, she would say she was merely making her more comfortable, and hope she could get away with it.

  But what she saw took away all thought of concealment, of her own safety, and forced her to use a word from the street at home, one which rarely passed her prim lips.

  Her young ladyship was a mess. Her back, bottom and thighs were striped with livid red welts, many strokes, increasing in depth as they approached the more intimate parts of her anatomy. He had drawn blood. Some of the stripes had congealed blood over them, and one had caught on the sheet as Potter drew it back. Not even that had woken Lady Lucinda up. And there was other evidence too. Blood soaked into the sheet underneath showed where he had raped her.

  Potter stood and stared at the terrible thing in front of her before she heard the door to the room open, and a new light come in. She started back in shock, and began to think frantically of what excuse she could give for being here.

  It was Miss Honoria Simonson, clad in nightgown and a frilled cap, firmly tied under her chin. Her thin brown hair was done up in two braids which draped limply on either side of her shoulders. The single candlestick she held illuminated her narrow face eerily. “My goodness.” She had the sense to close the door quietly behind her. “Potter. Whatever are you doing here?”

  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 c
lean 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. “W
e’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?”