Lady Rogue (16 page)

Chapter Twenty

Dawn wandered
the foggy streets of London like a lost soul, not knowing quite what to do, which way to turn.  She tortured herself, reliving the moment when Robbie was shackled, trying to think of a way she might have been able to save him.  She cried silent tears, her grief welling up inside her like a dam, ready to burst into an uncontrollable flood at any moment.  Robbie was the only family she had left.  They'd been through so much together.  Now he had been taken from her.  It seemed to be nearly more than she could bear.

Brave, yer 'ave ter be brave
! she told herself, but it proved to be a difficult task.  Little by little she felt as if she were falling apart. 

She should not have left him.  It was cowardly. Yet what could she have done against the runners?  They were skilled in
the art of taking in thieves
.  Through thick and thin, was our childhood motto
. If he had been taken to Newgate,she should have gone with him.  But what good would that have done
?
Surely Robbie would not have wanted her to be caught.
 
He had yelled out to her to run.

It was
insanity to dwell on such thoughts.  The fog was much thicker now, like wisps of smoke curling around her as she walked.  She wanted to fade into the fog and just disappear.  Would she find peace then?             

She wandered aimlessly for a long while, lost in her painful memories.  Robbie had hated prison.  Now he was condemned to stone walls and prison bars.   Or would his fate be worse?  Passing by
Newgate she stared in horror at the grotesque body of some unfortunate hanging from a gibbet, seeing Robbie's face upon the victim.

"Hang 'em.  Hang all thieves, I say," said a voi
ce.

"And we'll
have another holiday, says I."

Shuddering, Dawn put her hands over her ears to block out the men's words
.  A hanging day was a public holiday. The scene around the gallows was always a lively one, with orange sellers yelling at the top of their voices, ballad sellers warbling new tunes, pickpockets jostling their way through the crowds to take advantage of the distraction to filch a purse or two.  Sometimes the body hung for days as an example; other times the body was cut down at once and sent to Surgeon's Hall for dissection.

"Nooooooo!"

Blindly she ran down the streets, colliding with a rotund woman.  "Watch where you are going!"

Footsteps pounded through the fog.  In panic she fled, certain the runners were giving chase.  Crouching behind a large hawthorn hedge she
, waited breathlessly for the running feet to pass. Peering through the foliage, she saw it was just a group of children trying to catch a runaway dog.  Slipping from her hiding place, she darted in and out among wagons, carriages and carts; then changing direction, she and ran the other way.

Brambles clutched at her skirts, roots and branches seemed to reach out to trip her.  Once or twice she turned her ankle on the rough and stony gro
und, only to get up again and renew her flight.  Where was she going?  In truth she didn't really know, she who knew London's streets so well.             

Though Dawn drank sparingly she found herself seeking out Weasel's tavern
. Perhaps she could drown her sorrow in gin. It was musky and smoky inside the Rose and Thorn.  The stink of whiskey and ale mingled  with the odors of sweat and leather.  She walked slowly up and down the long wooden tables near the fireplace, but though she tried to interest some of the patrons in a rescue attempt, not a one would brave Newgate's walls.

"We'd 'ave ter be crazy!"  Weasel exclaimed.  "I love Rob like me own son but I wouldn't do it e'en for 'im.  I'm too you
ng ter be pushing up daisies!"

Dawn returned to her gin, looking in
to the depths of her cup as if perchance to glimpse the future.  It was her third glass and so far it hadn't begun to numb to her pain. 

Oh, Rob!
  She was beginning to feel a bit lightheaded.  Closing her eyes she tried to muster up the strength to get through this all-consuming heartache. 
Robbie, Robbie, Robbie!
  Was it her imagination or were her fingertips growing numb?  Suddenly the room seemed to tilt and sway, yet she beckoned Weasel to fill up her  glass again.

At last, staggering through the door
, she wandered back into the streets. For some reason unknown to her she returned to the scene of her greatest unhappiness, the lawn in front of Margaret Pembrooke's house. Crumpling to the ground in a heap she at last gave in to the darkness that hovered before her eyes.

"Upon my word.  What is this?"  Seeing the wretched sight
, Douglass moved closer, recognizing Dawn at once.  Bending down, he gently prodded her but she was frighteningly still.  For a moment he feared she might be dead, but the soft moan that escaped her lips said otherwise.  "Poor little waif!"               

He remembered the terrible tussle that had take
n place earlier and wondered just what part this young woman had in it.  Certainly she had fought like a wild animal.  The unfortunate man  who was taken away must have meant a great deal to her.

"Dear, dear, dear."  Well, he couldn't just leave her lying there.  No doubt the runners would be after her.  How tragic if she ended up in Newgate.  He didn't want that.  No, indeed he didn't.  "The Madame puts such stock in the girl," he said aloud as if to make excuses for his picking her up in his arms.  "She will
be desolate if anything happens to her."  Carrying  Dawn towards the house, he was surprised to feel that what he was doing was precisely right, that somehow she belonged there.

PART TWO:  The Mysterious Lady

West Side of London

“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose

By any other name would smell as sweet…..”

----Shakespeare

Romeo and Juliet

Act II, Scene 2

Chapter Twenty One

Sitting on the velvet-cushioned window seat in her bedroom, Dawn watched as rain drops gently spattered the window.  Autumn had come with periods of  rain, days of fog and muddy streets that  made life extremely unpleasant.  She sighed at the thought that Winter was just around the corner. She remembered how  in  the poorer areas of the city people were jammed together in cold, damp, cramped spaces like sheep seeking comfort and warmth.  Dawn found that people in fine  houses had a better time of it.  Still, therewere times when she was nostalgic, remembering the past. Summer with its clear sunny mornings, the days she’d spent with her brother, seemed a lifetime ago. 

"
Robbie.  Dear, dear Robbie." 

There was not one day that went by that she didn't think
of him. She  missed him desperately and feared he’d met his death at Newgate.

In desperation she had turned to the woman who had befriended her, revealing only bits and pieces about her life on the
London streets. Insisting that her brother was a good lad at heart, she had enlisted Margaret Pembrooke’s help. But all efforts to intercede and free Rob had been to no avail. Dawn feared she would never see her brother again. And yet, it was Rob’s misfortune that had changed her own circumstances so dramatically for the better. Since the day he’d been carted off by the runners, she had lived with Margaret Pembrooke.

Like the metamorphis of a caterpiller to a butterfly
, she was slowly shedding her old ways and becoming a lady, thanks to the elder woman's tutelage.  Dawn Leighton had all but disappeared and in her place was a  refined young woman, fulfilling the promise that Margaret Pembrooke had glimpsed that day at Rosemary Lane.

It
was a transformation that had threatened to snuff out Dawn's patience.  Yet slowly and surely her stumbling and stuttering tongue had ceased tripping over new words and pronunciations.  With carefully placed lips and tongue she now formed her consonants and vowels in well modulated tones.

"It's not so much what words you speak in communicating
, my dear," Margaret Pembrooke had told her with a wry smile, "but how you say the words.  We English put great stock in grammar and intonation."

She  learned when to listen attentively and when to voice an opinion, how to nod her head  politely in agreement or to shake it slowly when she disagreed.  It seemed the nobs abhored argument of any kind, thus it was important for her to remember never to raise her voice.  A show of temper
was a sign of ill-breeding. 

"The voice, my dear,
is so important."

Even Dawn's laughter  had been the object of a lesson.  It was less guttural  now
, it  had a melodious ring to it.  She had even  been given lessons in how to sing, a pleasant addition to her other lessons, after Douglass heard her humming while at her dusting.  He had drawn Margaret Pembrooke's attention to the pleasant sound.  Now a cherubic-looking tenor prompted Dawn to do scales and sing madrigals twice a week.  Dubbing her a soprano, he had invited Margaret Pembrooke to  add a breathy alto harmony  while Douglass took the bass part and he the tenor line.

Margaret Pembrooke had introduced Dawn to  the "finest" music.  Every Friday five
musicians arrived for a concert. Listening to them play their stringed instruments, Dawn was certain that such perfect sounds must surely be derived from heaven. There were Hayden’s intricate symphonies and Mozart’s delightful works, and then there was the explosive music of the man Margaret Pembrooke called that “heathen German,” Beethoven.  All were names Dawn had never heard before, but they were names whispered in the proper circles and Margaret Pembrooke said Dawn should know them.             

A
board had been strapped to her back to remind her to stand up tall, shoulders thrust back.  Now, her walk was graceful, her posture stately, her poise commendable and unshakable in most instances.  In addition, she had learned how to curtsy and pirouette. Margaret Pembrooke had been tireless in her efforts to transform Dawn into a lady.  Dawn had learned a great deal, but she was always aware of how much further she had to go.

“You must learn to dance, my dear. It is the mark of a lady to be graceful.”
 

"Dance?"  The on
ly dances Dawn had seen were sailors’ jigs.

"Yes, dance. A
glorious creation of intricate steps as your partner whirls you round and round.  Quite romantic, I dare say."  Dawn saw the sudden gleam in her benefactresses' eyes but didn’t question her.

“Then I shall learn to dance, Mrs. Pembrooke.” Dawn was always very careful to treat her benefactress with the utmost respect.

“Margaret. Call me Margaret, my dear. It makes me feel a bit less like a fossil.” The woman’s smile held just a hint of sadness.

“Margaret…..” Dawn said the name tentatively at first, feeling far more comfortable addressing the woman formally. But if  it wold please her to be
called by her given name then she would oblige. “Margaret!”             

The days had settled into an established routine.  Breakfast was precisely at seven for, Margaret Pembrooke would not abide loitering in bed all morning.  Then Dawn would busy herself with the light household chores, aiding
Marietta, at her own insistance.  She could not take advantage of Mrs. Pembrookes hospitality without earning her keep.  Lunch was always an elaborate affair.  Dawn's once lithe figure had acquired voluptuous curves. Now she feared that if she didn't have more willpower she'd soon be as plump as  the maid.

The afternoon was spent in lessons
. Often Dawn read to her companion, which gave her a perfect chance to practice her speech.  Discovering Dawn’s skill at numbers, Margaret Pembrooke soon enlisted her aid with the household financial records. One ledger had a name all its own. 
Oliver
. 

“Just who might that be,” Dawn had asked. She was met with a scowl.

"My good-for-nothing nephew, that's who.  A wastrel, a scoundrel.  A gambling rake.  You'll meet him soon enough when he comes to pester me for a loan.  Hmph!"

"He gambles?"

"Incessantly!"             

Robbie had often lost money at cards or dice.  How she missed him!  Her brother should be sharing in her good fortune, not languishing in a prison cell. Or worse!   Oh, where was he?  She would have no peace until she knew.  Nor could she put Taddie, Arien, Farley, Jamie or the others out of her mind.  She had wanted to go back to them, but Margaret Pembrooke had been most adamant.

“The runners may still be looking for you,” she had exclaimed protectively “Stay here and be safe.”

What young woman in her right mind would  want to throw herself to the wolves?  The runners
were
most probably searching for her at this very minute.

"You might lead the runners to your...uh...companions, m
y dear.  Would you want that?"

Dawn knew that she did not. Danger lurked out on the streets
, while here she had a safe nest. The past might be behind her, but shewould never turn her back on her friends. Someday, when it was safe, she would seek them out.  If she had made her own fortune, she would help them. Moreover, Dawn felt Margaret really needed her; she sensed the deep loneliness in the older woman. Perhaps they were both lonely souls.

She
succumbed to the melancholy of the day.  Encircling trees rustled in the wind, casting eerie shadows. Nearby a rabbit bounded about,  searching for food. The animal made a few aimless circlings, then settled itself by a bush, gnawing at bits of greenery left untouched by the cold. Just like Jamie, Farley and the others, it was a survivor.  As a dog suddenly gave chase, Dawn leaned forward keeping her eyes fixed on the rabbit until  it disappeared into the safety of a hole at the side of the carriage house.  It reminded her of her own circumstances.  Here she  too would be safe from any pursuers.                                                                                                                                                                                            

I wanted to be a
lady and now I have my chance
, she thought, turning from the window to stare into the dying embers of hearth fire.

She owed a great deal to Ma
rgaret Pembrooke. She could never fully repay her. The woman had tenaciously  molded her until she had become that which she had so wanted to be.   Besides, she really did want to stay.  For the first time since she was a child, she had her own room and that privacy was a blessing she cherished. 

Clad in a thin linen nightgown, her hair falling loose about her shoulders, Dawn  sat with her arms folded  about her knees and  her legs drawn up to her chest.  It was an unladylike position
and had Margaret seen, she would have scolded her, but Dawn found it extremely comfortable.             

Slowly her eyes touched on the blue
satin canopy over her bed.  A dressing table covered in the same shade of blue stood in one corner bearing elegant silver implements of beautification.  There was even a lamp with a round globe by which she could read whenever the urge struck her.  So many comforts and luxuries she had once dreamed about were now reality.                            

The house was enormous and beautifully decorated with  chandeliers,  wooden paneling
. Graceful windows held  diamond shaped panes of leaded glass. There were flights and flights of stairs, all  fully carpeted. Dawn remembered how she had first wandered through each room, admiring the furniture, running her hands over the smooth  velvets and intricately carved woods.  Pembrooke House had twenty rooms including a library, with  its walls lined with leather-bound books.  Someday when she had the time she was going to read every one!

The front lawns stretched out on both sides of a cobbled drive, artfully landscaped with
shrubbery and a checkerboard of flowerbed.  There was a  small, seperate house for the servants, a livery stable, a carriage house,  a gazebo,  a guest house, a gardeners shed.   There were houses for everything.  At times it was difficult for Dawn to come to terms with such wealth when she was so keenly aware of London’s poverty.  At times she felt guilty to think she slept on a soft bed while so many had no beds atall. And what of her brother? Where was he sleeping? Had Robbie’s misfortune paid for her own success?

Rising to her  feet, Dawn padded across the room on bare feet to look in the dressing table mirr
or.  Was she expecting to see a stranger looking back at her?   Yes.  But the eyes, the nose, the mouth were still the same.  Though Margaret Pembrooke insisted that the new fullness of her face made her look even prettier.

"I'm still me!" 
But now the days spent stealing handkerchiefs seemed unreal and she had to force herself to remember.  She would never allow herself to become some haughty snob, mindless of the suffering that went on around her.  Oh no!

Opening a small drawer of the dresser, she  stared at two objects  that she kept as  reminde
rs. The handkerchief and the watch. She wanted never to forget. 

Robbie had given her the watch for her birthday
. She would always treasure it.  And the handkerchief?  Why, she was but using it to wrap the watch, to keep it safe from scratches and to remind her how wrong she had been in once judging a man to be kind.  She would not allow herself to lapse into foolish dreams of what might have been. 

"Dawn!" It was Margaret Pembrooke's voice, accompanied by a soft knocking. 
"Are you in there, Dear?"

"Just a moment."  Closing the drawer, Dawn eyed the bracket clock as she moved quickly to the door.  It was much later than she had realized.  Her musing had caus
ed her to "doddle", as the Margaret would call it.  Trying to maintain her poise and keep the guilty flush from he face, she opened the door wide and  Margaret Pembrooke wheeled her chair into the room.

"You'
re not dressed!  Are you ill?"

"No, I was sitting by the window, reflecting on how my life has changed, and time got away from me," Dawn said truthfully.   "I'm sorry if I've displeased you."  She met the woman's eyes unflinchingly, expecting a scolding
but received a smile instead.

"Good.  Good.  That you are not suffering the vapors, that is."  She gazed intently at her.  "I think it's time you m
ingled with society, my Dear."

"Mingled?"  Dawn put her hand to her throat, shaking her head.  "I...I don't want to."  The word "society" conjured
up recollections of the snubs she received for years. "I'm....I'm not...."

"Ah, but you are.  Relax.  It is just
my nephew that I have in mind."

"Your nephew?  The gambling wastrel?"  Dawn remembered that he was the young man prone to "lascivious behavior" about whom Mrs. Pembroo
ke always spoke so scathingly.

"Aye, the
gambling wastrel." Throwing back her head, Margaret Pembrooke gave in to her laughter.   There was a refreshing honesty about this child despite a history of thievery. Margaret Pembrooke had known from the first that Dawn had been forced into a most unfortunate occupation. Even so, she had decided to take a chance. She had yet to be sorry. There was something about the girl that always delighted her.  Dawn was poised, intelligent, mannerly and so straightforward about what she thought that it wasrefreshing.  "I've decided to give him another chance."