Lisa Bingham (14 page)

Squeezing her eyes closed, she cursed herself for her foolishness, even as she tried to repair her emotional defenses.

She had a life for herself now. A full life. A meaningful life. She had responsibilities, obligations…

Pressures.

Again she laid a hand on her stomach, praying that the jouncing of the carriage wouldn’t make her physically ill. She really didn’t know what was wrong with her. She’d been so certain that her health would return to rights once she’d “come home.”

If anything, her condition had grown worse. Rather than occasional bouts of nausea when she was most nervous or upset, she seemed to suffer continually—as if she’d eaten something that didn’t agree with her. Worse yet, her condition seemed to be plaguing her with a trembling weakness and the inability to sleep. Her head pounded, her body ached with weariness….

No wonder she had been so weak as far as John Smith was concerned. She wasn’t feeling well. And when a person didn’t feel well, one often made mistakes in judgment.

Didn’t one?

“This is it.”

She jerked herself from her thoughts as John gently brought the carriage to a stop. She studied the imposing iron gates, and in the distance, the craggy, sprawling facade of Hildon Hall.

The moment her eyes began to absorb the scene, she felt a chill run through her veins. Woodenly, she lifted the veil away and tossed it backward as she read the sign that hung discreetly from a post near the front gate.

“There must be some mistake,” Louisa breathed, more to herself than to John.

“I don’t think so,” he said grimly.

Touching the reins to the horse’s flanks, he urged the animal onward.

From the moment their carriage stopped in front of the main doors, it was obvious that their unannounced arrival was far from welcome. Hostile stares and expressions of complete disbelief followed their progress.

“Do you get the feeling that we’ve broken one of their rules?” John asked under his breath as he helped her step from the carriage.

She nodded, dropping the veil of her bonnet over her face again, needing the anonymity of the black lace to hide her instinctive reactions. Emotions crested over her, one on top of the other like an incoming tide—confusion, horror, fear.

What would cause a father to send his only child to an institution such as this?

But even as the thought arrived, she knew from her own life that such a practice wasn’t completely unknown.

John took her arm and looped it around his own. Despite the fact that after their argument on the bridge she had sworn she would never let him touch her again, she clung to him for strength.

Ignoring the glare of a nearby groundskeeper, they climbed the outer steps and entered the heavy wood-and-glass doors.

Inside, the corridor held the unpleasant odors of musty books, floor wax and boiled cabbage. The tiles beneath their feet were cracked and showed distinct signs of wear. The benches that lined the walls were scarred and broken.

“Not a very cheery place, is it?”

“Charity schools rarely are,” she said faintly. The sights and sounds caused a rush of memories to tumble through her head.

The orphanage where she’d spent most of her childhood wasn’t much different than this. Even there, the air had hung thick with the pervading sense of discipline and disgust, loneliness, isolation…

She’d suffered for years.

Until she’d found a friend in Neil Ballard. They’d become inseparable until he’d been taken back to America. It was that enduring friendship that had inspired Louisa to write to him for help when she’d found herself destitute in London.

Shame swept through her. How easily she had abandoned that friendship. And for what? Money? A life of ease?

Louisa was swiftly learning that even those with great wealth had their troubles. She was beginning to wonder if happiness was an illusion that all men sought, but no one really attained.

John stopped in front of a door with the word Office stenciled in chipped white paint. Tapping on it twice, he twisted the knob and ushered Louisa inside without waiting for a response.

A woman was bent over a desk, her brow creased as she pored over a ledger filled with numbers. At their entry, she looked up so suddenly that the pince-nez balanced on her nose trembled and the chain that secured it to her bodice shook.

“Who—”

“This is Mrs. Charles Winslow III. She has come to retrieve her stepdaughter.”

Louisa was grateful for the way John took matters into his own hands. The fact that he had announced her presence in a deep, booming voice seemed to give far more credit to the spontaneity of her arrival.

The woman’s eyes widened and she stood, dropping the papers on the desk.

“Mrs.
Winslow?
”

“I believe that you were sent a telegram stating that Mrs. Winslow was Evie’s new guardian.”

The woman snatched the spectacles from the bridge of her nose, folding them precisely.

“Yes, of course. But naturally, with all that has occurred, I was sure that Mrs. Winslow…that Evie…” Obviously rattled, she took a deep breath, then asked, “Why exactly are you here, Mrs. Winslow?”

“I’ve come to take her home.”

The woman blinked, offered a mirthless laugh, then sobered when she realized that Louisa had spoken in earnest.

“How long will she be visiting?”

“She won’t be visiting, Mrs—” Louisa read the name carved into the placard on the desk “—Mrs. Bitterman. Since the death of her father is bound to affect Evie deeply, I intend to have the rest of her education conducted at home.”

The woman smiled as if Louisa had offered the punch line to a joke, but when Louisa didn’t respond, she quickly cleared her throat.

“Mrs. Winslow, Evie has been with us for quite some time.” When Louisa didn’t respond, she said, “Years. She’s been with us for years.” She pressed her lips together in a thin white line. “Mrs. Winslow, I don’t think that you fully appreciate the challenges that will be involved with keeping that girl at home.”

T
hat girl.

Louisa stiffened as Mrs. Bitterman’s phrase echoed in her head. There was a hidden slur to the comment, a note of disapproval.

“Mrs. Bitterman, have you received a telegram informing you that I am Evie’s legal guardian?”

“Yes, of course, but—”

“Are you also aware that my husband has died?”

“Of course. You have my deepest sympathies, Mrs. Winslow.” The woman’s tone was more conciliatory as she obviously remembered the money to be found behind the name. “However, I didn’t see a need to let Evie know of her father’s demise.”

A chill swept through Louisa’s body. Evie hadn’t been told of her father’s death? A blaze of fury followed, chasing away her last vestiges of nervousness. This…this
woman
had denied Evie the opportunity to grow accustomed to her orphaned state before she was collected to attend the funeral. Instead, Mrs. Bitterman had left it to a stranger to inform the girl that her father was dead and her new stepmother would care for her. Such a cold handling of the affair shocked Louisa to the very core.

“Mrs. Bitterman…” she said with a sense of hauteur that conveyed she wouldn’t be denied. “You will bring the girl to me. Now. Then you will have one of the teachers pack her things and have them loaded into my carriage within the next quarter hour. Is that clear?”

Two bright spots of color blazed on Mrs. Bitterman’s cheeks. If possible, her lips pressed more tightly, nearly disappearing altogether. “Yes, ma’am.”

She picked up a small bell from her desk and rang it sharply. Within seconds, a severe woman with a plain equine face opened the door.

“Where is Evie Winslow?”

The woman raised her eyebrows. “She’s in one of the cells in the upper wing.”

“Cells?”
Louisa repeated ominously.

“She’s being punished,” the woman said simply.

Louisa’s fury erupted. Turning back to Mrs. Bitterman, she demanded, “Take me to her.” When the woman hesitated, she added icily, “At once.”

Mrs. Bitterman might have protested again, but with a slight shifting of his weight, John pulled back the edge of his jacket and rested his hand on the butt of his pistol.

Clearly enraged, Mrs. Bitterman opened a drawer and removed a ring of keys. “This way,” she snapped.

Louisa’s horror increased with each step she took. As she traversed the halls of Hildon it became clear that this was no ordinary charity school. Despite the civility of the title inscribed on the sign at the front gate, the building didn’t bear the slightest resemblance to a school. This was an asylum, a warehouse for those who were too disturbed or too ill to care for themselves.

What could possibly possess a man to allow his own flesh and blood to live in a place such as this? Louisa could think of no infirmity, no condition that would excuse such cold-bloodedness.

“Here we are,” Mrs. Bitterman said as they reached the third floor. The air here was stale and stifling. Judging by the sloped ceilings and narrow corridors, the rooms had been carved out of the attic space.

“Why is she being kept locked up?” Louisa asked in open disapproval when the woman began searching through the assortment of keys.

Mrs. Bitterman sneered at Louisa. “You women are all the same. The moment you’ve married, you trot over to Hildon with your sensibilities aflame. You’re so sure that you’ll be the one to make the difference and that a little loving care will make everything all right.” She sniffed. “But you’ll be back here soon enough, ready to lock her up so that you don’t have to deal with the unpleasantness yourself.”

Mrs. Bitterman’s eyes narrowed. “Within a day or two, you’ll discover that your new daughter is a demon child, one possessed by the worst characteristics to be found in human nature. Only harsh discipline curbs her willful spirit.”

She gave a snort of distaste. “And don’t get all high and mighty with me. I’m following doctor’s orders—her own doctor! One paid for with the Winslow millions. Why, if it weren’t for the tonic that she must be given every day, she would be little more than an animal.”

Louisa shook with anger, a fury that blazed even more intensely as Mrs. Bitterman twisted the key in the lock and swung the door wide.

There was no light in the tiny room, no window, no lamp, no chink in the wall to provide the slightest illumination. Sensing a change in her condition, the girl started, whirling to face the open door from where she’d crouched in the corner behind a rusty iron bedstead.

As Louisa’s eyes met those of her new daughter, she was stunned again.

From everything that she had heard about Evie, Louisa had expected a small child. But the figure that regarded her with suspicious, narrow eyes was well on her way to becoming a woman. True, she was small and lithe, but Louisa would say that the delicate girl was at least fifteen or sixteen years old.

“Evie?” Louisa said softly, speaking much the same way she would to a cornered, wild animal. “Evie, I’ve come to take you home.”

The girl didn’t respond. Instead, she watched Louisa with a blank, glassy stare.

“Would you like to go home?”

“She won’t answer you,” Mrs. Bitterman proclaimed. “She hasn’t spoken in years.” Her arms folded beneath her breasts. “She’s more than capable of speaking, I can assure you. She remains silent in order to demand attention from everyone around her.”

Louisa’s hands trembled with her effort to control her temper. With a sharp gesture, she pointed at Evie. “
This
is the unruliness you warned me against?” she snapped.

Mrs. Bitterman glared down the length of her pinched nose. “Upon the advice of her physician, we felt it necessary to treat her with laudanum to soothe her nerves.”

Soothe her nerves?
The girl’s glassy stare indicated she was only partially aware of what was going on around her.

“Rest assured that I’ll be speaking to the board of trustees about this,” Louisa said.

Mrs. Bitterman shrugged and offered her a sour smile. “Nothing has been done without the advice of the girl’s doctor. You would be highly advised to continue with her medication as prescribed. Otherwise, she becomes violent.”

Louisa was suddenly glad that she’d come without an appointment. If she’d waited for the school’s invitation, she was sure she never would have seen the horrible treatment being inflicted on the child.

“I’m taking her home.”

Without even being asked, John strode into the tiny room. Offering soft soothing sounds as if she were a skittish colt, John gently slipped his arms beneath the girl’s slender frame and lifted her against him.

“You’d best hurry and get her things, Mrs. Bitterman,” he said darkly as he brushed past the woman and began to carry the girl down the twisting staircase.

Once they reached the carriage, Louisa climbed into the rear seat first, then helped John to settle the girl beside her. Clinging to Evie with one arm, she wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, then tucked the carriage blanket around her knees.

At one point, Evie reared away, clearly disturbed by the fussing. Her eyes were sullen and suspicious, her expression rife with apprehension.

Louisa couldn’t blame the girl for her reaction. Who knew how long she had been abused by the matrons of Hildon Hall?

Feeling much like a mother hen whose chick had been attacked, Louisa hugged Evie tightly as the girl’s things were loaded onto the opposite seat—little more than a trunk the size of a hatbox and a worn winter coat.

The evidence of such pitiful belongings pained Louisa even more. This was the daughter of one of the wealthiest men in Boston? She had been treated with less regard than most beggars.

“See to it that she’s given her tonic at each meal,” Mrs. Bitterman said as she handed Louisa a bottle filled with a milky substance. “If you don’t, she’ll have a serious reaction.”

Louisa took the bottle and stuffed it into her reticule. Then, ignoring the matron’s look—one that seemed smug and confident about the fact that Louisa would soon be bringing the girl back—Louisa indicated to John that they should leave.

Louisa did her best to comfort the shivering girl on the ride home. But if Louisa had hoped that Evie would warm to her immediately, she was sadly mistaken. Evie regarded her with large suspicious eyes. Eyes that remained slightly unfocused and overly bright.

Damn that woman and damn Hildon Hall, Louisa thought time and time again. Even if Evie were ill and prone to misbehavior, Louisa couldn’t imagine what the girl could have done to result in being locked in a dark, airless chamber, her frail body so drugged that she could barely hold herself upright.

Worse yet, it was obvious that the girl had not bathed in some time. Her hair was tangled and matted, her fingernails rimmed with grime. Cuts and scratches peppered her skin as if she’d run through a bramble bush.

How was Louisa supposed to tell this fragile creature that Charles had died and that Evie had been left in the care of a stranger?

“Evie?” she murmured.

At the sound of her name, the girl reared away and pressed herself into the corner of the carriage.

“Shh, shh.” Louisa bit her lip.

Now wasn’t the time to tell the girl anything. Although she damned herself for being a coward, Louisa decided that she would wait until Evie had been fed and bathed. Perhaps then the laudanum would have worn off enough for the girl to realize that Louisa wasn’t a threat.

Tucking her shawl more securely around the girl’s shoulders, Louisa gradually drew Evie into her arms again. As soon as possible, Louisa would summon the girl’s doctor. Before Louisa did anything, she needed the advice of a physician. Tomorrow would be soon enough to tell Evie of her father’s death. In her current state, Louisa doubted that the girl would consciously miss Charles.

The afternoon sun was hot overhead when the front gates to the Winslow estates came into view.

“We’re almost home, Evie.”

The girl trembled in Louisa’s arms, but the time and distance had eased her fears enough that she allowed Louisa to hold her.

“Are you hungry?”

The question was asinine, given the gauntness of the girl’s frame, but the constant patter seemed to calm Evie.

“We’ll make you some hot soup and tea—or perhaps you’d like a cup of Beatrice’s hot cocoa.”

Evie stiffened in Louisa’s arms as the shadow of the huge iron gate passed over them and they made their way through the darker shadows caused by the trees.

“I’m sure your aunt is eager to see you. It’s probably been years….”

A whimper of distress bled from Evie’s lips. Then, as they topped the rise and the castle could be seen in the valley below, she grew hysterical, crying and screaming. She pushed free of Louisa, kicking and flailing her arms, trying desperately to jump from the carriage.

“Whoa!”

John quickly calmed the gelding and turned to catch the girl around the waist before she could lunge out of the conveyance.

“What startled her?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the angry squeals.

“I don’t know. She became restless as soon as we turned down the drive, but the moment she saw the castle, she lost control.”

Still struggling with the child, John looked quickly at the castle, then down at Evie.

“Do you think she’s afraid of the place? It looks a little like Hildon Hall.”

Louisa peered at the castle, then down at Evie, who was frantic.

“Perhaps you’re right.”

“Take her for a minute.”

Louisa drew Evie down upon the seat. Evie buried her face in Louisa’s shoulder, sobbing piteously.

With a deft twist of the reins, John urged the horse down an alternative track to the left. The moment the trees shielded them from the view of the house, Evie’s panic subsided and her sobbing took a tone of exhaustion rather than fear.

“I think you’re right, John.” Louisa’s blood boiled. “What did they do to her at that place?”

“I sure as hell intend to find out,” he muttered, more to himself than to her.

His concern tugged at Louisa’s heart.

After whispering softly to the girl, Louisa said, “We can’t take her home. Not like this.”

John gazed around them as if the answer might suddenly show itself. “What do you want to do?”

She thought for a moment, then said, “In my inheritance, I was given the garden house. It’s supposed to be nearby. From what I gathered from Mr. Pritchard’s explanation, it was the overseer’s home during the construction of the castle. I believe he said it was on the southeastern corner of the estate. Do you think you could find it?”

Slapping the reins on the horse’s rump, John said, “We may as well try. The way she’s acting, I’d rather not go to the castle to ask for directions.”

It proved an easy task to find the garden house. The track they followed led to the stables, and from there, to another rutted road that led to the cottage.

From first glance, Louisa had fallen in love with the structure. Compared to the castle, it was a modest home. Built on a single level, it had a wraparound porch and a steeply pitched roof. Large windows let in the sunshine and lacy fretwork decorated the eaves.

John was the first to investigate. He found the rear door unlocked. After searching the house, he came out through the front.

“It’s dusty and in need of a cleaning, but cloths have been thrown over most of the furniture to keep out the grime. Overall, I’d say this place is in better condition than the main house.”

He scooped Evie into his arms.

Weakly, she protested, pressing her hands against his chest, but her actions were uncoordinated.

“I’ll get the two of you set up in one of the bedrooms. Then I’ll take the buggy back to the stable and let the rest of the household know what has happened.”

He led them into a narrow entryway, and from there to a door at the end of the hall. Inside were two iron bedsteads and a tall shape shrouded in a dust cloth. Judging by its height, Louisa guessed it to be a highboy.

“What would you like me to fetch you from the house?” John asked Louisa as he set Evie on the bare mattress.