Chapter Fourteen
The roles and responsibilities of a husband and wife are vastly different, and necessarily so...
B ennett was rapidly losing patience. ‘Spit it out, man! I have no blasted idea what you are talking about.’
‘That does not surprise me, Your Grace. As a bachelor, you have been spared the awful trials of attempting to understand a woman’s mind. Believe me, there is no arguing with them when they believe that they are in the right, or that the path they have chosen is the only route to travel. That is when they get that glint. I have learned, through bitter experience, when that glint arrives, no matter how wrong the woman might be, reason will not sway her. Nor will lordly commands. The best course of action is to take a step back and allow them to do what they are set on doing—but to be prepared to step in and salvage the situation should the need arise. Hence, when Miss Mansfield forcefully informed me that she had no intention of heeding my warnings, I found another way to keep her safe. A compromise, of sorts, although it was one she was not aware of. The very worst thing you could do to a young woman like Miss Mansfield is to forbid her from doing something.’
‘Nonsense.’ Bennett had heard enough of this idiocy. ‘That is just cowardice, Lovett. I told Miss Mansfield that she was forbidden to visit Seven Dials again or she could pack her bags and leave.’
‘And how did she take that, Your Grace?’
‘Despite her claims to the contrary, I fully expect her to see the logic of that decision once she has calmed down. You will see, Lovett. Sometimes all that is needed with a woman is a firm hand.’
His aunt chose that moment to barge through the door without knocking, wearing a face like thunder. ‘What on earth have you done to poor Miss Mansfield, Bennett? She has stated her intention to leave this house immediately.’
Bennett stifled a groan. ‘I merely informed her of the fact that she is not to visit Seven Dials again.’ Out of the corner of his eye he saw Lovett smirking. ‘I am sure that she is just being a little rebellious.’
Aunt Augusta glared at him as if he were mad. ‘She is already packing her bags, Bennett.’ Then she marched towards him and began to jab her finger into his chest. Clearly it was a day for females to jab him in the ribs. ‘You will fix this, Bennett. Have you any idea how many years it has taken me to find a half-decent companion who does not bore me to tears? I am immensely fond of the gal. She told me about your heavy-handed behaviour towards her in the carriage. How dare you threaten to dismiss a member of my staff? I have my own household, Bennett, which I pay for with my own money. You do not support me and you never have. It is not your place to decide who is and who is not a suitable companion for me. You only have to suffer my company for one month every year; surely you can tolerate Amelia for such a short period of time?’
‘Heavy-handed!’ Could his aunt not see the state of his nose? ‘I will have you know that, had it not been for my intervention, your dear Miss Mansfield would likely have come out much worse at the hands of those ruffians. And are you aware that poor Miss Mansfield is consorting with Radicals?’
His aunt flapped her hand at him dismissively. ‘The gal has a great sense of civic responsibility, that is all, and a heart of gold. I think that it is admirable that she feeds all those poor wretches soup.’
‘You would not say that if you had seen Seven Dials. That place is a den of iniquity. Filled with thieves and layabouts. It is no place for a young lady.’
Again, Aunt Augusta appeared nonplussed. ‘Most normal young ladies, yes. But Amelia is made of much sterner stuff than most.’
‘Have you not seen her? She is barely five feet tall and looks as though a gust of wind would blow her over.’ But she had bravely stood in front of him, ready to fight beside him. And she had jumped on that bruiser’s back and, in doing so, stopped him from receiving a sound beating from two men simultaneously. ‘It is ridiculous that she thinks that she would be safe in a place like that alone.’
‘For pity’s sake, Bennett, stop being so high and mighty. Amelia lived in Seven Dials for three years all alone and managed well enough.’
‘What?’ That did not bear thinking about. Petite, lovely Miss Mansfield came from that slum? ‘She told me that she lived in Cheapside.’ And that place was bad enough.
‘She did. For a while. Amelia has lived in many different parts of London.’ His aunt’s face suddenly became closed and Bennett realised that the wily old bird knew a great deal more than she was prepared to let on. ‘Make it right, Bennett. I shall never forgive you if Miss Mansfield leaves. Try to see things from her perspective.’ Then she sailed out of his study imperiously.
Perspective.
What was it with women and that blasted word? First Miss Mansfield, now Aunt Augusta. As if his own perspective on the world was somehow incorrect. As if he were the one in the wrong because his own view of the world was skewed. Well, he wasn’t going to apologise.
‘Shall I send for Miss Mansfield, Your Grace?’ Lovett was still standing staring at him, his face completely devoid of any emotion, but his eyes were blatantly laughing.
‘No,’ he replied petulantly and then huffed in defeat. ‘Kindly send word to Miss Mansfield that I should like to talk to her after dinner.’ Perhaps his tone had been a little dictatorial. And judgemental. It was not as if he had known that she had lived there. Had he known, he might not have been so forceful. ‘Tell her that I would like to...’ Wring her lovely neck. Kiss that smart mouth of hers to silence her until she saw things his way. Talk to her about the stars and forget that he was a duke for a little while. ‘Tell her that I would like to discuss a compromise.’
The butler scurried off, leaving Bennett alone with his thoughts. If he was brutally honest with himself, his anger was born more out of fear for what might have happened than at her blatant disregard for his wishes. Those three men had meant her harm—of that he was sure—and the thought of her being at the mercy of such men made him feel sick. When that man had grabbed her, Bennett had wanted to cause the blighter pain. Hell, he had wanted to kill the bounder who had thrown her to the floor. He still did. And now he knew that she might well have had to deal with such things repeatedly, and all alone, did not even bear thinking about. It was inconceivable to think that she had survived such a trial. And how had she come to live in Seven Dials in the first place? Was there no family left to have taken her in?
His peace was quickly interrupted by his mother, who was hanging on the arm of Uncle George. His uncle gave him a look that spoke volumes. Your mother is worried. Let her fuss. So Bennett subjected himself to being dabbed with witch hazel and endured his mother’s flapping with gritted teeth while he recounted a toned-down version of the events that had led to his injuries. Only then could he escape the confines of his study to change his clothes and organise his thoughts.
He did not want her to leave.
Why that was, Bennett was not prepared to consider, but as his anger subsided he acknowledged that he had not handled the aftermath of the incident as effectively as he could have. He had not allowed her to state her case and he hadn’t listened. He would try to see things from her perspective—even though he was perfectly certain that he had a very good perspective of things to begin with. He was a forward-thinking politician who was known for his sympathetic stance towards the poor. Hell, he had become known for being more forward-thinking than his own father, who had not cared one whit about the poor, so he deserved some credit. Once she had her say, Miss Mansfield would then have to listen to his side of things, when hopefully he could reassure her that she did not need to continue to serve soup in that hellhole because he, and other fine men in Parliament, had things well in hand.
As he approached the staircase, his eyes wandered up to the big mural on the ceiling, the very one that had been there for every single day of the thirty years of his life, and he paused. Perspective? As if he could not see something that was right before his eyes. Bennett scanned the hallway to see if anyone else was there. Only when he was absolutely certain there was nobody around to see him did he place himself in the very centre of the atrium and lie down on the floor.
It took less than ten seconds to learn that Miss Mansfield, damn her, might well be the one in the right after all.
* * *
Lady Worsted insisted that she come down to dinner, citing her nephew’s desire to make amends as the reason. Amelia wasn’t so sure. Whilst she felt extremely grateful and guilty in equal measure for the fact that the Duke had come to her rescue, she was still smarting at his tyrannical tone and his insistence that she had to abide by his rules or leave. She had been forced to leave one grand house in Mayfair because of Viscount Venomous’s unreasonable demands and being issued with an unreasonable ultimatum by the Duke had hurt—but it was not wholly unexpected. It was inconceivable that she would abandon her work at the soup kitchen; there had been far too many ultimatums in her life already, and none of them had led to a positive outcome for her.
Now, apparently, he was prepared to discuss a compromise and she was certain that his idea of a compromise and hers were very different things. No doubt, in his mind, it meant her capitulating entirely to his unreasonable demands in return for her being allowed to walk in the park once a week without asking his permission first. If she had wanted that sort of control in her life, she would be already married.
Unfortunately, Lady Worsted was also right. She had to endure Bennett Montague only until the end of December. Was it really worth throwing away the best job she had ever had just for a few more weeks of curtailed independence? At least back in Bath, even if the political societies were disorganised and provincial and the poor did not need her quite so desperately, she could come and go as much as she pleased. But it was not London and it never would be. In London Amelia made a small difference. In Bath she would be old and wrinkled before anything drastic was achieved.
Yet here she was, sitting at the grand table in the family dining room, doing her best to appear polite and acquiescent to her hosts. His Royal Pomposity had yet to make an appearance and the atmosphere was awkward, to say the least, while they all waited until the clock chimed seven and he would miraculously appear. Amelia would not put it past him to be loitering outside in the hallway, pocket watch in his hand, waiting for the precise moment to stride in. He was such a stickler for correct form that to deviate from exactly seven o’clock might cause him to have some kind of seizure.
As the first chimes tinkled the hour, it seemed that they collectively held their breath and made a concerted effort not to look at the door. True to form, he strode in, issued a formal ‘Good evening’ to one and all and took his place at the head of the table. The well-trained servants immediately began busying themselves with tureens, while Amelia looked at her hands.
Once the soup was served, they ate in silence until Sir George was brave enough to break the tension. ‘Well, if nobody else is going to speak, I might as well start. First of all, let me say how relieved we all are that you came to no serious harm today, Amelia. Bennett has told us that you were accosted by three scoundrels and I am very pleased that he was there to assist you. We all now know that you regularly help the poor, which is admirable, and that you were unfortunate enough to have had to experience life there first-hand. But, if I may be so bold, I should like to ask the question that we are all aching to know the answer to. How did you come to be living alone in Seven Dials in the first place?’
The soup in her mouth suddenly turned to dust and she glanced up at Lady Worsted to see if she could find any guidance on how much to tell. Finding nothing in her employer’s face that would help, Amelia put down her spoon. Lying would be pointless. It would not take a great deal of investigation for the powerful Duke or his wealthy family to uncover the truth.
‘My mother became very ill and I had to care for her. When our money ran out we could no longer afford to stay in our house in Cheapside. The only place that we could afford was Seven Dials. When my mother died I stayed there until I could better myself.’
Fortunately, nobody probed further because they were all horrified by her sanitised version of events. In truth, Viscount Venomous had refused to continue his meagre financial support the moment he had secured an annulment from her mother. After that, it was as if they had ceased to exist in his mind. With no income, they had been turfed out of their tiny apartment in Cheapside and Amelia had been forced, at the tender age of seventeen, to take employment wherever she could.
With her mother’s failing health, permanent employment had been impossible. She’d never known when she would be needed to nurse her, so Amelia had taken casual work to help pay for their awful room in a boarding house. When the consumption got so bad that Amelia could scarcely leave her mother’s bedside, even that awful room had been callously removed. It had been Amelia’s idea to go to the workhouse. At least there, her mother would have a bed and proper medical attention. It made no difference that Amelia was made to do all manner of demeaning jobs inside that institution as a punishment for the terrible crime of being poor. At least her mother had a roof over her head. When she had been informed of her mother’s death, she had left that day, preferring to beg on the streets if need be than to suffer further humiliation at the hands of that inhuman institution. What would these fine people make of that? Even if she told them, she seriously doubted that they would understand.
‘How on earth did you manage on your own?’ The Dowager looked distraught on her behalf.
‘I took jobs and saved my money until I could afford something better.’ And her paltry savings had been stolen on two separate occasions. ‘I managed well enough.’ She’d come out alive. In Seven Dials, that was all you could hope for.
‘It does sound dreadful, Amelia.’ Sir George appeared sympathetic, then he winked at her when nobody was looking. ‘I am surprised that you would willingly want to go back there. What is it that draws you to that place every day?’
Bless him. He had given her an opportunity to explain calmly. The silent, pompous Duke was too well mannered to cause a scene at dinner. That would be bad for digestion.
‘My own experiences taught me that poverty is a terrible affliction that the sufferers have not chosen. Nobody decides to be poor or chooses to live in a slum. They are there because that is the only choice available to them. Fortunately, I am well educated. That opened doors to me that would normally remain firmly closed to the majority of those people, and through no fault of their own. I suppose, once you have lived through something like that, it changes you. Now that I am in the fortunate position of being able to do something to help them, I feel that I must.’
‘But surely you could do just as much good without putting yourself at risk. You could knit stockings or gloves, for example, like many charitable ladies of my acquaintance do.’
Amelia liked the Dowager and did not want to offend her, so she chose her next words carefully. ‘Whilst the poor are grateful for those things, I know that they would prefer food in their bellies. It is easier to work when you are properly fed, and then perhaps they would be able to make enough to buy the other things that they need. A roof over their heads, for example, trumps woollen stockings.’
‘Are you telling me that many of them do not even have homes?’ Now the Dowager was incredulous, as if such a thing was so far out of the realm of her understanding that she could not even conceive of it.
‘A great majority live from day to day. They work to earn enough to eat and to buy a bed for the night. Seven Dials, like all of the slums, is made up of lodging houses. The poor call them doss houses. For a few coins, they can pay to sleep on the floor of large communal rooms. While the unscrupulous landlords make a good living out of this, it makes it more difficult to be able to afford a proper room somewhere. There is more money to be made by offering nightly board. Oftentimes, many people have to resort to sleeping on the streets because they cannot afford even that. The poor become locked in a cycle that is near impossible to break.’
‘Did you have to sleep in one of those lodging houses?’
It was the first time that His Holiness had spoken and Amelia was forced to turn towards him. To her surprise, anger shimmered in his silver-blue eyes, but for once it was not directed at her. ‘On occasion,’ she admitted and saw that anger burn brighter. ‘But not for long.’ Desperation, she had discovered, made her quite resourceful.
The first course finished, they all sat quietly while the servants cleared and laid the table with the next. Perhaps sensing that the conversation was not really something that the staff should hear, Lovett then promptly dismissed them and instructed the Dowager to ring when they were finished. As soon as he pulled closed the large double doors, Sir George spoke again.
‘The picture that you paint is very dire indeed, Amelia. However, what I struggle to understand is why those poor wretches continue to have children when they do not have enough money to put food in their own stomachs. I am patron of a foundling hospital, and I can assure you that it is full to bursting. Every week another child is left on the doorstep.’
Amelia tried hard not to be annoyed by his ignorance, but it was difficult. How could he hope to understand when he had been shielded from the truth? ‘No mother willingly gives up her child, sir. Their circumstances must be very dire indeed for them to have resorted to such a thing. For many, they hand over their children in the hope that those children will have food and shelter. If it is a choice between seemingly abandoning their baby or consigning their child to death, that choice is easier to make. It is also worth stating, although it pains me to do so, that you are assuming that those women had those children willingly. Many do not have a choice in that either. There are many unscrupulous men who take advantage of poor women.’
An uncomfortable hush settled over the table as the full meaning of her words sank in. Sir George actually blushed. Both the Dowager and Lady Worsted covered their mouths in shock. The Duke’s voice was clipped as he stared pointedly at Amelia. ‘This conversation is hardly appropriate for the dinner table.’