Chapter 10 #2
Meanwhile, down the street, Nora was preparing for yet another late-night adventure.
She long since changed out of the dress she had worn to the garden party and had donned a more casual attire with comfortable shoes in preparation for the long walk ahead of her.
Then, she waited patiently in her room until she was certain the entire household had retired for the night, listening intently for any sounds of movement in the hallways.
Her father had been out when she arrived from the party and had not returned home, which was a blessing. He would not notice her absence, and the servants would be too deeply asleep to hear her quiet departure.
When she was satisfied that all was silent, Nora rose from her bed and gathered the things she had prepared to take with her in a basket, draping her cloak over one arm.
Then she slowly made her way to the door, opening it with painstaking care to avoid any telltale creaks that might betray her.
The hallway before her was dim and empty, exactly as she had hoped.
Moving like a wraith through her own home, Nora navigated the familiar corridors with practiced ease.
She knew the house as intimately as she knew the backs of her hands.
She was well aware of which floorboards groaned, which doors had squeaky hinges, and which stairs were likely to expose her presence the moment it was introduced to her weight.
Years of playing hide and seek with Cecil had taught her well.
The servants' entrance at the back of the house was her usual preferred exit point. It was hardly ever locked from the inside, as the staff seemingly assumed that no one of consequence would have any reason to use it. They were wrong, of course, but Nora saw no need to correct their assumptions.
She slipped outside into the cool night air, pausing to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. The moon was only a sliver in the sky, providing barely any light, but Nora had walked this path enough times that she felt that she could make her way through with a blindfold over her eyes.
Still, she took no chances. She moved carefully, keeping to the shadows, alert for any signs of being caught. Even with her mind mostly focused on ensuring that her movements were swift and able to avoid detection, she took a moment to revel in the freedom of being outside.
There was something freeing to look up at the night sky, to breathe in the cool night air, to know that her life was hers alone in that moment. No matter how great the urgency, she always took a few seconds to appreciate the feeling of freedom her late-night excursions granted.
Tonight, she employed her usual sneaky tactics and set off, armed with her basket.
She wove through back streets and narrow alleys, doubling back on herself more than once, taking unexpected turns that would confuse anyone attempting to follow her.
By the time she reached the market square, she was confident that she had shaken off any potential observers that might have picked up her trail at some point or another.
The market carried less of its regular hustle and bustle at this hour; most of the stalls closed and shuttered for the night.
A few late-night vendors remained, selling food and drink to those who preferred the cover of darkness for their transactions.
Nora passed through the sparse crowd with ease, just another anonymous figure going about her business.
It was only once she had navigated through the thickest part of the remaining crowd that she ducked into a narrow alley and pulled out the cloak she had tucked in her basket after she left her house.
The heavy, dark fabric settled over her shoulders, and she pulled the hood up to conceal her face and hair before continuing her journey, now properly disguised.
The streets grew progressively less maintained the further she went, the fine townhouses and shops giving way to more modest dwellings and eventually to buildings that showed clear signs of neglect.
This was not a part of London that young ladies of quality were supposed to know existed, let alone visit.
But Nora had never been particularly good at doing what she was supposed to do.
Finally, she arrived at her destination: an old, weathered building that looked as though it might collapse at any moment. The windows were dark, but Nora knew that was only because the occupants were conserving their precious candles.
She knocked on the door in a specific pattern, three quick raps followed by two slower ones.
A moment later, the door cracked open, and a weathered face peered out at her. Recognition dawned immediately, and the door swung wide to receive her.
“Miss Nora!” Mrs. Brighton exclaimed, her tired face breaking into a delighted smile. “Oh, you've come! Children, children, Miss Nora is here!”
The sound of small feet thundering across floorboards filled the air, and suddenly Nora was surrounded by a small horde of excited children, all talking at once and reaching for her with grasping hands.
“Miss Nora!”
“You came back!”
“Did you bring us anything?”
“I missed you!”
“I like your dress!”
Nora laughed, her heart swelling with affection as she pushed back her hood and crouched down to peer closely at their precious faces.
“Yes, yes, I am here! And of course I brought you something. Did you truly think I would come empty-handed?”
She reached into her basket and pulled out a carefully wrapped bundle, which she opened seconds later to reveal several children's books. The children gasped in collective awe, crowding closer to see.
“Books!” a little girl named Sarah breathed, her eyes wide.
“Real books!” added Thomas, a boy of about eight with a shock of red hair.
“May we read them, Miss Nora?” Rhonda asked shyly.
She was one of the older children, perhaps ten or eleven, with mousy brown hair and thoughtful grey eyes, ever so polite and mindful.
“Of course you may,” Nora assured her. “They are for all of you to share. Mrs. Brighton, perhaps you could help them choose which story to start with?”
“It would be my pleasure,” Mrs. Brighton said warmly, ushering the children away to examine their new treasures.
The sounds of excitement quieted down to thoughtful humming as they tried to decide which book to read, and Nora felt thankful her gift was well received, glad that she had thought to ask Jane.
A twinge of guilt flashed through her as she recalled she had not been entirely honest about her reasons for wanting the books, but seeing the faces of the children made her feel as though it was worth it.
Once the children were occupied, Nora turned back to Mrs. Brighton and pulled out a much heavier bundle from within her basket.
“I have brought provisions as well,” she said quietly.
“Bread, cheese, some preserved meats, and dried fruit. And here –” she pressed a small purse into the older woman's hands, “– this should help with whatever other expenses you might have. It is not much, it never is. But I do hope it is able to make things easier for you all, somewhat. At least for a little while.”
Mrs. Brighton's eyes filled with tears as she clutched the purse to her chest.
“Miss Nora, you are too kind. Too generous. I do not know how we can ever repay you.”
“There is no need for repayment,” Nora assured her gently. “I only wish I could do more. Has the city still not provided any assistance?”
Mrs. Brighton shook her head sadly. “We have been forgotten, I am afraid. The orphanage is too small, too far from the more fashionable parts of the city. No one remembers that we exist until they need somewhere to abandon an unwanted child. Your donations have been keeping us alive, Miss Nora. You and your generous heart.”
“I am glad I can help, though I wish I could do even more,” Nora said, though her heart ached at the injustice of it all. “If there is anything else you need, any concerns or difficulties, please let me know. I will do whatever I can.”
Mrs. Brighton squeezed her hand gratefully. “You have done more than enough for us. That you have found room in your heart to consider us and our needs is more than we could ask. Thank you, dear.”
Just then, she was called away by one of the younger children and excused herself softly, slipping away with a lighter expression than the one she’d had when she had welcomed Nora in.
Nora glanced around the home, noticing a dented metal pail placed in a corner of the room, into which water dripped from the ceiling.
“Another leak in the roof,” she muttered, her heart quaking in dismay as she wondered if her financial aid would be enough to get it fixed and if they would have anything left afterwards.
She had been doing this for quite some time, bringing the occupants of this orphanage money and provisions whenever she could.
There had not been a particular grand reason as to why she had taken on this quest. Only that she had wanted to help, to do something more for someone while she waited for whatever her fate had in store for her.
Doing this – supporting these people felt like the only way she could be of some use to anyone else.
Nora spent the next hour playing with the children, letting herself be pulled into their games and stories. It was a different world here, far removed from the ballrooms and drawing rooms of her usual existence, and she cherished every moment spent with these people.
She knew all their names, all their interests, all their little quirks and personalities.
There was little Sarah, who was shy but had the sweetest singing voice.
Thomas, with his boundless energy and constant questions.
And other children, too, all of whom she had come to love deeply with all her heart.
She felt responsible for them, but not in a way that was strictly about commitment, but rather in a way that made her want to provide and encourage their growth and development.
“Miss Nora, look!” Rhonda called, running over with a piece of parchment. “I drew this for you!”
The drawing depicted a woman in a fine dress standing among a group of children, all of them smiling. Nora felt her throat tighten with emotion.
“Rhonda, this is beautiful,” she said honestly. “Your shading has improved so much! And look at the details in the dress. You are becoming quite the artist.”
Rhonda beamed with pride, clutching the drawing to her chest.
“Do you really think so? Mrs Brighton says I might have what it takes to be a famous artist.”
“I know so,” Nora confirmed with a firm nod. “And Mrs Brighton is absolutely correct. Keep practicing, and one day you will be able to sell your art.”
“Mark, my goodness!” Nora exclaimed when the boy bounded over. “You have grown at least two inches since I last saw you. Soon you will be taller than Mrs. Brighton!”
Mark straightened proudly, puffing out his chest. “I have been eating all my meals, just like you told me to.”
“And it shows. You are becoming quite the strong young man.”
Eventually, as the hour grew even later, Nora knew she needed to return home. She said her goodbyes, promising to return soon, and made her way back through the dark streets with a full heart and a lighter spirit.
The journey home was uneventful, and she slipped back into her house through the same servants' entrance with the same careful stealth. Up the stairs, down the hallway, into her room –
Where a folded note sat waiting on her pillow.
Nora's heart sank. She picked up the note with trembling fingers and unfolded it. She did not recognize the bold curves of the handwriting, but she recognized the initials.
Come to me immediately. - G.M.
She stared at the note, a mixture of anger and apprehension churning in her stomach. How had he known? How had he gotten into her room?
And more importantly, what did he want?
Nora huffed, crumpling the note in her fist. Of course, the infuriating duke could not even allow her the peace of a single night without his interference.
Still, something in the tone of the note suggested that refusing the summons would only make things worse. With a sigh of reluctant resignation, she smoothed down her dress, checked her appearance in the mirror, and prepared to face whatever storm was waiting for her.
She slipped out of her house for the second time that night, the growing apprehension nearly crippling as she made her way down the street to her brother’s house.
As she drew closer, she told herself that she had made the decision to go to him and that whatever was to come would only transpire according to her will.
And if he thought she would simply bow to whatever demands he might have without a fight, he was sorely mistaken.