Chapter 15
Alice was lost.
Deimos knew that. And it was hard not to hate himself for it.
He’d sworn over and over he would protect her.
His family had apparently been prepared for the cruelty of Lady Minerva and had rallied around her and into swift action to counter the attack, though it appeared none of them had expected her to take such a public and vengeful tact.
And they couldn’t sue her for libel…because everything said was true.
He had failed. But in the hours since the reading of that damned pamphlet, one thing had been incredibly clear to him. Alice did not need his protecting.
She needed his love. His support. His strength. And if he did not give them to her, then he’d be an utter failure.
And so, when she had wiped her eyes and demanded that they carry on as if nothing had occurred, he had agreed. Despite the brittle feeling between them, the fear that they might never return to the bliss they had experienced together after Parliament, he couldn’t let her down.
For the truth was Deimos had never been prouder of anyone in his entire life than he was of Alice.
And yet, with each moment, the pressure of what had happened was becoming evident.
Last night, they had sent for her mother and her sisters.
And they had had to share the heart-wrenching news that someone, Lady Minerva, had dragged their family through the mud, exposing Alice’s scandalous behavior.
But when he and Alice had faced the dawn, and she’d demanded that they continue her adventures, just as they always had, he’d felt…hope. He was still afraid. Afraid of how she might see his failures, how she might punish herself. But they had to keep going forward. Anything else would be giving up.
They had gone out in the morning with her face stern, her shoulders back, resolved to go to the school his sisters and father ran.
And as the coach rattled into the East End, with her staring out the window, silent, there was one thing that was going to be undeniable.
Alice was going to be on everyone’s lips and not the way her sister Muriel was.
Muriel was a star. A scandal? Yes. Famous? Yes. But Muriel was loved for being an actress. Alice was now infamous. Alice had dared to break the rules and the system and had not sparkled for it. Worse, she wasn’t married to him yet.
Part of him had longed to sweep her off and immediately unite them in matrimony. They could have had a special ceremony. Almost certainly that’s what they should have done, but she had refused.
“Are you certain this is what you want to do?” he asked, holding her hand as the coach wound its way through the rabbit warren of streets.
“I am absolutely certain,” she said firmly. “I will not be crushed by this. But Deimos,” she said, her eyes widening, “your family. They are all having to bear the burden of what I have done. Your grandmother has to bear the burden of—”
“Cease, my love.” This was the moment. Surely he could make her see. “My grandmother is proud of you. My grandmother would have told you to do all the things that you’ve done.”
“This is different, Deimos.” Her brow furrowed. “I got caught.”
He stared at her for a long moment before he hauled her onto his lap, defiant.
“Perhaps you’re right,” he said. “You did get caught. Caught doing what you believe in. Caught doing what you want, caught living a life you don’t have to apologize for.
So you tell me, Alice, who are you? I want to know. ”
The coach rolled to a stop outside the school in the East End that his family ran before she could reply.
Her face was a mask of pain and confusion, and she slipped off his lap, smoothing her skirts as she sucked in a breath.
The school was not a small affair. It was quite a large building, and next to it, there was a theater. The school had expanded over the years, growing with need and the donations of those who believed it was a worthy cause.
People flocked to the coach as they always did in this part of town. Deimos was ready. He had his coins and things he would give out to the children who came every day.
For a moment, she seemed to cower, though it was her choice to come here.
“Will you let her win?” he asked gently. “To make that woman happy, because”—he gestured to her bowed shoulders—“that’s what she wants.”
“Lady Minerva,” she ground out.
“It’s the only person who would’ve done it,” he said.
She swallowed. “She hates me that much?”
“No,” he said. “She hates herself that much.”
She gasped. “What do you mean?”
“People who act like that hate themselves, Alice,” he said.
The door swung open before either of them could say another word, and his sisters, Celia and Emilia, rushed out to greet them.
“Come, we have been waiting for you!” crowed Celia, her eyes kind, her stance firm, for she knew the news. All of London did.
He stepped down the coach steps, turned, and held his hand out to her.
And as she descended, children began to cheer and laugh.
She looked around at them. Not a single one of the children looked at her with derision.
They all seemed happy to see her, despite the fact that they had no shoes upon their feet, their clothes were ragged, their faces were dirty, and their hands worn.
Her eyes studied each face and he felt it. The transformation of her own fear, the transformation of her own self-hate that she had done something that could hurt his family and her own, as she gazed at those children.
Her eyes slipped to the street. There on the pavement sat a soldier who had lost most of one of his legs.
“That’s George,” he said softly. “George sits there every day. The family lets him. He doesn’t want to go inside. He says he prefers the open air. He says it’s like when he was a soldier and always had to sleep outside on the earth. And it’s hard for him to move about, but we take care of him.”
“I’d like to meet him,” she said boldly.
“All right,” Deimos said.
Celia and Emilia approached Alice as if they had been and always would be the dearest friends. “We are so glad you are here. George is an excellent fellow. Sometimes he agrees to come in and he helps the children with their lines when we do performances.”
Celia nodded. “And there are several other men who are soldiers that we have taken in. Somehow the children who have had incredibly difficult lives and the adults who have had incredibly difficult lives heal better when they work side by side, teaching each other.”
She blinked. “Really?” she said.
“Of course.” Celia nodded as she stepped easily along the muddy streets. “Don’t you think that that makes sense?”
Emilia arched a brow. “They say that those who have been hurt tend to hurt others.”
“I can see that,” she said tightly. “It’s just happened to me.”
Celia nodded kindly. “We know. But oddly enough, sometimes those who have been hurt can help those who’ve been hurt far more, and that’s what we find here.”
The children followed, as Deimos handed out coins and sweet treats.
They went over to George, who tugged his forelock and somehow managed to stagger to his feet using a crutch.
“Hello, Master Deimos,” he said.
“Call me Deimos, George,” he said, a thing he had to say almost every time they met. George was from the East End, and Deimos had known him before the man went to war. He could still see him in his mind’s eye, strong, unbroken, but impoverished.
“I’ve known you since you were a boy,” George said. “It’s hard for me to remember to call you Deimos, not Master Deimos, when you were here with Miss Celia and Miss Emilia, every day playing since you were children.”
Celia smiled at him. “George, this young lady is coming to see our school and how it works and the importance of it.”
George gave a serious nod. “Ain’t nothing more important than this school in the East End, certainly more important than those foundling houses.
” George spat on the street as if the word foundling made him ill.
“Children here, they get a good meal and they get affection and kindness and education, not like those awful places where they’re made to do their prayers and are struck and made to feel bad for who they are. ”
Alice nodded and turned to the school. “Thank you, George. I appreciate your words. And you? They’re taking care of you?”
“Best they can. There are many men like me,” he said without self-pity. “They need more care, but there’s not enough places for us to go, and there’s no pensions. We don’t know what to do, most soldiers, but we’re getting on. Somehow, we’ll get through it.”
Alice’s eyes went to the East End street, the buildings that were rotting and half fallen down and the people who stood along the lanes. It was true that there were many soldiers, many men lingering on corners on crutches, some sitting in chairs, their legs gone.
She sucked in her breath as tears filled her eyes.
“This is what you wanted,” Deimos said softly, “to come here. We can go if it’s too much.”
“This is what I needed to see, Deimos,” she said, lifting her chin and turning to her future sisters-in-las. “I would like to see what you do,” she said.
And the girls took her arms, ready to take her inside.
“You know,” Celia said to her, “we know what happened.”
“Begging your pardon,” George said, his hand fidgeting on his crutch. “You’re the lady from the pamphlet, aren’t you?”
She gasped. “What?”
“No offense, miss,” George continued. “But it’s true, isn’t it?
You’re her. You’re being read about in all the taverns.
And truth be told, we all want to hear about you, the lady who isn’t afraid to be who she wants.
You’re like those ladies in novels, aren’t you, miss?
Ain’t nothing going to stop you. Not even a silly pamphlet. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
Her eyes filled with tears again, but they were different. “Yes, George,” she said. “That’s right.”
“Well, we all think you’re splendid, miss.”
Deimos beamed at George because he was making the woman he loved see how the real world felt about her.