Chapter 10 #2
It was busy, despite the hour. This part of London was always busy.
Fine carriages and hackneys and tradesmen’s carts rumbled by.
Lamps lit doorways and windows. The pavements held hurrying servants, homeward bound merchants, ambling labourers, their workday finished.
It also held a great number of smart gentlemen, their true day just beginning.
All of them stared. Many of them, wide-eyed, appeared to know Lord Cotereigh and did a double take, but he strode past, ignoring them. Madelaine, her white skirts dirtied from kneeling in the alleyway, hurried at his side, growing hotter with every stare, no matter that the evening was cool.
With his brisk stride and his gaze set grimly forwards, Lord Cotereigh appeared to take no notice of the attention they attracted. But once, pausing to cross a street, glancing darkly left and right, he muttered, “Be the talk of the town…”
“I’m very grateful…”
He only grunted, and they set off once more, the street quieter now, leading into a grand square, the vast shadows of tall trees revealed by the lanterns burning beside every door.
Lord Cotereigh led the way up the steps of a very large house that took up a full side of the square.
At the door he paused, calling down to the man holding the horse.
“Wait one minute, and you’ll get your coin.”
The man saluted again, nearly knocking off his battered hat. “Yes, me lordship! Thankee, me lordship!”
The door opened before Madelaine could even reach for the pull cord. The porter boggled at the unconscious child in his master’s arms.
“Pay that man.” Lord Cotereigh jerked his head back to the street. “Get the horse seen to. I suppose Mrs Clare has gone to bed? Then I want Burton in the Willow room. And send someone for Doctor Phillips.”
“Yes, my lord.”
The porter hastened away, and Madelaine followed Lord Cotereigh into a tall and beautiful hall, decorated all in the neo-Classical style with a domed ceiling and an arch framing the broad staircase. It was softly lit by modern gas lamps and smelt cleanly of polish.
Lord Cotereigh walked halfway down the hall then through a smaller arch on the left and into a finely decorated corridor.
Halfway down it, he led the way into a moderately-sized room.
It was unlit but enough moonlight came through the tall windows for Lord Cotereigh to find his way to a sofa and set the boy down.
A servant bustled in behind them, wordlessly lighting the lamps. Lord Cotereigh brushed the front of his coat. He looked at her, and her stomach turned over. “Well?” Now what? his expression said. You’ve got me into this mess. You’d better have a plan.
Lamps lit, the servant left, the light showing the pale greens and creams of willow-patterned paper on the wall.
“Erm. Yes. The doctor.” She went to the boy and knelt down, taking a limp wrist in her fingers.
He was so still and pale he looked dead, but his pulse beat faintly beneath her fingers.
“We’ll wait for the doctor. But perhaps…
perhaps some hot water? And towels? It might be useful to have them ready. ”
Lord Cotereigh gave a nod then turned to a young, smartly dressed servant who’d just stepped through the door. His valet, perhaps. The man gave both her and the boy on the sofa a startled look but quickly schooled his features.
“Burton,” said Lord Cotereigh. “Towels and hot water. And tea for Mrs Ardingly. Unless”—he glanced her way—“you’d like anything stronger?”
“No…no thank you. Tea is…very kind.”
Turning back to his valet, he said, “If Martha is still up, or any of the scullery maids, ask them to bide a while. We may have need of them.”
Dismissed, the valet gave one last glance at the boy on the sofa then hurried away to his duties.
Madelaine knelt by the boy, finding it easier to look at him than Lord Cotereigh.
She reached out a hand to smooth the boy’s hair back from his brow, but it was stiff and matted with both grease and blood.
Something moved by his scalp. Lice. She drew her hand back, feeling Lord Cotereigh’s frowning gaze upon her bent shoulders.
But, well! Why should she feel so guilty?
She’d only asked of him what common decency ought to have offered.
So what if she’d brought this dirty, lice-infested creature to sully this room of greens and golds, with its delicate furniture of pale cane.
That chimney there was swept by boys treated little better than this one.
In all the stinking alleyways and shadows a stone’s throw from these impeccable, stately walls, a hundred others just like him lived and suffered and died.
Why shouldn’t she remind Lord Cotereigh of that? It would do him good.
But…
“Thank you,” she said, head still bowed over the boy’s lifeless form.
“No doubt my coat has fleas.” She heard the rustle of cloth. From the corner of her eye, she saw him shrug out of the sleek, black garment.
He approached the sofa in waistcoat and shirtsleeves. His riding boots, only a little dusty from the day’s travails, came to a halt on the rug, an arm’s reach from her knee.
“I believe the clerk’s story,” he said. “The boy is a thief.”
“No one deserves this.”
“The law says he deserves far worse. Again, the clerk was correct. The boy’s fate is death. Perhaps transportation. Though we both know they’re nearly one and the same.”
Madelaine tensed, an ache in her gut. “You wouldn’t.”
“If you truly want me to send a magistrate to that man tomorrow, the story is bound to come out.”
“Then…then we don’t involve the law. I’ll be responsible for the boy. If the doctor says he can be moved, I’ll take him to my aunt’s. You needn’t have anything to do with it.”
Lord Cotereigh said nothing, his silence a weight on the back of her neck, keeping her face bowed. But then the boy woke suddenly, making her jump.
His eyes flicked open, revealing a startlingly pale blue against the dark grime of his face and even darker hair. He groaned, trying fretfully to get up, expression panicked as he took in the faces over him, the strange surroundings.
“Shh, shh, it’s all right.” Heedless of vermin and dirt, she put a hand on his tattered sleeve. “Don’t move. You’re safe.”
“I didn’t do nothing, I didn’t, I didn’t do nothing—”
He was still trying to get up, but the pain was too much, his breath panting with it. Going still, he lay curled up, wide-eyed, one hand drawn up as though to protect his face.
“I didn’t, and you can’t prove nothing, and I won’t say nothing nohow, even if yous beat me again and again, I don’t say nothing, I’m no snitch, you tell that to Jem, I’m not saying nothing, I’m not—”
“Hush, hush. You don’t need to say anything at all. Just rest. The doctor will be here soon.”
“No, no, no, don’t want no doctors, don’t need no nothing, lemme go and I won’t do it anymore, I’s promise, but you gotta let me go—”
“Rest. You’re hurt. Can you tell me your name?”
He shook his head, terrified, then winced, whimpering in pain at the movement.
“You’re not in trouble,” she promised. “No one is going to do anything bad to you. We’re going to help you.”
“Don’t need no help, just let me go an I promise I won’t do it no more, I got to go, gotta get back—”
“Back where?”
“Please letten me go, please, I gotta get back—”
“To your parents? Your family? We can take you there when you’re feeling better.”
“Ain’t got no parents.”
“Then—”
“Please, please…” The pale blue eyes were wet and shining, fixed on hers and pleading. “I gotten get back—”
“Boy,” said Lord Cotereigh. “If you can get out of this house without fainting, then I’ll gladly let you go.” He stood back, gesturing to the door. “By all means, try it.”
The boy flinched at the hard, commanding voice, but he pushed himself up quickly, trembling, ignoring Madelaine’s protests. He slid off the sofa, knees buckling, put one hand out in an attempt to crawl, and promptly fainted again.
She gave a cry of distress, glaring up at Lord Cotereigh. “How could you!”
“You were getting nowhere.”
“And is this better?”
“At least he’s quiet.” But there was a flush on Lord Cotereigh’s cheeks, and he didn’t meet her eye as he knelt down and, once more, lay the boy on the sofa.
He turned, picked up his discarded coat, and put it over the boy like a blanket.
“Here’s tea at least,” he said as a maid came into the room with a silver tray. “Thank goodness.”
Failing not to stare, the maid walked quickly to a side table, nearly tripping because her eyes were fastened on the three of them by the sofa. Blushing, head ducked, she set the tray down with a rattle then scurried from the room.
Burton followed in her wake, setting down the jug of hot water and cloths at Lord Cotereigh’s direction.
Madelaine dipped a cloth in the water and knelt down again by the boy, gently bathing the blood from his forehead. She discovered bruises, but the cut itself, thankfully small, was just beyond the hairline.
Turning to get a clean cloth, she found one held out to her, already damp. “Here. Clean your hands. Drink some tea. You need it.”
She glanced up at him.
“You are pale,” he said, answering her silent protest. “Tired. And have only just stopped shaking. Drink some tea.”
As she wiped her hands getting to her feet, he went to the tea tray and poured her a cup.
She took it wordlessly, and he picked up his own, moving away to sip it on the far side of the room, where he was neither assailed by the sight of her or the boy.
The scrollwork on the fireplace’s mantel seemed more to his liking.
The silence was broken by a rap on the door.
A man walked briskly through it, in late middle age, his figure slim but his cheeks florid.
He gave Lord Cotereigh a swift bow, took one quick step towards the sofa, then halted.
“It’s not your father, then? I assumed…” He glanced from the boy to Lord Cotereigh, then, seeing the direction of his quelling stare, turned and spotted her near the tea tray in the corner of the room. “Oh. Forgive me, madam!”
“Mrs Ardingly,” Lord Cotereigh introduced her. “Doctor Phillips.”
“Your son, madam?” But he gave the boy on the sofa another glance, rapidly altering his assessment. “No… But who is the boy?”
“A stranger,” said Lord Cotereigh. “Mrs Ardingly here rescued him from an attacker. He has been badly beaten.”
“I see, I see…” The doctor went to the sofa, confusion subsumed by professional curiosity. He hesitated only briefly before kneeling down and taking the boy’s grubby wrist to check his pulse, pocket watch in his other hand.
Madelaine put down her cup, moving closer to watch the examination.
The doctor worked efficiently, taking scissors from his leather satchel to cut away the ragged garments.
He felt the boy’s chest, where vicious red bruises were swelling, and listened to heart and lungs.
When the boy stirred, whimpering fretfully, he prepared a dose of laudanum and slipped it between the boy’s lips.
Eventually he sat back, taking the wet cloth Lord Cotereigh handed him with a murmur of thanks and cleaning his hands as he spoke.
“A fractured forearm. A minor break, but painful enough. I’ll get it splinted before he wakes.
I don’t think any ribs are broken. Fortunate, given how hard he must have been struck.
The rest is severe bruising, a few minor lacerations.
Whether there’s been damage to his internal organs, only time will tell.
We must see how he passes this night; that will let us know the worst. Other than that…
” He frowned down at the sleeping child. “Thin, malnourished, as you can see.”
Yes. They’d all seen the skinny ribs, cast into stripes of white skin and dark valleys by the low lamp light.
“And this isn’t his first beating. He’s got scars all over him. Feels like he’s had another break to the ribs at some point. Mended badly—I can feel the roughness in the bone. A hard life. Very hard.”
He glanced up at them then got out the items necessary for splinting the boy’s broken arm.
“I’ll leave another dose of laudanum for the pain.
But don’t give it for at least six hours.
And then broth, when he wakes. Barley water if you have it.
Not too much of either. Keep him still and quiet.
” He looked up from his work. “And…well…he’s got lice, my lord.
Fleas too, I’d warrant. If you’re keeping him here, you want to get on top of that, or the whole household will end up infested.
It’ll hurt him though, getting him into a bath in his current state, but it must be done. ”
Lord Cotereigh merely inclined his head. “Thank you, doctor.”
“Shall I call again?” said the doctor when he had finished. “See how he is in the morning?”
“If he can be moved, doctor—” she began, but Lord Cotereigh cut her off.
“Yes. Come in the morning.”
The doctor glanced between them. “Very well, my lord.” With a few more words of nursing advice, he left the room.
“Lord Cotereigh—”
He stopped her again with the lift of a hand.
“Take my carriage, Mrs Ardingly. And retire to bed. It’s been a very long day.”
“I…I can nurse the boy, he is my responsibility—”
“Tomorrow, Mrs Ardingly. We’ll discuss all this tomorrow. Go home.”
She looked up at him, her eyes gritty and hazed. She had to steel herself to keep them focused on his.
“Have…have I undone it? All the progress we made today? Did I undo it all by running from Lady Frances’s carriage like I did?”
He smiled, polite. Then went to open the door for her, equally polite.
And he was only polite when he was angry.
“Go home, Mrs Ardingly, and go to sleep.”