Chapter 23 #3
Helena's heart ached as she watched Mrs. Fenwick. The guilt and remorse were plain upon the woman’s face, and Helena could imagine the terror of having a child held over her after her husband had most likely been murdered for trying to escape the baron's control.
She could not say what she might have done in the same circumstances.
To her surprise, Tristan rose from his chair and crossed the small distance between them. He lowered himself slowly before Mrs. Fenwick, who was still overcome by tears.
“Where is your daughter now?” he asked softly.
“She is with me,” Mrs. Fenwick managed to say. “When your wife passed, I came straight back to London and demanded her return. She was unharmed, thankfully.” Her voice faltered. “But I can never forgive myself for what I have done. There is always a choice!”
“Would you do the right thing and speak against Lord Ravenscroft?” Tristan asked, his voice gentle but pleading.
“I would, but I cannot leave my daughter to the streets!” Mrs. Fenwick replied shakily, drying her tears as she tried to regain control of herself.
Tristan remained before her. “If you did, if you would give witness to the baron's cruel treatment of you, I would make certain your daughter came to no harm. I promise you she would be provided for.”
Mrs. Fenwick stared at him in disbelief. “After what I have done to your family?”
“If you are willing to help me right this wrong and bring Lord Ravenscroft to justice, then yes,” Tristan replied. “Your daughter does not deserve to suffer because of his cruelty.”
“I am willing, My Lord.” Mrs. Fenwick replied.
“Thank you,” Tristan said sincerely. “For the present, I do not think it wise for you or your daughter to remain here,” he continued, his voice gentle.
“I shall arrange rooms for you at a respectable inn under my name, or perhaps under another. You will have everything you require, and two of my own men will remain nearby until we are certain you are safe. You shall not be left to face Lord Ravenscroft alone.”
Mrs. Fenwick looked up at him in disbelief. “You would do that for us?”
“I would.” Tristan's voice held no hesitation. “I shall also arrange for you to speak with the magistrate assisting me in my inquiries into the baron. You need only tell him what you have told us today, and I shall be there with you.”
Mrs. Fenwick pressed her handkerchief to her lips, tears once again gathering in her eyes. “Thank you, My Lord.”
Tristan rose and offered her his hand. “Come. We shall make the arrangements before the day is out.”
Helena watched him in silence as Mrs. Fenwick accepted his hand and rose from her chair. She had expected anger, perhaps even an inability to look upon the woman who had helped bring about Elinor's death without condemning her.
Instead, Tristan had set his own pain aside long enough to see the frightened mother before him. He had not excused what Mrs. Fenwick had done, nor had he forgotten what it had cost his family, but neither had he allowed his anger to prevent him from offering help where it was needed.
Helena felt deep admiration for him as she watched her husband make the arrangements with the calm authority that seemed so natural to him. He had lost his wife, he had lost his brother, and he had learned that both deaths might be connected to the same man.
Yet when faced with the woman who had played a part in one of those deaths, his first concern had been for the child who might otherwise be left vulnerable. There was something in that which moved Helena more deeply than she could have expressed.
Mrs. Fenwick accompanied them to the door and thanked them once more before Tristan assured her that he would return with the necessary arrangements.
Helena stepped beneath the shelter of the carriage and waited while Tristan followed her inside.
Once the door was closed, they sat next to one another as the carriage began to move away from the curb, its wheels sending water across the rain-soaked street.
Neither spoke. Helena watched the blurred buildings pass beyond the glass, but her thoughts remained with everything they had just heard.
She wondered what was passing through Tristan's mind.
His expression gave little away, yet she knew the revelations must have reopened wounds he had spent years learning to live with.
For several minutes, the only sounds were the movement of the carriage and the rain against the windows. Then Tristan removed one glove from his hand, and without a word, he took her hand and gently drew off her glove, leaving her bare fingers within his.
Helena looked down at their joined hands. She did not know what to say. There seemed little that could be said after all they had learned that morning. So, she simply turned her hand within his and gave his fingers a gentle squeeze. Tristan's thumb moved once across the back of her hand.
Helena rested her head upon his shoulder, her bonnet held loosely in her free hand. She felt him gently kiss the top of her head before resting his cheek against it. She thought of poor Elinor, of Mrs. Fenwick, and Frederick, wondering who else might have fallen victim to Lord Ravenscroft.