The streets were louder than those in Mayfair and held odorous vapors that added to the already unpleasant acrid scent of coal in the air. No, this house was everything her husband had said it was not, and everything her solicitor had said that it was.
Damnation, William.Her home in town was closer to Seven Dials than Mayfair, and the facade gave the appearance of a gaming hell or bawdy house, rather than a family home.
Jane looked out the window. “Oh, my.”
“We will be fine,” she said, trying to convince herself the statement was true.
Her outrider, Charlie, was at the carriage door and opening it before Jane had a chance to argue.
“Hand me the babe. Your legs will be shaky when you step down.”
Caillen smiled, grateful for the reminder. Despite Jane’s forthright manner, or maybe it was because of it, she was a valued asset to Caillen and someone she considered a friend. Carriage travel with an infant had been difficult. The long hours of inactivity had been compounded by the strain of being in a carriage for the first time since… She bit the inside of her cheek and handed Dorian to Jane, the sounds of his cooing forcing all the bad memories at bay as the infant baby immediately snuggled into her maid’s large chest.
Caillen avoided Charlie’s outstretched hand as she stepped down and looked at the vast amount of people coming and going on the dirty street.
“That’s a mighty foine carriage for this neighborood,” said a young woman who had stopped to gawk. Her Cockney accent was as thick as Caillen had ever heard. The woman’s stringy hair hung like a curtain around an angular jaw and cheeks riddled with red blotches. Caillen looked down as the woman’s dirty, rough hands stroked her gown as if it were spun from gold, not muslin.
“Step away from the lady.” Charlie was instantly between them using his size and rifle butt to push the woman away from Caillen as if the woman were a highwayman.
The young woman stumbled away, her hands flailing as she spilled the basket of wash in her arms. “Oi! Me ain’t doin’ nuffin’ to ‘er!” The woman yelled and Charlie surged forward, towering over the smaller woman with his hulking form. Someone else began to yell, and a crowd began to gather.
“Stop.” Caillen’s voice wavered; her plea barely a whisper as the past crept into the present. Charlie’s overwhelming size towered over the woman, taking away her power. Her person. Her?—
“Stop!” Caillen screamed and Charlie, the man in her employ whom she’d trusted to keep them safe, turned on her, a scowl marring his youthful features.
She stumbled away, suddenly transported back in time, when a blow from the highwayman had sapped her strength to nothing. Instinctively she wrapped her arms around her head and face as she sank down into a ball on the ground.
Footsteps sounded behind her as another man joined in on the attack. Again. Nausea threatened to overwhelm her. She whimpered as a strong grip encased her wrist. She screamed and yanked her hand free.
“No. No! No!”
Her palms scraped across cobbled stone as fear drove her backwards. Her sobs, hard and fast, as her heart threatened to burst through her chest. Time seemed to stand still as she waited for the impending attack. She could hear nothing. It was as if the streets themselves silenced. The wheels of the hackneys no longer rolled. Horses no longer trotted or snorted as they pulled on their reins. Servants no longer scurried.
When the blows never came, Caillen slowly looked up, but all she could see was the look of pity on the young woman’s face and the expression of horror on Charlie’s.
A voice broke the silence, and another face came into focus.
“It’s alright, Lady Griffith. No one is going to hurt you.” The man crouching down next to her was not touching her, not threatening her and yet she flinched despite the expression of kindness and understanding on a handsome face she should recognize, but didn’t.
Dorian’s cry rang clear when nothing else made sense, and suddenly the streets came alive with sounds threatening to drown him out. Her son. God, she had failed her son. Caillen scrambled to her feet, searching.
“Dorian!” Panic set in as she realized the distance between her and the carriage. How had she moved so far away? Dorian’s small cries called to her as Jane attempted to reenter the carriage.
“No!” Caillen cried and ran for them.
Breathless, Caillen stopped in front of Jane, wanting to take her son but her hands…her hands… She wiped them on her skirts, attempted to rid her palms of the unrecognizable stench.
A kerchief appeared in front of her and she glanced up at its owner, the stranger who suddenly became clear. Mr. Forrester, her man of affairs whom she had met only once before.
“Thank…thank you, Mr. Forrester,” she stuttered as she took the kerchief and frantically wiped at her hands.
“Are you well, my lady?” he asked, his deep brown eyes full of concern.
She attempted to smile but failed. “Yes. Just a…a misunderstanding.” She turned toward Jane. “My son,” she said. “I need my son.” She reached for him, attempting to convey a calm she didn’t feel as she held Dorian close to her chest.
She recognized her lack of decorum. Her temporary loss of sanity. It had happened before, but not in such a public display.
“She belongs in Bedlam,” a woman whispered from nearby.
