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The one thing he’d always been grateful for was his father’s tendency to inflict only verbal abuse on his sisters. As many times as Cam had witnessed his sisters flee the room in tears, it was far better than watching them take the thrashings he received. He wondered if his mother had been the one to shield Constance but had simply been unable to protect her son.
He shook himself out of his reverie as they drew up to the address on Charing Cross Road. He would have preferred to attend to this part of the business himself, but he knew it would cause him only more grief, since his stubborn ward had made it clear she had every intention of being a part of the entire project.
After he’d heard about her plan to help abused women, he had to admit it was indeed a splendid idea, and one he knew Parliament was not prepared to take up. He was having enough trouble trying to rally support for his veteran bill.
After helping her from the carriage, Bridget examined the building from the outside. It was hard to tell what her initial thoughts were from her blank expression. He checked the surrounding area, which was an older and crumbling working-class section of London.
“My lady, if you don’t mind, I prefer to stay with the driver and carriage. I’m afraid my old bones are aching today, and being out in the dampness will not help them,” Mrs. Dressel called to Bridget from her comfortable seat in the vehicle, where she was wrapped snugly in a large woolen blanket.
“That is fine, Mrs. Dressel. I am sure his lordship and I can take the tour alone.” Bridget tossed the words over her shoulder, never glancing back, so interested in the building was she. Cam followed her up the stairs and produced the key Dunston had given him.
He turned the latch and pushed the door open. A strong odor of something nasty assailed them immediately. “Oh dear.” Bridget stepped back, withdrew a handkerchief from her pocket, and held it over her nose. “It smells as if something died in here.”
“Most likely a small animal.” Cam took her elbow and led her into the entrance hall. Despite the strong odor, the place appeared quite clean. From where they stood, the visible walls had been freshly painted. The floors were worn but well scrubbed. “Come.” H
e moved them forward.
Instead of a building, which was what he’d expected, the structure was a very old house. They climbed the stairs and surveyed the first floor of empty rooms that were apparently meant to be a drawing room, music room, and library. As in all older houses, the kitchen was most likely separate from the main structure and located outside at the back of the building. On the second floor they viewed four bedchambers, with two smaller rooms in the attic above it, most likely for servants when the area had been wealthier. Or for children and their nanny.
“We, of course, do not need a library or a music room, so if we decided on this building, we could use those as bedchambers, also.” Bridget walked the rooms, seeing the place entirely differently than he did.
“In fact, we could even turn one of the rooms—perhaps the library—into a schoolroom for the children who come with their mothers.”
“Had you thought far enough into the future to determine how long each woman would stay here? Is this to be a permanent residence or a temporary one?”
Bridget tapped her chin with her fingernail. “I don’t believe I have thought that far. I’ve been so anxious to help these women secure a safe place for them and their children. We would be able to help so many more women if this was a temporary place.” She turned to him. “What do you think?”
He took her elbow again and walked her down the steps to the entrance hall. “That would surely be something to consider. Have you also thought of the issue that a man—like it or not—has a legal right to his wife? That he can appear before a judge and demand she return to his house?”
“Yes. I have thought of that. However, this would be a secret place, so the husbands would not know where their wives were. Besides, the men we’re speaking of would never be sober enough to appear before a judge. Most of them are avoiding the law.”
“Then what about work? Did you not say these women have jobs? What’s to stop the husbands from going to their employment and even following them home from there?”
Bridget blew out a breath of air. “So many problems.” She turned to him, her brows furrowed. “All I want to do is help. I don’t want to break the law or cause more trouble.”
Cam reached out and touched her soft cheek. “I know. But these are all things that need to be considered before you begin such an undertaking. It’s not just the money needed to purchase and maintain a safe place for women, but what happens once they arrive?”
His stomach muscles tightened at her somber expression after the enthusiasm she’d shown throughout the tour. But she needed to understand the complexity of the problem she wanted to solve.
“Come, let us leave now and discuss this away from here. I’m afraid the smell is getting to me. I must mention this to Dunston when he returns the key to the owner of the building.”
Bridget took one more look around and turned to leave, when she gave a slight squeak. “I believe we have found the source of our odor, my lord.”
He followed her finger pointing at a dead rat lying in the corner between the entrance door and a wall. “Poor fellow.”
Bridget shuddered. “I hate rats.”
Mrs. Dressel was fast asleep when they climbed back into the carriage. Cam settled into his seat and began to mull over what he wanted to say to Bridget about her disaster at Covent Gardens the other night. He wanted to impress upon her the chance she had taken by not paying attention to where she was being led. He had no idea how much contact she’d had with men while living on her father’s estate in Scotland. Whatever it was, she would not know the intentions of some of the men in London. Gentlemen desperate for money were more than willing to trap a woman into marriage, as much as an ambitious young girl would work to appear “compromised” by a man with a title.
On the other hand, he didn’t want to treat her like a recalcitrant child. She was a grown woman, resilient and capable. He had to be careful how he handled this. He smiled at Bridget, adopting a softer mien than he would have, had this conversation taken place that night. “I think it is time for our talk, my dear.”
Chapter Ten
Bridget immediately tensed. She did not take lectures easily, especially when they were about her behavior and came from her pompous guardian. Deciding an offense was better than a defense, she went on the attack. “I refuse to be lectured regarding Lord Chadwick. I believe I handled the situation quite well myself.”
“Is that so?” His brows rose, but he said no more.
“Yes. I put an end to his pawing and left him writhing on the ground in pain.” She raised her chin and regarded him.
