Chapter 5

Five

Lately, getting to Hope House had become more difficult, and the twinge of annoyance Cassie had started to feel for Genie, the Duchess of Fournier, had grown into a fully-fledged cramp. Considering Cassie's sister-in-law was one of the kindest, gentlest, and most likable people she had ever known, that cramp of annoyance came in tandem with one of guilt.

Genie was only trying to help Cassie discover her purpose, and by accepting invitations to teas and charity luncheons on their behalf, she believed she was giving Cassie opportunities to do just that.

"If you aren't going to marry," Genie had recently told her, "you will need to do something with your time and energy."

Cassie had bit her tongue. Telling her about Hope House was not an option. Genie was loyal to Michael and asking her to keep from him something as significant as that would have been a cruel request. Most likely, Genie would have supported the endeavor in theory. She would see the good it could do. But to be a lady of the peerage, working in the poorest parts of London, and with ruined women, was nothing short of a reputational suicide.

That was, of course, a threat that Cassie had become accustomed to. It didn't faze her as much as it might other ladies, like her friends Marianna and Jane, the latter of which had latched onto Michael's mission to convince her to marry. At least once a week, Jane would join Cassie and Genie at Violet House for tea with some new invitation to extend to Cassie, where she might meet a suitable man. The morning after Grant Thornton's discovery of her at Hope House, Cassie nearly sent her regrets to Genie for their weekly tea. But then, Jane would only come by Grosvenor Square after. So, she'd put down her head and vowed to get through the hour-long visit.

She'd slept wretchedly the previous night, beleaguered by thoughts of Lord Thornton. All night, she'd vacillated between spiraling dread that he would tell someone—probably Hugh—and crackling fury for his anger with her. The despot had no right to order her about! His command to stay away from Dorie had only made her more eager to care for the poor woman. She was ill. She needed help. What made Cassie more important than Mabel or Elyse? Why should she be shielded from potential sickness but not them?

She must have been wearing her simmering impatience on her expression, for the moment Jane sat across from her at the table in Genie's morning room, she pleated her brow.

"Why are you scowling at me?"

Cassie snapped to attention. "I'm not scowling."

Genie spread a napkin in her lap and signaled to the maid for tea. "You most definitely are, dear. Is something on your mind?"

She took her napkin and fiddled with it. "I'm just not feeling well."

Genie and Jane both arched their brows and peered at each other knowingly. Right away, Cassie knew she'd used that excuse for the last time. Headaches and stomach malaises could only be employed sparingly.

"You're not feeling social, is what you mean to say," Jane said.

Cassie kept her lips sealed. To agree would be rude; to deny it would not be believed.

"I do have some things on my mind, as it happens," she said.

Genie brightened with interest. "Oh?"

"Last week's lecture at the Lyceum," she said, "on lepidopterology."

Jane's eyes sprang wide. "Leprosy?"

"No, lepidopterology. The study of butterflies."

Her friend folded her hands in her lap. "Why do butterflies have you concerned?"

Cassie had not attended the lecture as she'd told Genie the week before, when her sister-in-law had caught her preparing to leave for the day. But it was the only thing she had been able to think of just now while the two women had been staring her down. Her every thought and concern seemed to revolve around Hope House and the work there, making it difficult to find anything substantive to say during these teas and luncheons.

"Well," she said, attempting to find an answer to Jane's question. "Some are becoming extinct."

Jane narrowed her eyes in skepticism, but the maid returned with the tea service. Cassie silently thanked her for her excellent timing.

"There you are, darling!"

Michael appeared within the morning room's open door, just behind the maid. An alarmingly pleased grin stretched his mouth. Cassie frowned. She'd never seen him smile like that. Gracious, had his teeth always been that big?

"Will you join us for tea?" Genie asked.

When a gentleman entered the room after Michael, Cassie smothered a groan.

"I'm afraid not, I only wanted to stop in and introduce a friend," Michael said, his attention swerving toward Cassie. She met it with a flat stare.

Her brother ignored it and introduced Mr. Alaric Forsythe. Jane and Genie were perfectly amiable as they greeted the son of the Baron Forsythe, who was, Cassie admitted, somewhat handsome and without a single gray hair or wrinkle. Compared to a few other gentlemen Michael had gone out of his way to introduce her to, Mr. Forsythe was a gem.

"Oh, Mr. Forsythe, you must tell us all about your time to Egypt," Genie said as soon as Michael announced he was just back from a stay of six months.

Mr. Forsythe bowed and, with a bashful smile, said he would love to. "However, you might find my account tedious. I spent most of my time in Cairo studying artifacts."

"Artifacts?" Cassie asked, surprised by her own question. And at her intrigue.

He turned to her. "Yes, at an excavation site near the Nile. A tomb for an ancient pharaoh."

Michael was watching her for her reaction, and though she did suffer a moment's interest, Cassie only gave a polite nod. "I see."

"Did you find any butterfly fossils?" Jane asked. At Mr. Forsythe's quizzical look, she added, "Lady Cassandra has an interest."

"Lepidopterology? We have a common interest then. As it happens, there was a lecture on the topic just last week at the Lyceum?—"

Abruptly, Cassie stood, and at the startled reaction of everyone around her, cleared her throat loudly. Anything to stop Mr. Forsythe from speaking more about a lecture she was supposed to have attended. She forced the husky sound out again, raising a hand to cover her mouth. "Sorry. Something in my throat. If you'll excuse me." She then fled through the door and into an adjacent room.

Only after hearing Michael and Mr. Forsythe depart through the front door, did Cassie return to her seat. She feigned disappointment. "Oh, did the gentlemen leave already?"

"Your throat sounds much better," Genie said with a smirk.

Cassie endured the next half hour, sneaking furtive glances toward the tall case clock. As soon as Jane departed Violet House, Cassie did as well. Although it had taken quite a bit of convincing to get Michael to agree to her living on her own, rather than under his roof on Curzon Street, it had been worth the struggle—even with the much lower annual income she'd used as a bargaining chip. If she still lived at Violet House, she would never have been able to disappear for hours on end. Someone would have always been watching.

"To the house, Tris," she said as she approached her driver, who was standing at the ready in the half-moon drive. He tipped his hat before helping her up into the carriage.

He turned out of the drive and started east. Whenever Cassie said, "the house", Tris knew that meant Hope House, while "home" was her residence at number twelve Grosvenor Square. Other than Tris, no one else knew. Not even her maid, Ruth. While it would have been more appropriate for Cassie to move about Town with her maid in tow, she didn't have the patience for such stuffy rules, and thankfully, Michael had given up on requesting she be accompanied. She also preferred to keep some distance between herself and Ruth. While her maid knew of the child Cassie had borne in secret, and she trusted Ruth to keep mum, to alert her to any more scandal would just be courting disaster.

The more people who knew, the greater the risk of being found out. Which is why Grant Thornton knowing had continued to prickle under her skin. Knowing his secret identity as Dr. Brown only gave her so much solace. The sorry fact of life was that if he were to be found out, he would suffer some minor unfortunate consequences, while she would be thoroughly ruined.

After twenty or so minutes, Tris pulled behind the Crispin Street block, into the narrow alley where he kept the carriage whenever she was there. While it was unlikely anyone from her set would be in Spitalfields to recognize it, parking along the street was an unnecessary risk.

At the back door, Cassie knocked twice, paused, then knocked three more times. The back entrance was always locked, and though she had a key, there were two chain locks that needed to be undone too. There was usually always someone in the kitchen to hear the coded knocking.

"Dorie is holding steady," Elyse said as soon as she allowed Cassie inside. Sister Agatha was at the table, chopping carrots.

"Excellent. And has Dr. Brown returned?" Cassie asked as she hung her flannel cape on the stand near the stove to keep it warm.

In the carriage, she'd shed her sumptuous velvet pelisse and fashionable hat, and replaced them with the unadorned cape and bonnet she'd purchased at a thrift shop. The exchanges couldn't cover up the fine make of her dresses, but so far neither Mabel nor Sister Agatha had said anything about them.

"Not yet," Elyse answered. Cassie's stomach dropped. She'd hoped he would have come and gone by now.

After Lord Thornton left the night before, Elyse had come to Cassie's office. She'd shut the door before saying, "You two know one another."

"He is a peer," Cassie admitted. Her friend had only nodded.

"He sounded like a toff," she replied. "I take it his name is not Brown?"

Cassie had shaken her head but had refrained from saying what it truly was. She'd already complained to Elyse about Lord Thornton and the closet fiasco. If she knew the doctor was one and the same, she might refuse to allow him back into Hope House. Dorie needed care too desperately for such stubbornness.

Thankfully, Elyse had only asked if the doctor might inform other peers of her involvement. "No," Cassie had firmly replied. She would not allow it. Grant Thornton was not going to take this from her.

"Lila is restless today," Elyse said as she took a seat at the table across from Sister Agatha and picked up a half-peeled potato. "I found her in your office, looking for something to read from your shelves."

Cassie poured herself a cup of tea from the pot that was always kept hot and refreshed on the stove. "That is a first." No other woman they'd sheltered had ever taken an interest in her books. Most could not read beyond basic words, and more than a few had not even known how to write their own names. Cassie would try to teach them at least that one skill before they left Hope House, though many didn't see the value in it. Skills like sewing or embroidery would better help them provide for their families.

"I thought that girl sounded educated," Sister Agatha said, scraping the rough skin of a carrot. Her hands were deft with a peeling knife even though they were knobby with age. From the savory smells in the kitchen, she was making a roast for supper. They usually ate communally in the dining room, and Cassie enjoyed the evenings she was able to join them.

She slid into the chair next to Elyse. "I wonder what she is doing here. A girl like her should have money enough to be sent away."

"Unless her family doesn't know," Elyse replied.

"If that is the case, where do they believe she is?" Cassie frowned into her tea. "They will surely launch a search for her."

She and Elyse, and Mabel and Sister Agatha, were all aware that they could find themselves in serious trouble should a family ever accuse them of "kidnapping" their daughter, or hiding her away. It was one of the reasons they were so careful to keep Hope House hush hush. Another reason was because most of the women were in hiding—from unkind men. To keep them safe, not one of those men could be allowed to find them.

Elyse finished peeling the potato. "Let's not worry about that just yet. Lila hasn't said much. Maybe soon she'll be comfortable enough to let us know her situation."

The young woman had been reticent since her arrival, only providing them with the most essential details: her first name and how long she'd been with child. She'd been too frightened and untrusting to say more.

Once again, Cassie saw just how fortunate she'd been when she'd found herself in trouble. Her eldest brother, Philip, had at first insisted Cassie should be made to marry the man who'd compromised her. However, he'd been able to set his own anger aside long enough to realize it would have been a disastrous marriage. Lord Winston Renfry, the heir to the Earl of Bainbury, would have made a horrendous husband, and forcing Cassie to marry him would have been cruel. Philip had instead sent her to a trusted friend in Sweden. Her reputation had been protected, and Renfry had never learned of the child. Thankfully, she had not crossed paths with him even once since her return.

"I'm going to check on Caroline," Elyse said as she got up from her chair. Sister Agatha had gone to the sink with the peeled potatoes and carrots, so she didn't witness Elyse quickly tapping the side of Cassie's head. She startled, but then understood what her friend had wanted to tell her: She was still wearing the emerald-encrusted hair comb Ruth had speared her hair with that morning.

Before Agatha could turn around, Cassie pulled it out.

"Tell Caroline I'll stop in if she'd like to work on her sampler some more," she said as she dropped the comb into her pocket.

Caroline Rawling was a married woman with four children, and from what she'd shared, she and her husband had agreed that adding another mouth to feed would be injurious to the children they already struggled to provide for. So, she'd come to give birth in private, and then would place the baby out. To avoid judgment from neighbors and friends, she'd said she was staying with her mother in Surrey for the birth. When she arrived home without a baby, she would say it had been stillborn.

As one could expect, Caroline was often melancholy. Her decision hadn't been made lightly. Giving up a child was heart-wrenching; this Cassie knew too well. And so, she would stop in to say hello to Caroline whenever she was at Hope House, and if time allowed, they would sit and work on an embroidery hoop that Caroline had brought with her.

"Well, it's about time. The coal is here," Sister Agatha said, peering through the glass of the kitchen's single window.

"At last." Cassie got up. "My office was developing a layer of ice. I'll see the deliveryman is paid."

She reached into her pocket, which she now had Ruth sew into all her dresses. The first time she went out in the blocks around Crispin Street, a passel of hooligans had knocked into her and stolen her wrist reticule before she could even blink. They were already racing away when she realized it was missing from her arm. Ever since, she'd carried her coin purse in her pocket.

Cassie met the deliveryman as he was pouring the coal down the shute, into the cellar of the building. Enough to last them through the end of February, she imagined. She paid him the two pounds it cost, and then started back for the kitchen. A thick brume had been setting in when she'd arrived, and now, it lowered into the alley. Cassie shivered, having forgone her flannel for the short trip outside.

She would go in, say hello to Lila and Caroline, log the payment for coal in her office ledger, and leave. Before Lord Thornton could arrive and start frothing at the mouth again, anyway.

The quick scuffing of boots behind her in the alley preceded a hand latching onto her arm. A leather glove immediately muffled her yelp of surprise as it came down hard over her mouth. It was a man, and he tugged her back, against him.

"Where is she?" he hissed in her ear.

Cassie thrashed, but his formidable strength rendered the fight useless. His arms seemed to be cast of iron as he dragged her backward, her bootheels scudding over the cobbles.

"I know she is here!" he said, his voice grating and low. "Where is Isabel?"

The urge to panic and keep thrashing was instinctual, but she knew it would get her nowhere. She had to calm. Had to think. With her arms pinned at her sides, Cassie's hands flailed uselessly against her skirt. Something hard knocked into her palm. She remembered that her coin purse wasn't the only item in her pocket.

"I am going to remove my hand so you can tell me where Isabel is," the man said. "Scream and you will be sorry."

Stretching her fingers into her pocket, Cassie fished for the hair comb. The cluster of emeralds, shaped into a flower, scraped against her palm. She closed her hand around it just as the man's palm started to lift from her mouth. Cassie didn't hesitate—she captured the man's fingertip between her teeth and bit down as hard as she could against the leather. With a grunt of pain, he loosened his grip on her arms, enough for her to pull away from him. He clamped down on her wrist, but she whirled about and raked the sharp tines of her comb toward his face. And then she was falling backward, the man's hold on her completely severed as he roared and covered his face with his hands.

"Oi!" Tris's shout gave Cassie the strength to push up from the cold puddle she'd landed in. Her driver ran toward her. "Oi, stop!"

Tris raced by her, attempting to chase the man who now sprinted around the corner of the alley, out of sight. He gave up and turned back toward Cassie.

"My lady," Tris said, reaching her side. "Miss Banks, I mean, are you injured?"

"No, I don't think so," she gasped, her heart hammering erratically. She still clutched the hair comb in her shaking hand. Traces of blood glistened on the tips of the tines.

Tris took her arm and led her back to the kitchen entrance. Cassie's mind whirled as he knocked the correct code. What had just happened? The man had been looking for someone. A woman. Isabel.

"Miss Banks!" Sister Agatha exclaimed when she opened the door. The warmth of the kitchen enveloped Cassie, but it seemed to only make her shivering worse.

Tris led her to the table, still gripping her elbow. "She was attacked in the alley just now."

"She was what?"

Cassie came to a dizzying stop at the deep voice. Grant Thornton had just entered the kitchen from the front hall, and when he saw her, his eyes blew wide. He came forward, hunting her for any injury. "Where are you hurt?"

Her legs quivered. A strange rush of numbness stole down them, making them feel as if they were disappearing. She plopped into a chair as Elyse and Lila entered the room behind Lord Thornton.

"I'm not hurt."

"Was it a pickpocket?" Lila asked.

"No, he…" Cassie took a breath, closed her eyes, and forced herself to calm. She was fine. The man was gone. She was safe.

Warm hands touched hers, and she opened her eyes to find Lord Thornton on one knee before her. He'd taken her hands in his and was now inspecting them. Her fingers, clamped into fists, were speckled with dirt from the puddle she'd fallen into. A few raw scrapes marked her knuckles.

"What did the bastard do to you?" Lord Thornton asked as he coaxed her fingers to open. The hair comb had bit into her palm, leaving imprints. He picked it up and eyed it with a propped brow. "Or should I ask, what did you do to him?"

Sister Agnes brought him a boiled cloth, and he dabbed the shallow gashes. Cassie winced at the sting.

"I can do that myself," she told him, trying to take her hand from his. He clung on.

"I will tend to them, Miss Banks," he replied, the use of her false name slightly mocking. "While I do, perhaps you can explain. If he wasn't a pickpocket, who was he and what did he want?"

"I don't know who he was. I didn't get a good look at him. He was a gentleman, though."

"What kind of gentleman would be skulking around in an alley?" Elyse asked.

"What did he look like?" Lila's question was a natural one, but the way she voiced it sounded oddly panicked.

"He was wearing a gentleman's threads," Tris confirmed. "Didn't see his face. Ran off too quickly after Miss Banks slashed at him with that comb."

A deeper scrape on her palm sent a jolt through her as Lord Thornton dabbed. She hissed, pulling her hand back. He made a tsk tsk sound and hushed her while regripping her wrist. She scowled at him.

"Well then, what did he want?" Lord Thornton repeated.

Where is she?Tell me where she is. The stranger had sounded desperate. Furious. Cassie's shivers had started to abate, but now, they set back in.

"He wanted to know where a woman named Isabel was."

Lila staggered backward, knocking into Elyse. She sucked in air, and horror turned her face a mask of white against her fading bruises. Lord Thornton twisted at the hip to see who'd made such a sound, at last halting his incessant dabbing.

"Lila—?" Elyse began, but the young woman turned and ran.