The Patricia Kiyono Christmas Collection (48 page)

But who would protect Andy when he wasn’t in
school?

“
Do you think
Andy will be safe tonight?” Robert asked as they
walked back to the Bartlett townhouse.

“
I imagine he will stay at
the church until his mother comes to tell him it’s safe to return
home.”

Robert stopped in his tracks. “He stays at
the church?”

“
Yes. Andy told me when his
father is home, his mother sends him to the church to hide. He
sleeps under the pews so the clergy won’t find him. The last time
his father came home Andy spent nearly a week there. That’s why I
gave him the chance to win an extra sandwich last week.”

“
What a dreadful life for a
young boy.”

“
I agree.” She tugged on
his elbow then, and he realized they needed to keep
walking.

“
He seems a bright enough
child,” he observed. “It would be a pity if he ended up like his
father.”

“
Yes. But I don’t know how
much longer his mother will be able to protect him. She’s mentioned
going to her parents’ home in Bedford. I hope she follows
through.”

“
That would be best. He
wouldn’t be able to continue lessons, but at least he would be
safer.”

They reached the townhouse, and the four of
them descended the stairs to the servants’ entrance. Nancy placed
the basket and food containers in the kitchen for the cook.

Jeanne placed a hand on Robert’s arm.

“
I’m glad you stepped in
and… protected Andy tonight. We were all fortunate your skills
prevented him from coming in and causing harm to someone. Thank
you.” She turned and left before he could respond.

Robert and Giles took the hallway to the
male servants’ quarters. Robert opened his door, ready to fall into
his bed.

“
Mr. Townley.” Giles
stopped him.

“
Yes, Newsome?”

“
You — you were astounding
tonight. I was ready to come over to help you with that… that man,
but you stopped him before I could get there. I never knew you were
so handy with your fists.”

“
Ah. It’s not something a
gentleman boasts about.”

“
I suppose not. But how did
you learn to fight?”

Robert sighed. “When I was young, a band of
ruffians got the best of me. My father took me to Gentleman
Jackson’s Saloon and arranged for me to have lessons with one of
his apprentices.”

Giles eyes widened, “Did you fight against
Gentleman John?”

“
No. But I’ve seen
him.”

“
Tell me about it,” the
young footman begged.

“
Perhaps another time. It’s
late, and we must rise early tomorrow.”

The young man nodded. “Yes, sir. Good
night.” But he cast an admiring glance before trudging off to his
room.

Robert shook his head. His boxing lessons
had done some good tonight. But Jeanne had looked disturbed on
their way back. She’d sounded reluctant to offer her words of
thanks. Was she disgusted with him for using his fists instead of
his words to fend the man off? Did she consider him uncouth?
Uncultured? What was he supposed to do? He couldn’t let that awful
man come in and look for Andy. Or worse yet, find him.

There was no way he could win.

~~~~

Jeanne prepared for
bed, thankful she didn’t have to share a room with
the lively Nancy. The girl had been so impressed with Robert’s
fighting skills, she hadn’t been able to contain herself once the
men were out of sight.

“
Oh, Miss Brown, wasn’t Mr.
Townley simply amazing? I never knew he was so strong! I’ll wager
you always feel safe when you walk with him.”

Jeanne had simply nodded. She didn’t correct
the girl’s notion that she and Robert were courting. She just
wanted to get to her room and think.

It seemed Robert wasn’t as unfeeling and
lofty as she’d thought. He was principled enough to stop the man
from entering and possibly harming anyone. And he was strong enough
to put his principles into action without even working up a
sweat.

As she climbed into her
bed, her mind drifted back to bedtimes long ago, when another
strong man had been the center of her world. Papa would kiss her
good night and
Maman
would sing her to sleep. Instead of the sounds and smells of
the city, the comforting lullaby of the farm creatures and the
smell of
Maman’s
cooking told her she was safe and cared for.
Maman
, Papa, Jeanne, and
baby Pierre. She’d never appreciated her life then, but looking
back, she knew it was the last time she’d been truly happy. Even
though
grandpère
could be unpleasant, most of the time it was just the four of
them, and that was all right.

Even after they’d moved to
England, life had been good. They were together. Their home was
smaller, but Papa seemed happier because he found work in the
village.
Maman
was
frustrated having to speak English all the time, but she’d done it
for the man she loved. Jeanne and Pierre had learned to read and
write in English, first from their father, and for a short time,
from the vicar. Since
Maman
never stopped hoping that they could return to
France, she spoke to them in French and made sure they read
whatever French language literature she could find.

But then Papa had died in
the farm accident and the nightmare began.
Maman
hadn’t been able to reach her
father for help. She didn’t know where to turn, and she stopped
eating, stopped caring, and Jeanne had to be both mother and father
to Pierre. As soon as she was old enough, Jeanne had gone to the
village and found work with the Earl of Sudbury’s household. She’d
regularly sent money to her mother, but never heard anything in
return.

When she’d finally had the chance to go back
to the farm, she hadn’t been prepared for the horror of seeing the
house burned to the ground. She learned from neighbors that her
mother had died in the blaze, but no one knew what had happened to
her brother.

Poor little Pierre! Well, he wouldn’t be
little any more. He’d been not quite five years old when the family
moved to England, not long after the storming of the Bastille. He
would now be nearly twenty-eight — if he was still alive.

She rolled to her side and forced herself to
think of other things. Dwelling on dark themes and wishing for a
return of good times did no good. At well past thirty years of age,
she was no wide-eyed miss. Her memories of happy times long past
were all she would ever have.

The week before
the Christmas party, the children’s excitement
began to rise, and it was difficult to get any work done. Jeanne
finally resorted to taking the young ones to some of the ancient
plaques hanging near the chapel and having the children point out
letters and then tracing them with their fingers. She heard the
older children reciting their letter combinations: A, B, abb, A, C,
ack, A, D, add… but this time they sang them to a silly tune. Had
Robert arrived at that idea himself?

After instruction, the entire group gathered
for their treat: plum pudding, Cook’s specialty. She noticed Robert
watching each child closely and nodding in satisfaction as the
rules of etiquette they’d taught in previous sessions were
followed.

The children were dismissed and left with
their parents, leaving Jeanne, Robert, Giles, and Nancy to pack
things up. Jeanne had picked up the last napkin when she felt a tug
on her skirt.

“
Please, Miss Brown. Could
I take some of the leftover food for me mum? She hasn’t had
anything to eat for days.”

“
Of course, Andy. Let me
wrap some for you. Is — is your father still at your
home?”

The boy’s face darkened. “He’s there, but he
— he doesn’t talk to us. Unless he’s yelling. And if he’s yelling,
we get out of the way.”

“
Andy?” A soft voice called
from the entrance to the cathedral. Jeanne barely heard it, but the
little boy raced toward the cathedral entrance.

“
Mummy!” he
called.

Jeanne followed, wanting to see the mother
who had to send her son away to hide from his own father. Perhaps
she could use some help getting away herself.

“
Mummy, no! Mummy, wake
up!”

Jeanne raced to where the boy lay, sprawled
over a tiny woman. His sobs echoed through the sanctuary. Reaching
them, Jeanne noticed the woman had bruises covering her face and
arms. She was small — not much larger than her son, and her
emaciated condition indicated her son had told the truth about her
not having eaten.

She knelt over the woman and found she still
breathed, though it was shallow. She felt Robert behind her and
tried to ignore the sense of comfort she derived from his presence.
“Nancy,” she called. “Please bring some water for this lady. And
perhaps some food.”

The two servants arrived quickly. Robert
lifted the woman’s shoulders, and Nancy helped her drink.

“
Who did this to you?”
Nancy asked, indicating the bruises.

The woman’s lips moved, but no sound
came.

“
It was my papa,” the boy
spat. He paced as he spoke, his disgust for his father evident with
every word. “’E came home again yesterday, yelling and hitting, and
Mum sent me here. ’E’s always hitting, ‘cause ’e’s mad at people
fer not lettin’ him work. I want to get strong so’s I can beat ’im
the way ’e beats us.”

“
No, Andy.” The woman’s
voice cracked, and her face etched in pain, but her purpose was
clear. “I don’t want you to be like him. I want you to be better
than that.” She looked up at the people surrounding her. “Please.
Could you help me get home? I just need to rest, and then Andy and
me, we’re going to go. We can stay with my parents in Bedford. I
hope Archie won’t look for us there. The fresh air will be good for
me boy. And maybe I can get work in the village. We’ll be happy
there.”

~~~~

Robert helped the
woman up, but it was evident she didn’t have the
strength to walk. He bent and scooped her into his arms then asked
Andy to show the way to his home. Jeanne and the servants
followed.

Andy led the way through the dark streets,
pointing out the rough spots in the road so that Robert wouldn’t
trip. Jeanne and the others followed. Lecherous greetings followed
them from both sides of the street, and they all stepped carefully
to avoid the garbage strewn haphazardly in the road. Robert took
shallow breaths through his mouth

The boy finally stopped in front of a
doorway. “Can you help me bring Mum inside, please?”

Robert nodded and followed Andy into a dark
room. He paused to allow Giles to come in with the lantern. The
light made Robert wish he couldn’t see the squalor in which Andy
and his mother lived. The one-room dwelling held no furniture, no
windows, and absolutely no adornment. Even the tiniest of the
servant’s quarters held more appeal than that. On the floor in the
far corner, a thin pallet covered with a single blanket served as
the bed.

“
Put her down here.” Andy
gestured to the pallet. “Could I give her some of your good soup,
please?”

“
Give him everything we
have left,” instructed Robert as he lay the woman on the pallet.
Giles and Nancy nodded and set the remaining food down.

Robert leaned down and placed a hand on
Andy’s shoulder. “It isn’t safe for you and your mother to stay
here. Your father could come back any time, and even if he doesn’t,
this place isn’t enough to shelter you from the coming winter. I
need to return to the duke’s home tonight, but I will be back with
more food for the two of you and some other help. Your mother needs
a doctor, and you need warmer clothes. And you must leave this
place.”

“
But where would we
go?”

“
Your mother mentioned her
parents—”

“
Mummy must be confused.
She gets that way sometimes after papa hits her. Her mum died last
year, and her papa died before I was born. I remember she cried
when she found out about her mum.”

Robert’s heart
clenched.
The boy and his mother have no
one else.
He sighed. “We’ll have to arrange
something. I don’t know what, but we need to get you out of here.
I’ll be back, soon. I promise.”

The boy nodded, hope shining from his eyes.
“I’ll wait for you, Mr. Townley.”

Robert went through
the motions of his duties the next morning, but
his mind was elsewhere. It was back at the hovel with that poor
little boy.

How could a man beat his own wife and child?
What would possess him to use so much force on those he supposedly
loved? And why would he take his own failures out on them? Andy’s
bruises were purple and covered most of his body. And the boy’s
mother — a chill ran through Robert’s body as he recalled the
broken heap of bones on the floor of the pile of wood they called
home.

“
Townley?”

Robert blinked. Phillip, Duke of Bartlett,
stood before him, eyeing him curiously. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“
I’m ready for my
cravat.”

The duke’s cravat. Where had he put it? He
did a pirouette, wondering where he’d placed it.