Page 41 of Fortune Favors the Viscount
“He shan’t hurt you, ever again,” Emilia vowed, finding that she could, in fact, still hate the late Lord Sydenham.
“He took me to the bathhouse and pushed me in and I fell so deep and couldn’t get out,” Lucy went on, her voice choked and shaking. “I couldn’t breathe, Millie, I couldn’t, and the whole time he was watching me...”
“He’s gone, Lucy,” she whispered, over and over, until the girl’s trembling subsided and her sobs had died to whimpers. “No one shall hurt you,” she murmured, smoothing Lucy’s damp hair. “No one, do you understand? They would have to battle me first, and I would never let them.”
“Truly?” Lucy hiccuped against her shoulder.
“Truly,” Emilia promised. “I’m quite fierce with an umbrella, and as for my skills with a hatpin—well! I can draw blood at three paces.”
Her reward was a thin, weak smile. “Will you always, Millie?”
“Always.” She found a handkerchief in a drawer of the wardrobe and handed it to Lucy, who obediently scrubbed her face. “Can you go to sleep now?” Lucy nodded, and settled back into her pillows. Emilia tucked the covers around her before cupping her hands around Lucy’s thin face. “You are a strong, brave girl,” she whispered. “That doesn’t mean you won’t ever be frightened, but it does mean you will survive and triumph. Do you hear me?”
Lucy nodded. In the moonlight her face was pale, her eyes puffy. “Where is Chester?” she whispered.
“In the kitchen.” Emilia made a snap judgment. “Would you like me to fetch him?”
“Yes, please.”
When he was drunk, Lucy’s father would go rambling through the house in destructive rages: he threw things through windows, took a sword to the woodwork in his late wife’s sitting room, and burned family portraits in the dining room fireplace. One night Sydenham had dragged his five-year-old daughter from bed and told her to get out of his house and not come back, terrifying the child and her nursemaid. After that Chester slept on Lucy’s bed. Once the cat had scratched the viscount’s face when he tried to wake Lucy, and been banished from the house.
Well—Sydenham had bellowed for someone to drown the damned cat, sending Lucy into a paralyzed terror. Mrs. Watson had conspired with Emilia to hide the animal in the stables until the viscount forgot.
After Sydenham died, Lucy hadn’t needed Chester on her bed nearly as often, but she still loved him. When they arrived in Portland Place, Mr. Pearce had looked down his nose at Chester and had a footman whisk him off to the kitchens. Tonight, though, Emilia resolved to fetch the cat. She and Lucy could return him in the morning before Mr. Dashwood came home.
As Emilia let herself out of the room, she realized Charlotte had also woken. The girl stood, silent as a wraith, just outside Lucy’s door.
“Is she ill?” Charlotte’s voice was a bare whisper.
“No.” Emilia hesitated. “Her father was unkind. Sometimes she has nightmares about him.”
Charlotte’s eyes flicked to the door. Her face was still and unreadable in the dim light. “She must have been terrified of him.”
“He was terrible,” said Emilia. “I’m sorry we woke you.”
Charlotte shook her head slowly. “No, it’s no trouble.” She twisted a fold of her nightgown between her fingers for a moment, still gazing at Lucy’s door. “I know what it feels like,” she added, her voice almost too low to hear.
About to suggest the girl return to her own bed, Emilia paused. “She wants me to fetch the cat,” she said instead. “Would you like to come with me?”
Charlotte nodded. Emilia waited as she fetched her slippers and dressing gown, and together they went down the stairs.
“It feels rather daring,” Charlotte whispered as they moved through the darkened house, “creeping about in the dark.”
Emilia smiled. “Does it? I hope I don’t catch any trouble for it.”
“No,” said Charlotte immediately. “Nick would never say a word of reproach, if he knew why.”
Emilia said nothing. They had reached the kitchen door. Mindful of the servants who slept off the kitchen, she tiptoed through, relieved to spot Sir Chester sleeping on a table under the window. She handed Charlotte her lamp and scooped up the sleepy cat, scratching his head when he meowed indignantly. They retraced their steps back up to the nursery, and when Emilia opened Lucy’s door, the cat darted in and leapt onto the bed, eager to reclaim his rightful place. As she closed the door, Emilia heard Lucy’s weary sigh of happiness: “Oh,Chester...”
She turned to find Charlotte watching her. Worry made her look much older than her fourteen years. “Will she be all right, Miss Greene?”
“Yes.”As right as anyone could be, after such a childhood,Emilia thought. “You should go back to sleep, too,” she added quietly.
Charlotte handed back the lamp, but didn’t go into her room. She ran her hands up and down her arms as if suddenly chilled. “I don’t think I can,” she whispered, “not yet.”
“Nor can I,” murmured Emilia, making another quick decision. “Come sit with me.”
This time they took the small winding stair to Emilia’s room. Abandoning sleep, Emilia lit two more lamps as Charlotte made a circuit of the room, studying everything with interest.
