THE THIRD DAY AFTER HENRY BROUGHT ELIZA to his house, she seemed somewhat improved, but her mind was still clouded by the laudanum, making conversation almost impossible. Henry sat with her for a while in her darkened room and gently tried to ask her a few questions, but when she nodded off on him for the third time, he admitted defeat.
On the fourth day, however, Mrs. Tibbit sought out Henry in the breakfast room at the back of the house to inform him their guest had refused the morning dose of laudanum and was sitting up in bed. Mrs. Tibbit further reported proudly that Eliza had consumed a sizable breakfast, and then left him to his morning coffee.
Encouraged by the news, Henry decided on a visit to his charge.
WHAT HE FOUND WAS A young woman so remarkably pretty, despite the bruises in various shades of yellow and green, that Henry paused on the threshold, admiring the picture in front of him.
The two tall sash windows let in autumn’s golden sunlight and gave the chamber a bright and airy feel. Lace curtains added a feminine touch to soften the effect of light green drapes, white walls, and cherry wood furniture. Mrs. Tibbit sat by the window with her mending, chatting to the girl.
Smiling, Henry leaned against the door frame in his shirt sleeves, tan-colored breeches, and waistcoat. Eliza’s shiny dark brown curls tumbling all around her were in stark contrast to the crisp white of the pillows she was propped up against. Her features were delicate and animated, and her eyes, as they turned toward him, were a clear and luminous brown. She reached out her hand with an answering smile.
“You are Sir Henry, aren’t you.”
It was more of a statement than a question, and he nodded in answer.
“You brought me here, and the doctor says I would’ve died if you hadn’t found me, so I guess I owe you my life.” She extended her hand farther to offer it to him, the gesture clearly an effort. “How can I ever thank you? Just saying it hardly seems enough.”
Henry moved across the room and took her outstretched hand, uncomfortable with the signs of pain on her beautiful face. Eliza shook his hand, but was at a loss as to what else to say, so she lifted his hand and kissed it.
Taken aback by the gesture, Henry retracted his hand and hastened to assure her, “You don’t owe me anything; I only did what any decent human being would have done.”
A fierceness entered her eyes he didn’t know how to read. “No, you saved my life.”
“I’m sure—” he started.
But Eliza shook her head, suddenly looking utterly desolate, her voice barely a whisper. “Nobody helped me when they did this to me. Not even the people I’ve known all my life, the people I thought were my friends.”
Henry was close enough to hear the hitch in her voice and leaned down to place a gentle hand on the crown of her head. She raised her eyes, bright with unshed tears, then swallowed hard and managed a tiny smile. Henry could not help but admire her courage and spirit, and wondered what it would be like to see that spirit fly.
“From now on you have friends willing to defend you, should the need arise again.”
Mrs. Tibbit seconded the notion with a resolute nod, but Eliza searched his face for a moment, as if unsure whether he meant what he said. Evidently there was nothing in his expression to urge caution, so she relaxed back into her pillows.
Henry pulled a chair next to the bed and seated himself. “You told me your stepfather beat you in order to force you to marry somebody by the name of Wilkins. Can you tell me how you came to be in such a wretched situation?”
She shook her head in resignation and looked up at him. “It’s not so unusual a story. Are you sure you want to hear the whole sorry mess?”
He held her gaze, and his expression softened. “I find I have a need to know.”
Eliza had no reason to trust people, but his eyes held a smile, and she felt safe with him in his house. She found she wanted him to know her story, but where to begin? She decided on her name. “My name’s Eliza Broad. Everybody calls me Liza, but I like Eliza better.”
Henry grinned at the hint of challenge in her statement. “Duly noted, Eliza.”
She smiled her appreciation, and he nodded for her to continue.
“I was born in The Cat and Fiddle just outside Hampstead, and I remember being happy there before my dad died when I was ten. He left the inn to my mum, and from what I could see, she made a good go of it. But it’s hard for a woman alone to keep order in a busy taproom, so she hired a man who took care of all the rowdies and the heavy work.”
Henry noticed Eliza made a credible effort to keep the countrified lilt out of her voice and silently commended whoever had taught her.
“He was always respectful to her, did his job well, and was even nice to me, so when he asked my mum to marry him, she said yes, thinking it would be a good thing for us.” Eliza’s jaw set in a hard line, and all joy was sucked out of her eyes. “It didn’t take Horace long after the ceremony to show his true colors. He didn’t like that my mum knew her letters and was teaching them to me. He didn’t like that she was better at keeping the books. He didn’t like when other men looked at her, and most of all he didn’t like me.”
Her voice dropped to a monotone, and she seemed completely absorbed in ironing pleats into the bedcovers with her fingernails. “And then the beatings started. I could stay out of his way, mostly. But my mum, she was his wife and had the inn to run, which of course he now considered to be his. Six years of dodging his fists and listening to him do things to her in the room next to mine.”
Eliza swallowed hard before she pushed out the next sentence. “Her eyes were dead long before he pushed her down the stairs and broke her neck.”
Henry’s jaw clenched tight, his fists itching to seek revenge for her. But when he looked across the room at Mrs. Tibbit, whose eyes were filled with the kind of bitter comprehension that came from experience, he quelled his violent thoughts in favor of turning his attention back to Eliza.
Eliza’s head was bowed, and a tear had found its way down her nose. She wiped it with the back of her hand, took a deep breath, and continued. “I half expected Horace to start in on me, but he took up with one of the barmaids before my mum was even buried. Not that that would stop him from tupping someone else, but he is always quick to see a chance to make a few bob. When Wilkins asked him for me—even though I had told him ‘no’ more than once—he apparently sold me to the sod.”
Henry briefly wondered how much experience she might have with the opposite sex, but dismissed the thought as unimportant at the moment.
Eliza’s eyes blazed with anger when she looked up at him again. “I kept refusing to go with him, and that made Horace stinking mad. Turns out he had already taken Wilkins’s coin and had no plans to give it back on my account, so he and Lynn beat me and locked me in the cellar. I guess they thought when Wilkins came for me, I would go with him just to get away from them. But I know Wilkins. He’s a big burly brute who’s already buried two wives. Beats his horse and his dog too. I wasn’t going to stick around to wait for him to come and use me as a punching bag and God knows what else. I climbed up the coal chute and stumbled away as fast and best I could, and that’s when you found me.”
Eliza met Henry’s gaze with gratitude in her eyes, but also weariness. The telling of her story had taken its toll, and she obviously worried they might be looking for her. Henry covered both of her hands with his. “It’s all right, they won’t find you here.”
It seemed a woefully inadequate thing to say in light of what she had suffered, but she smiled her appreciation and held on to his hand when he rose.
“Rest now! I’ll come back this afternoon, and we can play a hand of cards, or perhaps you would like me to read to you.”
Her eyes lit up. “Oh, do you have any books other than the Bible? That’s the only book my mum had.”
Henry smiled at her excitement, eager to share his beloved books with her. “I might have one or two.”
At this Mrs. Tibbit gave a shout of laughter. “Ha, one or two thousand he means. I have to keep the bloody things dust-and mold-free.”
“Come now, Mrs. Tibbit, you like the occasional novel!” he teased as he strolled out of the room.
WHILE ELIZA POURED HER STORY out to Henry, across town, in a little street just off the Strand, a burly, surly-looking man pulled up outside a busy pub, climbed off his cart, and handed the reins to a street urchin with the promise of a penny. He stepped into the dark interior of the bar and headed straight for a table in the back.
The dapper-looking gentleman who sat there nursing a pint eyed him with polite inquiry. “What brings ya to town, Wilkins? It ain’t market day, and I don’t recall sendin’ for ya.”
Wilkins sat without waiting for an invitation, causing the other man to raise a displeased eyebrow. “I ’ave to talk to ya, Hobbs! That’s what.”
Hobbs made a gesture as if to invite Wilkins to sit. Wilkins’s brow wrinkled in confusion, which made Hobbs smile. “By all means, mate, talk!”
Wilkins pulled on his less-than-pristine neckcloth and tried to get the barmaid’s attention. “Got t’ wet me whistle first.”
Hobbs, with growing impatience, snapped his fingers and commanded, “Bets, get the bloke a pint.”
Wilkins, oblivious to Hobbs’s mood, nodded his thanks and geared up to unburden himself. “Remember you tellin’ me to come to ya if I ever ’ad a favor to ask?”
Hobbs declined his head slowly, a sly smile taking up residence on his lips. “Ya want that virgin we talked about?”
Wilkins scratched the stubble on his chin. “Well, I got me own, but the stupid bint ran away before I could pick ’er up, and now Horace won’t give me twenty quid back. Says if I want it I should get it off the toff that picked ’er up off the street. But all I found out from the lads in Hampstead is that some Sir somethin’ or other picked ’er up and that ’e lives somewhere in the posh parts near the park. I need ya to ’elp me find Liza.”
At the mention of the girl’s name, sudden interest flickered in Hobbs’s eyes. “That wouldn’t be the same pretty li’l package with the dark curly ’air you told me to stay clear of, would it?”
Wilkins just nodded while Hobbs fiddled with one of the many fobs on his watch chain. His eyes were cold and calculating. “If I know anythin’ about them rich pricks, then she ain’t no virgin no more. You still want ’er anyways?”
Wilkins smiled a rather disturbing smile. “Horace gave ’er a good beatin’ before he locked ’er up. She won’t be pretty enough for anybody to want ’er for a while.”
Hobbs assessed Wilkins for a moment and then adjusted his cuffs and sleeves with an air of finality. “All right, mate. I’ll send me boys out and ’elp ya find ’er. But if it turns out she spread ’er legs for ’er knight in shinin’ fucking armor, I’ll give ya yar twenty quid and let ya ’elp me introduce ’er to the trade. Sound good?”
Wilkins grinned. “Too right, it does.”
The two men shook on the deal and called for another pint.
AS PROMISED, HENRY RETURNED TO Eliza’s bedroom in the afternoon with a selection of books and a deck of cards. He deposited these treasures on the bed, and Eliza immediately seized Henry’s beautifully bound and illustrated copy of The Arabian Nights.
It was a heavy book, leather-bound and oversized. Eliza would have had trouble holding it at the best of times, let alone turning the pages and reading it, but with two broken ribs it was impossible. She made a valiant effort, but had to admit defeat when the pain radiating from her ribcage threatened to take her breath away. Realizing her dilemma, Henry took the book from her and arranged his chair so he could hold up the volume while she studied the pictures gracing each page.
Completely fascinated, Eliza trailed gentle fingers over a picture of Aladdin in his cave. “I didn’t know books like this existed. Look at the way the picture is drawn, and the colors so bright.”
Henry corrected her gently, hoping she would be as interested as he was in finding out how things were made. “It’s a print, in fact. The drawing is carved into wood, then dipped in ink and pressed on the page, and then other carved blocks of wood are used to fill in the colors.”
Eliza looked at him with wide eyes full of longing. “That’s amazing. It’s the most beautiful thing I ever saw. Would you let me read the stories when I’m well enough to hold the book?”
Henry saw no reason for her to wait that long and took it upon himself to read the first story to her. She listened with rapt attention, her eyes sparkling with excitement, her lips parted in awe, and Henry could not think of a place he would rather be. When she finally fell asleep, he left the book on her nightstand and tiptoed out of the room.
HAVING ALREADY ATTENDED TO HIS urgent business, and with most of his friends out hunting in the country, Henry was at leisure to spend a considerable amount of time with his intriguing houseguest. They whiled away many hours together, during which Henry shared some of his favorite stories with Eliza. Scheherazade’s beguiling tales were followed by Rob Roy and then the charming characters populating Miss Austen’s work.
When they could find a third player for commerce, or even a fourth for whist, they played cards, and so the days of Eliza’s convalescence were spent happily enough.
Once Eliza could sit up for longer periods of time, Henry taught her how to play chess, finding her a worthy opponent. For the times when he had to attend to his affairs, he found lightweight volumes of popular novels, which she devoured with increasing speed.
She loved Shakespeare and laughed at Byron. Mrs. Radcliffe’s overwrought romantic heroines made her huff with impatience. But when Henry brought her a copy of Frankenstein, she read through the night in spellbound horror and bombarded him with questions concerning the scientific feasibility of the book’s premise the next morning. Henry did his best not to laugh and reassured her that, to his knowledge, no one had attempted to make a monster out of body parts yet. He introduced her to the literary notion of an allegory, and from there they went on to discuss the Greek myth of Prometheus. Eliza concluded that both tales were not unlike that of “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice,” a story she had heard from her father many times.
In short, she showed intelligence and understanding, and Henry felt more drawn to her each day.