Damien looked up from the lesson he was giving to the group of twenty boys. At the far end of the sparsely furnished orphanage room, Lindsay sat on a low stool, a ring of young boys around her on the floor, their small, young faces rapt as she read to them from a storybook. A toddler of two sat on her knee, two of his fingers stuffed into his mouth.
Warmed by the sight, Damien turned his attention back to the older pupils, who ranged in age from five to fifteen. “Alfred, please read this sentence to me and fill in the verb.”
The twelve-year-old boy with the lanky, pale hair and sad gray eyes squinted at the words on the chalkboard. “Y-yester-day wh-en I c-came home late, my m-mother—” The boy paused and scrunched up his face further at the blank chalk line in the sentence.
The silence stretched out and the boy was no nearer the answer. Damien’s glance roamed over the other boys. “Anyone care to answer?”
Two arms shot up. He chose the younger boy.
“Had already laid supper on the table,” the boy finished proudly.
Damien turned back to the first boy. “Do you see why the missing word should be ‘had’?”
Alfred pushed out his lower lip, still puzzling it out. “’Cause it was suppertime?”
The other boys roared with laughter, causing Lindsay to look up. Damien reassured her with a smile. “Yes, that is so. But the boy is late for supper and his mother has not waited for him. Thus, he must use the auxiliary verb ‘had’ to show that supper is already on the table. Do you see that?”
“Alfred’s too slow to see anything,” a large fourteen-year-old said from the rear row of desks.
Damien eyed him. “Since you are so much quicker than he is, Joel, why don’t you do the figures for me in your mathematics text when the rest of us go outside to play in the yard?”
The boy slammed his book on the desk as the others laughed.
“All right, next exercise.” Damien turned to the blackboard. “Michael, can you read the sentence, please?”
“When I arrived at school, the bell…”
Later, in the large stone courtyard of the orphanage, the boys chased after a ball while the younger ones clung to Lindsay’s skirts. Damien heard her tinkling laughter as she held two by the hand and instructed the others to form a circle.
He watched her as he kept half an eye on the older boys. He had never expected things to go so well. Since yesterday’s picnic, he’d been living in a sort of cloud. He caught himself every few minutes remembering something, from the way Lindsay had looked sitting across from him to the feel of her slim waist when he’d lifted her out of the boat. For a few hours, he had almost believed they were courting and had a future together. He shook aside the notion as he did each time it formed in his mind. He must never forget he was only her protector for a time. As soon as her father showed any signs of softening, Damien would let her go.
Even this morning, he’d hesitated when introducing Lindsay as his wife to the boys. The more the world knew of her as Mrs. Hathaway, the more difficult it would be for her to return to her father. But she’d been so happy to come and looked at him so appealingly that he couldn’t deny her request. He grinned, remembering the boys’ reaction. At first the oldest ones had whistled and told her how pretty she was, but her response had been so ladylike, they’d soon been shamed into behaving like gentlemen.
“Reverend Hathaway, catch!” His attention swung back to the game, and he reached up just in time to catch the ball.
After the recess, they spent a few hours in the girls’ half of the orphanage, giving reading and arithmetic lessons. Lindsay had brought some of her drawing materials and enthralled a group with a lesson.
In the late afternoon, they left the austere building at the eastern edge of Marylebone. Damien glanced up and down the street seeing no hacks available. Usually, he walked the few miles home, but with the day advancing and Lindsay with him, he didn’t think it advisable.
“We shall probably have to head down to Oxford Street to find a coach,” he said in an apologetic tone.
“I don’t mind walking.”
She was always willing to do anything he proposed, never complaining. He marveled at her spirit. “We shall need some new storybooks soon. The children love to be read to,” she said.
“Perhaps some of the women in the parish would be willing to donate a few of their children’s old books.”
“Perhaps.”
He glanced over at her. “Are any of the ladies thawing yet?”
She didn’t look at him. “Mrs. Moore is a dear. She has tried to enlist some of the other ladies, but it seems as if every week, there is some new rumor about me. It’s almost as if someone is making mischief, but then I tell myself I am imagining things.” She shook her head. “In time, they should become accustomed to me.”
They said no more for a bit. He wished he knew how to help her, but the more he tried to stand by Lindsay, making it clear to the congregation that she was his wife, the less it seemed to help. He wished he knew who the mischief maker was, if in fact one existed at all.
“Your drawing lesson was a marvelous idea—” His sentence was cut short by a dirty-looking young man who jumped out of an alley and stood in front of them, brandishing a cudgel.
“Who’ve we got ’ere?” he drawled, planting his feet apart and slapping the stout weapon against his dirty palm.
A group of youths emerged behind him. Damien took hold of Lindsay’s arm, his eyes scanning the group. They were obviously a gang, one of the many that inhabited the neighborhood around the workhouse and orphanage.
Damien gauged their intent. The oldest, a heavyset youth as tall as Damien, looked about eighteen years of age. The youngest, a dirty urchin, appeared a sturdy twelve. In all, there were five of them.
Damien attempted to walk forward, keeping his tone steady. “Kindly let us pass.”
The leader took a step directly in front of Damien and lifted his cudgel to his chest, effectively blocking Damien’s way. He turned to the others, mimicking Damien’s accent. “‘Kindly let us pass.’ D’ye hear, lads, we’ve got a toff.”
The next instant the youths circled around them. Damien drew Lindsay near and gripped his walking stick.
“And look at ’is lady. Wot a fine-looking dame she is.” The youngest one flicked one of Lindsay’s curls and she flinched.
Damien shielded her with his body, feeling a sudden rage rise within him. “Leave the lady alone.” His voice shook with anger but he feared that he wouldn’t be able to defend her.
Raucous laughter greeted his words. “Jealous, are you? What if I touch ’er like this?” The leader shoved Damien aside and rubbed the back of his hand against her cheek.
“Please!” she implored him.
Damien saw red. With a feral sound, he lunged at the young man, tackling him and pinning him to the ground.
The next moment someone wrested him off the gang leader and held his arms pinioned behind him. “Run, Lindsay!” he yelled before another youth punched him in the gut and he doubled over, the wind knocked out of him.
The leader righted himself and swung his cudgel at Damien. “Why, you—”
Lindsay screamed. Damien felt the blow like a sledgehammer to his arm and he fell to the ground. Lindsay rushed to him, kneeling beside him. “Are you all right? Damien! Say something.”
Pain shot through this arm. Gritting his teeth, he attempted to push himself up.
“Wot’s the cripple going to do?” The leader swung his cudgel in front of Damien’s face before kicking him in the gut. Damien doubled over on the ground at the impact.
Lindsay scrambled to her feet. “How dare you attack a parson! You cowards!”
“Lindsay, don’t,” he tried to say through the haze of pain flooding him. He had to stand. He had to protect her.
While their attention was on Lindsay, he managed to get to his knees.
“You—you overgrown knaves!” Lindsay shouted at them, grabbing Damien’s walking stick and swinging it at them. This caused them to jump back. They formed a circle around her and began to jeer.
He had to get their attention off of her. His gut screaming in protest, he pushed himself to his feet. “Leave the lady alone.”
Deliberately, he shoved at the leader. “Only a coward attacks a lady.”
The young man turned to Damien. “Look, fellas, the cripple’s stood up. Let’s have some fun. Grab his lady.”
The largest youth grabbed Lindsay and held her by the waist. She began to scream and struggle. Damien rushed to her, but the gang leader grabbed him from behind and held him fast.
He fought against his hold but the other man was stronger. “Hold still or we’ll hurt the lady.”
The fight went out of Damien. Fear clawed at him as he looked at Lindsay’s terrified face.
The youngest boy grabbed the walking stick from Lindsay and began to mock him, stooping over and wobbling on his legs, one hand in front of him as if begging. “Alms for the one-legged man, alms for the lame!” The taunts began in earnest.
Praying that their attention would remain on him and off Lindsay, Damien stood quietly.
But Lindsay kicked her captor on the shins and he let out a yelp. “We’ve got a wildcat here!”
“Leave the lady alone,” Damien said again quietly, eyeing the boy. “Have your sport with me, but let her go.”
“Did you ’ear that, lads?” jeered the leader, tightening his hold. “The parson says we can ’ave our sport with ’im. Wot are we waiting for?” At that, they all turned on him.
Damien prepared for the beating that was to come. Anything would be preferable to having any one of them lay his filthy hands on Lindsay. He prayed she’d make a run for it.
His walking stick was stabbed into his middle. Damien flinched, causing them all to laugh. He clenched his stomach, praying that he wouldn’t disgrace himself before Lindsay.
“Leave him alone. He is a man of God, you black-guards!” Lindsay screamed with fury.
He shook his head at Lindsay in warning.
“A ‘man o’ God’?” came the mocking tones. With more zeal, they tugged at his coat and pulled his watch chain until it came loose. “Oh, this’ll fetch us a pretty penny,” the youngest boy cried, holding up his watch. The leader grabbed it from him and stuffed it in his pocket. “Search for his handkerchief.”
“Here’s his pocketbook.” Another gang member took his leather wallet and shook it open. The younger ones went scrambling for the few coins that fell out of it. They looked at Damien in disgust. “Hardly more’n a few coppers.” Damien knew to carry little money when he went about his rounds in this neighborhood. “Where’s the rest of yer blunt?”
“I don’t have any.”
He received a blow to his cheek that knocked his head back. He worked his jaw, hoping it hadn’t been dislocated.
“If you ’aven’t any more blunt, we’ll see wot else you’ve got o’ value.”
The younger boy laughed. “Wot about his wooden leg?”
All eyes focused on his leg. One of them kicked at it. “Nice piece of polished oak, I’ll wager. It’ll fetch us a few quid.”
Damien braced himself. Rough hands tugged at the leather strap holding it in place. He would have fallen if his arms hadn’t been gripped from behind.
The youth waved his wooden peg leg in the air with a triumphant shout. “Look at this. I can knock someone over the ’ead wiv this stick!”
The next second, the boy jerked to a stop at the clatter of horse hooves and carriage wheels down the street. “Away, men, away!” the gang leader shouted.
In a flash, they scattered down the alley. Damien fell to the ground. With a cry, Lindsay came to him, but he was already struggling to stand.
She took him by the arm and helped him up. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine,” he assured her, looking at her closely. Black fingerprints smudged her cheeks and her hair had come loose from her struggle. Futile anger rose again at the manhandling she’d endured. And he’d been able to do nothing to prevent it. “Did they hurt you?”
She shook her head almost impatiently. “No, but what they did to you! Oh, I could murder them!” She touched his jaw with her fingertips. “It’s swelling.” With a half sob, she dug into her pocket for a handkerchief. “They even stole your handkerchief,” she said as she wiped the dirt from his face.
“Thank the good Lord for sending help.” He looked at the approaching coach.
Without a word, Lindsay draped his arm across her shoulder to support him. Her slim form was surprisingly strong. “Are you sure they didn’t hurt you?”
“I’ve been through worse.” Now that the immediate danger was past, Damien found it hard to look at Lindsay. The humiliation of the encounter and his present condition came to the fore.
As the coach drew near, she waved at it. “Stop! Please stop! We’ve been robbed.”
With a jingle of harness, the horses drew to a stop, a cloud of dust billowing around them. A groom swung down from the footboard in the rear.
“A gang has set upon us and robbed my husband,” Lindsay cried out breathlessly as the man hurried to them.
The groom’s eyes widened at the sight of Damien. “Are you all right, sir?” His glance flickered from his face to his leg, and Damien felt the strain of staying upright on one leg.
“If you could be so good as to take us back to my parish on Edgware Road,” he managed, his body feeling pummeled and bruised.
The groom gave another bow. “If you will excuse me a moment, sir, I will arrange it.” He returned to the coach and conferred at the carriage window with the man within. In a few moments he was back.
He handed Damien a card. “My employer offers you use of his carriage to wherever you and your wife need to be conveyed.”
Lindsay took the card before Damien could reach out his arm, which had begun to throb abominably. She held it out for him to read. Mr. Robert Bellamy was engraved in a fine script with a Mayfair address. “Thank you. We should be most grateful,” she answered for Damien.
The man coughed and held out his hand. “Would you like me to assist you?” he asked in a hesitant voice.
“They beat my husband terribly and stole his wooden leg,” Lindsay replied before Damien could say anything.
He felt the flush stain his cheeks.
The groom tsked-tsked. “Terrible things that happen on our streets these days. In broad daylight, too.”
Damien hopped to the coach door, the young groom supporting him on one side, Lindsay hovering on the other. By the time they reached the coach, the pain was nearly overwhelming. Damien fought to remain conscious.
A distinguished-looking gentleman leaned out of the door and grasped his arms to help him up. Damien swallowed a groan at the pressure on his swollen arm. “My goodness, what happened? What did they do to you? Are you hurt, sir?”
“I’m all right,” he managed, falling onto the seat. He turned to the groom and gave him the address of the parsonage.
“Very good, sir. I’ll convey it to the coachman.”
Damien leaned back against the swabs, angry at himself, feeling as helpless as a beached seal. “I’m very grateful for your help, sir,” he said to the coach’s owner. Then he turned to assist Lindsay, but the groom handed her up into the coach.
She sat down beside Damien. With a quick nod to the owner, she turned to face Damien. “Are you all right?” she whispered, taking his hand.
He nodded, unable to say more due to his humiliation as much as the pain.
As the coach began to move, they both turned to the gentleman seated opposite. Mr. Bellamy looked to be in his sixties with gray hair worn in the older style of a queue. His clothes, too, were in the past fashion of knee breeches. His pale, well-tended hands rested upon a walking stick as he studied Damien. “You are a clergyman?”
“Yes, sir.” He introduced himself and Lindsay, the rumble of the coach jarring every sore muscle in his body.
“You were set upon, my man tells me.”
“Yes, by a gang of young men.”
“Shameful to set upon a clergyman!” he said with a decisive shake of his head. His sharp eyes focused on Damien’s leg. “And a cripple. What is the city coming to?”
Lindsay squeezed his hand as if she understood his mortification at the ugly term. “There is a lot of delinquency,” he said quietly. “With little gainful employment and much less schooling, the youths prey on those who have more than they do.”
“They need to be transported, I say.” Mr. Bellamy thumped his walking stick against the floor.
As they neared home, Damien’s spirits continued to plummet. Thankfully, Lindsay carried most of the conversation with the old gentleman, turning frequently to Damien to ask him if he was all right. He merely smiled and nodded his head.
All the while, he relived the pain and humiliation of the encounter. His worst fears had come true. He could not protect Lindsay. What would have happened to her if the coach had not arrived in time? What kind of man couldn’t protect his own wife?
When they arrived at the parsonage, Lindsay called for Jacob.
“Please fetch a doctor. Hurry!”
After his shock at the sight of Damien, Jacob hurried forward. “Of course, madam. Let me help him in first.”
She stood aside but Damien was already at the coach door, clutching at its sides though he looked as pale as death. “It’s all right, Jacob,” he said. “It’s only a few bruises. A doctor won’t be necessary.”
Jacob helped him descend, then he and the groom sustained Damien between them up the walk.
Lindsay bit her lip, imagining the pain he must be in. It was awful to see him have to hobble up the walk one-legged. Tears smarted her eyes in renewed anger at those who had brought this about.
She turned at the sound of someone clearing his throat.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she told the elderly gentleman as she held out her hand. “You have been ever so kind. I cannot thank you enough for all your help. The Lord sent you at just the right moment to rescue us! I shudder to think what would have happened.”
He patted her hand. “It’s quite all right, my dear lady. You run along to that fine husband of yours.” He sighed sadly. “What a pity about his leg. Such a worthy-looking gentleman.”
Lindsay hid her impatience at the man’s continued references to Damien’s disability and lifted her chin. “Yes, he is a most worthy man.” How brave Damien had shown himself and how proud she was to be able to call him her husband.
Bidding Mr. Bellamy a last farewell, she hurried up the path. “Mrs. Nichols, has the doctor been fetched?”
“Yes, Betsy has run for the apothecary. Jacob is tending him now.”
She breathed her first sigh of relief. “Thank you, Mrs. Nichols.” Her voice broke.
The housekeeper put her arm around her. “There, there, madam. Our Damien will be all right. Now, come, I’ve given him a strong cup of tea. You look as if you could use one, too.”
She smiled tearfully at the older woman. “Oh, thank you. It was such a fright.”
“I can imagine. Why don’t you come with me and tell me what happened.”
“Just as soon as I look in on Damien.” She stopped as they were about to enter the house. “What’s he going to do…about…?” Lindsay paused, embarrassed at having to say anything about Damien’s leg.
But Mrs. Nichols seemed to guess. “Oh, don’t worry, madam. He has a spare one.” She pursed her lips. “He’ll have to get a second one made, though, I suppose. But he’ll be all right for a few days, as long as no other calamity strikes.” With a shake of her head, she patted Lindsay’s hand and bustled away to the kitchen.
Lindsay hurried to find where Jacob had taken Damien. She found them in the study. Damien was holding a cold compress to his cheek. He smiled when he saw her.
She breathed a sigh of relief. “How are you feeling?”
“A little the worse for wear,” he said wryly.
Jacob excused himself and left them alone. Damien reached out a hand for her and she clasped it eagerly, grateful that they were both safe and sound. “Are you sure you’re all right? None of them hurt you?” he asked her.
She marveled that all his concern seemed to be for her. “Oh, no. But I was so angry at them.” She took in a shuddering breath, remembering how much she’d wanted to scratch their eyes out for what they were doing to Damien. They could have simply robbed him and left him. Instead, they’d had to humiliate him. She’d hated them in that moment. How she’d wished she’d been a man so she could have run after them and give them their due. “How can there be such cruelty in the world?”
“There are many reasons. Suffice it to say it’s a fallen world.”
She shook her head, not ready to accept such a simple explanation. “They were bullies. And the youngest. He was just a boy! They shouldn’t be so hardened.”
He rested his head against the chair back. “You don’t know what their life has been like up to now, what it is like to know no kindness from the day you are born.”
She was silent. How she wished she could reach over and brush the hair off Damien’s forehead, but she didn’t dare. Instead she said softly, “You were so fearless.”
He looked away from her, letting her hand go, his expression sobering. “No, I was very much afraid for you.” After a moment he added. “I wasn’t very good at protecting you today.”
She placed her hand on his arm. “I was so thankful you were there with me. No one could have been braver.”
He shook his head. “Don’t give me too much credit. I was angry at them for the way they grabbed you. I wanted to beat them up, like any man would, for daring to touch you. But I couldn’t do a thing.”
“Don’t say that. There was nothing you could do, nothing any man could have done!” She could see that her words weren’t reaching him, but she desperately wanted to make him feel better. His jaw was beginning to show a bruise. She remembered his arm had sustained a terrible blow and must be paining him greatly. As she relived the event, she suddenly had a realization which made him all the more dear to her. “You let them make sport of you to protect me, didn’t you?”
He was silent a moment. “There wasn’t much I could do otherwise. I was quite outnumbered. Besides, I’m a cripple.” There was no denying the self-derision in the quietly spoken words.
“You are not! I’m sure you could have bested that insolent young man who was the leader of them if you hadn’t been outnumbered.”
“I’m sorry you had to be caught in the middle.”
“I’m not,” she answered stoutly. “I’m glad I was able to see what you risk each day when you go on your rounds to help others.”
He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “This was what I had feared might happen one day if you accompanied me on my rounds outside the immediate vicinity of the chapel.”
“Oh, please don’t make me stay in because of this!”
He said nothing.
“I want so much to help you in your work,” she said, leaning forward. “Even today, I’m sure your behavior touched some of these young men—perhaps the youngest. I’m sure they won’t soon forget you.”
He finally met her gaze but she could discern no agreement. “I’m sure I did nothing to draw them to God’s saving grace. I behaved like any ‘toff’ they meet. I became angry and tried to defend what was mine. I showed them nothing of the love of the Savior, for I was too enraged by their treatment of you.”
The words that should have thrilled her gave her a strange sadness. He was disappointed in himself but she didn’t understand why. He had behaved bravely and she was proud of him. But his eyes remained haunted and she felt he had withdrawn to a place where she couldn’t reach him.
They were torturing Damien, beating him with his wooden leg and that awful cudgel. Damien shielded his face with his arms, but the cudgel left him bloody and bruised.
Lindsay awakened, heart pounding, perspiration dampening her forehead. The stillness around her finally made her realize it had been nothing but a horrible dream. A nightmare. Slowly, her heartbeat returned to normal, but her fear remained. The afternoon’s incident came to vivid relief in the pitch dark room. She pictured Damien pinioned by those awful youths, allowing himself to be attacked in order to protect her.
A wind whistled outside, causing her to slide down further beneath her covers.
What if someone broke into the house? It happened frequently in London. There was no one in the house except her and Damien. Jacob and his family lived in a cottage at the rear of the grounds. They wouldn’t know a thing. He and his wife were too old to be able to defend them anyway.
The longer Lindsay thought on these things, the greater her fear grew. She glanced toward her door. Damien was only two rooms down. How she longed to go to him. He’d reassure her.
But she couldn’t do that. He needed his sleep. Although the apothecary had ascertained that there were no broken bones, he’d told Damien to rest a few days.
But as the minutes ticked on, Lindsay’s desire to be near Damien increased. The remnant of her dream whispered around her. She heard the echo of the ruffians’ jeers and saw their cruel kicks in her mind’s eye.
Finally, her heartbeat pounding in her ears, she eased the bedcovers away from her and groped for her dressing gown. She slid out of bed, her bare feet touching the soft carpet. It took all her courage to leave her bed but the thought of another human face—the kind, friendly face of the one she trusted most—beckoned her forward.
She reached the door, her dressing gown still clutched in her hands, and opened it, staring down the corridor. It was very dark—she couldn’t even see the window at the far end. Swallowing, she stepped into the hallway and eased her door closed.
She walked barefoot down the corridor. Never had it seemed so far. She passed Florence’s old room. Finally, she stopped outside Damien’s door. She heard no sounds from within and had a moment of panic, thinking herself alone in the house. She gripped the doorknob and turned it. It made a rattling sound and she feared she would wake him. Wasn’t that what she was going to do anyhow? She felt guilty once again. Maybe she could just slide in beside him and not awaken him. As soon as it was light, she’d leave.
She’d come too far to turn back. She would not face her lonely room again. She needed human warmth and companionship. No one would hurt her if Damien was beside her. All she needed was to touch his face, to assure herself it had only been a dream, that he was all right.
She walked slowly across the room, unfamiliar with its layout and fearing she’d bump into something in the dark. She headed toward its center, knowing his bed must be there.
Stifling a cry, she hit her knee against the edge. Feeling along the side of it with her outstretched arms, she made her way towards its head.
Suddenly, she heard a rustle of bedclothes. “Who’s there?” His voice sounded calm, as it usually did, but a trifle fuzzy with sleep. She breathed a sigh of relief at its familiar timbre.
“It—it’s only I—Lindsay.”
“Lindsay?” Wonder turned to alarm. Another rustle of bedclothes indicated he’d sat up. “What is it? Is something the matter?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I’m all right. It’s just…” She swallowed, embarrassed now. He’d think she was a baby. She remembered her father’s cold tones whenever she’d say something he considered immature for her age.
“What is it?” His voice had softened.
“I had a nightmare.”
She heard him take a deep breath. “I’m sorry. It’s understandable. It was a harrowing experience for you. Perhaps if I prayed for you—”
“May…may I stay here tonight?” Her voice sounded shaky. Would he be horrified by her request? She held her breath, biting her underlip. Please, she prayed, don’t let him send me back to my room.