They had just left the lights of a small roadside inn behind them and were turning up the hill toward Hampstead Village when Henry became aware of a shadowy figure scurrying along the road in front of them.
At the sound of the horses, the woman visibly startled, then ran as if the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. She was bent forward as if aged, and her gait was unsteady. But the face that turned over her shoulder to see who followed her was young and utterly terrified. In her haste to get away from whomever she was trying to outrun, she stumbled over the hem of her soiled and tattered skirts and yelped in pain when her knee hit the gravel on the road.
Henry found it impossible to ignore the woman’s obvious distress. He stopped just ahead of her, handed the ribbons to his groom, and jumped down to see what he could do for her.
Even once he was standing next to her and she could see him clearly, she continued to look behind her as she tried to get back on her feet, as if unafraid of Henry but terrified at what could still be behind. Henry put a hand under her arm to help her up, but she winced and drew in a sharp breath. He tried gently placing his arm around her waist to steady her, eliciting another pained noise as she sagged against him.
She was small and light, and a sense of unease crept over him as he examined her more closely. Her waist was trim under his hand, and luscious dark curls framed her face—a face that showed unmistakable signs of a beating. Her lip was split and her jaw had begun to discolor. There was a welt on her forehead and her left eye was almost swollen shut. Her hands and clothes were blackened with what appeared to be coal dust, and she was clad in only a simple peasant skirt and blouse, while her shoes were missing altogether.
“Good God,” Henry breathed. He quickly decided, whatever her story was, he could not turn his back on her. “You’re injured; can I take you somewhere? To someone who will help you?”
She shook her head, which obviously hurt, and squeezed out between clenched teeth, “I just need to get away.”
The girl obviously wasn’t thinking clearly, so Henry probed for more information. “From whom or where?”
She was barely holding herself upright now, but her voice was full of contempt. “My stepfather at the inn.” She indicated behind her and sagged farther against him as she lost her footing again. Henry could feel as well as see her injuries were serious.
“Did he do this to you?”
She almost spat out her next words. “Him and his new missus. But I’ll not marry that bastard Wilkins. I’ll die first.”
She then truly spat on the ground for emphasis, her eyes blazing with a need to defy her fate that struck a chord with Henry.
He answered her with a calm he did not feel. “Well, if you stay out here alone and in this state for much longer, you probably will.” He smiled down at her, hoping to reassure her. “You had better come with me so my housekeeper can have a look at you.”
She twisted to look at him for a moment as if to assess whether she would get herself into even worse trouble by going with him, then shrugged. “I think I’d rather the devil I don’t know.”
Henry couldn’t suppress a wry grin. “That’s the spirit.”
He led her to the curricle without further delay, and when her knees buckled, he simply lifted her into his arms and boosted her up to Roberts on the seat. She was too light for her frame, and he wondered what other methods her stepfather had employed to bend her to his will.
Pulling himself up onto the driver’s seat next to her, he realized he had neglected to introduce himself.
“I’m Henry March, by the way. Can you tell me your name?”
“Eliza.” Her voice was weak now, the fight having gone completely out of her.
Henry wrapped the carriage blanket around her before he took the ribbons from his groom, Roberts, who then swung himself around onto the box seat behind. Henry urged the team into a trot, despite the gathering darkness and the girl’s unsteady hold on consciousness. He tucked her uninjured arm through his and urged her to lean on him as he drove them toward London and his Mayfair home.
THEY ARRIVED AT THE TOWN house on Cavendish Square a little over an hour later with the girl barely conscious. Roberts jumped down first to knock on the door, then took the horses’ heads, while Henry nudged Eliza awake. She straightened enough for him to climb down to the pavement, but as he turned to assist her, she almost fell off the high seat, so he lifted her down.
The door opened as Henry carried the girl up the front steps. William, the footman, had no trouble comprehending the urgency of the situation and preceded his master and former captain to the first available guest room on the second floor. There, Henry entrusted Eliza into the care of Mrs. Tibbit, his housekeeper, who had appeared at his side halfway up the stairs.
Mrs. Tibbit was an efficient woman with a kind heart and a serious dislike of anybody who treated another female with violence. Having left the girl in such capable hands, Henry retreated to his private sitting room down the hall to pour himself a stiff drink.
MRS. TIBBIT FOUND HIM THERE less than half an hour later, slouched into one of the big leather armchairs by the fire, visiting with his old friend Shakespeare. She spared a disapproving glance for the tomes littering the floor around him and the booted feet comfortably propped on the chair opposite. Looking up from his book, Henry grinned at the old retainer’s obvious disapproval, secure in her affection for him. Mrs. Tibbit shook her head, acknowledging that at thirty-one years of age he was too old for her to scold, and heaved a heavy sigh. “I think we best call the doctor, if you don’t mind, sir.”
“Oh, are the girl’s injuries beyond your capability, Mrs. Tibbit?” he teased gently.
The narrow-eyed look his housekeeper bestowed on him said much about what she thought of him questioning her abilities and teasing at a time like this. “Well, sir, we cleaned her, and I patched her cuts and bruises as best I could with basilicum powder and arnica cream, and I’m making her an infusion for the pain. But I can’t set any broken bones, and the gash to the back of her head is too big for me to stitch.”
Henry winced at this matter-of-fact description of Eliza’s injuries. “By all means, call for the doctor, but make sure nobody mentions I brought home an injured girl. The brute who did this to her may well be looking for her.”
Mrs. Tibbit’s round eyes blazed with indignation and the desire to protect the mistreated girl. “I’ll send William to the doctor and make sure everybody keeps their mouths shut down at the pub. The poor mite! Do you know who did this?”
All hints of playfulness had left Henry’s demeanor. “She says it was her stepfather and his wife. And she mentioned a man called Wilkins they want her to marry.”
The housekeeper nodded as if that explained everything and turned toward the door. “Well, they won’t find her here. I’ll make sure of that.”
Henry knew she ruled her kingdom belowstairs like a benevolent queen, so he didn’t doubt their guest’s safety. “Thank you. And send the good doctor to me after he has done what he can for Miss Eliza.”
Mrs. Tibbit headed for the door without being dismissed and threw her next words over her shoulder with complete disregard for proper address and ceremony. “Will do.”
Henry grinned and mused—not for the first time—that her familiarity would not be tolerated in any other household. But then again, they had known each other since he was five months old, and he supposed it was progress she no longer told him to sit up straight and pick up after himself.