The Foundling (Rags to Richmonds #3)

Chapter 18

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

W ith trembling limbs, Frederica walked to her bedchamber and poured water from her ewer into her wash basin—but splashing her face did not clear her mind or wash away her agony. She was too exhausted, too desolate for anything to give her reprieve. Her head began to spin; images of Lucy falling and Tom being dragged away screaming were now joined by Bertie pulling up his shirt to reveal his ugly bruise and the duke’s expression as he said his final goodbye.

A knock at the door barely roused her from her misery, but whoever it was did not wait for her to answer and opened the door wide. It was Jennifer.

“Mrs Woods says can you bring her the new embroidery threads please, miss?”

Frederica said she would, and the girl departed. It felt such a mundane request in the midst of so much unhappiness, yet was that not her choice—to remain at Taverstock and serve its needs? Thus, with her legs still weak and her chest still tight with sorrow, Frederica retrieved the necessary supplies from the store cupboard. She heard the door to the garden open behind her as she turned the lock. Assuming it would be Rupert coming in, she took a deep breath to compose herself and turned around with a welcome on her lips.

She froze when she saw Mr Milliard sauntering towards her. He did not appear to have seen her and came forwards unsteadily, his gaze unfocused, and his lips alternately sneering and snarling as he muttered quietly to himself. Frederica realised with dismay that he was inebriated. She did not feel in any way equal to battling with a drunkard, but she would rather rot than allow any more harm to come to the children because of her inaction.

“You do not need to concern yourself with teaching today, Mr Milliard,” she said as firmly as she could.

He jumped slightly and stopped walking to squint at her. “Miss Richmond. I did not see you there.”

“Mr Carnegie has taken your lesson, sir.”

“Has he? Pray, tell me, madam, why are people always taking what is mine?” His words were slurred.

“He had no choice. It has gone noon. Lessons began, as they always do, at half past eight.”

Mr Milliard frowned slightly, then made a dismissive noise and a dismissive gesture to go with it. “Well, I am going to take it back.”

“Please do not!” Frederica cried. He had taken a step forwards but stopped and turned back to her; she flinched at the look in his eye. “I beg you would not upset the children today. There was an incident last night, and?—”

“Yes, I know. You were at a ball with your family .” He all but spat the word.

“No, that is not what I was referring?—”

“How was it, then?” he interrupted. “ The ball ?”

It was too fresh a wound for Frederica to remain unaffected by its mention; she had to take a breath to keep from weeping. Mr Milliard evidently did not like the wait; he pressed the issue with uncommon spite.

“How was Viscount Oakley ? Was he a good little lord? Did he play the part well?”

“Lord Oakley is a consummate gentleman.”

Mr Milliard scoffed. “Just like his father, eh?”

“I would not know—I still have not met Lord Tipton.”

“Tipton? Please! He is no gentleman!”

Frederica shook her head, bewildered by his meandering conversation. “You are drunk, sir. It would be better if you went home.”

“Drunk, am I?” He laughed bitterly but then without warning lunged forwards and shoved her violently against the door of the store cupboard. She was too shocked to react and could do nothing but hold herself still as he put his face so close to hers that she could smell his foul breath and see the savage glint in his once-kind but now cold, green eyes.

“I shall go home once you stop playing games and give me what I want.”

She did what she could to draw back from him which was in truth not much of anything with the door hard and unyielding against her back. She wondered if she ought to scream but worried this was one of those absurd scenarios in which someone might demand he marry her. “I do not know what you want but pray leave me?—”

“ I want what I am due! ” he shouted and banged his palm into the door beside her head.

She yelped and shied away from him. “Please, sir, let me go. Surely you have been paid fairly for your work!”

“There is nothing fair about the way I have been treated. But mark my words I shall get what I am owed. Now tell me the truth !”

“I do not know what you are talking about!” A tear slid down Frederica’s cheek, with more to follow, but her tears were not for fear of the schoolmaster. They were for the sheer disgrace of having been blind to what this man truly was. They were for her abject misery at comprehending she was not capable of protecting anyone from anything, and that Taverstock would be no worse off without her. They were for her utter despair to have spurned the only man she had ever loved for no good reason at all.

“Good God,” Mr Milliard spat, grabbing her arm and gripping it painfully. “You are supposed to be a Richmond! You are just as useless as every other dirty little foundling in this place who does not know where she was born or who her family is.”

He was wrong. Frederica knew perfectly well where she was from and who her family were. “I am a Richmond,” she said through her tears. “My parents were Robert and Susan Richmond. I was born and orphaned in Wykham.” What she had absolutely no idea of, was who she was meant to be now.

“What in God’s name is going on ’ere?”

As suddenly as Mr Milliard had attacked Frederica, Rupert appeared and yanked him roughly away from her. They tussled for a brief time, but Rupert was younger, stronger, and sober, and it was not long until he had kicked the schoolmaster outside and barred the door behind him. Frederica watched it all with a strange detachment. Her tears had stopped, but her eyes felt swollen and her mind was moving too slowly to fully comprehend what was happening.

“What the bleedin’ ’eck was that about?” Rupert asked, hastening back to her side.

“I do not know. He wanted something from me. Money, I think. I am not sure.”

“Did he hurt you?”

“I do not think so.” She shook her head, feeling a chill pierce her. “I thought he was going to. He hits the boys—did you know that?”

Rupert gave her a sad, lopsided shrug. “’Tis not unheard of for a boy to get a thick ear in this place, you know that. But he shouldn’t ’ave been shoving you around. You ain’t a boy.”

And a boot in the ribs is not a thick ear , Frederica thought, but she did not say so, for she no longer knew right from wrong or up from down. She could not stop shaking. Rupert gave her his arm to steady herself and offered to help her to her room .

“I’m sorry,” he said as she shuffled dazedly along the passage.

“What for?”

“It was me who brought him here, weren’t it? And the thing is, I reckon you might be right. I think he was trying to get money out of you.”

“Hmm?” was all Frederica could muster.

“Well, truth be told, when I met him in the tavern that day, I was…well, I was in high dudgeon, ’cause you’d just told me you was a Richmond. And I might have been complaining a bit that you thought you were too good for me ’cause you was highborn. I was wrong about that, I know I was, but I was jealous. Anyhow, Milliard was in there, and he heard me talking, and he was all understanding and the like—asking about your connections and agreeing that you shouldn’t ’ave kept it a secret, that sort of thing.”

They had reached her room. Rupert opened the door for her and escorted her inside, but to Frederica’s dismay, he did not leave and instead continued talking.

“Next thing I know, he’s turned up ’ere. I didn’t think much of it at the time, but if he had the notion that he could get money out of you, might be I gave him the impression you were some sort of heiress.” He removed his cap and ran a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry, Fred.”

Frederica could scarcely stand up anymore and certainly could not think clearly enough to make head or tail of Rupert’s convoluted story. All she wanted was to lie down and close her eyes and stop thinking or feeling anything. “I feel quite unwell, Rupert. Would you excuse me?”

After a long, worried look, Rupert left her alone. She lay on her bed and closed her eyes and was not surprised that all she could see was Penrith’s face with all his old desolation returned to his eyes. She fancied if she were to stand up off her bed and look in the mirror, she would see the same devastation reflected back at her.