Marrying Miss Hemingford. Mary Nichols

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СКАЧАТЬ almost rugged complexion. She might have been right about the crumpled suit, except that he wore no coat and was in his shirt sleeves. Nothing could have been further from the dandies who strolled in and out of London drawing rooms during the Season than this man. In spite of a slight limp he exuded masculine strength, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

      He barely glanced at her as he went over to the child and began examining her with gently probing fingers. Anne wondered whether she was expected to go or stay, but her heart had gone out to the little scrap of humanity and she wished she could do something to help. She hesitated. ‘Will she be all right?’

      ‘Let us hope so.’ He still had his back to her and clicked his fingers at the plump woman who had followed him into the room. ‘Padding and a bandage, Mrs Armistead, if you please.’ These were put into his hand and he carefully bandaged the head wound and put some ointment on the grazed arm and leg, ignoring his audience. When she saw the child’s eyelids flutter, Anne breathed an audible sigh of relief.

      ‘You may sigh,’ he said sharply, proving he had been aware that she had stayed. ‘What were you thinking of to allow a child so small to run out alone? Have you no sense at all?’

      Anne was taken aback until she realised that he had mistaken her for the child’s mother, which just showed how unobservant he was. The little girl was in dirty rags whereas she was wearing a fashionable walking dress of green taffeta, a three-quarter-length pelisse and a bonnet that had cost all of three guineas. The thought of that extravagance in the face of this poverty made her uncomfortable. She looked at Mrs Armistead, who lifted her shoulders in a shrug.

      ‘I am not the child’s mother,’ she said, and suddenly wished she was. She could dress her in warm clothes, give her good food, care for her as her mother evidently did not. ‘I never saw the child before today.’

      ‘Oh.’ Alerted by her cultured voice, he turned from his ministrations to look at her for the first time and she saw deep-set brown eyes that had fine lines running from the outer corners as if he were used to squinting in strong sunlight, but the eyes themselves were cold and empty and his expression severe. She smiled, trying to evince some response from him.

      ‘Madam.’ He bowed stiffly, hiding the fact that he had been taken by surprise. What he saw was not only a tall graceful woman of fashion, but also an oval face of classic proportions, narrow though determined chin, wide cheeks, broad brow, and lovely amber eyes full of tender concern. He held her look for several seconds, battling with his anger over the neglect of the child and his natural inclination to blame the woman who had brought her to him. She was obviously one of the fashionable set that had taken over Brighton, destroying the fishermen’s cottages to build their grand villas, relegating the poorer inhabitants to dismal tenements in the murky, malodorous back lanes. There was still a fishing trade in Brighton, but it was dwindling in the face of the onslaught of the rich who wanted service more than fish. On the other hand she had cared enough to soil her clothes and bring the child to him. ‘I beg your pardon for my error.’

      ‘I was walking along the promenade when I saw her knocked down by a furiously driven curricle,’ Anne explained. ‘The driver was apparently unconcerned, for he did not stop. I was advised to bring her here.’ This explanation was given in a breathless voice, quite unlike her usual self-assured manner, though why he should have such a profound effect on her, she did not know. It was not like her to feel the need to justify her actions.

      ‘It is as well you did.’ He straightened up and went to wash his hands in the bowl placed on a side table. ‘She might have bled to death.’

      The child began to whimper and Anne fell on her knees beside the bed and took her bony little hands in her own. ‘Don’t cry, little one. You are safe now.’

      ‘Me ’ead hurts.’

      ‘I know, dear. The doctor has given you a lovely white turban to make it better. What do you think of that?’

      ‘Ma, where’s Ma? And Tom. Tom…’ She was becoming distressed and tried to rise.

      Anne pressed her gently back on the pillow. ‘Lie still, little one. We’ll fetch them for you.’ She looked up at the doctor who was washing his hands in a tin bowl. ‘Do you know who she is?’

      ‘No, but undoubtedly someone will come looking for her.’ He knew he was being unfair, but he could not help contrasting the elegance of this woman with the poverty all around him. She was by no means plump, but she wasn’t half-starved as the child was. And she had never had to sit for hours in an uncomfortable waiting room to get treatment for an ailment that would soon be cured if the patient had wholesome food and clean surroundings.

      Anne stood up to face him. His abrupt manner was annoying her. She took a firm grip on herself. ‘How can you be so sure?’

      ‘I am usually the first port of call in this district if anyone is injured or lost.’ He reached for a cloth to dry his hands. ‘Word gets around.’

      ‘Are you going to keep her here?’

      ‘I can’t. I have no beds for staying patients. I wish I had, I could fill them a hundred times a day. I shall have to send her to the infirmary unless someone comes quickly to claim her. You may have noticed I have a full waiting room.’

      ‘What can I do to help?’

      He gave a wry smile. ‘I never turn down a donation, madam.’

      ‘There is that, of course,’ she said, irritated by his manner. ‘But I was thinking of help on a practical level. I could go and look for her mother, if you could give me some idea of where she might be found.’

      This produced a chuckle. ‘I think that would be unwise.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘If my guess is correct, it is a slum. Filthy, unsanitary and stinking. You would ruin your fine clothes and heave up your breakfast, neither of which this child has nor ever has had.’

      ‘Do you take me for a fool?’ she demanded, forbearing to point out that her coat was already ruined. ‘One look at that poor little mite is enough to tell me what kind of home she comes from. But that doesn’t make it any less of a home to her. And it is the child I am concerned with, not my own convenience.’ She stooped to stroke the little one’s tear-wet cheek and her brusque manner softened. ‘Don’t cry, sweetheart, we’ll find your mama. Do you know where she is?’

      ‘On the beach. With the huts.’

      ‘She must be a dipper,’ Mrs Armistead said. ‘A bathing attendant.’

      ‘But surely she does not leave the child alone while she works?’

      The woman shrugged. ‘Sometimes it can’t be helped.’

      Anne, remembering the little girl had mentioned Tom, turned back to her. ‘Who is Tom?’

      ‘Me bruvver. He looks arter me.’

      ‘And where is he?’

      ‘Dunno.’

      Anne fumed against the boy, but kept her anger from her voice. ‘What is your name?’

      ‘Tildy Smith.’

      Anne patted her hand, stood up and addressed the doctor. ‘I am going down to the bathing machines to СКАЧАТЬ