Loving Lily (Fair Cyprians of London 6)

Chapter 1

“’Tis all yer goin’ ter get, girl, so finish up yer gruel if yer know wot’s good fer yer!”

Wearily, Lily picked up her spoon and began to shovel the thin liquid into her mouth. The warder at the maison didn’t lie, and Lily could not afford to lose any more flesh off her bones.

As mistress of Bradden Hall, she’d have declared the weavel-ridden victuals unfit for the servants. And the dogs.

But it had been two years since Lily had been mistress of anything, much less her own destiny.

“The Lord will have thee for thine…gooseberry pie!”

Screeching her latest favourite lines as she tried to evade one of the servants, Mad Maria passed by in a waft of stale body odour, some vestige of golden hair still bright beneath the filth. “Is thy a gooseberry that will grace the Lord’s gooseberry pie?” She doubled back to stand in front of Lily and cocked her head, her expression trusting and curious.

“Yes, Maria, now sit down and eat your gruel before you starve to death.” Lily waved a hand at the young woman, snatching back her plate as her neighbour tried to take advantage of the unguarded moment. The nuns would as likely let Lily starve as they would Maria, whose family would no doubt rejoice at being relieved of the burden and stain of insanity.

With an effort, she plunged her spoon once more into the grey mess on the plate in front of her and forced herself to eat another mouthful.

Death came to everyone, of course, but her will was not so diminished that she would let others hasten her to a miserable end.

“Madame Bradden, you have a visitor.”

Instantly, the twenty-five women in the noisy refectory stopped eating, spoons suspended in midair, some with mouths hanging open—in the case of the truly insane. A good half of the women merely turned polite enquiring gazes towards Lily.

In two years, no one had ever visited Madame Bradden.

Lily put her hand to her heart. It was beating so rapidly she couldn’t focus on the novice who’d delivered the information.

Someone had come to visit her? Pushing back a strand of lank, greasy hair that had escaped from beneath her grimy hessian cap, she looked down at her nail-bitten hands as her excitement drained away.

Her visitor was of no account. Unless Robert had sanctioned her release, a visitor was here either to gloat, or was someone she’d hoped would never have learned of her circumstances.

She rose, forgetting for a moment the food on the table in front of her, which was greedily snatched away by her companion.

“Mother Superior’s office.”

“Mother Superior’s office.” Lily whispered it in the reverential tones such a statement deserved. Punishment for only the gravest of misdemeanours were meted out in Mother Superior’s office.

But ‘someone’ suggested a stranger.

A stranger. Someone from the outside.

Teddy?

At this thought, her heart began to beat furiously once more as she followed the novice down dark and damp twisting stone corridors until they reached a large arched doorway. As Lily stepped into the panelled, comfortable interior, she thought of Teddy, who had brought her here.

Dear Teddy, who had declared his horror and torment at what Robert was demanding of them both, but promising that he would lay down his life to rescue her from this place.

He’d made her a heartfelt promise with tears streaming from his eyes as the nuns had torn Lily from his embrace.

No, Teddy would not let her down if he could help it.

Whereas Robert…

“Lady Bradden?”

Lily inclined her head slightly and glanced between Sister Bernadette seated behind her large mahogany desk, and a tall, spare gentleman who was in the process of seating himself as Lily lowered herself onto a spindly chair opposite.

His brown hair and side-whiskers were fashionably coiffed, but his suit was cheap. His skin was sallow, and his nose was long and sharp. Like his eyes which regarded her with obvious distaste. Lily didn’t recognise him.

“She goes by Madame Bradden, not Lady Bradden, Mr Montpelier,” said Sister Bernadette shuffling some papers on her desk as if she were looking for something, “having lost the moral right to be his lordship’s wife.” Like Mr Montpelier, Sister Bernadette’s nostrils twitched.

Not that their collective distaste should come as a surprise. Lily couldn’t remember the last time she’d been given clean clothes.

“So, Madame Bradden, it appears you will be leaving us.” Having found the letter she’d obviously been looking for, Sister Bernadette sent Lily an impassive half-smile while Lily hid her surprise. It was rare that an inmate left the maison other than via the morgue. “Apparently, a more conducive environment for your care awaits you back in England.” Sister Bernadette raised a sceptical eyebrow. “I will not scruple to say that it is my belief that the affliction which sent you to us is correlated with the dissipated ways you embraced in your mother country; however, your husband has written that you are to return.”

“My husband has forgiven me?” Lily found this hard to believe, yet she turned hopeful eyes towards Mr Montpelier who nodded briefly, muttering, “And I am to bear you back to England on tomorrow’s packet.”

“To my husband?” Lily glanced about her, suddenly visited by the suspicion that Robert’s intention was simply to lodge her in a different facility, perhaps having been coerced by a more kindly member of his family.

Then, remembering there were none of those, she pressed her lips together and thought of Teddy once more. Yes, her own Teddy—or rather, Dr Theodore Swithins, Robert’s friend before he and Lily had become lovers—who might still have sufficient sway to persuade Robert that his cruelty towards his wife went beyond barbarous.

“Lord Bradden has employed warders to ensure you are properly supervised, he writes.” Sister Bernadette sent Lily a warning look. “As he must, for there is no telling when the taint of insanity will rear its ugly head with no mercy for those innocents who ma

y be slumbering in their beds before they are consumed by the madwoman’s fire.”

Mr Montpelier looked alarmed. “How often has Madame Bradden displayed the…insanity which caused her to be incarcerated here?”

Lily noticed that though his fingers were long and elegant, he did not have the hands of a gentleman. The tips were stained and calloused. Whether he spoke like a gentleman was impossible to tell for his French was halting.

“She was a wild cat when she was first brought to us.” Sister Bernadette looked sorrowful. “Yes, a wild cat, believing the walls were breathing and the furniture savage creatures she must slay.”

“And, more recently? This last year? How… deep…is her insanity?” Mr Montpelier had barely looked at her. Lily hid her shame.

Until a few years ago, she’d considered herself the sanest of people, though she would concede that pride and vanity had once been her vices. Two years ago, the last time she’d laid eyes on a man he’d looked at her with raw desire.

She’d been used to admiration—from both men and women.