Page 8 of A Dream of Redemption
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The door shut softly behind her as his angel took her leave. Clary could not believe he’d let her words upset him to the point he’d almost shared his sordid past with her.
He turned back to face the room. Her scent drifted in the stuffy air. He knew that come tomorrow her view on life would be changed forever, and he wished he could protect her from that reality.
He thought back many years to his first few weeks of living on the streets with Simon. He’d had to hide Simon in a crate in a back alley while he tried to find food for them both. At first he’d managed to beg a few scraps but the longer he was seen on the streets in the same place the more charity began to dry up.
Then he’d begun stealing what food he could from stalls, open windows, anywhere.
Then due to the lack of food, and the beginning of the winter chill, Simon got sick. He became so ill with fever and a hacking cough that Clary thought he’d lose his little brother. He was carrying him, trying to find a warm place and some hot broth to feed Simon, when he collapsed in the street. He lay exhausted, scared and cold, as he watched a snowflake fall and thought they would both perish if it accumulated.
Then a man with the face of an angel stopped his carriage and ordered his tiger to help them.
He took them to a house that had furnishings of such quality Clary was too scared to touch anything. The man’s name was Angelo, and he got a doctor and medicine for Simon and gave them a warm, dry room with a roaring fire and freshly made bed so soft they sunk into their dreams.
Clary hadn’t realized that such kindness existed. Simon thrived and got well. Soon Angelo began to teach them how to read and write, how to speak with a refined accent, and how to be perfect young gentlemen. Life was full of luxury and kindness. He thanked Angelo every day for his kindness.
Exactly eight months to the day Clary learned that there was no such thing as something given out of the goodness of one’s heart.
He learned that everything one received came at a price. A terrible, soul-destroying, high price.
Clary pushed the degrading memories away and sat down at his desk. He still could not believe how lucky he and Simon had been since Her Grace came into his life. Five years ago Clary had helped His Grace fight his enemy, he’d helped save Her Grace, and he’d been rewarded. He’d been given this job and Simon had been sent to school, and now Simon was clerking for a solicitor and if he worked hard, Mr. Henley might one day help to train Simon to be a solicitor. All organized by Her Grace. Each day he walked into this house expecting this dream to be taken away from him—from Simon. Then they would find themselves out on the street again. The key, always a reminder, bumped against his hip, safe in his pocket.
Happiness came at a cost. Clary knew that. He poured himself a brandy and prayed working with Lady Helen—every day—didn’t cost him everything he’d strived to achieve for himself and Simon both.
He would die before he let anyone make Simon go back to that life.
Chapter 3
Clary tried not to stare at Lady Helen as they journeyed to Southwark, so instead he looked out the window at the streets he’d grown up in. He briefly closed his eyes and yet that did not block out her image. He didn’t need to turn his head to know she looked a picture of innocence wrapped in sin. His body thrummed with tension. Each time she smiled at something the other ladies in the carriage said, his stomach clenched with a longing so strong he thought his insides would rip apart. Why did she have to look like this on the one day her view on life would become tainted forever?
It would take them almost an hour to arrive at the orphanage, an hour of smelling her delicate lilac scent. An hour of hearing her velvet voice. An hour of looking at her beauty.
An hour of wishing he had been born good enough for her.
Thankfully, at the moment, Lady Helen was engrossed in conversation with her lady’s maid, Mary, and Lady Antonia, His Grace’s young stepsister, about their gowns for some ball tonight. God knew why Lady Helen had allowed Lady Antonia to come. It was not the time or place to be introducing two young ladies to the sad realities of life. He watched Mary’s hands flit restlessly in her skirts. When he glanced at Mary they shared a look that said Antonia should never have been allowed to accompany them. They both knew how awkward this visit was likely to become.
He wished he could have told Lady Helen not to bring Lady Antonia but it was not his place. Lady Helen was standing in for Her Grace. Who was he to think he could tell her what to do.
You should have told her.
For some reason he was concerned about what they would find at this orphanage. Mr. Brown, the overseer of one of their most successful and well-run orphanages out near Richmond, had originally brought the Southwark orphanage to Her Grace’s attention. Mr. Brown had heard rumors of the mortality rate and when Clary had read that register…Even Lady Helen had noticed.
“Mr. Homeward, how did this orphanage come to my sister’s attention?”
He turned from the window and studied the two ladies across from him. Lady Helen looked nervous while Lady Antonia seemed to think this was an exciting outing. Lady Antonia would be in for a shock.
“Mr. Brown suggested we should acquire it.”
He watched Lady Helen’s lips firm and her brow wrinkle in determination. He knew what her next question would be.
“Why?”
To hell with it. She wanted to know, so he’d tell her. Pretty soon she’d see how awful the orphanage was anyway.
“He heard that the overseer was pocketing money and that the children were not well kept.”
“Not well kept? Is that why so many of the children’s names had lines through them? The orphanage has a very high mortality rate, it would seem.” He watched her hands grip together as if that would keep the awful truth at bay.
