Page 33 of Harpy of the Ton
“Simon!” Mrs. Gleeson cried. “How can you be so uncharitable?”
“You’ve not endured her company. She’s been ordering Mrs. Carter about as if she were a servant, and has found fault with everything, calling everyone who tries to help her a vile peasant. She struck Dr. Carter when he tried to examine her—so Mrs. Carter said.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. Charlotte Carter is prone to exaggeration.”
“I saw it myself—a bruise below his eye and a deep scratch on his cheek, poor man. The woman has the voice of a lady, but the mouth of a harpy.”
Vile peasant…
Where had Lawrence heard that before?
He rubbed the fading marks on his cheek from whereshehad scratched him.
Surely not…
It would be too much of a coincidence.
“Aharpy, you say, reverend?” Lawrence asked.
The vicar nodded. “I must beg forgiveness in my prayers tonight for such uncharitable thoughts. The face of an angel, but the disposition of a demon. In fact…” He tilted his head to one side. “I say, Mr. Baxter—are you all right? You look as white as snow.”
“I-I’m quite well,” Lawrence said. “Might you describe the young woman?”
“You know her?” the vicar asked.
“Does she have dark hair?” Lawrence continued. “Almost black—thick black locks that curl at the ends. And blue eyes—the most intense blue eyes that reflect the color of a summer sky, but in anger glower with fire even as they darken?”
Mrs. Gleeson placed a hand on his arm. “You look quite ill, Mr. Baxter. Simon, my love, perhaps Mr. Baxter might like a glass of your brandy. Would you fetch it?”
“Yes, of course.” The vicar nodded, then retreated toward the vicarage. As soon as he disappeared inside, Mrs. Gleeson spoke.
“Forgive me, it’s not my place to ask,” she said, “but this young woman—is she the reason why you look so uneasy? Is she…” Her voice trailed off and her eyes widened. “Sweet heaven…” Mrs. Gleeson lowered her voice. “Does she have any bearing on what you spoke of earlier? Perhaps you should go to Drovers Heath. Then, if you do recognize her—whoever she might be—you can reunite her with her family. Her husband—children…”
A blush spread across her cheeks.
“Oh dear—I hope you’ll forgive my husband anything he said untoward about the woman if she’s your…family. Having seen so much poverty and suffering in his work, he has little time for those he deems ungrateful. He can take you to Drovers Heath if you don’t know the way—or young Ned could take you in his cart. And if she is your family, you’d want to be reunited, won’t you?” She patted his arm.
Sweet Lord—they thought the woman was hiswife?
My wife…
A wicked idea formed in his mind—the idea to restore the balance of justice.
What if this mysterious woman washer—the woman who plagued his waking thoughts and besieged his dreams? The woman who had insulted, humiliated, and ruined him?
Perhaps providence had presented him with a chance.
The chance to exact revenge on Lady Arabella Ponsford.
Chapter Eleven
Why were thereso many people? And their incessant chatter—voices slicing through the air, bodies crowding her, menacing, filling the room.
A woman entered the chamber—the woman with the large nose with the wart on the end and thick lips who’d poked her awake yesterday. Or was it the day before? She carried a tray bearing a bowl from which steam arose.
An aroma filled the air—a not-unpleasant smell of…
Of what? As hard as she tried, the word wouldn’t form in her mind.
