The footman splashed back down the steps. The door to Helen’s house stayed open.
“She’ll receive me,” Arabella said, turning to Polly. “Quickly, the umbrella!”
They scrambled down from the carriage, hurried through the downpour, up the steps and inside. The door closed behind them, shutting out the rain.
HELEN WAS UPSTAIRS, seated beside a fire in her parlor. She rose as Arabella entered. “Bella,” she said. “Thank you for coming.” She wore a gown of black bombazine. Her face was pale and composed.
Arabella hurried across the room. She hugged Helen. “I came as soon as I heard. How are you?”
Helen gave a shaky laugh. She returned the embrace tightly, then stepped back. “I’m fine.”
“What happened?” Arabella asked. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Helen smiled faintly. “Thank you, but no. Everything is under control. Do sit, please.” She gestured to the sofa.
Arabella sat.
Helen stayed standing. She stirred the fire with a poker. After a moment she gave a sigh. “George died last night. He was at a . . . at a—” She bit her lip and met Arabella’s eyes. “A brothel. His heart gave out.”
Arabella stared at her.
Helen smiled, a twisted movement of her mouth. “Please don’t tell anyone.”
“Of course not!” Arabella exclaimed.
Helen sighed again. She laid down the poker and came to sit beside Arabella. “George’s lawyer has taken care of everything. He seems to think that the circumstances of . . . of George’s death can be kept quiet.”
Arabella reached out and took hold of Helen’s hand. She tried to imagine what her friend was feeling. Not grief, after the way her husband had treated her. Relief?
“Would you like to stay with us? You’d be more than welcome.”
“Thank you.” Helen returned the clasp of her hand. “But I’d rather be here. I know it sounds foolish, but . . . it’s nice to be alone.”
“It doesn’t sound foolish at all.”
Helen was silent for several seconds, staring at the fire. “I loved George so much at first. And then I . . . I grew to hate him.” She looked at Arabella. “I used to wish him dead. And now that he’s gone—” Tears filled her eyes. Shame was clearly visible on her face. “I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”
Arabella hugged her. “Anyone would be. It’s only natural.”
They drew apart as the door opened. Helen wiped her eyes while a housemaid placed a tray on the table beside the fireplace.
Where did the sympathies of the household staff lie? With their dead master, or their mistress? Their mistress, Arabella guessed, from the expression on the maid’s face as she glanced at Helen.
The maid curtsied and left the room.
“Tea, or hot chocolate?”
“Hot chocolate, please.”
What scenes had the staff in this house witnessed? George hadn’t limited his abuse of Helen to words; he’d struck her, too. The way Helen had flinched from his upraised hand at the Fothergills’ ball told her that.
Arabella accepted a cup of hot chocolate.
“Helen,” she said, hesitantly. “Forgive me for asking, but . . . will you be all right financially?”
Helen glanced at her. “Yes.”
“Are you certain? Because I come into my inheritance next month and I can give—”
“Thank you.” Helen put down the chocolate pot and smiled at Arabella. “That’s very kind of you, but quite unnecessary. A significant portion of my fortune still remains.”
Arabella nodded.
It was cozy in the parlor, with the rain hitting the windowpanes and the fire burning in the hearth. She sipped her chocolate and hoped that Polly had found a warm fire and a hot drink belowstairs.
She was aware of a lifting of her spirits. The last five years of Helen’s life had been miserable. But now she’s free.
As I shall be soon.
Arabella came to an abrupt decision. “Helen . . . When I come of age next month I’ll be leaving town.”
Helen’s eyebrows rose. “Oh?”
“I intend to buy a property in the country. Away from all of this.” She indicated London with a wave of her hand. “You’d be more than welcome to stay with me—for as long as you like.”
“Thank you,” Helen said. “What does your grandmother think of your plans?”
“She doesn’t know.” Arabella looked down at her cup. She turned it around in its saucer.
“But surely—”
Arabella looked up, meeting Helen’s eyes. “My grandmother will be glad to see the back of me,” she said, with a tight smile.
Helen’s brow creased. “Are you certain—?”
“Yes,” Arabella said, flatly. She placed her cup and saucer on the table. “I intend to set up schools. For children from the slums. That’s not something my grandmother would approve of.”
“Schools?” Enthusiasm lit Helen’s face. She put her cup down and leaned forward. “Where? How many? May I help?”
Arabella blinked. “You want to help?”
“Very much! I’m extremely fond of children.”
“Even children from the slums?”
“A child is a child, regardless of its birth,” Helen said.
Arabella smiled warmly at her. “You may certainly help, if you wish.”
“Thank you.” Helen picked up her cup again, but didn’t drink from it. “My biggest sorrow is that George and I had no children.” Her smile was crooked. “I should have liked for . . . for something good to have come from my marriage.”
“But if you marry again—”
Helen shuddered. “I have no intention of remarrying. But I should very much like to help with your project.”
They talked for more than an hour, while the rain drummed down and the fire burned in the grate and the chocolate became cold in its pot. Finally Arabella stood. “I must be going. We have guests for dinner. My grandmother will be wondering what’s become of me.”
“I’m so glad you came,” Helen said. Despite the dull black of the bombazine gown, she looked happy. There was a flush of color in her cheeks and a smile in her eyes.
Arabella embraced her. “If I can help in any way, if you need anything—anything at all—please tell me.”
“Thank you,” Helen said, returning her embrace. “But everything will be fine.”
THE RAIN WAS still coming down heavily the next morning, but by early afternoon it was a
