Loving Lily: Fair Cyprians of London: a Steamy Victorian Romantic Mystery Read online

  Loving Lily

  Fair Cyprians of London: a Steamy Victorian Romantic Mystery

  Beverley Oakley

  Copyright © 2021 by Beverley Oakley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

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  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.

  But not Robert. No, he’d never desired her. She still wondered why he’d married her.

  Her stomach clenched as she listened to the pair discuss the clinical details surrounding her incarceration—Madame Bradden’s sudden attacks of fear and frenzy. Lord, they’d terrified Lily too, but she’d never done anyone any harm. And each one had lasted only hours, leaving her wracked and depleted. But no less herself in the morning.

  Now Robert was taking her back? He had relented?

  Oh God, what other punishment did he have in store for her?

  “She has displayed no insanity this past year, no.” Sister Bernadette sounded proud. “Not, in fact, since she came here. We work hard in this house to beat the devil out of our inmates though it is well known that insanity cannot be cured. I hope Lord Bradden has a sturdy lock on the door of the suite in which madame will be incarcerated. And I hope he has thought long and hard about the merits of undertaking her care, himself. Dealing with the feeble-minded and criminally insane is our specialty.”

  Mr Montpelier nodded as he rose. “I believe he conveyed everything necessary in his letter,” he said, nodding at the missive that lay on the table in front of Sister Bernadette. “The carriage is waiting outside. We will leave once Madame Bradden has packed her things and, I hope, will make good progress so we can catch the dawn packet tomorrow.”

  “Madame is ready to depart now,” Sister Bernadette said, flicking her a look that Lily would have described as gloating had she not known what a sainted being Mother Superior’s right-hand tormenter really was. “Our inmates are allowed no possessions.”

  Chapter 2

  Lily sat, shivering with hope and fear, opposite Mr Montpelier in the carriage as it jolted gently down the hill away from her place of incarceration.

  She’d been given a brief opportunity to wash her face and hands, but she doubted she’d ever feel truly clean. Like the dirt and grit from the coal mines that polluted the air of the village, she could never wash away the sin that had caused her fall from grace.

  Not that Robert had lived a spotless life.

  But then, he was a man. He didn’t need to be free from sin to remain a pillar of polite society.

  “When does my husband expect me?” she asked, breaking the silence as they passed through the cobbled streets of the smoky Belgian village in the lee of the hill upon which nestled the maison. Then, more bravely, “He has forgiven me?” For this man opposite her must be in possession of information that would help Lily craft the artful petition she’d rehearsed for two years to be granted her freedom. Robert might be bringing her home, but he’d not install her as his lawful wife; of that she was very sure.

  He cast her a look that conveyed both irritation and disgust. “Your husband is not a forgiving man.”

  “Then…it is someone else who has secured my freedom?” She couldn’t contain the excitement in her tone.

  Mr Montpelier studied her a long moment before he looked away. Clearly, he was not the kind to humour her. Finally, he replied, “Your former lover is married now, with a child, and has, to the best of my knowledge, made no enquiries regarding your welfare.”

  Lily tried not to reveal the extent of her wounding. The dismissive tone was as painful as the information. So, Teddy was not behind her removal. She was being brought back to the country of her birth where she’d spent the first twenty-three years of her life, to be reviled and incarcerated, simply in a different environment.

  “Dr Swithins is not worth your tears.” Mr Montpelier’s tone was unsympathetic.

  “He promised to secure my release.”

  “He said what you needed to hear to make you go quietly with him. Channel your finer feelings where they are due, Madame Bradden.”

  “And where are they due? Who has concerned themselves with my welfare since my husband took me as his wife and then beat me and suppressed my will?” Emotion threatened to overcome her as she leaned forward, tense and tearful. “Is it at his pleasure that I am being brought back to him? Does his conscience smite him that not once in two years have I shown the degeneracy of character that was the basis of him committing me to an asylum for the insane?” Her flare of anger was tempered by his look. Lily pressed her lips together, suddenly afraid. She must heed her words if she were not to be sent directly back from whence she came.

  “Your husband has not spoken your name in two years. You are dead to him.” Mr Montpelier looked bored. “It was a marriage that was pressed upon him, but yielded him nothing but shame and misery. Not even the heir he required.”

  “That was not entirely my fault,” Lily muttered. “Nor am I the vain, self-centred creature my husband painted me.” She said this as proudly as she could, though the response was predictable as he raked her with disdainful eyes, starting from the top of her hideous flannel cap, travelling down her emaciated body in its grey flannel tunic to her shabby boots.

  “You have little to feed your vanity, it is true, Madame Bradden.”

  Lily stared miserably down at her hands clasped demurely in her lap, the nails ripped and dirty. “For five years, I tried to be the wife he wanted me to be.” She looked up. “It is difficult to respond to harsh dealings and cold contempt with an abundance of good humour and…fidelity.”

  “You traded your modest standing in society in order to deport yourself in silk and satin and jewels. Your husband spared no expense, I believe.”

  “My father bartered me to a man I’d met but once. From the age of ten, I lived quietly with my aunt, then seven years later, having barely seen my father during that time, he told me I was to be married. It was a business transaction that suited them both, and I was the showpiece for my husband’s wealth. That is not the same as bartering my modest standing in order to deport myself in satin and jewels, though I’ve no doubt it’s what my detractors will tell you,” she softly.

  “Marriage is a contract, Madame Bradden. Even at the tender age at which you married, you’d have been well-schooled in what your side of the bargain required of you.”

  “My husband has clearly revealed a great deal about our marriage, Mr Montpelier.” Lily’s aversion to the cold-faced man opposite her grew.

  “He has said nothing to me about you, or your marriage, Madame Bradden. This is what the gossips say.” He put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward. “You appear as fond of your husband as he is of you. Do you really want to be returned to his tender care?”

  Lily leaned back against the squabs and closed her eyes. “What choice do I have?”

  “I’m offering you one.”

  Her first response was to put her hand to her breast in a show of outraged modesty that caused him to laugh for the first time.

  It was not a respectful laugh. “Let me spare your concerns on that front, madame. You may have been a beauty, once, and indeed my endeavours in rescuing you from the maison are based on the hope that a good dousing and a month of nourishing food may
restore you. But right now, you are a filthy, vermin-ridden creature who holds absolutely no appeal for me or for any other red or blue-blooded male, I shouldn’t think.”

  It was the longest speech he had made, and Lily observed that although he phrased his sentences like a gentleman, a coarseness to certain words proclaimed him the charlatan he must be, she now realised, if he had made this journey unbeknownst to her husband.

  “There are few ways a woman can earn her keep other than on her back, yet I have a proposition that will safeguard whatever modesty or virtue you claim to possess. It is easy enough to return you to the maison.” He made a sweeping gesture of the passing countryside—muddy and bleak. “However, I wished to gauge for myself, during our journey, that you had the mental faculties needed to fulfil the new role I have in mind for you, should you accept my terms.”

  Lily considered him in this new light—abductor and charlatan. “Your terms?” For if he was not taking her back to Robert, he was indeed kidnapping her. “I must agree to your terms to gain my freedom?” Terms that did not include the bartering of her body. It sounded too enticing to be real. “What are your terms?” Despite the impression she’d given of outraged modesty, she couldn’t think of anything she would not do to secure her freedom.

  No, that was not true. She would not barter her body. She’d taken a lover once, and she was still paying for that mistake.

  “Patience, Madame Bradden. I would not overload your feeble brain with too much information. You have been overcome by enough novelty already today.”