Helen Dickson - Miss Cameron's Fall from Grace

‘Indeed? Forgive me, but I must disagree. I prefer to see myself home.’

‘As you wish. You are not my prisoner. You may leave directly if you so wish.’

‘I cannot do that. I entered your room unobserved; I would die of shame if anyone should see me leave.’

‘Then I will get Oakley. I would go myself, but I fear these tight breeches leave nought to the imagination. The embarrassment would be all mine.’

Delphine’s eyes travelled downward innocently and she was immediately sorry. Blood rushed to her face and she turned away. He was right; his physical state could not be concealed. She was thankful when a hesitant knocking came at the door.

Stephen smiled, amused by her discomfort, and went to open it. ‘I must pay recompense to the time you have given me, Delphine. What is the going rate?’ As soon as the words had left his mouth he regretted them. Hurt and humiliation filled her eyes.

‘How would I know that? As I have told you, I am no whore. You owe me nothing. I have my pride, Colonel, and will take nothing from you. However, a generous donation to the orphanage on Water Lane would not go amiss.’

‘I will see to it.’ His eyes darkened and he frowned slightly, his gaze holding hers. ‘For what it’s worth, I do not blame you for being angry. I feel wretched about the way I treated you. My conduct was inexcusable.’

His frankness startled Delphine and for a moment she was caught off guard. ‘Yes, it was,’ she said softly.

‘Subtlety is not my strongest suit, I fear, but if you wish to slap my face, it is at your disposal.’

Delphine slowly shook her head, still startled.

‘I would not blame you.’

As they stood silently looking at each other, Delphine felt a curious sensation for this man stir deep inside her—this man she had every reason to despise. He would escape retribution for what he had done to her, for she knew she could never speak of the shameful night past. Her body trembled so violently that she almost swayed off her feet. Last night she had suffered the depravity of a man. Last night had also provided a chilling insight into her own body and how wanton she could be.

When Stephen turned from her, Delphine saw her reflection in a cracked mirror across the room. Rage and fury roiled within her and bitter tears stung her eyes. Traitor, she silently spat at her image. You let him bed you. Shameless hussy! Have you no honour?

No answer came.

Stephen opened the door to admit Mr Oakley, who smiled sheepishly at her, but she returned the smile with a glare, whereupon he turned to his master, quite confused. A penitent smile curved Stephen’s lips. Perplexed, Mr Oakley glanced at the bed, his eyes widening when he saw the stains on the sheets. Stephen met his gaze and nodded the silent response to his unasked question.

‘It would appear you were mistaken, Oakley. This Delphine is not the Delphine you sought. It is unfortunate, but there we are. Arrange some transport for her, will you, and I am sure she will appreciate it if you see that she leaves the inn without being observed.’

Putting on her bonnet and picking up her bag, Delphine couldn’t exit the room quickly enough. She followed in Mr Oakley’s wake, hoping never to have the misfortune to see Colonel Fitzwaring again. A fierce hatred for the man burned inside her with an all-consuming intensity. She would never forget what he had done—and certainly never, ever forgive him.

She was still in a state of considerable shock after what she had endured, but seated in the hackney on her way home to Mayfair, she had yet to comprehend the full magnitude of what had transpired. A conflict raged inside her between shock and anger. Shock that such a thing should have happened to her, and anger against Colonel Fitzwaring for having done it—the most dreadful thing that could happen to an unmarried girl of her class. She froze as the situation and the seriousness crystallised in her mind. It seemed, suddenly, as if all her innocence had vanished. Indeed, there was a fearsome new depth to life that she had never known before.

Delphine was the daughter of Lord John Cameron and his wife, Evangeline, and they lived in one of the elegant houses lining Berkeley Square. Delphine was on the point of letting herself in when, as if on cue, the door was opened by Digby, the butler Delphine had known all her life.

‘Good morning, Digby,’ she said, entering the hall. She had no doubt that, like everyone else in the house, he would be curious to know her reason for remaining out all night—and with not a word to anyone. God help her if the truth came out. ‘Is anyone risen, or are they still abed?’

‘Lady Cameron is in the drawing room. She was most concerned when you failed to come home last night and rose early. She instructed me to tell you to go straight in the moment you arrived.’

Delphine’s heart sank. She had wanted to bathe and change her clothes before she faced her mother’s wrath, but it would seem there was nothing for it.

‘I see. Then I shall go in. In the meantime, have one of the maids prepare me a bath, will you, Digby?’

Delphine’s mother was seated in her favourite chair by the window. Although it was still early, the day promised to be as hot as the one before; the room was already sweltering and her mother was fanning herself. Of medium height and slender, her greying dark hair perfectly arranged, Lady Cameron’s anger was palpable to Delphine the moment she entered the room. With compressed lips the older woman looked her over in a strained, suspicious manner and began wielding her feather fan more swiftly, a sure sign of exasperation. Its quiet swishing in the silence of the room jarred Delphine physically. She crossed the room and clung to the back of a chair to steady herself.

‘Good morning, Mama. I apologise for giving you cause for concern.’

‘Concern?’ she snapped crossly. ‘You knew perfectly well that I wanted you to attend my musical evening last night. Not only did you fail to attend, but you didn’t even bother to send word that you would be out all night! This is most improper. Where have you been? I demand to know. And just look at you. Your clothes look as if they have been slept in.’

‘I—I was at the orphanage until quite late. Two of the children have gone down with something. I stayed to help. By the time I’d finished it was too late for me to get home, so I decided to remain there the night.’

Her mother’s eyes narrowed with angry suspicion. ‘I do not believe a word of it, Delphine. You are lying; I know that for a fact. When you failed to come home I sent a footman to the orphanage to fetch you. He was told that you had already left. I shudder when I think of the type of people you consort with. Celia has a lot to answer for.’

‘It wasn’t Aunt Celia’s fault.’ Having been caught out in a lie, Delphine knew she would have to tell her mother some of the truth. ‘I—I went in search of a child who’d gone missing.’

‘And did you find her?’

Delphine nodded. ‘Yes.’

‘Where?’

‘She—she had run away to be with her mother—at Mrs Cox’s bordello, at the other end of Water Lane.’

‘I see. So her mother is a fallen woman. And are you telling me that you actually entered that establishment?’

‘Yes,’ Delphine answered quietly. Her mother was a woman who had led a sheltered life in the exclusive part of Bath until her marriage. Her world consisted of daily promenades around Mayfair, shopping and sipping tea with her friends in the pleasure gardens, her evenings one long round of entertainment. She had never been to places like St Giles or Seven Dials, those stewpots of disease and depravity. She had never seen women like Meg or children like Maisie. She would never understand as Delphine and Aunt Celia did that Meg and women like her were driven to sell themselves on the streets out of desperation. She would never know how those women suffered.