Redeeming The Rake (Delicate Hearts Book 3) Page 3

  “Is it always this damp in here?” Caroline asked.

  “Damp?” Andrew asked. He sniffed the air. “I guess I never really noticed, but I suppose it is.”

  Caroline gave a sniff of annoyance. If these prisoners had to endure such conditions, she could not help but wonder how many times a doctor had to be called in, or perhaps should be called in, for the number of illnesses that ran ramped through the place. If a doctor was indeed called.

  Though her surrounds scared her, Caroline kept her head high enough in hopes to display the confidence and strength she did not have. Low groans from inside the small rooms they passed made her want to stop and check on whomever was there, but she followed Andrew. She was not here to care for all the prisoners, just the one.

  They came to the end of the long hall, and Caroline pulled her wrap closer to keep out the chill in the air. And to protect herself from the moans and screams that echoed against the stone walls.

  “He’s in there, at the end on the right,” Andrew said, pointing to the last cell at the end of the dark corridor.

  “Might you bring me a bowl of hot water and a few rags?” Caroline asked.

  “I can do that,” Andrew replied.

  Caroline glanced into the dark cell. “And you will be close by?”

  The man gave a nod and pointed past her. “Right there at the end,” he said. “He’s a killer, but he’s usually quiet and doesn’t cause any bother. You should be safe.” He gave the prisoner a look of disgust that contradicted his words and then he walked away.

  Should be safe, Caroline thought as she clutched her bag to her chest and peered into the tiny room. The words gave her little comfort.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door, the metal hinges screeching their annoyance at being disturbed. A tiny window let in a small amount of light, but Caroline removed a candle from her bag and lit it. From the glow of the light, she saw that the room was smaller than she had anticipated.

  A cot fit snuggly along one wall, and on it lay a man, bare from the waist up allowing her to see the angry green and purple splotches along his left side. His shirt lay over his eyes, and his breathing came in heavy wheezes. He also had an array of lacerations, none that looked life-threatening.

  “Do you wish to speak to me?” the man asked.

  Caroline let out a yelp. “I'm sorry,” she said as she tried to ease her pounding heart. “I thought you were asleep.”

  The man’s lip curled into a smile. “It is difficult to find sleep here,” he said. He shifted in the bed and then let out a groan. “More so when one does not have the ability to breathe properly.”

  Caroline was surprised by the educated speech that came from a man in such a place. She had expected that Andrew would be the closest to anything considered cultured here. “I'm assistant to Doctor Brown.”

  “And where is he?”

  “Away,” Caroline answered as she set her bag on the only seat in the room—a small wooden stool with three legs. Even under the light weight of the bag the stool moved. She could not imagine sitting upon it. “I may be a woman, but I will still be able to help you.”

  Andrew returned with a small bowl and a handful of torn fabric. “Fix him, please,” the man lamented. “I don’t want him to die. If he does, it’ll be certain I’ll lose my position, and I need this job.”

  “He will not die,” Caroline said. “I can assure you of that.”

  Andrew gave her a relieved smile, and she could have sworn the man practically skipped out of the room.

  “Now,” she said, turning her attention back to her patient, “I must examine you.”

  The man said nothing as Caroline sat on the edge of the bed. She did not trust that stool one bit!

  She struggled to keep from shaking. What if the man reached up and tried to strangle her? Who would hear her? Her screams would only mingle with the others that filled the place.

  The man chuckled and then grabbed his side and groaned, but a small smile remained on his face. “Do you believe I will hurt you?”

  “I believe no such thing,” Caroline lied.

  “Four years here and I have learned to sense fear,” he said. “It is what has given me the ability to survive. And you? You are afraid. However, I can assure you, I would never do any harm to you.”

  For a moment, Caroline believed him. He had a graceful air about him—and a strange sort of kindness. Then she scolded herself inwardly. What a fool! she thought. He was a murderer and therefore could not be believed.

  “I appreciate you saying so,” she said. She placed her hands along his ribs. “Now, take a deep breath.”

  The man’s chest expanded, and he let out a groan.

  “Tell me how bad this hurts.” She pushed in with her fingertips.

  “The pressure does not hurt as much as when I breathe,” he replied.

  Caroline stood and soaked one of the rags Andrew had brought her in the tepid water. After wringing out the excess water, she placed the cloth along his side. “I do not believe they are broken, but you have a lot of bruising.”

  “That is good,” he said. “I shall live, then?” He made an attempt to laugh only to end it with a groan.

  “Yes, you will live,” she said with a light chuckle as she cleaned the larger of the two cuts. “After I leave today, I shall check on you over the next few weeks to make sure you are healing properly.” She rinsed the now dirty rag in the water. “How did you get these cuts? Did someone attempt to stab you as they beat you?”

  He snorted. “No. I'm afraid those came from the bars when they held me against them.”

  Caroline looked up at the iron bars and back at the man. “Keep a close eye on them,” she said. “I doubt they clean that iron often; you may end up with a nasty infection. I will see that you receive hot water at least twice a day in order to keep them clean.”

  “I will,” he said.

  She went to remove the shirt that covered his eyes, but his hand reached up and grasped her wrist. Her heart nearly exploded, and she tried to scream for help, but her words caught in her throat.

  “My face is bruised, and I wish no one to see it.”

  “It may be infected,” Caroline managed to say, though the words sounded choked. “Please, let go of me.”

  The man drew his hand back. “I’m sorry,” he said. “Forgive me. You may remove it.”

  Caroline pulled the shirt away and gasped. The man’s face was a collection of bruises, and both eyes were swollen shut. Indeed, his face looked worse than his side.

  “I will need a fresh rag,” she said. She walked over to the door and motioned to Andrew. “Can I get perhaps one or two more rags? And perhaps fresh water?”

  He gave her a quick bow and then rushed to do her bidding, returning in a matter of minutes with what she had requested.

  “Thank you,” Caroline said. She soaked the new rags in the clean water and placed one on the man’s face.

  He winced as he closed his eyes, and though she should not have felt pity for him, she did.

  “My friend died in here,” he whispered.

  “I’m sorry,” Caroline said as she placed a second warm cloth on his face.

  “I woke to men stripping him of his clothes and his boots, but more importantly, his dignity.” He took a deep breath. “There’s no more civility left in the world, for it was those men who beat me for trying to stop them.”

  “I often wonder about the world’s civility,” she said as she rinsed one of the rags and returned it to his face. “I have found the world is often a cruel place full of cruel people.” She dabbed at a small cut on his chin and then looked at the bruising around his eyes once more. “The bruising on your face will take several weeks to heal, but the swelling will go down in the next few days. I will leave medicine with the guard, which you are to take once a day.”

  “Thank you,” the man said, his eyes still closed. “When will I see you again?”

  Caroline thought for a moment. “I shall return in
four days.” She placed the dirty rags in the bowls, retrieved her bag, and made her way to the door. She stopped when the man spoke.

  “The world is a cruel place,” he said. “Many people make mistakes. Those men who did this to me? They are not without hope. Perhaps one day they will realize the error of their ways and make them right.”

  Caroline looked over her shoulder. “Some errors cannot be made right,” she said, thinking on the day Lord William had thrown her out of his home after making unwanted advances on her. “Some are simply unforgivable.” She said this before realizing she was speaking to a murderer. “Good evening to you. And get your rest.”

  “Thank you, Caroline,” he said. “I promise; I will rest.”

  Caroline gave the medicine to Andrew and instructed the man on its contents and dosage before making her way out of the prison. When she returned home, she stoked up the fire and hung the kettle. As she waited for the water to boil, she made an annotation of her visit to the prison. Tapping the end of the pen on her lips, she wondered about the man who lay battered on the tiny cot in the cell. That man, a killer no less, spoke of things being made right. She did not believe it true for everyone, for there were some who did not deserve forgiveness.

  It was later that night when a thought occurred to her that woke her from a deep sleep. Her mind returned to when she left the prisoner and the conversation they had as she stood in the doorway.

  He had thanked her and called her by name. A name she had never told him.

  Chapter Five

  The moment he had opened his eyes, William knew who she was. Even the large spectacles did nothing to hide her identity or conceal her beauty. Her name was Caroline, and years before, she had been a servant in his home. She was a woman who, on a stormy night, he had kissed against her will. Consumed by both drink and anger, he had sent her to the streets for denying him.

  When she first arrived at Applefield Estates, the woman had taken his breath away. She was a prize of beauty, but when he had mentioned this to Evan, his brother had looked at him with scorn.

  “That woman?” he had demanded. “She is but a lowly servant. Any gentleman can take a servant to his bed.” Then he had gaped at William as if he had grown a third arm. “You do not mean to have her as more than a bedmate? The son of a baron does not have a romantic encounter with a common woman; you know this as well as I. Are you mad?”

  William, however, having had little experience with such matters, had ignored his brother’s words, believing he could win over the lovely servant girl. He had heard of romance, but he knew not how to go about it. Yet, it seemed easy enough. His plan was simple: order her to the parlor when he knew no one else would be about, ply her with wine, and there he would woo her.

  What he had not expected was the fear in her eyes, nor the rejection of his kiss. However, it was her words that pierced him as easily as if she had run him through with a sword.

  She had called him kind.

  It was months later, when he first entered Walnut Lane Prison, that he realized how right she was. He had no reason to impress his brother, for that was what he had been attempting to do that night he had tricked her to meet him alone in the parlor. Yet, it was her words of how he was a better man, a man with compassion and heart, and what he had said had angered him. He did not want to be associated with such things, for his brother had told him they were for the weak.

  “What a fool I am,” he whispered. Caroline would be returning today to check on his progress, and the time had come to explain his actions to her. He owed her at least that.

  The cell door opened, and Caroline entered. William pulled himself up into a sitting position on the bed, scratching at the beard. How he wished he could shave the blasted thing off his chin; it made him look much like the murderous highwayman of which he was accused.

  “A fool,” he whispered again.

  Caroline set the black bag on the stool and rummaged through it. “Did you say something?” she asked without looking at him.

  “No. I am finding breathing easier.”

  She turned toward him, a smile on her face. He closed his eyes and remembered that same smile from years before, the smile that had first intrigued him. He waited for her gasp of recognition, but instead, he heard her say, “That is wonderful.”

  His eyes met hers, and she showed no sign that she knew who he was. Gone was the timid soul with whom he had tried to have his way, for this woman did not look away from his gaze.

  “Please, stand,” she ordered.

  He did as she requested, and though his side ached, he was able to do so without much trouble. She pressed her hands to his side as if searching for something.

  “You do not wince as you did before,” she said. “You are healing faster than I would have expected.”

  “It’s your hands,” he said. “Perhaps they contain a bit of magic.”

  Her hands left his side, and she studied him for a moment. “I do not believe…” She paused. “I do not believe I know your name.”

  He swallowed hard and his heart skipped a beat. “It does not matter.”

  She pursed her lips but did not pressure him, for which he was glad. Then she touched his face, her thumb pressing into his still-swollen cheek. “Does that hurt?”

  “No,” he replied. Though the woman before him had once been the object of his scorn—and admiration—he could not help but marvel at her handsomeness and the softness of her touch.

  She nodded, placed her hand on his chest and pressed down.

  “Oh, yes, that still hurts,” he said with a grunt.

  “Well, you are very bruised,” she said. “Yet, you will survive. Now, please turn your body like so.” She twisted at the waist first one way and then the other.

  “It is painfully tight right here,” he said as he touched his left side.

  She placed her hand to his side again, and her touch soothed him, somehow taking the pain not from the bruising alone, but from his soul.

  “From what I have seen and learned, the pain should be gone in another week, though you will remain stiff for a while longer. I believe in a month you should be as good as new.”

  New. The word shook him to the core, for he wanted to be a new man, one who could be redeemed for his mistakes. As he looked down at her, emotion overtook him, for the woman who he had treated so dreadfully was now caring for him. Granted, she did not know it was he, but regardless, the twist of fate did not escape him. Here he was, the son of a baron, in prison being cared for by a woman who had once been his servant.

  “Caroline, I’m sorry!” he blurted before he could stop himself.

  She stared at him in clear confusion. “Do I know you?” she asked.

  He stared down at the floor. His time for confession had arrived, and yet he had to force the words from his lips. “It is I, William Lymington.” The words came as a whisper.

  Her mouth fell open for a moment before she clamped it shut. The blue eyes that were full of life just moments before were now clouded in fear.

  “You were right,” he said, keeping his voice calm. How he hated to see that fright in her eyes. “I would never have competed with my brother. For what I did to you, I beg your forgiveness.”

  The woman reached around to clasp the handles of the black bag. “You, a murderer and a rogue, seek my forgiveness?” she hissed. “You disgust me!”

  As she turned to leave, William reached out to grab her arm. “Please, you must listen,” he pleaded. “I did not murder anyone.”

  “You are in here!”

  “And I am alive. They hang murderers, not imprison them. Even if my father is a baron.” She glanced down at his hand still holding her arm, and he released her. “I’m sorry, I did not mean to hold you. But please, I have not spoken to anyone in my family for four years. I have been cut off from them. It is as though I no longer exist.” He coughed and then winced from the pain that shot through his side.

  “For four years, I believed that the man who hurt me did n
ot exist,” she said with a vehemence that made him take a step back, his legs hitting the edge of the cot. “And I will continue to believe that. You are not forgiven, and you will never be. Goodbye, William, for I shall never see you again.”

  She hurried from the cell and was gone before he could even consider following. He sank down to the cot as the walls closed in around him.

  How could he have expected redemption to come so easily? Especially from a woman to whom he had been so cruel. However, not only had he lost his inheritance, he had lost the one thing he needed above all else.

  Forgiveness.

  ***

  A week after William had last seen Caroline, he knew she would never return. That despair kept him awake at night as he contemplated what would become of his life. A man without forgiveness, rotting in a prison cell. Though he would be released in a few weeks, he had nowhere to go. No home awaited his arrival, no family who would take him in. He had never been skilled in any form of labor; he knew not how to wield a blacksmith’s hammer or a painter’s brush. Truth be told, he had no skills for any sort of employment that was outside of the realm of a baron’s son.

  He had no old friends upon whom he might chance a call. Yet, the more he considered it, the more he realized that they had never truly been friends to begin with. They were people who had attended the same parties as he, but he had never formed any lasting relationships with any of them. He had become acquainted with a few kind women, but his whispered promises of a life together before taking them to his bed had ruined any chances of calling upon them now.

  Then an idea struck him. Ezra had spoken of a treasure. He tried to recall everything the old man had told him. Once he was released, he would go out in search of what Ezra had hidden away, for it would give him the means by which to live.

  If the jewels and money did not exist, then by all accounts, William would no longer exist. However, he could not focus on that possibility, for to do so would leave him despondent and unable to do that which needed to be done.

  A scream echoed throughout the prison; another prisoner perhaps meeting his fate. The sound also reverberated through William’s body, and he wondered if his fate would end in the same way.