"There are far too many silent sufferers. Not because they don't yearn to reach out, but because they've tried and found no one who cares." Richelle E. Goodrich, Smile Anyway

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Chapter Nine

Faith found Lucy in the laundry room with Hattie just before tea time. Lucy was sitting on top of a pile of freshly laundered sheets playing with her doll, while Hattie folded linen.

"Hello," cooed Faith as she leant down to lift Lucy into her arms. Lucy nuzzled the crook of Faith's neck and her hair tickled Faith's nose. It was one of her favourite feelings in the world.

"We were wondering when you would return," remarked Hattie. "Did you find one then?"

"One what?"

"A gift ..." replied Hattie slowly. "Mr Kensington wanted you to help him find a gift, did he not?"

Faith suddenly remembered the false pretences in which Cassian had asked her out. She had initially believed him. She had thought that he wanted her help in picking out a present for a woman. And if she was being honest, she was glad that it was not the truth. It was selfish of her to think so, but it was the truth.

"Oh, yes," she replied. "He bought a painting." Even if it was of Mrs Forster's vile sister-in-law, Faith liked the story they had imagined up. It really had not taken much for her to imagine up that story.

"A painting?" repeated Hattie, abandoning her laundry. "That is not awfully romantic. Why did he not pick out a nice bauble? That is what I would want from an admirer."

Faith shrugged her shoulders as she peered down at Lucy. "Paintings can be romantic too," she said, especially when people buy them together. Faith pushed away the thought. "Thank you for minding her," Faith said appreciatively, changing the subject. "Was she good?"

"As good as gold," promised Hattie. "We washed the linens together, didn't you Lucy?" Hattie smiled at Faith's toddler. "Then when I went upstairs to change the beds, Lucy went with Mrs Denham and helped make this evening's pudding. You helped stir, didn't you Lucy?"

Faith beamed with pride, but also with gratefulness at the acceptance of her new friends in the household. They all had accepted Lucy so easily. It truly touched her heart. Even Mr Wade had warmed to Lucy. Lucy had a sweet way of wrapping people around her little finger. "Did you help stir, Lucy?"

Lucy bashfully hid her face as she nodded.

"Come on," Hattie urged. "Supper will be served any minute."

Faith was absent from the conversation around the table as she cut up Lucy's mutton into small pieces for her. None of the conversation was really aimed towards her when Lucy was around. The ladies all cooed at Lucy, who bashfully enjoyed the attention, and the men were talking about the latest parliament scandal.

Faith could not quite understand how her trust in Cassian had developed over the past week or so. The man managed to extract information from her that no one else ever had. Not that she made it difficult. She freely told him things, but why?

There was something about him. She had sensed it three years ago, and she felt it now. Cassian Kensington was different, and that made her nervous.

There was an innocence about Cassian. He had not grown up around the poison that the rich fed themselves. He was not raised to think that he was above anyone. If anything, he probably still felt as though he was equal to the lowliest street urchin in London.

Cassian seemed to enjoy the privileges that came with bring rich, without having the selfish, entitled, pretentious attitude that seemed to accompany most men.

Despite the horrific way in which Cassian had grown up, there was not a cold, cruel, resentful bone in his body. Faith could see that Cassian only had love to give. She could see that in the way that he collected paintings. He was lonely. Today was not the first time that she had imagined up a story for a nameless face in a painting.

She had once created a story for every face in her house.

Cassian was good.

Faith knew that she had made the right decision three years ago. She could have given that man a few coins and moved on, but no, she knew she had to give him more. Something inside her had told her on that day to have faith in him.

And after all this time, her faith was repaying her.

Faith had ... a friend. She had not had many of those over the years. Ever. Faith had lived a very lonely existence. Even though she did not have two shillings to rub together, she felt as though she was finally coming up for air.

Things would be alright. Faith exhaled, a small smiled forming on her face. For the first time in three years, Faith was confident that everything would be alright.

Cassian was her friend. It defied all conventions for a man and a woman to be friends, but they were not conventional people.

Cassian was a man raised from the gutter to be a rich man, and Faith was ... well, she was something else.

Faith needed to be honest with Cassian. He deserved it.

"You aren't hungry, Faith?"

Hattie's question broke Faith's daydream. Faith looked down at her untouched meal. "Oh, I am. I was just thinking."

"Happy thoughts, I hope."

"Yes," replied Faith. "Happy thoughts."

Once supper was over, Mr Wade took Cassian's meal upstairs while the evening chores were completed. Faith quickly took Lucy up to bed and tucked her in before running back down to help.

At ten o'clock, it was time for bed. Faith closed the door softly so as not to wake Lucy, but she failed. Lucy sat up lethargically in her little bed, her curly hair sticking up in all directions.

"Mama?" she croaked sleepily.

"Shh," hushed Faith. "It is late, Lucy. I am sorry to wake you." Faith crossed the room and knelt down beside her daughter's bed. She brushed Lucy's hair out of her brown eyes and stroked her forehead. Lucy's forehead was so smooth. There were no lines, but of course there would not be on a two and a half year old child. Lucy had known no worry, no cruelty, and no sadness. Faith would endeavour to keep it that way.

Lucy would have the most beautiful life. Faith would move heaven and earth to ensure that she had the life that was so cruelly denied her brother.

Lucy's eyes fluttered and she fell quickly back to sleep. Faith smiled and kissed her daughter before changing and climbing into bed herself.

As Faith laid her head down on the pillow, she looked over at her sleeping daughter. Lucy was perfect. "I will give you a beautiful life," Faith whispered through the darkness.

Faith knew that Cassian would help to ensure that if she asked. A small part of her wanted to ask, but she could not. It would feel like retreating, relying on a life that she had left behind.

But she did need to be honest with Cassian. She needed to tell him the truth. He called her an angel, but he did not even know the reason she was on that road on that day.

He did not even know her real name.

***

Stay silent.

Be quiet.

Do not move.

Maybe he will just ignore you.

"Mmm, this wine is excellent." Her husband made a pleasurable noise as he enjoyed on whatever wine the butler had selected for them that night.

She would not know. She had not taken a sip. Perhaps she should. It would make whatever happened later not so painful.

"Delicious," agreed her husband's brother, John.

"It is divine with the pork," added her sister-in-law, Ruth.

She listened to the sounds of cutlery on china. Slowly, she brought her shaking hands to her own silverware and began to cut a slice of her own meat. It took all the strength she had to swallow. She was so tense her jaw could barely move. Underneath her powder, her ashen, lifeless skin was purple.

The unsteadiness of her hands created a rattling noise against her plate, one that drew attention from the whole table. She clamped her eyes shut, daring not to look at him. Anything, anything, she did drew his ire.

"Are you cold, Anne?"

Her eyes flashed open at the sound of her name. She mustered whatever courage she had to meet his cool, grey eyes. "No," she stammered.

George placed his silverware down gently, lifted his napkin to his mouth, and then exhaled calmly.

"Oh, well if you are not cold, then why would you interrupt our lovely dinner with your childish racket?" George asked icily.

She wanted to run, but she knew if she did, things would be so much worse.

John and Ruth just sat there, watching. They knew exactly how George was. Everyone knew exactly how George was. Her own parents knew exactly what George was like, but nobody would help her.

Nobody could help her.

She was wed to the devil.

"Maybe I am a little cold," she whispered, only trying to delay what was coming.

"Do you see?" George exclaimed to his brother. "Do you see the liar that she is? I am at my wit's end. She is a disobedient, lying, barren little bitch."

She winced at the words. Barren. She was not barren. But George had seen to it that there was no child. How she wished she had died on that day, too.

"I am going to go and check on Olivia," murmured Ruth. "You know how she likes to read when she should be sleeping." Ruth hurried cowardly out of the dining room to go and check on her eight year old daughter, Olivia.

George had boiled into such a rage, a rage over cutlery noise, and he threw back his chair. It fell over backwards with a loud crash. His boots thundered against the floor as he marched towards her.

All she could do was close her eyes and prepare herself. A single tear rolled down her cheek. She felt him grab a fist full of her hair and he pulled her to her feet. She gasped in pain and her hands went to her head. No sooner had she grabbed at her hair, George had slapped her to the ground.

His strong, hard hand collided with her cheek, and she fell, slamming her temple against the table before crumpling to the ground.

A sharp pain, localised on her temple, suddenly consumed her. Nothing else hurt in that moment but her head. She felt the familiar, warm sensation of blood seeping from the fresh wound.

"Fancy a whiskey, John?" George asked his brother casually. "I need something stiffer to wash down the wine."

"Why not?"

They both left the dining room, leaving her there bleeding on the floor.

All she could do was cry. Cry for help that she knew would never come. Nobody would help her. Nobody was coming to rescue her. She was going to die just like her son, at the hands of a monster.

***

Faith woke up with a start. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she was covered in a layer of sweat. Faith buried her face in her hands and cried soundless sobs.

It was not odd for her to have nightmares.

She had them often. But that one was a bad one. Faith touched the scar on her forehead, the one Cassian had asked about earlier. Perhaps that was what had brought on the nightmare.

This fear she had in the back of her mind made her feel so powerless. Fear was crippling. No matter how far she progressed in her life, the fear was always there to put her back in her place.

Faith took a deep breath and did her best to control her heartbeat. She threw back the bedclothes and went over to her basin to wash her face free from sweat.

That life was behind her. As far as anyone was concerned, Anne Pendleton was dead.