Chapter 6
“The Woman of Highbrom”
At that moment, a screw popped out with a sharp sound, and the door suddenly swung open.
The drunken man and Lily staggered together, pushed out of the doorway.
Seizing the moment, Lily screamed and kicked at the man.
Her sharp cry only ended when a carriage came to a sudden stop in front of her. Large wooden spokes filled her vision. Without hesitation, she ran straight toward the carriage.
“Whoa, whoa! Stop! Stop!”
The coachman reined in the horses, and the carriage jolted.
“Hey! What are you doing running into the street? Do you want to get yourself killed?”
“Please, help me! Let me get out of here! Help me!”
The commotion outside caught the attention of a man inside the carriage. His gaze lingered for a moment on Lily’s clothing before returning to her face.
“What’s going on, old man?”
“Ah, this woman suddenly ran into the carriage. Could’ve been a disaster,” the coachman explained.
He had seen drunken brawls in pubs many times, as well as extortion attempts from people demanding money by jumping in front of carriages.
But this was different. The woman who had leapt forward was not unfamiliar.
Christopher Belmore, riding in a modest carriage that usually went unnoticed, recognized her immediately.
It was the same girl who had crouched in the convent basement, eavesdropping, and sneaked into the greenhouse.
And she had no reason to be in Londinium—not then, and not now.
Just then, the drunken man’s voice, picking a fight, grated on his nerves.
“What’s this? A nobleman visiting Highbrom? Here to buy a lady, maybe? I saw her first!”
The drunk kicked the carriage aggressively. Christopher calmly stepped out and opened the door.
The coachman tried to stop him in alarm, but Christopher remained composed. Even if the man threw a punch, he seemed unfazed.
“Should I call the police, or handle it myself?”
His calm voice addressed Lily directly.
“Don’t say stupid things,” the drunken man slurred, swinging a bottle. Christopher didn’t even flinch. Lily shut her eyes tightly.
Whack!
Moments later, when Lily squinted open her eyes, she saw a scene entirely different from what she had expected.
The drunken man lay sprawled, teeth scattered from his mouth, groaning as bones cracked.
“You crazy bastard,” Christopher muttered.
“You’d be better off calling the police. Want me to do it now?”
“This is my turf. Even a nobleman! Ack!”
The drunk never finished his sentence. Christopher stepped on the man’s hands with polished boots. He crushed him without hesitation.
“Useless hands aren’t necessary in life, are they?”
Lily covered her ears at the sound of breaking bones.
“Stop! Stop it!”
For the first time, she had seen someone ruthlessly beat another human being, and fear took her voice.
Christopher glanced back and withdrew his foot. The drunk scrambled toward the restaurant door in a hurry.
“Leaving the convent to work in a place like this? Find something else,” he said, removing his leather gloves and signaling to the coachman. The coachman calmed the horses and opened the carriage door.
But Lily stepped in front of him.
“He’ll follow me again… that man,” she said urgently.
Her pleading gaze stopped Christopher in his tracks.
“Please,” she added, looking like a rain-soaked bird begging for help.
Despite facing the rough drunk, he remained calm and collected.
“…Get in.”
With a nod, the coachman helped Lily into the carriage.
“This is the third time,” Christopher said slowly.
It was easy to imagine how ridiculous it looked—a perfectly dressed man with a young girl climbing into his carriage—but escaping was all Lily could think about.
“Where’s your home?”
“I can manage alone once we’re away from here,” she replied, awkwardly covering her chest. She couldn’t go back to the Rutlands looking like this; for now, she just needed to get far from Highbrom.
“I don’t think that’s possible, given your state,” he said instead of staring at her, handing her a coat hung on the wall. His gaze remained outside the window.
The cashmere coat, apparently just worn, still held warmth. Relaxing into it, Lily felt tension drain from her body.
“Drop me near Saint Margarita Convent. I can get the rest of the way myself,” she said.
“The convent is gone,” he said coldly. Lily didn’t reply, clutching the coat tightly.
“I’ll drop you somewhere safe instead.”
His words were like magic. He didn’t even say where, yet she trusted him. The coat’s warmth comforted her as she felt the carriage rock gently and blinked her eyes.
I mustn’t sleep.
But after an entire day without food, her body and mind faltered. Faces multiplied and merged in her vision, then disappeared into darkness.
“Take me to the Belmore Hotel,” Christopher said.
He watched the girl, buried in his coat, unconscious.
The Saint Margarita Convent was now a ruin, its wall of saintly images all that remained. He couldn’t leave her there.
Why didn’t she go to East Longfellow?
Observing her unconscious form would have been rude if she were of high rank, but she was a lowborn orphan. There would be no brother or father to demand a duel for such a gaze.
Her round face, still chubby, pale skin typical of the laboring class, long eyelashes shading tear-streaked eyes, dull, tangled straw-blonde hair.
Her frail body, outlined by the tight, revealing clothes, with a necklace bouncing between her chest. At most, she looked fifteen, maybe eighteen. A girl in a red-light district. Definitely insane.
“Sir Belmore, we’ve arrived,” the coachman announced politely. Christopher shook Lily gently, but she drifted in her dreams, reluctant to awaken.
Life after leaving the convent had likely been grueling.
Recently, Londinium was overflowing with vagrants and street women. Boys were forced to shine shoes and demand money; girls sold wilted flowers or themselves.
Even the queen’s charitable visits to orphanages barely helped.
A girl from Saint Margarita Convent reduced to a street woman…
We should have sent the other convent girls too. If they become vagrants, the blame will fall on you. You expelled the nuns; now show some mercy.
Rufus’s advice echoed in Christopher’s mind. Orphans with nothing were easy prey for temptation. They might even marry an ordinary man by luck, but looking at her, that hope seemed lost.
Christopher Archibald Belmore did not care about the reputation of the lowly. Even if the commoners hated him, it would leave no trace on his wealth or prestige.
Politics was different. Member Phil Gordon was still scrutinizing the convent’s suspicious past.
Scandals that could spiral out of control must be stopped early. A girl working in a pub, foolishly revealing her convent origin, was dangerous.
Lifting her limp body, she naturally nestled into his arms. Warm, soft, comforting.
He entered the hotel, coat drawn over her face to keep her identity hidden.
Lily opened her eyes, feeling her body floating lightly.
It felt like sitting in a warm, wooden nest. A box with cigars, the scent of freshly cut grass, a hint of mint—luxuries she had never known.
She sprang up and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling.
Though the room was small, curtains, a plush bed, and a single-seat sofa indicated luxury.
Highbrom… a pub, she realized.
She lifted the blanket and groaned. What had happened while she was unconscious?
Did the nobleman come to “buy” a woman?
The drunk’s taunts resurfaced.
Had he brought her forcibly rather than rescuing her?
She loosened her gown to check herself. No marks, but waking up in a strange bed was shocking enough.
Shaking her head, she tried to regain composure and climbed out of bed.
A small note beside the bed bore the script: Belmore Hotel.
On the desk lay unknown documents and a delicate glass building model. A small frame in the corner held the portrait of a slightly irritable-looking beauty.
She noticed clothes draped on the sofa. Hastily, she dressed, wrapping the gown over herself.
Her stockings were missing. The carpet beneath her bare feet felt strange.
She slipped into worn leather shoes.
Was I locked in here?
Carefully turning the door handle, the door opened easily. Relief washed over her.
She had to leave before anyone arrived.
At the end of the long corridor, she spotted stairs, likely leading to the exit.
Lily crept along like a mouse hiding in the lavish kitchen.
Then, voices from around the corridor corner made her freeze.
Did I hear that right?
She glanced around and sprinted away.
Spotting a wooden door matching the wall, she dashed toward it.
Ah, this is a servant’s door.
