Page 10 of The King of Whitechapel (Victorian Outcasts #7)

ten

I F SOMEONE TOLD Christopher that he’d been run over by a freight train, he would easily believe them.

His whole body ached. His head throbbed, and sheer fatigue weakened him. On top of that, he hadn’t seen Elizabeth since he’d returned to Spencer Hall, and every time he asked about her, he was met with shrugs and blank expressions.

He propped himself up on the bed, looking at the moorland from the window. The servants had moved him twice to two different bedrooms, and now he was confined in a cottage detached from the main house.

The snow hadn’t melted an inch, but the people of the town had worked hard to clean up the roads and remove the fallen trees. He’d watched the progress from his bed.

Over two hundred people had died in the storm from the cold, or because the roofs of their houses had collapsed under the weight of the snow. The newspapers called the storm the Great Blizzard . The name sounded like the title of an adventurous novel while the reality had been a nightmare. Not completely a nightmare, at least for him, if he had to be honest.

The days he’d spent with Elizabeth had been the most peaceful of his life. If only he could see her, make sure she was all right.

After they’d gone separate ways, he’d planned to simply take a short walk to keep himself warm before going to Spencer Hall. But he’d come across a desperate woman asking for help because her husband had remained trapped in the collapsed barn.

He’d helped as best as he could to remove the logs and pull the man out, but afterwards, he’d been so exhausted that he’d fainted on his way to Spencer Hall. It’d been by chance that the footman and the groundskeeper had found him before he’d frozen to death.

The door opened, and a maid came into view. “You have a visitor, sir.”

Elizabeth .

His pulse pounded faster, but it plunged back to a slog when his father entered the room. He’d dispensed with his expensive, fine suits and swapped them with thick, travelling clothes. Aside from that, he was the same imposing man with a natural, commanding aura that demanded attention. His blond hair, so similar to Christopher’s, was greying at the temples, and dark circles bruised his blue eyes. An ageing, tired lion, but a lion, nonetheless.

After bobbing a curtsy, the maid left the room.

Father raked a concerned gaze over him. “Christopher.”

Before Christopher could say anything, his father crushed him in a powerful hug that tasted of fear. It wasn’t the first time Father had hugged him, but it was the first time Christopher had seen him scared and desperate. A quiver went through Father.

Christopher returned the hug, inhaling the familiar scent of tobacco and the minted shaving cream his father used.

“I was worried.” Father released him and sat on the edge of the bed, searching his face. “How are you?”

“You didn’t need to come here.”

His expression hardened. “Is that the first thing you have to say?”

“I’m surprised to see you here.”

“I had to come. I had to see you. Tell me how you are,” Father said.

“Tired. The physician said I only need rest and food, but otherwise, I’m all right.”

Physically. Emotionally, it was a completely different matter.

Father touched Christopher’s head, cheeks, and shoulders as if needing to make sure his son was all right. “Where did you find shelter during the storm?”

“Mama’s cottage.”

Father’s expression changed again, softening. “She protects you even now.”

Their love for Mama was the strongest thing they had in common.

“I was eager to come,” Father said in a low voice he rarely used. “I had to see for myself if you were all right. Charles sent me a wire to tell me you were missing. To come here, I changed trains three times and hired a horse sleigh. Many roads are impassable, and many railways aren’t clear yet. Hours of waiting without knowing if you were alive or dead.”

“I’m all right, Father. Thank you for coming. I’m happy to see you.”

Thick with emotion, his low tone matched Father’s. Perhaps they had more things in common than he wanted to admit.

Father hugged him again. It was a gentle hug that caused an ache in Christopher’s chest. The people he cared about weren’t allowed to be with him. Father, like Elizabeth, couldn’t show his affection for Christopher publicly.

“What happened in Eton?” The question didn’t lack kindness. “I can’t believe you stole from Pearce.”

Damn. Christopher didn’t want to lie to his father, nor did he want Father to punish Pearce and have an argument with him, and he was too damn tired to talk about Pearce.

“I’d rather forget the whole incident.”

Father pressed his lips in a grim line. “Pearce lied, didn’t he? And the headmaster believed him.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does.” Father clenched a fist, the fatigue vanishing from his face. “You’ll get back to Eton. I promise. And Pearce will receive the punishment he deserves.”

“Father, don’t.” Christopher reclined back on the pillow, closing his eyes for a moment. “Please. It’s pointless. To be honest, my life there has been nothing but a nightmare. The story we agreed to tell didn’t cover the truth for long. No one believed I was your orphan distant cousin. I don’t want to go back, and Pearce already hates me. Don’t punish him because of me. It’ll make things worse.”

There. Now he and Pearce were even. Pearce had saved him from the whipping, and Christopher had returned the favour.

“Your marks are commendable. Your teachers say your tests are exemplary. I got word that you’re one of the best students of your year. Your economics teacher wrote me that he disagreed with the headmaster on your expulsion. Pearce doesn’t have your scores.”

Yes, and that was another reason why Pearce hated Christopher.

“I can’t go back, Father.”

He wasn’t going to mention the beatings, bullying, and abuse. There was a limit to what he was willing to confess. Besides, unless his father fully exposed himself, there wasn’t much he could do about Christopher’s mistreatment, not when at school, Pearce, the golden boy, had every student wrapped around his aristocratic finger. The sons of earls, viscounts, and marquesses were all against Christopher. And he wasn’t going to mention what the students had said about Mother. Father would ask the queen to bring back public hangings.

“I appreciate you protecting your brother,” Father said. “I wish you and Pearce could be friends and support each other like brothers.” He squeezed Christopher’s hand. “When I’m gone, knowing that you and Pearce are friends would be of great comfort.”

Yes, well, and fairies would spread their glittering, magical powder, and every flower would blossom. Christopher made a noise that could mean anything.

“What do you want to do then?” Father asked. “Without a proper education, a gentleman’s education, you won’t achieve anything.”

“I can work. I don’t mind using my hands.”

“I want to employ you at my estate in Yorkshire. You can start as an assistant manager and work your way up. Management and business are what interest you the most, aren’t they?”

Yorkshire. Up in the north in an estate Father visited once a year if the weather conditions allowed the journey. Far away from scandals. Far away from London. Far away from Elizabeth.

But then again, that was the future awaiting him. If anything, he was grateful to be granted a good position and his economic independence. Elizabeth was a beautiful, untouchable dream. The first girl to ever care about him. The first kiss that mattered. The first true friend.

Those shared moments in the cottage would be their last.

“Thank you, Father.”

He patted Christopher’s hand. “I’ll make arrangements to leave immediately. You’re coming with me.”

“Immediately? I don’t think I can travel.”

“I won’t take you back to London. We’ll stop at my estate near Exeter until you recover. I want a trusted physician to examine you and a good cook to take care of your meals.” Father rose. “I’ll ask the butler to pack up your things.”

Christopher took a moment to think after his father left. He wouldn’t have time to see Elizabeth, and the worst thing was he couldn’t even complain about that.