Page 10 of The Lady and the Lion (Victorian Outcasts #9)

nine

T wo weeks had passed since the night they had helped Samuel leave the circus, twelve days since she had seen him tied to the captain’s bed.

Captain Jackson had sent a message to her through Dobkins, saying Samuel was faring well, but seeing him wouldn’t be a good idea, and after what Vivienne had witnessed, she didn’t argue.

The police were still looking for Lion Boy, and photographs of Samuel—dirty, with wild, long hair, and looking like a murderer—filled every newspaper and street poster.

And that was pretty much the only good news of the past weeks because going to the cemetery with her parents took a time already fraught with worry, and weighed her down further.

Dirt covered Adele’s name on the tombstone. Father placed a large bouquet of white roses on the grave. Mother clenched the silver box against her chest, her face pale and looking frail.

Years had passed since her sister’s death, but every time Vivienne visited Adele’s grave, the pain hurt her as fresh as ever. When she was at home, taken by her daily routine, the pain remained dull. But there was no escaping from the truth in front of the cold gravestone.

Father swallowed hard but didn’t say anything.

Mother caressed the tombstone. “Lady Grenville told me I should stop feeling pain for Adele’s death. You have four sons and four daughters , she said, Adele wasn’t your only child .”

Father wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “People don’t understand. Don’t waste time on their words.”

Vivienne stood next to her mother. While she found Lady Grenville’s words indelicate and hurtful, there was some truth in them. Mother hadn’t moved forwards. She’d stopped living. She’d stopped being a mother. She was a wraith fuelled by grief.

“I’ll keep mourning my child for as long as I breathe,” Mother said.

Vivienne held her hand. “We all miss Adele?—”

“No, it’s not true. I’m the only one who still thinks about her. Your brothers and sisters go to dinner parties and holidays abroad, and celebrate their children’s birthdays. They aren’t wearing black.” She turned to Father then Vivienne. “Neither of you are.”

“To keep living and enjoying my grandchildren doesn’t mean I forgot my daughter,” Father said. “Or that our sons and daughters forgot her. Exactly because they understand how fickle life is, they want to spend time with their own children. You can’t blame them for that.”

“So you agree with Lady Greenville.” Mother slid her hand out of Vivienne’s. “I should stop mourning.”

“No.” Father took her by the shoulders. “I want you to live your life again. You have us. You have grandchildren, who want to be with you. You have a family who loves you. I love you, Jane.”

“And I should betray Adele? My own blood?”

Vivienne drew in a shaky breath. “Mother?—”

“You were right. No one understands.” Mother turned and hurried along the gravel path towards the main gate.

Father exhaled. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“It’s not your fault. She lives in her world of pain, shutting us out. There’s nothing we can say that would make her feel better. She doesn’t want to feel better. She would feel guilty.”

“I’m worried about you.” Father took her arm, and together they walked towards the gate.

“She suffocates you with rules and fears. She argues every time you want to leave the house, and you haven’t had your Season.

I confess I don’t know what to do with her.

I have tried to be patient. I have tried to talk to her. Nothing has worked.”

“I just hope…”

“What?” He paused to stare at her.

“Am I a bad sister for wanting to be happy again? A bad daughter? I loved Adele. I’ll always cherish her memory, but I want to smile and be happy.”

“Darling.” Father hugged her. “You aren’t a bad sister, much less a bad daughter. Live your life and be happy. Adele would have wanted that.” He kissed the top of her head.

She walked next to him, resting her head on his shoulder.

Yet she wondered if she was doing the right thing.

After days spent feeling sick, confused, and in pain, Samuel—he had a name now—felt human, maybe for the first time in his life.

The difference between before and after cleansing his blood was striking.

His mind was clear, and his skin didn’t itch.

The downside was that there was nothing to shield his mind from the painful memories.

His sleep was light and troubled, and since his feelings weren’t numbed anymore, his shame increased tenfold.

As the morphia had painfully left his blood, food tasted better, and his appetite had grown proportionally. He felt guilty, considering he did nothing but empty the captain’s pantry.

The room that functioned as a dining room, kitchen, and sitting room, even though untidy and chaotic was so much better than his cage. And if he was completely honest, he didn’t look forward to leaving the flat to explore the outside world. Not yet.

What he saw of London from a small window was a jumble of loud people, noisy carts jerking along the street, donkeys braying and horses neighing, and the loud blasts from the nearby furnaces booming.

He spent hours just watching that small corner of London.

While he loved the colours and the activity, the world outside the flat scared him as well.

He hadn’t seen Vivienne, or if she’d been there, he didn’t remember her.

He hoped she hadn’t come when he was out of control from withdrawal.

In the circus, his life had been on display for everyone to see and laugh at.

The moment he’d been at his worst should be for him only.

Having the captain as a witness was already hard enough to endure.

Not to mention the constant fear of expecting Murdock to barge into the house and drag him back in chains. The captain didn’t know who Murdock was. He believed Cade was the ringmaster. Murdock could easily deceive him. All because Samuel couldn’t write and explain the true story.

He finished wolfing down a plate of bacon, eggs, and buttered scones while Captain Jackson filled a large tin container with hot water in the bedroom. Back and forth he went until the container was full.

“It’s your moment, lad.” He showed Samuel a pair of shiny scissors. “You need a proper bath, and we need to cut that…” He waved the scissors in a circle. “Thing. I tried to comb it and broke two combs.”

Samuel rose from the chair, licking the grease from his fingers and palms. Hygiene had never been Murdock’s first concern when it came to Samuel. He’d never had a proper bath, only cold showers with a sponge.

“Now, I’m not a stickler for manners,” Captain Jackson said. “But it’s better if you don’t lick your fingers after a meal in front of a lady, or anyone. Wash them. There’s a basin with soapy water over there. Then I’ll cut your hair first.”

Samuel did as he was told, wondering how many rules he had to learn to live among normal people. After he finished, he sat on a chair as Captain Jackson cut his hair without mercy.

Long, knotted dark brown strands fell to the floor, and somehow, he couldn’t stop staring at them. He didn’t remember having ever cut his hair. Those strands had been with him since his imprisonment had begun.

Another chain was broken.

Captain Jackson clicked his tongue. “I did my best, but you need to wash it before I continue.” He pointed at the tub filled with steamy water.

“In you go. The soap is there, and on that chair, you’ll find some clothes, not elegant but decent.

The harder you scrub, the better. And remember.

” He paused, brushing Samuel’s hair. “When you look into the mirror, you’re a man not an animal. Don’t forget it.”

Samuel had no idea what the captain meant but nodded. Alone in the bedroom, he removed his clothes and stepped into the tub. Steam fogged the air, and a pungent scent wafted from the soap when he picked it up.

The hot water was so far from the freezing baths he’d taken now and then. The sensation of the warm water on his skin cleaned even his thoughts.

He closed his eyes, relishing every moment of the wonderful hot bath.

Captain Jackson had taken care of him, washing him with a sponge when he’d been weak in the bed, but the feeling of scrubbing himself was more relaxing. He wanted to get rid of all the dirt from the circus. He wanted to wash away the pain and hopelessness.

He scrubbed himself until his skin was raw and red and the water was cold and dirty.

The clean clothes chafed his skin, but the fresh scent of soap was intoxicating.

The trousers were a bit too short, but between them and the shirt, he was properly dressed, like the people who had stared at him in horror.

When he came out of the bedroom, Captain Jackson eyed him with approval. “Excellent. Let’s finish your hair.”

As the captain worked on taming the wet hair and cutting the beard, Samuel wanted to ask a dozen questions. Why was the captain helping him? Where was Vivienne? What was he supposed to do now? What if Murdock found him again? The last thought sent a chill down his spine.

The minty scent of the shaving cream tickled his nose as the captain applied it to his face.

“I have a steady hand,” the captain said, “but don’t make abrupt moves. My hand could slip.”

Samuel remained still as the captain ran a long, sharp razor over his cheeks and neck. A warm towel removed the last traces of shaving cream, and he touched his face. How odd it was not to feel the beard.

Then the captain attacked Samuel’s hair again—it was a battle of scissors and combs.

“Done.” Captain Jackson passed a comb through Samuel’s hair before handing him a mirror. “I’m not an expert, but in the army, I cut the hair of many soldiers.”

Samuel tilted his head right and left, watching his face in the mirror at different angles. His face. He didn’t recognise himself.