should be the peach gown for Miss Henderson, please. Emily and I may wait a few days.’
The seamstress promised to have several gowns delivered by the end of the week, and the peach gown in two days.
‘That is perfect,’ Amelia said after she had gone. ‘We have been invited to a prestigious dance that evening. Helene will need her new gown. We shall have to shop for some spangles tomorrow. A pretty stole and some dancing shoes to complement your gown, my dear. You might like to take Helene shopping, Emily? You know all the best shops and can show her what is usually worn at these affairs.’
‘Yes, of course,’ Emily said. ‘Would you care to accompany us, Mrs Henderson?’
‘As it happens, I have agreed to accompany Amelia somewhere,’ Mrs Henderson said. ‘You two go and enjoy yourselves.’
‘I had planned to visit the lending library this afternoon,’ Emily said and looked at Helene. ‘Would you like to come?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ Helene agreed. ‘Unless Amelia needs me for anything?’
‘No, I do not think so,’ Amelia said. ‘I am at home this afternoon. You must not stay out too long, for I am sure we shall have several callers and they will want to meet Helene.’
‘It will take no more than an hour,’ Emily assured her. ‘A walk to the library and back will be quite uneventful. We shall be back in plenty of time for tea.’
‘Then do go, my love,’ Amelia said. ‘It will be pleasant for Helene to see something of the town, and you may meet with some friends.’
‘You may bring a book for me, Helene,’ her mama told her. ‘It is so nice to have the opportunity of borrowing new books. Edgar had very little of interest in his library at home.’
‘Emily—look!’ Helene grabbed hold of her arm as they were returning from the library. ‘Do you see that man over there? He is beating that poor donkey with a stick. Oh, how wicked! It is obvious the creature is exhausted and can go no further…’
Helene had been holding Emily’s arm, but she broke away from her and ran across the road to where a man dressed in filthy rags was trying to force a donkey to continue pulling the heavy wagon. The wagon was piled high with all kinds of rags, discarded furniture and metal pots. The donkey was scarcely more than skin and bone and exhausted. Its owner had lifted his arm to beat the unfortunate beast once more when a whirling fury grabbed hold of him, holding on to his arm and preventing him from carrying out his intention.
‘You wicked, wicked man!’ Helene cried. ‘Can’t you see the poor creature is exhausted? If you force it to go on, you will kill it…’
The man tried to throw her off, but Helene held on, struggling to catch hold of the stick and wrench it from his grasp. She was determined not to let go even though he was much stronger than she and obviously possessed of a nasty temper.
‘Damn you, wench,’ the man snarled. ‘Leave me be or it will be the worse for you!’ He managed to pull his arm free of her grasp and raised it again, intending, it seemed, to beat her instead of the donkey.
‘No, you don’t, sirrah!’ a man’s deep voice cried and the bully’s arm was caught, this time in a grip of steel. The vagabond growled and tried to free himself, but ended with his arm up against his back, his chest pressed against the side of the wagon. ‘If you do not want your arm broken, stop struggling.’
‘Let me be,’ the vagabond whined. ‘She attacked me, sir. I were only defending meself.’
‘Be quiet, rogue, or I’ll break your neck,’ the man commanded. His eyes moved to Helene. ‘Would you like to tell me what happened here, miss?’
‘He was beating that poor creature,’ Helene said. ‘You can see for yourself that it is half-starved—and that load is far too heavy. The poor beast is too exhausted to pull the cart another inch.’
‘Did you attack him?’ The man arched his brows.
‘I tried to stop him beating the donkey.’ Helene lifted her head proudly, refusing to be ashamed of her action.
‘I see…’ Max released the vagabond, turned him round and glared down at him. The vagabond opened his mouth, then shut it again. The newcomer was a gentleman and a rather large one, his expression threatening. ‘What have you to say for yourself, rogue?’
‘The stupid beast is useless. It is lazy and a worthless bag of bones. I have to beat it or it will not move.’
‘It might work better if you fed it occasionally,’ Lord Maximus Coleridge said wryly. ‘Here, take this in exchange for the animal and be off with you before I call the watch!’ He thrust a handful of gold coins at his victim. The vagabond stared at the money in astonishment, bit one of the coins to make sure it really was gold and then took off as fast as he could before the mad gentleman could change his mind.
‘That was too much. One of those coins must have been sufficient,’ Helene protested as the large gentleman began to undo the donkey’s harness, freeing it from its burden. She patted the donkey’s nose. ‘The poor thing. It must have had a terrible life.’
‘Yes, I dare say,’ Max said and frowned. He arched his eyebrows in enquiry. ‘What do you propose we should do with it now?’
‘Oh…’ Helene stared at him. ‘I am not sure, sir. The poor creature needs a good home and something to eat. It looks quite starved.’
‘I wonder if it would not be kinder to put a ball through its head and end its misery.’
‘No! You must not,’ Helene cried and then blushed as his dark grey eyes centred on her face. She thought him an extremely attractive man, large and powerful, and, it seemed, exactly the kind of man one could rely on in an emergency. ‘I mean…could you not have it taken to a stable? At least give this unfortunate beast a chance to recover…please?’
‘Helene…’ Emily had waited for her chance to cross the road. ‘Are you all right, my dear? I would have come sooner, but there was a press of carriages.’
‘Because we are blocking the road,’ Max said wryly. ‘Good afternoon, Miss Barton. I did not know that you were in town. I trust you are well—and Miss Royston?’
‘Lord Coleridge,’ Emily said and dipped in a slight curtsy. ‘We are both well. May I introduce Miss Henderson? Helene—Lord Coleridge. Helene and her mama are staying with us this Season, sir.’
‘My compliments to Miss Royston. I shall call,’ Max Coleridge said and turned his gaze back to Helene. ‘So, Miss Henderson—what do you suggest?’ He saw the pleading in her eyes. ‘I hope you are not suggesting that this flea-ridden beast should rub shoulders with my cattle…’
‘Could you not find a small corner for him in your stables, sir?’
‘Oh, no.’ Max shook his head. He turned his head and signalled to someone. A youth of perhaps fourteen years came running. ‘Jemmy, this lady wants us to take care of this donkey—what do you suggest we do with him?’
‘Sell ’im to the knacker’s yard, sir?’ the youth said and grinned.
‘Much as I think you may be right,
