Gabby’s relief was so great, she grew lightheaded at realizing the girl wasn’t dead. “In my carriage, dear. Try not to move.”
“Are you carting me to Newgate?” Her voice was but a whisper.
“Certainly not. Can you tell me what happened?”
A tear trekked a path through the mud on her face from the corner of her eye. “He learned I was with child.”
Nerves rippled deep in Gabby’s abdomen. “Your husband?”
“N-no ma’am. I’m not married. H-he…”
A streetwalker then? Bond Street seemed a bit far from Covent Garden which was notorious for such women. Gabby wasn’t sure she was up for the girl’s explanation, but she couldn’t abandon her newly taken-on charge. “He?” Her own voice was a husky rasp.
“He f-forced me.” The tears cleared the trickled path. “I work at the theatre.”
“Who is he?”
“I daren’t say. He said he would kill m-me.”
Gabby decided not to push further. “You needn’t worry. I’m taking you to Huntley Hall. You’ll be safe there.” She needed to speak with Rebecca immediately. This was exactly the situation her friend had dreamed of circumventing. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Dinah, ma’am.” She struggled to rise, but Gabby stayed her with one hand.
“Lie still, Dinah. You’re hurt. I’ll take care of you. I-I promise.”
Two days later, Huntley still hadn’t returned to his dank mausoleum. When she asked after her husband, Diggs looked through Gabby as if she were invisible, speaking only when spoken to. Much like his obnoxious master. Mrs. Diggs, however, proved just his opposite, assisting Gabby at every turn with Dinah. Thankfully, the girl hadn’t suffered anything more dire than a bump on the head. The swelling on her face had lessened almost to normal, leaving behind an array of colorful bruises. She’d learned that Dinah assisted the actors with their costumes and that she was nineteen. That she’d been on her own since her mother had passed, over five years ago. A sad situation that was more common than not.
Gabby made her way up the stairs to the small room she and Mrs. Diggs had assigned Dinah.
“Hello, Dinah. You look much better,” Gabby told her smiling when, in fact, she still looked horrid.
“Thank you, ma’am.” She avoided Gabby’s eyes by picking a lint from a dark wool frock Mrs. Diggs had dug out of the attics.
“I’ve been considering your future.”
Her gaze snapped up, wide-eyed and fearful.
“Only with your approval,” Gabby assured her quickly. “Did you wish to go back to the theatre?”
Dinah’s gaze dropped again to her lap, her fingers trembling.
“You don’t have to make a decision right away. I thought I might send you to Doncaster. That’s my husband’s seat. Perhaps light duty under the housekeeper there to start? Of course, only if that pleases you.”
She looked up, her eyes shimmering with tears filled with hope.
Gabby’s chest swelled with contentment? Reward?
“I-I don’t know what to say, milady.”
“There’s no need to say anything. I promised you would be safe and I meant it.”
Gabby left a more joyful Dinah to herself and made her way to the garden. She breathed in the cool air and surveyed the weeds growing along the stone wall, successfully suffocating flowers that might sprout. Much like Huntley House pressing down on her, burying her alive. She heard a mew sound, and for a moment believed it had come from the depths of her own abasement. Then heard it again.
She angled her head, listening. What the devil? The gate to the mews was almost hidden, but the latch opened with her persistence. She listened again and finally located the source. A small dog shivered among the weeds, a starving mess of skin and bones. “Oh, you poor thing.” Gabby gently lifted her, held her against her breasts, uncaring of her bright yellow day dress. “What shall I do with you?” Obviously, she would be keeping it. There was no second guessing on her part. “We are a pair,” she told the pup. “Outsiders. That’s what we are.” It brought to mind the garden tea she’d attended at Lady Dankwood’s yesterday. It had been intolerable. The only person who’d spoken to her without avid curiosity had been Lady Harlowe, who’d also recently wed. A very nice woman, considering the horrid gossip her mother, Lady Ingleby, was.
Gabby lifted the dog and looked into the warm eyes of a breed she didn’t recognize, then smiled. “It appears I’m more like Rebecca than I’d previously believed.”
The dog’s tail wagged with unguarded enthusiasm.
