Chapter 6. The Woman from Hivrom
At that moment, a metallic click echoed — the sound of a screw loosening — and the door suddenly swung backward.
The drunken man and Liri both stumbled out together as the door flew open.
Seeing her chance, Liri screamed and kicked him hard.
Her shrill cry ended just as a carriage stopped in front of them, the massive spokes of its wheels looming before her eyes. Without thinking, Liri dashed straight in front of the carriage.
“Whoa, whoa! Stop! Stop!”
Startled, the coachman pulled hard on the reins, and the carriage jolted to a halt.
“Hey! Are you out of your mind? You trying to get yourself killed?”
“Please help me, I beg you! Get me out of here — please!”
When the carriage stopped because of the commotion, the man inside peeked out the window. His gaze briefly lingered on Liri’s clothing before lifting back to her face.
“What’s going on, driver?”
“A woman suddenly jumped in front of us, sir. Nearly gave me a heart attack.”
Brawls between barmaids and drunk customers were common, as were scams involving women throwing themselves in front of noblemen’s carriages to demand money.
But this time was different.
The woman’s face wasn’t unfamiliar.
Christopher Belmore, who always traveled in an unassuming carriage to avoid attention, recognized her immediately — she was the same woman who had crouched in the basement of the convent, eavesdropping, the same one who had hidden in the greenhouse.
And she was someone who shouldn’t be in Londinium. She wasn’t supposed to be here at all.
Then the drunk’s jeering voice grated on Christopher’s nerves.
“What’s this? A fancy noble taking a trip all the way to Hivrom? Come to buy yourself a woman, eh? I saw her first!”
The man swaggered drunkenly, kicking at the carriage.
Christopher finally opened the door and stepped down.
The coachman tried to dissuade him, alarmed, but Christopher remained calm — so calm it seemed he wouldn’t even flinch if the drunk swung at him.
“Shall I call the constables, or handle it myself?”
His tone was composed, as if he were merely inquiring about the weather.
“What the hell are you babbling about?”
The drunk swung a bottle at him. The man didn’t even try to dodge. Liri squeezed her eyes shut.
Thud!
When she dared to open them again, the sight before her was completely different from what she had expected.
The drunkard was the one lying on the ground, gasping, a few broken teeth spilling from his mouth.
“You bastard—!”
“It’d be better for your health if I called the police. Shall I?”
“This is my turf! Even if you’re a noble—ahh!”
He never finished his sentence. Christopher pressed his polished boot down on the man’s hand, grinding it against the cobblestones without hesitation.
“A hand that’s no use in life… might as well be gone, don’t you think?”
A sharp crack echoed. Liri clamped her hands over her ears.
“Stop! Please stop!”
It was the first time she’d ever seen someone beaten so mercilessly, and terror made her voice shake.
Christopher looked back at her, then lifted his foot. The drunk scrambled toward the tavern doorway, whimpering.
“From a convent to this kind of place? Find another job.”
He peeled off his leather gloves and gestured to the coachman, who calmed the startled horses and opened the carriage door again.
But Liri stepped in front of him once more.
“He’ll come after me again. I know he will.”
Her desperate tone made Christopher pause mid-step.
“Please…”
Her eyes, pleading and wet, looked like those of a small bird caught in the rain.
Unlike the panting, trembling woman before him, Christopher remained composed even after dealing with a brute.
“…Get in.”
At his signal, the coachman helped Liri climb into the carriage.
“This makes three times now,” Christopher said evenly.
She knew exactly how it must look — a woman in disheveled clothes climbing into a gentleman’s fine carriage — but right now, all that mattered was escaping this place.
“Where’s your home?”
“Once I’m away from here, I can manage on my own.”
Liri awkwardly covered her chest with an arm. She couldn’t return to the Rutland estate looking like this. She just needed to get far enough from Hivrom.
“I doubt that,” he said dryly, not even looking at her as he took a coat from the wall and handed it over.
It was warm — recently worn — a fine cashmere coat that still held his body heat. When she wrapped it around herself, her tense muscles began to relax.
“Drop me near Saint Margarita Convent. I can go alone from there.”
“The convent’s gone.”
His cold reply made her clutch the coat tighter without a word.
“I’ll take you somewhere safe instead.”
The words felt like magic. She hadn’t told him where that was, but somehow she believed him. Wrapped in the comforting warmth of the coat, lulled by the steady rhythm of the carriage, Liri’s eyelids grew heavy.
Don’t fall asleep…
But hunger and exhaustion blurred her thoughts. The man’s face split into two, then three, then merged back into one — and disappeared into darkness.
“To the Belmore Hotel,” Christopher ordered.
He stared at the unconscious woman nestled deep in his coat.
Saint Margarita Convent was now a ruin — only the wall with a charred mural remained. He couldn’t leave her there.
Why didn’t she go to East Longfell?
It was improper to stare at an unconscious lady, but she was no lady — just a common orphan. There would be no brother or father to challenge him to a duel for his gaze.
Her face was still soft with baby fat, her skin pale like those of the working class. Long lashes cast faint shadows under her eyes, streaked with dried tears. Her straw-blond hair was dull and tangled, like hay.
Between the low neckline of her tight dress — which emphasized her frail frame — a small pendant glinted, swinging slightly with the carriage’s motion, making a faint, irritating clink.
She looked barely fifteen, maybe eighteen at most. A brothel? Ridiculous.
“Lord Belmore, we’ve arrived.”
The coachman’s voice brought him back. Christopher gently shook Liri’s shoulder, but she didn’t stir — lost in dreams.
He could imagine how hard her life must have been since leaving the convent.
Lately, Londinium had been overrun with vagrants and destitute women. Boys wiped strangers’ shoes and demanded coins; girls pushed wilted flowers into people’s hands or sold themselves.
Even the Queen’s efforts to visit and support the poorhouses hadn’t solved the problem.
A girl from Saint Margarita’s ending up like this…
You should have taken the convent girls too, my lord. If they turn to the streets, people will blame you. You expelled the nuns; now show them some mercy.
Rufus’s advice echoed in his mind.
An orphan with nothing was an easy target for temptation. If she was lucky, she might marry an ordinary man — but looking at her now, even that seemed hopeless.
Christopher Archibald Belmore wasn’t the type to care about the opinions of the lower class. Their hatred couldn’t tarnish his name or his fortune.
But politics was another matter.
Councilman Phil Gordon was still keeping a close eye on the questionable relocation of Saint Margarita Convent. Any hint of scandal had to be stopped before it began.
A foolish woman working in a tavern and bragging about being from the convent — that was dangerous.
He lifted her limp body. She instinctively curled against him — soft, warm.
Pulling his coat tighter to hide her face, Christopher entered the hotel.
When Liri opened her eyes, she felt her body floating — light, almost buoyant.
It felt like being cradled in a warm wooden nest. The faint scent of cigars, freshly cut grass, and mint hung in the air — and beneath it all, the rich, elegant aroma of cologne, the kind of luxury she’d never known.
She sat up abruptly and stared at the unfamiliar ceiling.
It was a small room, but adorned with fine curtains, a plush bed, and a single armchair.
Hivrom… the tavern…
Liri lifted the blanket and groaned. What had happened while she’d been unconscious?
“Did the noble come here to buy a woman?”
The drunkard’s sneer echoed in her memory.
Had he saved her — or taken her, like something he’d paid for?
She untied the robe and checked herself. No marks, no signs of harm. But just waking in a stranger’s bed was shocking enough.
Shaking her head to clear it, she crawled off the bed.
On the small notepad beside her, she noticed an embossed insignia — Belmore Hotel.
Papers and a delicate glass model of a building lay on the desk. A portrait of a sharp-featured, slightly irritable woman hung in a small frame nearby.
Liri turned — and saw a neatly folded dress on the sofa.
She hurriedly put it back on and threw the robe over her shoulders.
Her stockings were gone. The feel of the soft carpet beneath her bare feet was unsettling.
She slipped into her worn leather shoes.
What if I’m locked in?
Carefully, she turned the doorknob — and it opened easily.
Liri exhaled in relief.
She had to get out before anyone came.
At the far end of the long corridor, she spotted stairs. That must lead to an exit.
She tiptoed forward, like a mouse sneaking through a grand kitchen.
Then she froze — voices echoed from around the corner.
“Wait, did I hear that right?”
Startled, Liri looked around wildly, then bolted.
She spotted a wooden door blending into the wallpaper and darted inside.
Ah — the servants’ passage!
