by Jayne Davis
Bella stared, bewildered, until she felt a presence behind her. “I’ll explain later,” Mr Carterton said, low-voiced. “Come back into the hall.”
She stepped back, and he reached around her to close the door. The smell still lingered, and Bella put a hand to her mouth, hoping she wasn’t about lose her breakfast.
“I’m up to date, Jarndyce.” The shrill voice came from a plump woman, advancing on them down the hall. “You’ve no business barging in like this.”
“I want to find Sarah Fletcher, Ruby, and I got this address for her.”
“Well, she ain’t here. And if you find ’er, you can remind her she still owes me for the last weeks.”
“Where does she live?”
Ruby shook her head. Bella caught the glint of a coin as Jarndyce held it up. “You help us find her, and we’ll pay what she owes. And I know how much you charge, Ruby Doyle, so don’t try anything on me.”
Ruby sniffed. “In Saddler’s Alley, last I heard. Had a nice little room on the ground floor.”
“I know it,” Jarndyce confirmed.
“But she ain’t there now—I went to look when she didn’t bring Billy in, nor my money.”
Billy was a child? Perhaps the baby was Fletcher’s younger brother.
“That’ll be two shillings, Mr Jarndyce.”
Jarndyce handed the coins over. “There’ll be another two if you find her and send word to me.”
“Do yer own searching. I ain’t got the time to go looking for drabs like ’er. Now be off with the lot of yer.”
The door slammed behind them as they left. Bella had so many questions, but Mr Carterton was talking to Jarndyce. She could wait—the important thing now was to find Fletcher.
Nick stopped at the corner of Saddler’s Alley—a street indistinguishable from the others they’d walked along. He looked down at Lady Isabella. “We’ll let Archer and Jarndyce find out where your Fletcher has gone. They’ll do much better alone than with four people trailing after them.”
Although she’d agreed to follow his orders, he was relieved when she nodded. He hadn’t been sure she could keep to her promise. He still couldn’t fully understand the impulse that had led him to offer his escort, although part of his reason was the justice of her complaint that she would never learn about the world if no-one was prepared to tell her anything. Showing her was better than merely explaining, and after this trip she would have a much better idea of the dangers of venturing into somewhere like St Giles.
“Mr Carterton?”
“Yes?” He kept his eyes on Archer and Jarndyce as they knocked on doors further down the street.
“Those babies, why were they there? Why did the house smell of paregoric?”
“Ruby looks after them while their parents work. The laudanum in the paregoric stops them crying.”
“Poor little mites,” the maid said, shaking her head.
“Does that happen in Over Minster?” Lady Isabella asked the maid.
“Not that I know of, m… er, Bella. There’s more like to be grandmas to watch the little ones, or older sisters what don’t work. And they can take babies out to the fields with them if the weather’s not too bad.”
“The children at Ruby’s will be put to work as soon as they’re old enough,” Nick added, looking at her. “As climbing boys for chimney sweeps, or trained as pick-pockets or thieves.”
She appeared to be mulling that over, her brow creased. “The laudanum cannot be good for them, surely?”
“If it wasn’t that, it would be gin,” he said. “It’s cheaper than feeding them properly and keeping them clean.” The air in the room had almost choked him, and he’d been in these places before. The sight and smell must be well beyond Lady Isabella’s experience.
“Oh. Fletcher left him… Billy… there?”
“I reckon Fletcher didn’t have no choice,” the maid said. “That Madame Donnard wouldn’t have let her have Billy at work, no matter how quiet the mite was.”
The maid had the right of it. With relief, he saw Jarndyce approaching—that would put an end to explanations for now.
“Found where she lodges, guv.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, to where Archer waited half-way down the street. “What now?”
“I’ll go in with Archer,” Nick decided as they all walked down the street. “No offence, Jarndyce, but you’re rather alarming.”
Jarndyce grinned, as Nick knew he would. “It all helps with the job.”
“Stay here, La… Bella,” Nick said as they reached the doorway. “You’ve got Jarndyce and Langton—you’ll be safe.”
Lady Isabella opened her mouth, but just nodded.
They trod quietly up the stairs, their footsteps drowned by a shouted argument in a room on the second floor. On the top landing, Nick waved Archer to stand back, and pressed his ear to the door. If Fletcher had resorted to prostitution, interrupting her with a client would likely lose her the money for that transaction. Hearing nothing, he tapped on the door.
“Miss Fletcher?”
Still with his ear to the door, he heard footsteps.
“Who is it?” The voice was high, nervous.
“I’ve come from Lady Isabella.” Nick kept his voice low.
“What for? I didn’t steal from—”
“Miss Fletcher, we are here to help. Please, could we have this discussion inside your room?”
A bolt scraped, and the door opened an inch. All Nick could see was a slice of face with too-prominent cheekbones and eyes with dark shadows.
“What do you want? Why would Lady Isabella send you?”
Fletcher was distrustful, and who could blame her?
“She feels she was partly responsible for you losing your position, and she wants to help. Will you come with me?”
“You’re not here to collect the money Madame said was hers?”
“No, Miss Fletcher. She—Lady Isabella—is waiting outside. Can I bring her up?”
“She’s here? No, it’s not right for someone—”
“Miss Fletcher? She is waiting downstairs.” He didn’t want to leave Lady Isabella outside any longer than he had to.
Fletcher sighed. “She’d best come up.”
“Fetch her and the maid, Archer. Leave Jarndyce outside, though.”
Archer hurried down the stairs. Nick waited on the landing; Fletcher didn’t move away from the door until the two women appeared.
Bella tried not to stare as she and Mr Carterton followed Fletcher into her room, leaving Molly to wait on the landing. The seamstress looked even thinner than before. The ceiling was low, sloping in odd angles, with a tiny window that let in little light. A small table stood beneath the window, crowded with a pile of white fabric, scissors, a pin cushion, and spools of thread. A bundled blanket on the bed had a little head sticking out of it—Billy, sound asleep. The furnishings made plain that this was the only room Fletcher inhabited.
“Won’t you sit down, my lady?” Fletcher pulled out the single chair.
Bella sat. Mr Carterton remained standing in the middle of the room—the only place he could stand upright.
“You should not be here, my lady.” Fletcher examined the tattered and dirty clothing Bella wore, but did not comment.
“Nor should you,” Bella stated. “If I hadn’t asked you to stay and advise me, you would still have your position.”
Fletcher looked down at her hands.
“That is true, is it not?”
Fletcher finally nodded. “Madame overheard me telling Dawkins I had enough money to pay… pay what I owed, and when I wouldn’t tell her where I got it, she accused me of stealing.”
That was what the new seamstress had said. “Why didn’t you tell her?”
Fletcher looked at her with hopeless eyes. “She’d say I’d stolen it from her, because I was working for her when I came to you.”
“That’s not fair,” Bella protested, but there was nothing she could do about it now. “Will you come with me, Miss Fletc
her? And bring your brother?”
Fletcher’s eyes widened, and Bella caught a sudden movement from Mr Carterton out of the corner of her eye. Billy was not her brother, then. She’d heard stories from Molly about village girls needing hurried marriages before a baby arrived; that might be the case here, with a man who would not do the decent thing.
“Bring Billy,” Bella amended. “I don’t know what we can do, but I will not let you starve.” Nor would she let Fletcher sell herself.
Fletcher glanced at Mr Carterton, then back to Bella. “Thank you, my lady.” She moved over to the table and folded up the fabric—a half-made shirt—wrapping it in a shawl together with a worn chemise hanging on a peg behind the door. Bella took the bundle, with only a token protest from Fletcher, leaving the woman to carry her son as they made their way down the stairs again.
Billy was suspiciously quiet as they all walked back to where the hackney waited, not stirring even when it started to rain. Bella pulled her shawl tighter as they hurried the last few steps and clambered into the carriage. Mr Carterton spoke to Jarndyce, and Bella saw coins changing hands before the big man touched his cap and walked briskly away.
Bella had questions, a great many, but it seemed indelicate to question Mr Carterton about the challenges facing the poor in front of Fletcher. She would have to wait.
Chapter 14
Mr Carterton sent Bella straight into the Tregarths’ house when the hackney pulled up in the mews, and Lady Tregarth whisked her upstairs. Once in Lady Tregarth’s room she stripped off the dirty clothing, relieved to be rid of it. But the smell seemed to linger in her hair and on her skin, and she wanted nothing more than to immerse herself completely in hot water. Even then, she suspected the fetid stink of the room where the children were kept would stay with her for some time.
“Where’s Fletcher?” she asked Molly as she washed her hands and face in the hot water Lady Tregarth had provided. She pulled a fresh chemise over her head and commenced the task of getting the dirt from beneath her fingernails.
“The housekeeper took her off,” Molly said, combing out Bella’s hair and attempting to restore it to its previous style.
“The boy—do they always sleep so soundly?”
“Things’d be easier if they did,” Molly said. “When I was looking after our little ones, they was always making a fuss. I reckon Billy was given gin or laudanum, same as them others. No, hold still, my lady, do!”
“Sorry,” Bella said. Somehow, Fletcher dosing her own child seemed much worse. At least the child hadn’t smelled as if he had soiled himself, not like the ones at Ruby Doyle’s place.
“I don’t reckon Fletcher had a choice there, neither,” Molly went on. “If the babe was crying too much, other folks in the building would complain.”
“Oh. Molly, do you think the baby is a—?”
“You’d have to ask Fletcher, my lady,” Molly said. “But even if it was her fault she had the little mite, she’s tried hard to look after him. There’s some as would just let him die, or leave him at a workhouse. She’d have made a living for herself much easier without him.”
Bella managed to keep her head still this time. She didn’t need to look at Molly—the maid’s tone had made it clear that she was serious. She struggled to believe that someone would be so desperate as to murder a baby, even though she knew it must be true. But why did Molly think a workhouse was a bad idea?
“There, my lady.” Molly put the comb down and straightened Bella’s fichu. “It’ll take me a little while to get myself clean. Lady Tregarth said for you to join her downstairs when you’re ready.”
Lady Tregarth was not alone in her parlour. The other woman was familiar—Bella had been introduced to Lady Jesson during that first hectic day of morning calls, but had only exchanged a brief greeting. Lady Jesson had a friendly face, with light brown hair and laughing eyes. She wasn’t much older than Bella, perhaps in her mid-twenties.
“Lady Isabella, I’m intrigued to meet you again,” Lady Jesson said, as Bella made her curtsey and sat down.
“I’m afraid Maria saw you as you went upstairs,” Lady Tregarth said. “I explained what you were doing.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t worry, Lady Isabella. It sounds most interesting.” Lady Jesson paused, her eyes on Bella’s face. “I can see that ‘interesting’ is not the right word. It is commendable to wish to help.”
Bella glanced at Lady Tregarth, unsure of how much she should say.
“Maria will not repeat anything that you wish to keep between us.”
“I never knew babies would be kept like that,” Bella said. Seeing the poverty in the streets on her first trip had been shocking enough. The babies, and the tiny room where Fletcher lived…
“Mr Carterton asked me to pass on his apologies for leaving without speaking to you,” Lady Tregarth said.
Bella felt a pang of disappointment. She’d wanted to thank him for finding Fletcher, and also for telling her so much that others would not. She must be sure to thank him for his help next time they met.
“But he did tell me—tell us—what you’d seen,” Lady Tregarth said. “My housekeeper is making sure Fletcher and her son are cleaned and fed, but we need to decide what is to be done with them.”
“I don’t know what to do, my lady. I’d employ her if I could, but I already have Molly. And there’s Billy as well…”
“She cannot stay here, because Billy has no father,” Lady Tregarth said. “My housekeeper talked to her, and thinks it is not Fletcher’s fault. However it is not good for the other staff to have an unmarried mother and her babe around the place—it sets a bad example.”
“You would employ a seamstress?” Lady Jesson asked Bella.
“She was a lady’s maid.” Bella described her encounters with Fletcher.
“I thought you looked better dressed than when we first met,” Lady Jesson said. She turned to Lady Tregarth. “Send Fletcher to me—I could use her advice. I’ll talk with her, and I may be able to do something if she is as she seems. If we can find somewhere for Billy first, there shouldn’t be a problem with my staff.”
“Thank you, Maria. That will be a great help.”
“Lady Tregarth…” Bella paused, not sure how to word the question, or even if Lady Tregarth was the right person to ask. “Molly said that some women in Fletcher’s position would have left the baby at a workhouse? Why didn’t Fletcher do that?”
Lady Tregarth’s lips turned down at the corners.
“I… I’m sorry, my lady, if that is not a proper question.” Bella hoped she had not offended her hostess.
“It is a question too few people ask,” Lady Tregarth said. “You would have to ask Fletcher herself, but I can think of a couple of reasons. One is that the local workhouses usually send infants into the country to be looked after. I imagine Fletcher would not want to be separated from her child unless she had no other way of providing for him.”
Bella wondered what happened to the children, but didn’t feel she could ask Lady Tregarth to give too many details. “You said a couple of reasons, my lady?”
Lady Tregarth rubbed her forehead and sighed. “Isabella, do not let Lady Cerney or your father suspect you have been talking about such things.” She waited until Bella nodded before going on. “Most parishes will try to locate the father of an unborn child and make him contribute to supporting it.”
That seemed sensible.
“But it appears that Fletcher did not conceive the child willingly,” Lady Jesson put in. “All the more reason to make the man support it, you might say. But he will claim that she led him on, or give some other excuse, and the men in charge of the workhouse are likely to take his part. She could end up being branded a… a loose woman.”
“That’s not fair!”
“No, it is not,” Lady Tregarth said. “Unfortunately that is the way of the world.” She turned to Lady Jesson. “Now, Maria, Isabella is staying to dinner—do you wish to?”
�
�Yes please.” Lady Jesson smiled at Bella. “I’ve heard rumours about your brother’s efforts to thwart your father’s plans a couple of years ago. You can tell me more—if you wish—and how you are getting on in society. I heard that Lord Narwood and Lord Barnton are both taking an interest in you, much to the dismay of Miss Yelland and Miss Quinn.”
“They’re welcome to them,” Bella muttered.
Lady Jesson laughed. “Perhaps they deserve each other. Well, you have not been about in society much. I’m sure I can help you find someone better.”
When Nick returned to Brook Street, Lord Carterton was sitting in the parlour, dozing in his chair with a newspaper discarded on the floor beside him. Nick crossed the room to pick up the paper, wondering whether he should wake him or not. If he needed his sleep, should he be in bed?
A lump rose to his throat as he contemplated the lines on his father’s face, and the pallor of his skin. Father had been nearly fifty when Nick was born, so it was inevitable that he would die when Nick was still relatively young. Inevitable, but hopefully not imminent, not just yet.
Let him sleep, Nick thought as he crept out of the parlour. He asked Mowbray to have a bath sent up and went to his room. A soak in hot water would help to relieve some of the remaining tension of the expedition. He’d been in St Giles many times before, but never with the responsibility of looking after a pair of young women.
They’d both taken things remarkably well, although Lady Isabella had clearly been shocked. The maid, too, although not nearly as much; Nick guessed she’d seen poverty in her home village, but to him it seemed much worse when there were so many crowded together, and at the mercy of unscrupulous landlords.
Father was awake when Nick returned to the parlour, and seemed ready for a conversation. “Did you enjoy your drive?”
Nick pulled up a chair and poured them both a small brandy. “Yes, I did.” In a way—they had rescued two people from a hellish future. There were so many more, though.
“Who were you with? I’ve heard you’re seeing the youngest Marstone girl.”