by C. J. Archer
"If you force me to leave London with you, that's precisely what I'll do," Miss Glass said with a pinched smile for her sister-in-law.
I wanted to applaud her for speaking up. Alas, her courage was short lived. She bowed her head again when her brother snapped, "That's enough, Letitia."
"So it's settled," Matt said. "Aunt Letitia will travel with me. We'll arrive the day before the wedding."
"Oh no," Lady Rycroft said. "You must come at least three days before. My girls will be desolated if you deprive them of your company, Matthew."
He looked slightly panicked at the prospect. I wasn't sure whether to smile or be panicked too.
"That's if there is a wedding," she added with a loaded glance at her husband.
"That brings us to the main reason for our visit," he said, puffing out his barrel chest. "But I won't discuss it in front of the companion." He didn't look at me so I felt no compulsion to leave the room.
"India stays," Matt said. "If you have something to say to me, say it in front of her."
Lord Rycroft's lips puckered and pursed with his indignation. When Matt didn't back down, he clicked his tongue. "Hope told us everything about a certain sheriff acquaintance of yours and his attempt to blackmail my family. I will not stand for it, do you hear me? I will not stand for it. Clean up your mess before word gets back to Lord Cox."
"I cannot control what Sheriff Payne does or says," Matt said.
"You can and you will! Do as he demands, for God's sake!"
"He has made no demands of me. If I knew where to find him, I'd attempt to convince him to stay away, but I don't know where he is."
"Then find out." A vein in Lord Rycroft's neck bulged. His collar looked far too tight, all of a sudden. "The situation is precarious. Patience is hardly a fine catch at her age, but for some reason, Cox wants to marry her. Suppose it has something to do with his children needing a mother, although that's nothing a good governess couldn’t solve."
"Perhaps he loves her and will overlook her past," Matt said.
Lady Rycroft's nostrils flared. "Don't be absurd," her husband muttered.
I had often thought myself less fortunate than the privileged Patience Glasses of this world, but listening to her own parents speak about her made me glad I wasn't born to that class. She was nothing more than a tradable object to them, as expendable as a horse unfit for racing.
"You must fix this, Matthew, before it's too late," Lady Rycroft said. "This family is counting on you."
"I'll do my best, but I can't stop Payne if I can't find him."
"Try harder! If the wedding is called off, all the girls will suffer. Even Hope will find it difficult to secure a husband if the scandal gets out. They'll all be ruined. The girls won't be able to show their faces in London for at least two seasons, and by then it'll be too late!" She set down her teacup and pressed the edge of the turban at her temples. "This situation is unbearable, and it's your fault, Matthew."
"It is not," Miss Glass said huffily. "Patience should have been more careful. A young lady's reputation is her most valuable possession. Lose it and lose her chance of a secure future. Patience was gullible enough to believe that reprobate cared for her, but she was young. As her mother, you ought to have warned her about such men, Beatrice. It is your fault that she's in this predicament now, not Matthew's."
Lady Rycroft's features contracted so tightly her lips almost disappeared altogether. "You dare to accuse Patience of not being careful with her reputation! You, of all people! Are you going to let her speak about your daughter like that, Richard, when she is no better?"
Miss Glass's fingers splayed on her lap. She looked away. "Patience's situation is not the same as mine."
"Isn't it?" Lady Rycroft grasped the chair arm and leaned forward. "You both had intrigues with unsuitable men. At least Penelope saved your reputation before you could do anything too foolish."
Penelope. That was the friend Miss Glass had been visiting with Lady Rycroft last week when she had a turn and walked away without telling anyone. And to think, Miss Glass had a liaison with an unsuitable man yet she didn't like the notion of Matt and me being together. Well well.
"Enough!" roared Lord Rycroft. "Do you really need to air your dirty laundry in front of our nephew, Letitia?"
Miss Glass blinked quickly then took up her teacup and saucer. Her hands shook as she sipped.
Lady Rycroft shot a triumphant look at her sister-in-law, which only made Miss Glass blink harder. Poor thing. I wished I were sitting next to her to offer comfort and show Lady Rycroft that Miss Glass had supporters.
"I have to ask you both to leave," Matt said. "You can't come here and insult Aunt Letitia—"
"She insulted me first!" Lady Rycroft declared.
"Listen," Matt said, his voice strained. "I am sorry for Patience, but I can't stop Payne from speaking to Lord Cox. Perhaps he loves her and will forgive her."
Lady Rycroft made a scoffing sound. "How can he marry her if the indiscretion becomes public?"
"Precisely," her husband said. "He'll be ridiculed if he goes through with it. No one will think ill of him for ending the engagement, not even me."
"A little indiscretion in a woman's past shouldn't taint her future," Matt snapped.
"Clearly things are different in America," Lord Rycroft said with a vehemence that set all of his chins wobbling. "We English have morals. And Patience is not merely a woman, she is a lady. There is a difference."
Matt squeezed the bridge of his nose. He was tired and frustrated, and he clearly wanted his relatives gone. I wished I knew how to get rid of them for him, but I was at a loss. They wouldn't listen to me.
"If Payne tells Lord Cox about my daughter's past," Lord Rycroft said, "then you must set it to rights. Do you understand? If her future is lost because that man wishes you ill, then you have a responsibility to her, Matthew. Is that clear?"
He sighed. "It is. And I agree."
"Richard," Miss Glass said carefully, "in what way are you expecting Matthew to set it to rights?"
"Recompense will be discussed if and when the need arises." Lord Rycroft stood and buttoned up his jacket. "Come, Beatrice." He almost walked out ahead of his wife, but stopped at the door to allow her to go through first.
We three did not follow. The front door closed then Bristow and Peter the footman quickly collected the tea things. No one spoke until they left.
"Do you think Payne is cruel enough that he'll ruin Patience to get to you?" I asked Matt.
He nodded. "It's a cowardly, low act so yes, he would. I expect him to go to Lord Cox soon, unless…"
"Unless what?" both Miss Glass and I said.
Matt merely shrugged.
"If you could stop him, you would have already done so," Miss Glass said. "My foolish brother ought to understand that. The real question is, what will Richard do when Lord Cox breaks off the engagement?"
"If he ends it," I told her. "He might love her too much to let her go."
"Dear India, your idealism does you credit, but the truth is, Lord Cox is not marrying Patience for love. Love within a marriage may be a possibility where you come from, but not for us. It's simply the way it is."
It didn't have to be, I wanted to grumble at her, but I held my tongue.
"I'll set up Patience and the other girls if necessary," Matt said, standing. "I'll even give them the estate to live in, if I ever inherit it."
"You certainly will not," Miss Glass said, also rising. "The estate is for Lord Rycroft, and you will be Lord Rycroft one day."
"Perhaps."
"Don't talk like that. Your health will improve." She stalked out of the drawing room, leaving behind a sense of hopelessness. Despite what she said, she was worried.
The entrance of Cyclops with a letter was a welcome distraction from my grim thoughts. "This just arrived," he said, handing it to Matt.
"It's from Brockwell, finally." Matt read on, then added, "He found a report on the missing mother superior."
"Good," I said. "That's something. What did the police do?"
"Nothing. The statement was retracted and the disappearance was never investigated."
"Retracted by whom?"
"Father Antonio, the priest for the parish then and now." He showed me the letter. "He reported Mother Alfreda missing the day after she disappeared."
"Sister Clare went to him," I said, reading ahead. "She's the mother superior's assistant. She expressed her concerns that Mother Alfreda had not been seen since nine PM. She did not appear all the next day and was not in her cell. They searched the convent and grounds, but there was no trace of her and no one knew where she'd gone."
"Then, the day after he reports her disappearance," Matt went on, "he told the police that the nuns heard from her. Apparently she sent word explaining she needed to leave the convent for personal reasons and would not be returning."
"She broke her vows." Cyclops shook his head slowly. "Must have been strong reasons."
"You think it's the truth?" I asked him. "You think she really did just leave of her own accord?"
"He's a priest, he ain't going to lie to the police."
Matt took back the letter and scanned it again. "Then why did Sister Clare not know about Mother Alfreda being found? Why did she mention the disappearance to us and not state that Mother Alfreda sent word later that she'd left of her own free will?"
I sat heavily on the sofa. Cyclops sat beside me, staring unblinking at the carpet. "The priest lied," he murmured. "That ain't right."
I squeezed his arm. "He must have had his reasons."
"But he's a priest."
"And human," Matt said. "Humans are not perfect."
I tried to catch his eye to determine if he was upset about something other than the priest lying, but he didn't meet my gaze. He sank into an armchair with a deep sigh and rubbed his forehead.
"We'll pay Father Antonio a visit after luncheon," I said. "Hopefully we can get some answers out of him."
"Don't know why a lying priest will suddenly tell us the truth," Cyclops mumbled. "I ain't Catholic, but I always thought them upstanding folk who don't lie or cheat." Clearly he didn't have a good grasp of European history.
"You're right," Matt said. "If Father Antonio lied all those years ago, he won't tell us anything now. What about the nun who left the convent around the same time? If she left because she was unhappy or had a falling out with the other nuns, she might be more amenable to talking to us."
"An excellent idea," I said, warming to it. "Sister Francesca, her religious name was. She'd go by her given name, now. How do we find her if we don't even know her name?"
"We ask the convent," Cyclops said. "We say we're her relatives and need to find her to give her news of an inheritance or something. Send Willie, since they already know the rest of us."
"You'll lie to the nuns?" Matt teased. "And you such a God-fearing man."
"If it's good enough for their priest to lie on a police report, then it's good enough for me." He crossed his arms and gave an emphatic humph.
"Willie isn't here and she also has an American accent," I said. "They'll know she's associated with us."
"I'll go." Miss Glass swanned into the room, her fierce mood of earlier nowhere in evidence. "They don't know me, and I'm not Catholic, so it's all right if I need to tell a falsehood to save your life, Matthew."
"I don't know," Matt hedged. "It'll require steely nerves."
"I am quite capable, thank you. Now, off to your room with you. You look terrible."
He kissed her cheek as he passed. "Thank you, Aunt. I'm glad you're on my side in this."
"I am on your side in all things."
His gaze flicked to me and his lips flattened before he strode out. Miss Glass looked as if she would upbraid me, as if Matt's disinterest in discussing marriage to suitable ladies was my fault. I suppose it was, in a way.
I quickly excused myself and left the room before she decided to speak.
* * *
Miss Glass performed admirably and returned to the carriage with a name and address for the former nun known as Sister Francesca. We drove her back to Park Street and then continued on to Bermondsey across the river. I smelled the tanning and leather factories before I saw them. Thick black smoke spewed from their chimneys, making the sky darker and grittier here than Mayfair. The faces we passed were just as dark and gritty with dirt and soot. It must be impossible to keep clothing, houses and skin clean, and I felt a pang of sympathy for housewives and their endless laundering. Imagine having to work all day in one of those factories then come home and face the cleaning. I wouldn't blame them for not bothering.
Bermondsey didn't look like a kind place for a friendless former nun who suddenly had to make her own way in the world. At least she was used to hard work and meager living, but the putrid smell smothering the streets would take time to get used to.
According to the convent, Miss Abigail Pilcher rented a room in a two up, two down row house on Spa Road. As with the rest of the houses lining the street, it was simple, functional and in need of repair. Two children sat on the stoop. Their hair resembled abandoned nests and their feet were bare. They stopped drawing in the mud with their fingers to watch our arrival through wary eyes.
"Does Miss Abigail Pilcher still live here?" Matt asked them.
The boy shook his head.
"Damn it," Matt muttered.
The children didn't so much as blink at his foul language.
"Is your mother home?" I asked.
Both shook their heads.
"Are there any adults here now?"
The door behind them opened and a woman with a bent back and whiskery chin peered out. "Get away from my grandchildren," she snapped.
"We don't want your grandchildren." Matt plucked a coin out of his pocket. "My name is Matthew Glass and this is Miss Steele. May we speak with you?"
She palmed the coin but did not invite us in or offer her name. "Are you lost?"
"We're looking for Miss Abigail Pilcher. She used to live in this building twenty-seven years ago."
The woman's eyes screwed up and she leaned forward to study Matt's face. "Are you that priest?"
"Which priest?"
"The one what used to visit her."
"I'm not a priest, merely a relative searching for her. My parents lost contact with Cousin Abigail when she entered the convent. They didn't agree with her choice, you see, being C of E themselves."
"Rightly so too. I never did trust Micks, and after I learned she used to be a nun, well, I trusted 'em even less. That's what happens when you pick the wrong side."
Matt held up his hands for her to slow down. "What do you mean, that's what happens? Did something terrible happen to Abigail? Is she dead?"
"Could be, by now. She moved on about ten years ago, when her son got himself a supervisor's job at a factory."
"She has an adult son?" I asked, hope surging. Why hadn't we considered that she had taken Phineas and passed him off as her own? "How old would he be now?"
The woman's mouth twisted this way and that. "Twenty-seven, if you say that's how long ago she moved in. She was close to her time when she came here."
My heart sank. "She was pregnant? The baby wasn't already a few weeks old?"
"She had her babe two or three months later." She chuckled a brittle laugh, revealing more gum than teeth. "Question is, how does a nun get in the family way?"
Chapter 4
"Abigail was a good way along when them other nuns got rid of her," the old neighbor said with a wicked flash in her eyes. She seemed delighted to impart such salacious gossip to us. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. Bad things happen when you choose the wrong side. A wiser girl wouldn't have chosen to be a Mick nun; she'd have picked C of E. Them dirty Micks ain't a good lot, that's what I always say. Look what happened to her there."
How did one become pregnant in a convent? Not that it mattered to us. Abigail's predicament seemed to have nothing
to do with Phineas's disappearance. What did matter was where she could be found now. We still needed to talk to her.
Matt asked the crone but she merely shrugged. "Well I don't know, do I? She left here 'bout ten years ago, when her son got a good job."
"At a factory," Matt reiterated.
"Aye, making hats. Abigail used to do finishing work in her garret to pay the rent and buy enough food for the two of 'em. She were a good worker, at it day and night, putting silk covers and bindings on fine top hats. The pay weren't good but she got by. Real fast, she was, and they gave her plenty to do. More than me and my daughter, and there were two of us. Don't know how she got through her lot and slept. The gov'ner at the factory liked her so much he gave her son a job working the machines when he were still a boy. Few years later, they made him supervisor and he and Abigail moved out, lucky buggers. They just up and left without a goodbye. Dirty Micks never did belong here." She spat into the mud. "Abigail thought she were better than us, even though we're good Christian folk too." She squinted at Matt and once again eyed him up and down. "You her cousin, eh? Well, well."
Matt took out another coin. "What's the name of the factory where the son works?"
She licked flaky lips and didn't take her gaze off the money. "Christy's Hats in Bermondsey Street."
Matt gave her the coin and thanked her. I lifted my skirts and flicked off the mud clinging to the hem before climbing back into the carriage. Matt gave instructions to the coachman and joined me.
A few minutes later we walked through the arched entrance beneath the warehouses of Christy's hat factory on Bermondsey Street. It was like stepping into a noisy, bustling village. An enormous engine hissed and whirred at the end of a long avenue, its chimney adding more filth to the miasma smothering this part of the city. Workers wheeled carts laden with crates and boxes between buildings, and a man shouted orders over the rhythmic clack clack of machinery. I expected the stench of the leather and tanning factories to be overpowered by more pleasant smells but if anything, they seemed stronger here, and I asked Matt why that would be.