A Lady's Secret Page 9

  “I will remember that. For when the time comes.” She wished she had never broached the topic. It had seemed safe at the outset but had taken an abrupt turn into perilous waters. She steered it back to Oliver, and his missing maid, turning the attention to his original question. “But, the maid…you say you haven’t seen the young woman?”

  “I have not. And it is my duty to keep track of those in our employ, to be sure they are well cared for and safe. But this young lady seems to have vanished.”

  His mother clicked her tongue against her teeth. “I doubt anyone has vanished. Why, you make it sound as if Willowbrook is a house full of magicians.”

  “I did not mean that, Mother.”

  “Which maid? Perhaps we can put the speculation to an end, if you have a name. Or, even a description, although I do admit many of the younger ones all look the same to me. Starched, proper and fresh.”

  “Bridget. She is the one I have not seen in days.”

  “Well, of course, you are right. She may as well have vanished.”

  Amy watched the man beside her. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, a pose he favored, and asked, “Mother, what do you mean?”

  They were just entering the park. Carriages vied for position on the wide lane. Horses clip-clopped, their paces so sedate those they conveyed hardly felt any movement beneath them. The sounds of laughter, and voices calling to one another. All very happy, and colorful. Women wore brightly patterned dresses and hats, and men twirled walking sticks as they strolled paths between low-hanging willow trees.

  “Bridget quit our employ. Very suddenly, I am afraid. No explanation, just sheer insistence that she leave immediately.” She waved to someone in a neighboring carriage, the smile on her face giving no hint to the conversation in the barouche. “It is as if she were afraid of something. Or, in trouble. I do not know which, Oliver. But I will say, I miss her flower arrangements in the hallway.”

  Chapter 18

  Bond Street was not altogether sedate after dark. Women were in short supply, unless the Haymarket wares were to be counted. But respectable women were not out on the streets in certain parts of the city after dark. Bond Street and its neighboring alleyways were decidedly off limits.

  Will pressed his body tightly into the doorway, making no effort to hide the fact he would rather be snug in his cottage with Vivian than standing across from an opium den. If Oliver had a good, sweet woman waiting for him he wouldn’t want to be here, either.

  But Oliver didn’t have a woman and wished he didn’t have to go inside the place again. And Bridget’s sudden exit from their household had to mean something. As the one responsible for all things manor related, he was compelled to investigate.

  “What is the plan? I assume you do have a plan.”

  Will averted his gaze when a daringly dressed woman walked their way. She attempted to catch their attention, but when one studied his boot tips and the other turned his back on her, she kept walking.

  “We shall go in the back door. The kitchen, where we have already been. They won’t expect that.”

  “I am not taking another of those drinks. Vivian was not at all pleased when I came home reeking of cheap alcohol.”

  Ah, the pleasures of marriage, he mused. One day he might—if he were lucky—know the joy of the union but until then he could only guess.

  “You do not need to drink. We just want to speak with that old woman again. Perhaps we can convince her to tell us more about Bridget’s visit. It is the key to solving why she was here, and where she has gone.”

  Will rarely dug his heels in about anything, but the look on his face told a tale. He did not want to go inside. They had been through many scrapes, and Will had never let him down. He’d been there through every moment of the madness that nearly killed him, pulled Oliver from the depths of despair, and nursed him back to health.

  He couldn’t force the man to do something that so clearly made him uncomfortable. A year ago he never would have attempted to enter a place serving drugs and alcohol on his own, but he was stronger now. There had to be a time when he took a chance and believed himself capable of willpower to withstand temptation. This was the time.

  “I will be back in two shakes.” He took two steps, put a hand up when Will tried to follow him. “No, really. I am fine. You stay here, keep an eye out for our missing maid. I will nip in the back door, visit Old Dorinda and be back before you even know I’m gone.”

  “I should accompany you. It is…” A hard shrug. “It is not a good idea for you to go in there at all. Alone? Definitely not one of our best plans.”

  He hated that his past still haunted him. It was something he was so ashamed of having fallen into that there were moments when he could not stand himself for having been that stupid. But there was no way to alter the past. The most he could do was decide to make the most of the life he had managed to salvage. Pulling oneself up out of a swamp was bound to leave some grime in places no one wanted, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t feel clean again eventually.

  One step in front of the other, Oliver reminded himself. One bad patch did not define a man.

  “I can do this.” He paused and ran a hand across his cheek. Clean shaven, well-dressed, the kind of man no one would suspect of harboring such a dirty secret. Well, everyone had secrets. “I assure you, it will be fine. I will be fine. And, once I see the potion maker, we can leave.”

  “I will wait until the clock strikes the quarter-hour, no longer. If you are not out by then, I am going in.”

  They looked at the large clock face on the building nearby. It was high up but not so high the moonlight didn’t illuminate the hands. Twenty minutes was not a lot of time, but it would have to do. He had no doubt his man would do as he said.

  “Then I’d best not linger here with you. I will be out, and hopefully with some answers.”

  He headed across the street. The truth, he did not have a real plan in mind. He did not even know what he hoped to gain by seeing the old woman again. But since it was the only thread linking them to Bridget at this point, pulling it might yield something useful.

  Had Nick not been so ill he would have questioned Lucie about her maid’s sister. But his own sister had more than enough on her mind, and didn’t need to be bothered trying to find out what the maids were doing with mysterious potions procured from dubious establishments.

  No, it fell to him to get to the bottom of this.

  The alley was deserted. A rat skittered into the darkness near a wall when he walked past, but it was the only sign of life. The air was heavy, reeking of humanity pressed too closely together. Cooking smells, unwashed bodies, urine. None reminded him of their excursion in the park earlier, where flowery scents had threatened to overpower him. Now he wished for the dripping rose hedges and their floral aroma.

  Oliver knocked on the kitchen door. Beyond, he heard sounds. Pots being shifted about, a spoon clanking against iron, wood tossed onto a grate. He knocked a second time.

  When no one answered his knocking, he lifted the latch and swung the door wide. The room was not bustling the way it had been the other time he had seen it. Now, only a young cook standing over a big pot. If his nose did not deceive him, she stirred beef stew. So ordinary, a meal for a family being prepared in a place where illicit activity and debauchery took place.

  She did not turn when he came in, so he kept his footsteps light and moved slowly. No need to attract undue attention. Old Dorinda’s quarters lay just beyond the door, to the right, so he stepped closer, holding his breath and praying he would not be found out.

  Oliver reached the door, so he lifted the latch and pushed it open, just ever-so slightly. He squeezed into the room, closed the door quietly behind him and turned.

  “I knew you would be back.” She sat at her work table. Dried clumps of herbs and flowers spread before her. A large knife in one hand, while the other gathered and bundled the herbs. She did not bother to look up, just continued to chop, then push the pieces
to the side. A mound of green, mixed with some orange and yellow bits, sat beside the mortar and pestle.

  He ventured closer.

  “How did you know?”

  A low cackle. “Oh, I know things. No one needs to tell Old Dorinda anything. I’m the one who does the telling.”

  Standing on the other side of her table, he put the question to her. “Do you recall the young maid we inquired about a few days ago?”

  She nodded. Kept with her chopping. Still, did not meet his gaze.

  “She has gone missing.” He hoped the woman had a sympathetic bone in the wizened old body. “I am looking for her.”

  “Of course you are.”

  If he wanted information, he would need a more compelling story.

  “My sister…”

  Without looking up, she asked, “You expect me to believe that young maid is your relation? You, a man who is more likely to give orders to a maid than share parents with one. She is not your blood, sir. I am old, but I am not stupid.”

  This was not going well. He was not used to people not giving him the answers he sought when he asked questions.

  “I did not intend to imply you are stupid. I apologize, ma’am. Please forgive me.” He held his arms wide, throwing himself on any merciful impulse she might have. “I am worried about the young woman. I am only trying to locate her to see if she needs help. She is sibling to my own sister’s lady’s maid. My mother is upset because the young lady left our employ very hastily. We are concerned, is all. Just very worried.”

  The explanation was enough to make her put the knife down and look up at him. She didn’t say anything for a long moment. Then, a slow nod. “I believe you.”

  “It is the truth.”

  “Are you the man who sent that young lady to someone like me?”

  He suspected what her potions did for women who were forced to use them. It went unspoken between them, a heavy feeling in the room that neither acknowledged.

  “I do not understand.” He did not look away when she scrutinized his face. It was a test he was determined to pass.

  “You know what she came after. All men know there are places like this for women to get what they need in times when nothing, and no one, else can help. You are a wise man…you are aware of these things.” Old Dorinda picked up her knife and gathered a new bunch of dried flowers.

  “I am not the one who sent her in search of something to make a—” He could hardly say it, but she was done with him unless he stepped up. “Baby go away.”

  The old woman had raised the knife in preparation to resume chopping. At his words, she paused, holding it in the air above the flower bundle. One long, deep breath, then a slow exhale.

  She looked up at him and shook her head. “That girl didn’t come for something to get rid of a baby.”

  Confusion made him speak without thinking. “What, then? What was she here for?”

  “Something to make a baby.” The words were spoken so softly, he leaned closer. “That’s what she came to me for.”

  Chapter 19

  The manor had never seemed confining before, but it certainly did now. Amy walked from window to window, looked out on the lovely grounds and sighed. Beauty beyond the glass stretched as far as the eye could see, yet it mattered not at all. She barely saw any of it—and did not appreciate the scenery one bit.

  A midday rain shower kept everyone indoors. It had stopped sprinkling, but no one was inclined to go out when all was damp and the ground soggy.

  Nick and Lucie were still in their rooms although there had been talk of the two perhaps emerging for afternoon tea. It would be the first time since that awful incident, so preparation in the kitchen was in full swing. Lady Gregory wanted something special for the event.

  Miranda had been unusually quiet recently. Amy had noticed her dear sister’s more pronounced demeanor but really, with a true bluestocking who could tell a blue mood from an introspective one? It wasn’t the first time the other had been subdued and it surely would not be the last. For some, a quiet nature was simply part of their personality.

  She had always been grateful she was not the quieter sister. Although, had she been, she would never have been in this predicament. Surely her sibling knew better than to do what she had done, and would never have allowed anything untoward to occur.

  It was a good thing their parents were abroad. Her ruination would take weeks to reach their ears. By that time, she would have a plan in place. What plan? She had no idea whatsoever, but one had to come to her eventually.

  Running a fingertip across the polished window sill, she looked toward the lane leading from the manor toward the cottages. Many of the staff lived in a wing set aside for them. A few very special people, married couples mostly, were given cottages to reside in. Just past the orchard, a short walk through the greenery lining the lane, a homey little village within the manor grounds. No merchants, of course, but a tidy group of homes, each with a stone walkway and flower beds.

  Vivian and Will had a cottage. She had never seen it, but her friend spoke about the place often. Suddenly it seemed the only way out of the dark mood that gripped her, an escape to someplace warm and welcoming.

  It was poor taste to pop in uninvited and unannounced, but she did not care. Society be damned—she needed to get out before her mind was lost.

  She turned, headed down the hallway to her room, and opened the door. Inside the closet, pelisse, bonnet, and umbrella in a dark green that complemented the gown she wore. She dressed in a hurry, mindful that her Abigail could return at any moment with her freshly laundered clothes or polished boots.

  She left her room, closed the door behind her and slipped down a side staircase. It was used mostly by the servants, but fortunately none were about, and she made it to a side entrance without detection.

  The back terrace was deserted, of course. The stones shining, still wet from the rain, and probably slippery. Amy took care not to fall and bent at the waist to creep beneath the wide windows in Lady Gregory’s sitting room. She did the same when she passed Lord Gregory’s library.

  The edge of the terrace met the lawn at the bottom of a wide stone staircase. That, too, was slick so she held the railing tightly, feeling wetness seep into her white gloves. When her toes hit the bottom, her slippers became damp as they touched the wet lawn.

  She did not care about her clothing. All she wanted was to escape—even if the outfit she had on ended up in the rubbish bin by afternoon. Fisting her skirt in her hand, she ran down the lawn toward the lane. Once, she nearly lost her footing to a moss-covered stone, but she righted herself and kept moving toward the point where the lane disappeared into the trees.

  ****

  When Vivian had come to spend the Season at Willowbrook Manor last year, she never dreamed she, the poor relation from Stropshire, would find love and end up living a happily-ever-after life at the grandest place she had ever seen. Her mother and brother, Liam, lived in one of the small cottages as well, and the miracle that brought the change in their fortunes was due in complete measure to the shared, long-lost friendship between Lady Gregory and Vivian’s mother.

  If that didn’t make one believe in miracles, Vivian was sure nothing else could ever accomplish the feat. They were no longer in a cold, drafty apartment, working long hours to put meager food on their table. Life took on a whole new meaning when one was warm and well-fed.

  And, when one was loved.

  William Fulbright was the kind of man she had always dreamed of but never believed she would meet. He was thoughtful, funny, smart. A good, solid, sensible person, not given to fits of fancy or delusions of having more than a happy, healthy life. They wanted the same things, and since they married her life had been filled with joy.

  No more long, hard days laboring over gowns others would wear. While Will was Oliver’s assistant, they were as close as brothers. And she was a relation to the duke and duchess, albeit distant, so that gave them a foot up the social ladder. They could have
pressed the issue and taken full advantage of the associations but were completely content to spend their time together doing very ordinary things.

  Vivian loved keeping her own house. The cottage was small, with two bedrooms, a sitting room, sewing room, kitchen and dining room. A wide hallway separated the living area from the sleeping quarters. And a second story, one large room, would make the perfect playroom for the baby when it was old enough for such things.

  Despite the midday rain, sunshine slanted through the wide front window. She sat in a comfortable armchair positioned to catch the sunlight. Her feet were raised on a footstool with an intricately-patterned needlework cover. It was a wedding gift from Lady Gregory. The stitched violets and greenery were beautiful, evidence of a lifetime of embroidery practice. The footstool came in quite handy, especially now when Vivian’s ankles were so puffy.

  Doctor Fairweather assured her the ankles, as well as her growing midsection, were all perfectly normal and expected consequences of being in her condition. Having been malnourished and slight all her life, accepting her blooming girth was not easy.

  When the knock came upon the front door, she thought she imagined it. In the evening, Jemma, the cook who firmly believed any woman getting ready to bear a child should drink ginger and chamomile tea so delivered the concoction like clockwork, might call. Then, the door might feel a visitor’s rapping but midday? She must be growing delirious from the damp air.

  The second time, she knew it was not her imagination.

  She pushed herself to her feet, dropped her sewing onto the chair cushion and went to the door. A wide, heavy wooden door, good for keeping out drafts but requiring a lot of effort to pull open. She tugged hard—so hard, that when it swung inside she stumbled backward two steps.

  “Oh, my goodness. Here, let me help you.” Amy rushed inside, grabbed her, and held on until her feet were no longer tangled. “Better now?”

  “Much, thank you. What a way to welcome you to our home, falling into the hallway so you must rescue me.” Vivian ran a hand down the front of her dress, smoothed her skirt, and composed herself. Finding Amy on her doorstep was a surprise. Falling with the door was something she had done many times over.