My impression of Cate exploded into new proportions. Goddess Born...Good Samaritan...”How long has she been doing this?”
“Her mam first started taking in orphans some thirty years back. When she died of consumption, her ladyship took over their care.”
My brow creased. If Cate had the gift of healing, why did her mother die from a slow, painful disease? “Did you know Lady Dinley’s mother?”
“Aye,” Mr. Larken said. “She hired me and the missus to oversee the bakehouse when it was first built in 1705.”
“And when did you meet Lady Dinley?”
“Nigh on ten years ago when her mam died. Oh, la,” he chuckled, “I still remember the day she first showed at the front door, no more than a year out of short dresses and ready to take over where her mam left off. I had my doubts, but her ladyship took to the challenge like a duck to water.”
“And she never came around before that?”
He shook his head. “No, miss. Her ladyship lived on the Continent with an aunt and only came to London after her mam were laid to rest.” His eyes flickered to the pantry door. “Don’t think I’m speaking out of turn, Miss Kilbrid, but from what I heard there weren’t no love lost between the two them, despite their being kin.”
“How awful.”
“Aye, ’tis a tragedy, to be sure. I knew them both and except for the difference in years, there weren’t no mam and daughter more alike. Two peas from the same pod, the missus would say.”
Another child stirred near my feet, mumbling a few dream-induced words before falling silent again. I stared at the fair head peeking out from beneath the blanket, momentarily struck by the sad circumstances that had led each child to this room. “It’s unfortunate Lady Dinley didn’t know of the illness. I wonder if she regrets not having the chance to reconcile with her mother in the end.” Or to keep her from dying.
Mr. Larken shifted his weight from foot to foot. “The illness weren’t no secret, but even so, neither one made any attempt to contact the other.” He shook his head. “From my experience, Miss Kilbrid, indifference don’t breed regret, and that’s about as much as I think they ever felt for the other.”
I nodded, but said nothing in return.
“Ahh, here they come,” Mr. Larken said. “And it looks like her ladyship has calmed our little Molly.”
Cate walked toward us with a small form curled up in her arms. Reaching an empty pallet, I watched as she knelt down and tucked Molly beneath the blanket, placing a kiss on the little girl’s forehead before standing.
Goddess Born...good Samaritan...indifferent to her own mother.
The woman was a living, breathing enigma. And the more I learned about her, the less I seemed to know.
Chapter Eleven
Upon My Honor
I followed Cate upstairs to bed, so tired I had to drag each foot over the marble steps. In truth, after napping much of the afternoon on Mr. Faber’s sofa, I expected to feel sprightlier. But since leaving the bakehouse, a heavy weariness had settled inside me, infecting body and mind alike. My limbs felt weighted with rocks, and my brain turned to a knotted lump from the tangle of thoughts sitting inside it. The various events and faces from the evening blended together into an incoherent mess, all of which I was desperately trying to forget.
Arriving inside my room, I slid the iron bolt into place, more as a symbolic gesture than any real means of protection from the outside world. A small fire crackled in the hearth, drawing me like a sleepwalker to the armchair where I sank down into the welcoming softness. Firelight leapt across the hearthrug to warm the front of my skirts, but could do nothing against the raw despair that had settled inside me.
Why does everything have to be so complicated?
Life at Brighmor seemed relatively carefree, even boring at times when compared to my first week in London. So maybe Edgar Sweeney and Nathan Crowley had both tried to kill me last summer, not to mention Mr. Chubais. At least I had the benefit of home and community to see me through. Across the Atlantic, I had one distracted friend, a resentful fiancé, and more trouble than I knew what to do with. Slumping farther into the chair, I groaned inwardly from the single, invariable factor from the past six months.
What is wrong with me?