“Then we are agreed.” He smiled and leaned even closer. “Pray, do not amuse yourself in like manner any further.”
“Jane?” Vincent appeared in the door, frowning.
Mr. Pridmore straightened, still all smiles and easy manners. “I was just complimenting your wife on her improved health. Good day, madam.” He stepped around her and continued down the stairs.
Behind her, Louisa gave a sudden startled exclamation. When Jane turned, the girl’s face was flushed and she was smoothing her dress with one hand, clutching Jane’s papers tight to her bosom with the other. Her discomfort was all the more apparent in contrast to her usual composure. Mr. Pridmore was past already, walking to his horse as though nothing had occurred. Jane went back down to stand by Louisa. “Are you all right? What did he do?”
“Nothing, madam.” She looked at the ground and wet her lips. “An insect flew into me. Nothing more.”
“If he touched you in any way, you must tell me.” No matter where the girl’s loyalties lay, certain things were not acceptable under any circumstances. Jane glared at the man as he rode away, but he took no notice beyond touching his hat in farewell.
Vincent came down the stairs two at a time. “What is the matter?”
“I think he … was impertinent with Louisa.”
This attention seemed to distress the girl more. “Please, madam. Please do not say anything further about it. I was only startled. It was only an insect.”
“Your father is inside.” Vincent gestured to the counting house. “Shall we go to him?”
“No! He will—you mustn’t say anything. Please? Please do not. Is better if Papa don’t—truly, it was nothing.” She looked between them with anxious entreaty, a more open display than Jane was used to seeing from her. She was shaking. “Please?”
Vincent’s scowl darkened as he turned to look after the man. “If … if anything untoward occurs, I should be honoured if you would trust me with your confidence. In certain matters, I have more liberty than your father.”
Louisa managed to give a curtsy, even standing on the stairs as she was. She had composed her features, but her colour remained high. “We should not keep Mrs. Hamilton in the sun, I think.”
Inhaling, Vincent gave a tight nod. “Of course.”
If Louisa came in, red-faced and trembling as she was, Frank would know in an instant that something had occurred, and given the timing of Mr. Pridmore’s departure, no doubt he could make an accurate guess as to what had happened. Jane bent a little to try to peer into Louisa’s face. “Should you like to go back to the great house to … fetch something for me?”
“Yes, madam.” Louisa turned, then turned again in a full circle and held out the album of papers. “Your drawings, madam.”
Vincent relieved her of them. “Thank you, Louisa. Take all the time you need.”
“Thank you, sir. Madam.” She dipped in another curtsy and hurried off.
Jane let out a heavy sigh. “That odious man.”
“Yes.” Vincent rubbed his hand through his hair and grimaced. “Come inside?” He transferred the drawings to his right hand and offered her his left.
As they entered the relative cool of the counting house, Jane said, “I wanted to ask your opinion about the drawings I have been working on, before Nkiruka and Amey arrive.”
Vincent’s stride checked for a moment. He looked across the room to Frank, who met his expression with some gravity. Pulling out a chair, Vincent guided her towards it. “Sit down, please.”
“You are alarming me a little.” But Jane sank into the chair. She put a hand to her side as the baby kicked in agitation. “What is the matter?”
Vincent set her drawings on the table. Drawing out another chair, he sat in front of Jane, then took both her hands. “I am … I am very sorry to report that Amey has died.”
She could only stare at him. His concern, and the tenderness with which he delivered the news, carried with them a tremor of fear. For a brief moment, his gaze dropped to Jane’s stomach, then out the window where the slave huts were just visible in the softening distance.
Amey had died? It hurt to inhale. “In labour?”
“Yes.”
“And her baby?”
“A stillborn daughter.” Vincent’s hands were warm and strong around hers. “I am so sorry, Muse. I know that you had taken a keen interest in her welfare.”
“I do not understand. Was Dr. Jones there?” Jane looked up sharply. “Mr. Pridmore did not keep her away, did he? He has not called her for months, and was just now wanting me to stop my ‘project’ of worrying about their health.”
“She was there—at least, according to Mr. Pridmore.”
“He must be lying.” Jane withdrew her hands and clenched them together in her lap. It was too awful. Yes, Jane knew women died all too often, but Amey had borne children before. She had been strong and in good health. How could she so simply be dead? And poor Nkiruka, to lose a daughter in such a way.