Together, they went back through all the trunks, but more carefully. Bailey checked inside the pockets of the dresses, in the very corners of each trunk, looking for clues. In Minnie Camden’s trunk she took out a small red silk purse edged with metallic gold lace.
Inside was a piece of paper, as delicate as the crust of a crème br?lée.
My dear Christopher,
I have been promised that you will receive this letter on your twenty-first birthday. I know it may be a shock, but I am proud to call you my son, even if you may be ashamed to see me as your mother. Indeed, I am, and everything I have done, I have done for you. To give you a better life. When you were a boy, I loved you and held you and perhaps the fragile memories of that time still remain. No child should be denied what is true. Your father is Theodore Camden. I hope now you are twenty-one you are able to understand the circumstances that prevented you from knowing the truth. And to forgive.
The name below was illegible, but Bailey was certain it began with an S.
She showed Renzo the letter, shaking with exhilaration. “The plot thickens.”
“Christopher wasn’t a random ward.” He studied it closely. “You were right. He was Theodore Camden’s son.”
“And Sara’s.” Her cheeks burned with pleasure at the acknowledgment. She was a Camden, as was her father and her grandfather. This proved it. “I knew it. Doesn’t this look like the letter S?”
He squinted. “Not sure of that. But maybe. Where did you find it?”
“In Minnie Camden’s purse. Or at least the purse was in Minnie Camden’s trunk.”
“Then maybe he was Minnie’s child.”
“Why would she keep that a secret, though? Makes no sense. In any event, that’s definitely not the word Minnie at the bottom.” The more she thought about the implications of the letter, the faster her heart beat. Excitement sizzled through her body.
She handed him the sheath and the bone. “Take these and put them in a safe place. First thing tomorrow, I’ll go back to the library and find out more about Sara Smythe and the murder.”
“Shouldn’t we contact the Met, tell them what you’ve discovered?”
“We will, just not yet. You know what this means, don’t you?”
Renzo eyed her warily.
“It means that I am a descendant of Theodore Camden. I’m sure of it.”
“Be careful what you wish for.”
She gave him a quick peck on the cheek. The touch was electric. She hadn’t meant it that way, just as a friendly, celebratory gesture, but he felt it, too, and pulled back.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to do that.” Her face got hot.
“It’s okay. Take it slow, though. Don’t rush to conclusions.”
Was he talking about their friendship or their findings?
Either way, caution had never been her strong point.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
New York City, July 1885
Sara opened her eyes. It was dark outside, and while the pain had subsided briefly, she knew it would be back. During the lull, she tried to take in where she was. The room wasn’t in the Charity Hospital, she was sure of that. The bed was hard and the blanket rough and she didn’t see any other women in the throes of childbirth. The only other woman in the room, an old lady with a vacant stare and no teeth, got up and turned her back to squat over a waste pail, singing an off-key dirge about the devil. She was still in the asylum.
The evening turned to day and back into evening, and Sara fought for breath and life and pushed. The nurses for the most part ignored her. When one loomed over her with a grim mouth, Sara grabbed her wrist.
“I need to be taken to the Charity Hospital to have the baby. To the ward with unwed mothers.”
“What do you know about that?” The nurse pulled out of her grip. “In any event, they don’t take crazies there. You’d disturb the rest of them.”
“I wouldn’t, I know that’s where I belong. Ask Nurse Alden.”
“You’ve been saying that the entire time you’ve been here. Enough, luv. You checked in here as a Mrs. Smythe. That place is for unwed mothers.”
She would have laughed if her situation weren’t so dire. “It’s too early to have the baby, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know anything about that. You’ll have to ask the doctor.”
Just then a wave of pain swept over her and she forgot about everything except the muscles and nerves in her body, straining in a way that seemed physically impossible.
Finally, the doctor arrived. Two nurses flanked him. The man was young, with bright blue eyes that darted around the room, taking everything in. He was from the outside and practically smelled of fear.
A nurse pointed at Sara. “She started up last night; we didn’t know she was with child.”
“How could you not know?” The doctor sat on the edge of her bed and took out a stethoscope, which he placed against her belly. A rush of embarrassment was replaced by a sense of hope. Perhaps he could help.
“She didn’t tell us nothing. We can’t keep track of everyone in here, all sixteen hundred.”
“Can she speak?” He glanced up at the nurses.
Thankfully, she was in between contractions. “I can speak, Doctor.”
He looked down at her, startled. “You’re English?”
He had a familiar accent of his own. “And you’re Welsh.”
“Indeed. Now, why didn’t you tell anyone about your predicament?”
Another cramp threatened and she winced in pain.
“Get her some water, please.” The nurses moved on his command.
“I didn’t know what they’d do to me.”
“Rather a ghastly place here, no?”
“Yes. I was hoping I could be taken to the Charity Hospital on the island, the ward for unwed mothers.”
“You don’t have a husband?”
“No.” Her cheeks grew warm from shame. How far she’d fallen.
“Why were you put here in the asylum?”
“I’m not sure. They said I was acting funny, that I stole something. But I don’t remember doing it. I was with child at the time; maybe my mind wasn’t right from that.”
She should never have mentioned the theft. He straightened his spine. “I’m sorry to hear that. But I’m afraid it’s too late to go to the hospital. You’ll have to have the baby here.”
“It’s so early. I didn’t think it would come until August.”
The cramp increased until she couldn’t think or speak. “Please don’t go yet,” she whispered. Tears of self-pity poured down her cheeks. “What will happen to the baby after?”
“I don’t know. This is my first week and I’m not sure how it all works just yet. But don’t worry about any of that right now. You need to keep your strength up so that you can deliver the baby.” He stood.
“Where are you from in Wales?” She didn’t want him to go just yet.
“Swansea.”
“Is it lovely? It sounds lovely.”
“It’s by the sea.”
“Do you miss it?” She clenched her teeth, trying to keep them from chattering.
“That’s enough talk. I’ll check on that water for you.”
“Please don’t go. Please. Please help me.”
He nodded. “I’ll do everything I can.”
After he strode away, she burst into sobs. She’d been doing so well for herself, in charge of her own life, running a giant building and its staff, and now she was helpless, trapped in a terrible place with no way out, nothing but pain and anguish pulsating around her. The kind manner of the doctor only served to remind her of all that she’d lost.
“Stop wailing.” The nurses had returned. One lifted up her head and poured water into her mouth from a dirty tin cup, not caring that it spilled around the sides and dribbled down her chin and neck.