“I—I am n-not permitted to divulge that information, my lord.”
“And whose authority prevents you from telling me who brought this woman and her child to this place? Very well, you do not have to break your word. I shall use my influence in Parliament to make sure this place is shut down and that everyone in England knows of the deplorable conditions here at St. Vincent’s. Good day.”
Edward took Miss Becker by the elbow.
“Wait! I will tell you what I know.” The woman cleared her throat. “But you must promise not to tell anyone who told you.”
“I cannot make that promise.”
She looked nervously about, glancing up at him. “I don’t know much. I did not know the man what brung her. He said he had a benefactor who was a powerful man. He made the same threat you did—that he would use his influence in Parliament to close our workhouse if I ever said anything about the woman and her baby being forced to come here. And that is all I know. Before God, I am telling the absolute truth.”
“You are right. You don’t know much.” And he turned around and propelled Miss Becker from the dingy place.
She held her baby in her arms. The child was obviously not well, and Miss Becker’s cheeks were sunken and almost ashen, as if the place had drawn the life out of her.
He helped her into his carriage, covered her in a fur blanket, and the driver set out toward Suffolk. Almost immediately, tears began running down Miss Becker’s cheeks as she stared down at the face of her child, who was wrapped in a tattered blanket.
“I do not know why you are being kind to us and taking me and my baby away from that terrible place, but I thank you.”
“I told you,” he said, keeping his voice as gentle as possible. It was not difficult to pity her, after all. “I am doing it because Miss Langdon was very worried about you. She was desperate to get you and your baby to a safer place.”
A silent sob shook her shoulders.
He had told her where he was taking her as soon as he arrived. She had packed the total of her things into one bag and was ready. They rode in silence for many minutes.
“I will tell you who brought my baby and me to the workhouse, if you wish to know.” She kept her head down, not even lifting her eyes to look at him. “It was Felton Pinegar. He kept me in an apartment on Bishopsgate Street for three years. He is the father of my child.”
Pinegar. Heat rose into his face. Was there no end to his wickedness?
“I was not raised to do bad things or live in sin,” she went on quietly. “I was desperate, having no family and no money, and Mr. Pinegar promised to treat me well. At first he did, but then he began yelling at me, and when he discovered I was with child, he . . . he tried to force me to get rid of it. I am certain he took me to the workhouse thinking we would perish there.”
“Do not distress yourself. There is an inn nearby where we will stop and have a meal. And if there is a doctor in the vicinity, I shall have him look at the child.”
“You are very kind.” A tear slipped down her face. She ducked her head and wiped it away.
They stopped at the inn and ate in a small private dining room. The few people who saw them arrive and leave looked at them askance, as well they might—a viscount traveling with a poor emaciated woman and her poor emaciated child. But to push away any discomfort at being the subject of gossip, he only needed to think of Leorah Langdon’s face when she had told him how distressed she was at her friend’s terrible plight. And he only needed think of how she would smile when she discovered her friend was well.
By the time they reached Suffolk, Miss Becker and her child were asleep in the carriage. When they stopped at Leeward House, he took the child and carried her inside while a servant helped the exhausted Miss Becker up the stairs.
Edward placed the child in her mother’s arms.
“Thank you again, my lord,” she said. “I shall never forget your kindness and how you have saved our lives.”
He looked her in the eye, then nodded. “Your gratitude is owed more to your friend Miss Langdon than to me, and to you for gaining her good opinion.”
He left her to the attentions of Mrs. Thurston, the housekeeper.
Downstairs he found Mr. Thurston, the groundskeeper, and invited him into the library.
“I wanted to inform you that though I am not expecting trouble, it is a possibility. The young woman and her baby are the former courtesan and child of Mr. Felton Pinegar, a rather powerful man. He may send someone to demand that they be released to him, but even if you must use force, do not allow anyone to take her. She is here under my protection and my employ. She is to do whatever duties Mrs. Thurston sees fit, in addition to seeing to her child’s needs. If they need a physician or any other care, please see to it as you would any of the staff.”
“Yes, my lord. You may depend upon me and upon Mrs. Thurston, to be sure.”
“I shall.”
Four days after she’d received the letters from Rachel that had been redirected to her in London, Leorah and Felicity were sitting in the drawing room. The servant entered to deliver a new letter from Rachel. Leorah read it quickly to herself, intending to read it aloud to Felicity once she finished.
Dearest Leorah,
How can I ever thank you enough for sending Lord Withinghall to save Olivia and me from our wretched situation? I’ve never been so afraid as when my child was ill and I had no way to help her, and never so grateful as when Lord Withinghall summarily escorted us from that terrible place, and never so surprised as I was at the viscount’s kindness and gentleness. He did not shrink from us, as most people would have done—me, a fallen woman and he a viscount, traveling in his own carriage. And I owe it all to my friendship with you, Leorah. He said so himself.
But henceforth I shall not call you Leorah or even friend. As the newest maidservant at Leeward House, I shall call you “Lady Withinghall” and “my lady”—once you are married, which cannot be long, I imagine. The viscount is obviously in love with you, and it thrills my heart to see it—to see two such kind people find each other.
You will be happy to hear that Olivia is already feeling better. With good food and a doctor looking in on her, she has regained her color and her smile. Tears drip from my eyes as I write these words, as I think about how I might have lost her. But we are better now, thanks to you and Lord Withinghall.
Leorah’s heart alternately skipped a beat and pounded faster as she read, and her cheeks heated.
“What does she say?” Felicity asked.
“All is well. Lord Withinghall took her to his home in Suffolk where Rachel will be a house servant, and she says Olivia’s health is already improving.”
“Oh, that is wonderful.” Felicity’s voice was breathless as she clasped her hands. “What else does she say?”
“It is a short letter.” She found she was unequal to the task of reading such a letter aloud.
“What did she say about Lord Withinghall? Did he go himself and fetch her?”
“He did. She said he was very kind.”