The Suspect's Daughter (6 page)

Setting her quill down on the desk, Jocelyn rubbed her eyes and stifled a yawn. Last night’s revelry had kept her up into the wee hours of the morning, and fatigue weighed on her limbs today. Her errant brother still hadn’t arisen, the wastrel. She was tempted to dump a pitcher of cold water on his head. But Papa had shrugged it off as the follies of youth, so Jocelyn restrained herself—this time. Next time she wouldn’t be so reserved.

She bent her head over the guest list for the dinner party scheduled for next week. The invitations had gone out, and acceptances arrived. She’d planned the meal and reviewed everything with the chef. But how to seat everyone left her baffled. Everyone wanted to be viewed as a guest of honor, and most of the guests were members of Parliament, many of them lords. She did not wish to offend anyone. Jocelyn tapped the end of the pen against her chin as she mulled over the possibilities.

Inexplicably, her thoughts returned to Grant Amesbury. She’d seen her share of handsome men—including his stunning brothers—but no one had created such sizzling awareness in her. His kindness in returning Jonathan home safely piqued her interest; not many gentlemen would trouble themselves over a misbehaving boy, but that didn’t explain her reaction to him. Perhaps it was the mystery around him, a virtually unknown man with no apparent use for society. But there was something else about him, an air of sophistication mingled with a supremely masculine intensity that proclaimed him a fearless man of action. If an enemy army invaded, Mr. Amesbury would probably fend them off single-handedly. She could almost swoon at the thought, but she wasn’t that kind of girl.

A nearby parlor maid, Katie, caught Jocelyn’s eye. Though she moved as quietly and efficiently as usual, frown lines cut creases between Katie’s eyes, and the corners of her mouth turned downward.

Jocelyn called softly, “Katie? Is something troubling you?”

Katie started as the sound of her name, and met Jocelyn’s gaze. Dark shadows rimmed reddened eyes. She let out a sigh and cast a glance about the room as if to ensure they were alone. “Yes, miss. I’m worried about my sister. She’s poorly again.”

“Is she ill?”

“Not ill, exactly, but she suffers from the melancholy some’in’—
something
fierce.” She slowed her speech and corrected her accent to keep it more genteel. “Some days, she can’t get herself out of bed. I don’t know how to help her.”

Jocelyn set down her pen. “Oh, poor thing. My mother suffered from the same malady on occasion.”

“I help her when I’m off duty, care for the little ones and do a bit of cleaning, but lately nothing cheers her.”

Jocelyn swiveled in her chair to fully face the maid. “Would she welcome some company? Or would meeting a stranger only make her feel worse?”

Katie paused, her feather duster poised over a figurine. “A new face might be just what she needs. I’d been wishing I could give her a change of scenery, but meeting someone new might do just as well.”

“Then perhaps you and I should pay her a visit this afternoon before I have tea with Papa and Lady Everett.”

Katie’s eyes shone and she hugged her feather duster. “Oi, miss, you would do that?”

“Of course. You had only to ask.”

“Oh, Miss Fairley, thankee—er,
thank you
kindly.”

Satisfied with her seating arrangements, Jocelyn sought out the butler, Owens, to inform him she needed to borrow Katie on a personal matter and ordered a basket filled with bread, clotted cream, jam, cheese, and fruit, enough for a good-sized, hungry family. She changed into her plainest clothes and donned an unadorned straw hat. Katie waited for her in the foyer.

Katie bobbed a curtsy. “Miss Fairley, it’s so kind of you to do this, but I fear you may not like going to such a poor part of town.”

“I regularly visit my father’s tenants at our country estates and do what I can to help them. I’m no shrinking violet that I fear meeting your sister in her home.”

Katie nodded and tied her limp bonnet under her chin. Though normally Jocelyn would have taken a footman to accompany them, she feared that so many strangers, including a man, would intimidate Katie’s sister. They hailed a hansom to take them to a part of town near the riverfront.

Inside the cab, Jocelyn readjusted the basket in her arms, firmly tucking the cloth around the contents. “Tell me more about your sister. How long has she struggled with the melancholy?”

“She’s had a few bad spells in the past, but never this long or this bad.”

“Did something happen to trigger this last bout?”

“Yes, miss. Her husband…died…seven weeks ago, just before her last baby was born. She’s been in a bad way ever since, but this last week, she won’t get out of bed.”

Jocelyn’s eyes misted. “Oh, poor thing. She’s in mourning, and she probably has the kind of malady that often follows childbirth. No wonder she’s been despondent.”

“After her husband’s death, she took in additional laundry to help feed the li’l ’uns—
little ones
—but now she’s too bad off to keep up with it.”

The cab stopped and Jocelyn paid the jarvey. He paused. “Do you want me to wait for you, miss?”

“No, that won’t be necessary. I will be well over half an hour, I suspect.”

Still, he paused. “Shall I return for you in half an hour’s time?”

Jocelyn considered. Finding a cab in such a poor part of town could be difficult, and she daren’t risk being late to Lady Everett’s tea appointment. “That’s probably a wise course of action. Yes, please do return for me here. But give me an hour, just in case.”

He nodded. “As you wish. One hour.”

Leaving the hansom on a main road, Jocelyn and Katie followed twisted alleys between sagging buildings. Jocelyn pressed a perfumed handkerchief to her nose to help filter the stench of refuse swept into piles and left to molder. She gripped her basket, hoping she’d brought the right items to help the family.

Katie led her to a battered door, tapped on the rotting wood, and pushed it open. “Lucy? I’m here with my mistress.”

Jocelyn followed Katie into the semi-darkness. At the doorway, Jocelyn halted to let her eyes adjust to the gloom. A baby fussed and a child’s voice crooned off key. One thin blanket covered the only window, cutting out most of the sunlight but very little of the chill. Clothing hung over several ropes strung across one end of the small room. Piles of clothes lay in a heap next to a peeling wooden washtub. Jocelyn’s courage faltered at the stark poverty.

“Katie!” A girl about three years old pattered barefoot to Katie and threw her arms around the maid. The child’s ragged, faded frock exposed too much of her thin limbs.

Katie hugged the child before setting her on her feet. “Mary, curtsy to Miss Fairley.”

Mary immediately shrank against Katie’s skirts and stuck a thumb into her mouth as she stared warily at Jocelyn.

Jocelyn sank down on her haunches to get eye level with the little girl. Rallying her courage, she smiled and said in a soft voice, “Good afternoon, Miss Mary.”

Mary only blinked at Jocelyn without taking her thumb out of her mouth.

Katie touched Mary’s head. “I brought Miss Fairley to meet your momma.”

The baby fussed again, and again crooned a child’s voice. Jocelyn followed the sounds to the corner where a girl about five years of age sat on the edge of the pallet on the floor. As she crooned, she bounced a baby wearing only a dingy nappy who slurped on its fist. Behind the girl and baby, a woman lay as if asleep, her arm over her face.

Still encumbered with little Mary holding onto her legs, Katie sat on the pallet. As she picked up the baby, his nappy slid down. The baby nestled against Katie’s breast and then let out a lusty cry. While the baby wailed, Katie laid the baby on the pallet and efficiently tied the nappy into place.

Jocelyn wanted to burst into tears at the dirt on his skin. “What a beautiful baby,” she cooed when she could say it believably.

Katie nudged the woman in the makeshift bed and said loudly enough to be heard over the baby’s cries, “Lucy? When did you last feed the baby?”

The woman moaned without raising her arm. “I can’t feed ’im anymore. My milk dried up. I tried all morning but there’s nothin’ to give ’im.”

Standing, Katie turned to the older child who’d been holding the baby. “Flora, fetch Nan. Tell her to come quick. We need her to nurse Johnny.”

The child nodded and dashed outside.

Jocelyn had spent enough time with her Aunt Ruby, who was as knowledgeable as a village midwife and apothecary, to know herbs that could help, if administered in time. Though daughters of gentlemen of means and property didn’t normally delve too deeply in the healing arts, Grandmother had come from a long line of healers and midwives. Following family tradition, Aunt Ruby’s passion followed after her mother’s, and she was a sought after favorite at her father’s estate before she married and moved to Kent.

Jocelyn gleaned all she could from her beloved aunt, although possessed a fraction of her skill. Whether or not Jocelyn knew enough, or could act soon enough, remained to be seen. She’d have to take command if she were to help this family in need. Jocelyn set down the basket, and removed her hat.

“Who’s wit’ ye?” asked the woman from the bed. She had to shout to be heard over the baby’s screams.

“This is my mistress, Miss Fairley,” Katie said. “She wanted to meet you and the little ones.”

“We ain’t much t’ look at.” The woman put her arm back over her face.

Jocelyn pressed her hands together and rested the tips of her fingers under her chin. “We need an apothecary. Is there one in the neighborhood?”

Katie replied, “There’s one several blocks over.”

Jocelyn did a mental count of the money she carried in her reticule. “Do you know an older child who can be trusted to bring some medicine?”

Katie furrowed her brow and chewed on her lip. “I’ll get the boy next door.” She carried the wailing baby outside. A moment later, she returned with a boy about ten years of age with a mop of curls. He stared at Jocelyn with earnest brown eyes.

Jocelyn crouched down to speak to the lad. “I need you to go the nearest apothecary and bring back fenugreek. Can you remember? Fenugreek.”

He nodded. “Fenugreek.”

“Come back without delay.” Jocelyn handed him several coins.

Katie gasped.

“Yes’m.” The boy dashed off with a white-knuckled grip on the money.

“Oh, miss.” Her eyes grew shiny. “I didn’t mean for you to pay…”

“Consider it an extra vail in appreciation for your devoted service to our family.”

Katie bowed her head, still bouncing the squalling child. Jocelyn removed the cloth tucked over the top of the basket and spread it out over the rough, dirty table. It rocked back and forth on rickety legs as she removed food and sliced bread, sending a silent thank you to the chef who packed a knife.

Mary overcame her shyness enough to wander to the table and rose up on tiptoe to see what Jocelyn was doing. Jocelyn spread clotted cream and jam on a thick slice of bread. She handed the bread to Mary. Solemnly, the child took it and immediately stuffed so much of it into her mouth that she could barely chew.

Jocelyn smiled when her heart threatened to break. How long had that child been hungry? All of her life? Since her father died, which added to the tragedy of losing him? “Slow down, Miss Mary. There’s plenty.”

If only she’d thought to bring milk for the children and tea for the adults. Katie had been right when she predicted Jocelyn would be unprepared for her sister’s poverty. None of the tenants on her father’s estates were so destitute. When Jocelyn returned on the morrow, she’d bring more of what this family needed.

On a badly chipped plate, she put a slice of bread, cheese and half an apple. Bearing the plate, she approached the bed. “Lucy, I hope you don’t mind, but I brought you something to eat.”

Lucy removed her arm off her face, and leveled an expressionless stare on Jocelyn. “Don’t wan’ yer charity. Don’t matter, no how. We’ll all be dead soon.”

Jocelyn drew nearer. “If you give up and die, who will look after your little ones?”

“No one. They’ll all starve, too. Can’t feed m’ baby. Can’t feed m’ li’l ’uns.”

“No one is going to starve,” Katie interjected hotly over the baby’s cries, fixing a fierce stare on her sister. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Jocelyn wanted to hug her. A little pang that she’d never had a sister of her own touched her heart.

Lucy frowned at Katie. “Ye can’t keep givin’ me all yer wages and doin’ your own job and takin’ in the laundry fer me, too.”

“I can and I will for as long as it takes.” Katie stuck out her chin. “But you have to get outta bed and do something for yourself and for them.”

“Moa,” Mary said from the table. She stood on tiptoe, vainly trying to reach the bread.

After leaving the plate on the pallet next to Lucy, Jocelyn and said firmly, “Eat.”

Jocelyn went to little Mary and handed her the other half of apple. While Mary stuffed it into her mouth and chewed, Jocelyn scooted a stool to the table, picked up Mary, and seated her on the chair. Absorbed in food, the child offered no resistance to being manhandled by a stranger. Jocelyn spread more clotted cream and jam on another piece of bread and set it with cheese on the make shift table cloth in front of Mary.

The older child, Flora, returned with a young woman. Katie conversed with the woman, who immediately sat on the edge of the bed and put the baby to her breast. Seconds later, only the infant’s noisy gulping broke the silence.

Jocelyn beckoned to the older child. “Come Flora. Here’s cheese and bread with clotted cream and jam, and apples.” She held out a second plate she’d filled.

Flora cast a cautious glance at Katie, her mouth working and her thin body wavering between accepting and fleeing.

Katie nodded at the child. “You can trust Miss Fairley, Flora. She’s my lady.”

Flora accepted the plate and tucked into the meal. Katie cleared her throat and glanced meaningfully at Jocelyn.

Around her food, Flora mumbled something that resembled, “Thank you.”