Chapter Ten
One Week Later
“O pen the door. Open the door.” Verda was screaming and for the life of her, she couldn’t stop. “Papa, please.” The tears streamed down her face, blinding her. Her candle had run out two days ago, the fire the day before that. “Get it open!” Cold seeped in from the windows of Mama’s chamber. Every frock from Mama’s closet Verda could reach covered Mama to keep her warm. But Mama hadn’t spoken in three days—
“Ma’am. Wake up.”
Verda bolted straight up to a fire blazing in the hearth, heavy curtains blocking out the cold, Northumberland winds, a pounding on her chamber door, and the blended cries of an infant and a persistent boy. Noah .
She jumped from Lizzie’s narrow bed, grabbed her wrapper, and dashed through her original chamber. Lizzie was soundly sleeping in the massive bed. Verda jerked the door open and stopped. “Master Noah? What is it? What’s wrong?” An overwhelming sense of dread sent her heart in erratic palpitations.
He fell against her yet managed to hold on to the crying Julius. “He’s hungry, ma’am.”
Verda cupped his shoulder. Such a tiny frame for the weight he’d taken on for his brother. “Where is Mrs. Lyall, darling?”
“I-I couldn’t wake her. I don’t know what to do.”
Lizzie appeared next to her, wearing only her shift.
Panic infused Verda’s blood in sharp, breath-stealing pants. She’s not dead . Verda stopped short of asking a ten-year-old if he’d checked. She forced herself to inhale. Slow. It helped immensely in clearing the remnants of the nightmare in which she’d been trapped. She stepped aside. “All right,” she said. “Come in. Sit next to the fire where it’s warm.” Verda turned to Lizzie, her insides begging her to do something with the babe. Verda took up the poker and stoked the embers and tossed on a small log.
“Might I hold him?” Lizzie asked Noah.
To Verda’s astonishment, Noah turned him over without the slightest hesitation, then swiped at the tears on his face with his sleeve.
Julius quieted momentarily and Verda took advantage. “We must see to Mrs. Lyall, Noah. I”—she drew in a deep breath—“I’ll check on Mrs. Lyall,” she forced herself to say. “You wake your uncle. We shall know more of what we are up against at that time.”
“What about my Julius?”
“You can trust him with Lizzie.” She glanced at her maid, who nodded.
“He’ll be safe with me, sir,” Lizzie assured Noah.
Verda mouthed her thanks and headed to the door to await her charge. This time, his hesitation was acute, but he leaned in and kissed the top of his brother’s head then hurried to follow.
They hastened from her chamber in the east portion of the castle toward the main wing together until they reached the stairs that led up to the nursery and schoolroom. “I’ll see you upstairs momentarily,” she told him before dashing up without looking back.
Please, don’t be dead. The closer to the third floor, the more her feet dragged. But thinking of the baby’s cries had her running up the last few steps and through the corridor to the open doors.
The first one was obviously Noah’s.
She stopped just inside the second one. The wet nurse lay sprawled across her bed, strands of her gun-metal hair sprouting from its long, gnarly braid. Her mouth was agape and her arms outstretched. Verda couldn’t detect the slightest movement. Oh, God. She was dead.
Every instinct to run surged through her. Swallowing hard, she quelled the desire to dash from the chamber screaming and forced herself to edge closer to the body, where she was hit with the overpowering stench of whiskey. An icy river soaked her bare feet and she glanced down. The culprit was an upturned bottle.
A massive snore startled Verda into a jump. She splayed her hand over her heart, then, disgusted, shook her head and tapped the woman’s arm. “Mrs. Lyall. Mrs. Lyall.”
“Don’t bother.”
Again Verda jumped, this time her head jerking back and smacking the hard line of Mr. Oshea’s jaw.
“Damn it.”
Verda spun around, her own braid flying, smacking his cheek. “Blast it. Quit sneaking up on me!”
*
God . Marry this woman . The recurring thought reared its head and seemed to be the only thing Sander could think of even if it meant suffering a broken jaw at every turn. She must have been freezing in that thin wrapper she wore. The sharp points of her nipples revealed a story, giving way to his own tale that had him tightening the belt of his banyan. He snagged the long tail of her glowing hair before it could hit the candle to start a different, less satisfying fire and tugged her into him.
Every soft body part of her molded to him. He drew in a deep, scented breath of powdery violets and nearly groaned. The fragrance dispelled the notion of winter pelting the castle with its torrential rain and the frigid waves crashing against the jagged rocks below.
“Mr. O-Oshea, please—”
Please ? He started to lower his head.
“Mrs. Lyall,” she gasped with a breathless wonder. Or, perhaps not, based on the hands pressing against his chest. “Master Noah.” She finally shoved, jarring him from his lunacy. “The baby, Mr. Oshea.”
Right . The baby. “Did you try to awaken her?”
She folded her arms over her chest. The look she shot him suggested he should be castrated and she’d gladly wield the knife.
“Of course you did.”
She turned back, facing the bed. “Even if we were to wake her now, she’s clearly too soused to feed an infant. The poor child would end up as drunk as her.” She strode to the door and rubbed her… bare feet. “Where are your shoes?”
She shook her head. “I’ll find Mrs. Knagg. She may have some idea of how to proceed with this disaster. Where is Master Noah?”
“In your chamber with your maid and Julius.”
She nodded and hurried out.
Sander let out his long-held groan.
It echoed back as if he were in a valley—until he realized the rebounding sound was that of the semi-conscious wet nurse. He brought up his head where she mirrored his motion.
“Good morning, Mrs. Lyall,” he said pleasantly.
“T’ain’t mornin’, is it, sir?” She rose on one elbow with her free hand going to her forehead.
“Shall I call for a tincture, ma’am?”
She stilled and, slowly, the current situation seemed to dawn on her. Her gaze met his.
“Is this a typical occurrence?” he asked her.
“Wot?”
“Don’t play coy with me, Mrs. Lyall. Never mind. We shall find another solution for Julius. You are hereby relieved of your duties. A carriage will be waiting for you at eight this morning. I’ll send a footman up for your… trunk at that time.”
“You can’t sack me.” Her indignation came too late.
“I beg to differ, madam.”
“You’ll regret this. That infant needs me.”
“I daresay cow’s milk is more useful than you.” Sander stalked to the door then turned back. “Shall I send a maid to help you pack?”
The sneer on her broad face belied the meekness in her voice. “No, sir.”
He nodded. “Good. I suggest you be on time. Otherwise, you’ll find your return trip much lighter than that upon your arrival.”
Her mouth gaped open, shut, then open.
“Let me explain. If you are not in front of the door by the specified time with your belongings, they shall be left behind. Am I clear?”
Her mouth compressed shut.
“Excellent. I’ll have an envelope waiting with your wages, though in all fairness, it would be my brother’s right to forego any compensation due, as I’m sure you are aware.” He left and made his way to the east wing to speak with Noah.
He sincerely hoped Miss Fairclough and Mrs. Knagg stumbled on a solution to keep Julius fed.