Chapter 40
“She’s making no progress wi’ the babe,” said Nell Mabley, wearily, going out into the corridor to speak to Polly and Dolly so that she would not be overheard. It was almost midnight, and already Helena had been in the throes of labor for hours.
“Should we try again to find a doctor?” asked Dolly.
“Ah didna like the look of that one Mr. Cox recommended,” said Polly with pursed lips. “Ah’ve never even had a child, an’ ah think ah ken more about th’matter than he did. Good riddance, ah say, that he left.”
The women exchanged uneasy glances.
“What should we do?” asked Nell. “Her strength is almost gone.”
Dolly took a deep breath. “I’ll fetch my mother. She knows everything about everything, and I daresay she can help.”
Polly had the address for the hotel where the Comptons were staying nearby, and she went to fetch it. Borrowing a cloak, Dolly went out into the night. Within twenty minutes, she had returned, Lady Compton beside her in a plain brown dress, her hair pinned up hastily but her eyes wide awake.
“You did right to fetch me, Dolores,” said Lady Compton, looking at Helena’s sweat-beaded brow.
She put her hand in the basin of water beside the bed.
“This water is cold. Heat some more, Mrs. Mabley. And Polly, fresh sheets and linens. She’s exhausted to the point of giving up, but we must keep her warm and compel her to keep trying. ”
The next hour passed in a whirlwind of activity.
Lady Compton held Helena’s hand and talked her through the worst of the birthing pangs, alternating between coaxing and commanding to keep her doing her part to bring forth a child into the world.
Samuel woke up screaming for nourishment, so Dolly took over Nell’s job of heating water in the kitchen, earning a smile from her mother as she brought in the steaming basin.
Finally, Lady Compton announced that there was some progress and she could see the baby’s crown when Polly cocked her head to listen for a sound. “Ah think someone’s knocking on th’ door.”
Prepared to chase away the odiously uninformed doctor if he should be trying to return, Polly descended the stairs and flung open the door. Standing on the step was Ralph Aldine, haggard, worn, and a delirious mix of delight and worry.
“How is she?” demanded Ralph. His heart had been in his throat ever since Helena had visited that afternoon.
“About to have a wee bairn,” said Polly confidently. “Lady Compton’s with her, so y’have nothing to fear.” She looked at him speculatively. “But ye look like ye could use a dram of something warm.”
Ralph leaned his back against the wall and slowly sunk down to a sitting position on the floor, burying his head in his hands. His whole body began to shake.
Polly disappeared from the entryway and came back a moment later with a small cup of aqua vitae. “Drink this, Mr. Aldine.”
Ralph lifted his head just enough to take a sip of the strong whisky. It felt like fire coursing down his throat, the very fire needed to consume the foul air and the sad humors that had seeped into him over the last weeks at Newgate. Slowly, he rose to his feet. “Where is she, Polly? Upstairs?”
“Aye,” said Polly, nodding to the staircase.
Ralph bounded up it two steps at a time. He could hear sounds in the room on the left of the corridor. He knocked. “Helena?” he said hoarsely.
“It’ll be just a minute,” said Lady Compton in clear tones. Then he heard her say in a quieter voice, “Dolores, dear, clean off the baby, and I’ll tend to Helena.”
Ralph waited outside the room for ten minutes, the longest ten minutes of his life.
When Lady Compton finally let him inside, he saw Helena propped up in the bed, her face pale and drawn but even more beatifically beautiful than before.
Wrapped up in a bundle of bedclothes was the tiniest human Ralph had ever seen—a little, red-faced baby with a thatch of dark hair.
Clearly, he would look more like his father than his mother.
“Helena, dearest,” said Ralph, coming forward and bending low to place a kiss on her forehead.
“Ralph,” she said. A tired grin spread over her face. “You are here! What do you think of him?” She looked down tenderly at the little creature’s scrunched face.
“He is perfect,” said Ralph, tracing a finger across the baby’s forehead and down to the tip of his nose. He sat down carefully on the very edge of the bed. “Shall we name him William?” The question hung between them like the early morning fog over the Thames.
Helena sighed and closed her eyes. “No, I think Geoffrey is a much better name, don’t you?”
“Yes, love,” said Ralph, reaching out a hand to cradle her cheek.
Her soft blue eyes opened sleepily. “And perhaps, for our next son, we can name him Ralph.”
“All in good time,” said Ralph, running the pad of his thumb over her lips. “Get some rest now, my sleeping beauty.”
Pevensey looked across the table at Miss Cecil as they partook of afternoon tea in Maurice’s dining room. “Did you see Ralph Aldine at Baker Street last night?”
“No, I spent the night at Lady Worlington’s townhome, but I saw him this morning, and little baby Geoffrey. How did you manage to have Ralph released so soon?”
Pevensey smiled modestly. “I had to wake Sir Richard Ford to get a writ of release for Newgate. He was not pleased to see me, I can tell you that much.” He omitted to mention that the bed he had awakened Sir Richard from happened to be located in a dressing room in Drury Lane. “What made you return to the hotel?”
“Since Ralph returned last night, I’m entirely de trop at Baker Street.
The Comptons were all there visiting the baby, and they took Dolly with them to get ices at Gunter’s.
She is their daughter, you know—the “D.C.” from Danvers’ ledger—but I don’t think they’ve told Gerald that just yet.
Ralph and Helena are too busy billing and cooing over the baby and each other to want company, so I packed my things and returned here.
” She glanced up at the gilded chandeliers and ornate plasterwork on the ceiling.
“Although I must say that Maurice’s is far too luxurious for a simple girl from Sussex. ”
Pevensey gave a self-deprecating smile. If it was far too luxurious for a girl from Sussex, then it was worlds above a boy from London’s east end. “Was Lady Worlington distressed about the situation?”
“A little,” said Miss Cecil, sipping her tea.
“But I think she realized that it was either lose Lady Fremont’s friendship or lose her brother’s life.
After that, the choice was an easy one. And she is not so selfish as to begrudge a few rumors about herself and Lord Fremont.
Perhaps those rumors will cause the ton to ignore the fact that Helena Aldine gave birth only five months after her marriage!
” She nodded to Pevensey, urging him to take one of the sweet rolls on the table.
He obliged. “How clever of you to discover that Lord Fremont had purchased poison. I had assumed he would have raided his wife’s still room. ”
“I find that men of all classes rarely know what their wives keep in their cupboards.” Pevensey picked up the sweet roll and took a bite. “And it was Tibbs, actually, who discovered it. I daresay he will never let me forget it.”
Miss Cecil laughed. “And Lord Fremont’s craven attempt to flee was just the confession you needed to take him into custody. I suppose he thought you had more evidence than only the cyanide to implicate him.”
“Yes, I daresay he thought the apothecary’s record was just the beginning of my revelations, when in reality, without his admission of guilt, the case had barely a leg to stand on.”
. “Miss Wedgwood’s refusal to curb her tongue certainly did their family no favors.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” said Pevensey. “Do you really think Lady Fremont better off not knowing what crime her husband had committed?”
“I suppose not,” said Miss Cecil slowly, “but she will have the shame of her husband’s crime to deal with all her life as she raises her children alone.”
“And the shame of her own part in it.”
“Do you mean because she berated her husband into committing murder?”
Pevensey leaned forward, keeping his voice low so that the other patrons of the tearoom would not hear him.
“No, I mean her own visit to the King’s Theatre.
It may never come to light to the world at large, but you were right with that part of your story.
I went back to the Fremont house to interview the footmen, and they remembered Lady Fremont going out late at night on the night of the murder.
She did put the dagger through Libby Clifford’s heart, after Libby had already died by poison.
When Lady Fremont entered the room, no doubt she smelled the bitter almonds—so similar to the laurel water she mixes up for her children—and thought that Libby had taken a sleeping draught.
She saw the dagger on the dressing table and took her chance to rid the world of her husband’s mistress, not knowing that he had already been before her. ”
“Will you tell all that to the court?”
Pevensey shrugged. “Not unless I’m asked. Otherwise, Lord Fremont can bear the whole brunt of it as he was the root cause of the misfortune.” Pevensey’s hands fiddled with the sweet roll as he broke off pieces that he had no intention of eating. “What will you do now?”
“I had a letter this morning that Edward has finished his business with tenants. He intends to ride up to town tomorrow.”
“Ah,” said Pevensey, a world of regret in that single blithe syllable.
As much as he enjoyed Edward Cecil’s company, his presence would mean no more private conversations with Miss Cecil, no more running through Charing Cross market with his hand under her elbow, no more comparing notes on a case while her blue sapphire eyes sparkled with intuition.
“Yes,” said Miss Cecil. If she had regrets of her own, she was hiding them well. “But I have no obligations the rest of this afternoon. Perhaps we might visit the menagerie at the Tower. Young Gerald Compton informed me that there are leopards there.”
“You’re not tired by now of visiting moldy old prisons, Miss Cecil?”
“Not if I have you to accompany me, Mr. Pevensey.” She set down her teacup, her eyes bright with anticipation.
Pevensey grinned. “Then perhaps we should hail a hackney and head in that direction. And, if you don’t mind, Miss Cecil, we’ll stop first at Rundell and Bridge. I have a parcel to pick up along the way.”
FINIS