Chapter 23 #2
However, he could not help but look grim again when they entered the second shop.
It might be slightly bigger, but it also showed deep neglect.
The woman was perhaps in her late forties, looking suspicious.
Her eyes were narrowed, and her mouth was pressed tightly.
The tension in the room seemed to be what was making this shop feel stuffier than the last one.
“How may I help you?” she asked, a little rudely.
Her eyes scanned Richard’s expensive coat and Victoria’s gown. Her suspicion was probably not unfounded, for what would fancy people, as she surely thought of them, want with a seamstress in the pits of Soho like her?
“Our baby, Melody, just wants to say hello,” Victoria replied, fixing a smile on her face although Richard could tell that his wife’s temper was fraying a little.
“Ah. S’that so? Don’t know ‘er. Don’t want to,” she retorted, her eyes returning to her needlework.
“Such a shame, then,” the duke murmured, leaving one gold sovereign for the seamstress, anyway.
The woman’s eyes darted back at them, looking shocked and then, finally, regretful.
The couple was already on their way out, with Melody giggling. She was enjoying meeting different people, even those who were scowling at her.
“Will we ever find the place?” Richard grumbled as they trudged on to the next shop.
Victor and Elliot, his two men who were pretending to fight, were now louder. He wondered if the fight had somehow become real.
Richard shook his head in disbelief. At least, the two were drawing more attention than the three of them. They were all dressed simpler than their usual, but they still stood out in the grime and hustle.
Finally, they reached the third shop. Richard exhaled sharply as the sagging building came into view.
The paint was faded and covered in years of soot.
The sign, M. Weaver—Seamstress, looked like it was about to fall off its rusted chain.
Below the name, he could read “Alterations and Repairs” if he squinted, and he found it ironic that the shop offered those services and could not repair itself.
As they entered, a bell gave a melancholy chime to signal their arrival.
The space smelled old, just like the other two, but for some reason, this one had a more pleasant atmosphere.
It must be the cedar mingling with old dust or the faint scent of tea.
Here, there was also evidence of some work done.
The duke eyed the half-finished bodies wrapped around headless manikins.
“Oh. At least, we know this shop has some clients,” murmured Victoria appreciatively. Melody babbled, agreeing.
Behind this shop’s counter was a woman who might be in her fifties. Her hair was graying and tied into a neat bun. Her spectacles had slid down to the tip of her nose as she continued sewing what looked like a gown for a little girl.
As Richard and Victoria moved closer, the seamstress’s eyes finally rolled up to meet theirs. Her eyes studied both duke and duchess. Then, her gaze landed on Melody. The baby cooed at her.
The woman’s eyes widened as if in recognition. Her hands trembled, and she let out a ragged sound. Finally, there it was. It looked like they found the right seamstress. There was no way the relief and recognition could mean anything.
“Y-you found her. You kept her,” she whispered, her spectacles clouding at the onslaught of hot tears that came over her.
“Yes, uh, Miss—?” Victoria asked, after giving Richard a quick glance.
“I’m Martha Ewing,” she said, as she seemed to have gained a burst of speed that belied her years.
In seconds, she was at the front door, locking it, and flipping the wooden sign so that Closed faced outwards. The duke and duchess gaped at her, and even little Melody was silent.
“Let’s go back to my house,” she urged, her eyes wide and frantic.
Richard frowned. Was he right all along? There was a degree of danger attached to keeping the child?
“Please,” the seamstress begged, “I cannot have the neighbors hear our conversation. It’s also for the little one’s own good. We would not want people questioning her place with you.”
Richard understood, nodding. Victoria gave the same perceptive nod as they followed the woman to her home, which was barely partitioned away from her shop.
In it, they discover a small, modest, but clean home. It was a decent place to live in, with floorboards thoroughly scrubbed and walls not grimy like the shop in front. Miss Ewing had tried her best to make it feel and look like home.
Still, it was apparent that the seamstress was living in genteel poverty, somewhat desperate in its unintended minimalism. Everything was crammed in one room, and a single loaf of bread adorned the wooden table next to a small teapot.
“Your Graces, please sit. I apologize for my humble abode. I know it’s not what you two are used to,” she said, gesturing to her patched sofa. “I truly never thought I’d see the day you’d find and visit me. We had been quiet about everything, and I believed the trail had gone cold.”
Richard quickly acquiesced, even though he made the sofa look even smaller with his height and frame. Victoria sat beside him, with Melody settling on her lap, just as curious as the duke and duchess. Martha’s eyes were on the baby as she hovered over them hesitantly.
“May I?” she whispered, extending her arms.
Victoria shifted, letting Melody sit closer to her knees so that Martha could see her clearly. Martha reached out and stroked her soft, little cheek. Melody cooed in response, thoroughly pleased.
The seamstress sobbed. Richard could feel how broken she felt, how much Melody and her mother must have meant to her.
“The baby has her eyes. And she—she looks so clean and healthy,” she said, straightening herself up, her expression turning into what seemed like reverence.
“One can tell that she has been raised in devotion. Her well-being is a credit to the way you’ve raised her.
Sophie made the perfect choice. She must have known your character well. ”
“Sophie?” Richard echoed. His voice might be low, but it was the same tone he used whenever he wanted the truth. Now. He rested his elbows on his knees to listen more closely. “Was that Melody’s mother’s name?”
“Yes, it was, Your Grace,” Martha confirmed, nodding.
“Sophie Bramer. She was the one who wrote the note you found with Melody. I saw her practice her script so that you wouldn’t think it was from a common girl.
She wanted you to think of her baby as special.
She loved her baby so much, even though they didn’t get a chance to spend much time together. ”
“W-wait,” Victoria interrupted. She turned to Richard with stricken eyes, as if something terrible had dawned on her.
Melody was completely oblivious, but possibly getting hungry as she chewed on the loose ribbon from her bonnet.
“Yes, Your Grace?”
“Why are you using the past tense, Miss Ewing?” the duchess asked. “Is Sophie—?”
Her question made goosebumps rise on Richard’s arms. Why, indeed? Victoria could not even complete the second question.
Martha pulled a stool from under her dining table and sank on it as if she weighed more than she had earlier.
“Yes, Sophie had passed. The young woman was already with her baby when she came to me one rainy night. At that time, she didn’t want to tell me how she had fallen pregnant.
All she said was that she no longer had a family and that she was willing to work for her lodging.
She lived here,” the seamstress narrated.
“Yes, I know it’s a small place, but she just seemed relieved.
I suspected then that she was running away from something worse.
Of course, I thought of the scandal that would follow her and the baby. ”
“And yet you kept her?” Victoria asked, in wonder. Her eyes shone, and Richard could see the admiration there clearly.
“Yes, I did. She had nowhere else to go. I don’t have a family that will be judged for taking in an unmarried pregnant girl. However, she insisted on helping me sew from here in the house so that people wouldn’t ostracize my shop.”
“I understand,” Victoria murmured. “But what happened to her?”
“She was brilliant at her work. People flocked to my shop, wanting the intricate, patterned lace she made for the ladies. We were happy for a time. However, when her labor began, I had this dreadful feeling that would not go away. She suffered for more than a day, and she had to stay with the midwife during her birth. We were fortunate to find someone who was willing to keep everything quiet.”
“Mrs. Tallow,” the duchess said.
“Yes. It was Mrs. Tallow. She was very discreet.”
“Oh, yes. She was,” Richard mused.
Both pairs of eyes were on Miss Ewing, who cleared her throat before continuing her story.
“Sophie had a bout of consumption after giving birth. She never recovered, but she mustered the strength to at least write the note and give me instructions to bring the baby to your door.”
“Consumption?” Richard echoed, frowning.
“Yes. She was coughing a lot. She knew she was dying. So, she made certain that she could at least pass on the baby to someone she knew would take care of her.”
Victoria’s lips were parted. By the way she was breathing, Richard could tell she was trying not to cry. She rubbed Melody’s back as if comforting herself and the baby at the same time.
“Why me, then?” Richard asked, his voice hoarse. “Why did she send Melody to my door? Why didn’t she ask you to leave the baby at her father’s, whoever he was? He is the culprit in this story. If he had married her, Sophie wouldn’t have to suffer.”
“She only said that she knew you were a good man. She’d heard good things about you.”
Richard froze. He thought of all the times villagers’ eyes were on him. How did people really think of him? He knew he was not the warmest, but he did try to be as fair as possible.
“She said that it is better to leave the baby with you. That leaving her in a parish will not guarantee a good life. She believed that Melody would be sent to a workhouse or even worse,” the seamstress continued, shuddering.
“Even if I kept her, I would not be able to give her what she truly needed: protection. A child with uncertain parentage would not fare well in this world.”
“She made the right decision,” Victoria breathed, a tear rolling down her cheek. “When did she pass?”
“I can see that little Melody is well-loved,” Martha said.
“So, yes, Sophie made the right decision. She died a week after I left the baby at your house. She died knowing that her daughter did not end up in the gutter. I sometimes wondered if she was just waiting for confirmation before she finally let go.”
Victoria reached into her reticule with one hand, trying to get something.
Richard reached out for Melody so that she could free her hands.
His wife nodded at him gratefully, while the baby fussed a little until she settled.
Pride bloomed in Richard’s heart. Melody seemed to have accepted him fully as a safe space.
“Where is Sophie buried, Miss Ewing?” Victoria asked, as she dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief. “We would like to pay our respects.”
“It’s at St. Jude’s. You will have to look closely in the pauper’s corner. I had to pay a few more shillings to ensure the sexton placed a small marker for her.”
“Thank you, Miss Ewing. You were a friend to her when she was lost and had nowhere else to go.”
“Did you never find out who Melody’s father was?” Richard wanted to know. “Who sired this poor little girl and left a young woman dead?”
Martha looked at him with wide eyes. He swore that there was fear in them, but he could be wrong, projecting his own fears on her. He also wondered if the fear was due to the forcefulness of his voice.
Bitter anger rose from within him.
How could anyone help extinguish a young woman’s life?