Chapter Seven
“Miss Whitchurch,” Mr. Sustar said with a lift of his eyebrows in obvious dismay. “What have you there?”
Victoria held no doubt regarding what was going to happen, but she had been desperate.
She had slept perhaps three hours before she was awakened by a patch of dampness along her side where she still held the baby.
Even so, she fought opening her eyes, but her sleepmate had stirred to life quicker than had she.
There was a chirp, a grunt of displeasure, and then a wail of complaint.
Victoria had bolted upward, juggling the baby against her until her wits arrived, and then she shushed the child repeatedly despite its protest.
Almost immediately, a knock came at her door, just a tap…
then another and another, each louder than the one before, until the baby began his protests again, as the knocking became louder and more persistent.
Victoria had jerked the door open and tucked the child closer to her chest. Her continued nightmare had arrived in the person of Mrs. Holland, her landlady.
Mrs. Holland was scowling, which was never a good sign.
“Miss Whitchurch? What is the meaning of this?” Mrs. Holland demanded.
The woman’s angry words had set the child to crying louder.
“Shush. Shush, sweetheart,” Victoria pleaded.
“This house is meant for unmarried or widowed women, not for any woman with a child,” Mrs. Holland stated in firm tones.
Mrs. Taylor stepped out in the hall to offer her opinions. “The child does not belong to Miss Victoria, Mrs. Holland. All of us know that, including you, so do not threaten her.”
“Then to whom does the child belong?” Mrs. Holland asked with a snit of hurt in her voice at having been called upon the carpet.
Victoria watched as Mrs. Taylor set their house mistress straight.
“Miss Whitchurch’s sister returned when you were with the grocer yesterday afternoon.
She was carrying a basket. She left in the night’s middle.
At first, I thought it was you coming in, dearie, but I know you would not be out on the street while it is still dark. ”
“Miss Cassandra left the child with you?” Mrs. Holland demanded.
Victoria did not know how to respond to the question.
“I was too exhausted to think this through,” she admitted.
She looked back to the room and realized she should have searched for a note.
“I just assumed Cassandra had gone out for food for the child. I held him, and we slept together.” She looked about her for some form of confirmation.
“That was close to four hours earlier than when you came in,” Mrs. Taylor suggested meekly.
“Perhaps Cassandra has found employment,” Victoria said in hopeful tones.
“But I still do not accept women with children,” Mrs. Holland had repeated.
“Miss Whitchurch has paid her rent, has she not?” Mrs. Taylor asked.
“Yes, but…” Mrs. Holland began.
“You cannot remove her unless you return her rents,” Mrs. Taylor said with authority. “My son is a solicitor, Mrs. Holland, if you wish to consult with him on this matter.”
“That means you have eleven days until the quarter is complete, Miss Whitchurch,” Mrs. Holland hissed. “Less if the child disturbs the household while we are sleeping.” Victoria’s landlady turned and stormed back to her room.
“Bring the child and the basket down, Miss Whitchurch, and I shall give you a lesson on caring for the… boy or girl?” the lady asked.
“I did not look,” Victoria admitted.
Mrs. Taylor smiled. “I imagine it is a boy. Little boys can piddle upward, and the child has left a nice splotch along your side. Bring a change of clothes for you, as well.”
That had been some six hours earlier. It amazed Victoria how easily Mrs. Taylor had removed the child’s wet nappy and showed Victoria how to clean the child and place a new nappy on the baby.
“Be assured you point his little thing away from you,” Mrs. Taylor said with an encouraging smile, “unless you want his ‘discharge,’ shall we say, in your mouth or your eyes when you bend over him.”
“You jest, do you not? Victoria asked in awe.
“Had myself two sons and a daughter,” Mrs. Taylor reminded Victoria.
“What am I to feed him?” Victoria pleaded.
“I suppose you cannot afford a wet nurse?”
“I barely have enough to feed me,” Victoria admitted.
“I was presented with a few extra pennies per quarter, but that is not money in hand. As you well know, I have been working late evenings and at night, for Mr. Sustar has paid me to hem drapes for his patrons and to decorate them. He has hired two assistants and expects to expand his business, but he does not wish all the women in the shop during the day with the young men servicing his customers.”
“The boy appears to wish to express his displeasure again, so we may discuss more later. For now, we will require some water and flour. If you have milk, you may add a bit, but milk is not necessary. Just a bead of the mixture placed in his mouth so he does not choke. Perhaps some sugar water or honey, but not too much because young babes do not always tolerate those well. Come. I shall show you how to survive until your sister returns, hopefully before her milk goes dry.”
Dragging herself from memories of her earlier encounter and back to the present, Victoria said, “My sister is very ill, sir. She cannot care for the child at this time. I promise he will be no trouble. He will sleep while I am working.”
She waited through several elongated minutes while praying for a miracle.
“Though you are a superb seamstress, and I am very pleased with your work, I must warn you neither Mrs. Sustar nor I will tolerate being disturbed by the child. Moreover, you must not use the babe as a reason for not completing your work. Remember, I will not condone this arrangement for longer than is necessary. This is all highly irregular, and I am not best pleased.”
Victoria agreed. “Highly irregular,” she whispered as she took up her position in the work room. “Cassandra,” she moaned, “how could you be so carefree with all our lives?”
As she worked, her sister’s words rang in her head.
A letter from Cassandra had been placed at the bottom of the basket in which the child slept. She had read it once Mrs. Taylor had assisted her with changing the child’s nappy and showed her how to make pap from water and flour to sustain the child in her sister’s absence.
Victoria,
I beg your forgiveness once again. I sincerely wish I was as strong as you, but I am not.
I never was; otherwise, I would have recognized Jonas Betts’s lies.
I had a position in a wealthy household for a month or so, but few will hire a woman, especially once I could no longer disguise my condition.
I left on my half day off and never returned, for the housekeeper learned of my condition from one of the other maids.
Now that the child is safe, I pray my steps may be returned to something more productive.
I have been told by a man—a former soldier with one hand—that there is a cook’s position in a nearby inn.
Though I am not an expert cook, while you were away teaching in Bath, Mama and Papa’s cook taught me a few dozen meals.
Once I am settled, I shall return for the child, and we might reunite.
I have not named him yet: I thought my favorite sister should have the honor.
Please tell him that I truly adore him. Do not mention how weak I am nor my continued poor decisions: He is not one of them.
Cassandra
Victoria grieved for her sister’s loss of face, but she could not permit herself to do so for long.
Not only did she have herself to support, but Victoria would be required to tend to a child and find new lodgings, as well as maintain her position at Sustar’s Draperies.
“If Cassandra could not claim employment because of a baby, then how am I to do likewise? I swear she never considers how her choices affect others.”
She fed the child some more of the pap and rocked it to sleep.
She would claim some of the scraps of material that would be thrown away or given to the poor and fashion a gown or two for the child and perhaps some more nappies.
“No coat of many colors like Joseph in the Bible,” she told the child as he drifted off to sleep.
She paused before saying, “‘Joseph’? It is a respectable name, but it sounds too similar to his father’s Christian name of ‘Jonas.’ I shall keep thinking. ”
Thompson set a cup of tea and a plate of cheese and bread on the small table beside where Justin Hartley watched Amgen House.
The government was quite convinced that Lord Honfleur, along with a man named John Yates, who was a cohort of William Booth, a man arrested in March for forgeries, planned to flood the British banks with fake notes.
“I understand Beaufort again conducted a lesson on recognizing the forged bank notes for Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s staff,” Benjamin said as he took his place at the other telescope.
“Honfleur and his daughter have regularly called in at the Lyon’s Den after the entertainments where they purposely lose a large amount while playing foolishly and then are ‘pacified’ when winning only a handful of pounds.
Quite genius, if you ask me. Every day we collect more and more fake bank notes.
I am not confident we will ever remove them all.
This training will be an asset for Mrs. Dove-Lyon’s staff going forward. ”
“It is a good thing Beaufort is so knowledgeable about such scams,” Benjamin responded.
“Duncan not only saved each of you,” Hartley said before taking a bite of the cheese and chewing it, before finishing his thought, “but he matched your specialized training with your personalities.”
“And that means?” Benjamin asked with a playful lift of his brows.