Chapter Twenty-Two
When they reached Macalhey House, Graham stepped down first, and Miss Whitchurch told Benjamin, “I do not yet believe I can face the women: They will be full of questions I am not prepared to answer.”
“Then return to the quarters you used when I first brought you to Macalhey House. I will have Mrs. Gabriel see the women out at the end of their day.”
“Could you bring the boy to me? Even if he is asleep, I feel a great desire simply to look upon him. He is the piece of Cassandra that remains in this world,” she pleaded. “I desire to hold him as I did when it was just we two.”
“It will be done as you wish,” Benjamin promised, though he would have preferred to be included in the woman’s grieving. “Permit Graham to set you down. Patterson awaits you at the door.”
She nodded her gratitude and did as he instructed and hurried off to where Patterson waited for her. Benjamin followed her down to the walkway. He and Graham stared off after her.
“When will you extend your hand to the lady?” Graham asked.
“I thought soon,” Benjamin admitted, “but today’s events may have named an end to my hopes. The lady no longer requires a place to stay while she searches for her sister.”
“Nothing she can afford would compare to Macalhey House. She will see reason,” Graham declared. “The lady wants what is best for the boy. Few men would take to another man’s child, and an illegitimate child, at that, the way you do with Miss Cassandra’s boy.”
“He was never Miss Cassandra Whitchurch’s child,” Benjamin declared.
“His true mother—the woman who has loved him with all her heart just entered my house to grieve for her sister.” He sighed heavily.
“I do not want Miss Whitchurch’s gratitude.
Like Orson and Marksman, I wish to marry for affection. ”
“As do we all,” Graham declared. He patted Benjamin’s shoulder and returned the sketch book to him.
“Remember,” Graham said, “the lady should grieve for a sister for six months, so it is best you secure Miss Whitchurch’s hand soon.
From what I know of the woman, I doubt she is of the nature to begin counting her mourning as beginning in early June when her sister actually died: Her mourning began today, meaning it will be into the new year before you may pronounce your vows.
” Graham smiled again. “I have work to accomplish and so do you.”
Benjamin nodded his agreement and set his shoulders into place before he asked, “What ‘work’ is on your agenda today?”
“Someone must find Mr. Jonas Betts and learn when Betts first discovered that Miss Cassandra was dead, and, if the deed falls to you, you will likely take up where you left off by stomping him into the floor on his way to hell.” Graham was grinning wider, and Benjamin wondered how a man who had faced all that Graham had over the years could be so good-natured.
“If Mr. Betts cannot prove he did not murder the mother of his child, then you may bring down your worst upon his head. Or body. Or both. I will leave it to my favorite surgeon as to which organs he wishes to remove first.”
Benjamin went in search of the boy. The child was awake, but in his crib.
“Good day, my lord,” Mrs. Sullivan said. She smiled on the child as his little arms and legs began to pump when Benjamin leaned over to tickle the child’s stomach. “The boy is happy to see you.”
“I have come to fetch him. Miss Whitchurch had bad news today. She wanted to hold the boy.”
“It is amazing how a babe can soothe us as easily as we are called upon to soothe him. One knows with confidence that life continues when he holds a baby.”
“Exactly,” Benjamin reached for the child, but Mrs. Sullivan warned, “You might wish to place one of the cloth pads over your shoulder. The child just ate and has a full stomach. He has yet to burp properly.”
Benjamin smiled. “The boy has ‘christened’ more than one of my cravats.” He caught the half towel and draped it over his shoulder. “Come, boy,” he coaxed the child. “Your aunt greatly needs to look upon your sweet features.”
“Is it bad news, my lord? I understand a man said Miss Whitchurch’s sister…”
“Yes,” Benjamin said as he kissed the top of the boy’s head.
“I fear it is. This child is Miss Whitchurch’s connection to her sister.
Miss Whitchurch has been strong for months now, searching for her sister, tending this child, and working outrageous hours for Mr. Sustar.
She deserves a few moments of self-indulgence.
The lady is in the main house in the room she occupied when you first joined our staff.
When you think it is time for the child to return to his crib, come for the boy there. ”
“It shan’t hurt if the boy sleeps in her arms once again. I believe he will know the lady’s pain and will want to share in her grieving.”
As Benjamin carried the child through the house, he was surprised when the boy pushed himself upward, away from Benjamin’s chest. The child’s head turned from side to side as if taking it all in.
“And when did you become so strong?” Benjamin asked in good humor. “Soon you will be stronger than I am.”
The child gurgled a few milk bubbles and then burped a bit more, which Benjamin quickly wiped away with the cloth.
“Nice try.” He grinned at the child, but the boy was not paying attention.
Instead, his head was leaned back and his eyes were following the flecks of light on the ceiling, brought in this time of day thanks to several high windows and late summer sunshine, along with a crystal chandelier.
“Quite beautiful,” Benjamin remarked with a smile.
“I hope you will be around long enough for me to teach you the mysteries of nature and life.”
Reaching her quarters, Benjamin knocked on the door and waited for Miss Whitchurch to admit him. At length, she called out, “Come.” Juggling the boy, who seemed to be pleased to be bounced about, Benjamin entered the room. “This child is amazing,” he declared with a smile.
“All children are,” she said with a sad smile. “We must tell him often; otherwise, this one will never know his true worth. He will never know his mother or his father.”
“He will know us,” Benjamin countered, with more irritation than he intended.
“What your sister and Mr. Betts enacted did not make them worthy of this child’s loyalty.
If you will permit it, we will serve in your sister’s stead.
I realize my timing is completely wrong, you must grieve for your sister; yet, you must know, surely you must know, all I execute, I have done for you. ”
Although her lips still held a downward turn, she said, “Is it terrible of me that while looking out upon the garden below, instead of mourning Cassandra, I was considering how grateful I am that God brought us together upon multiple occasions. I lost Cassandra long before we came to London. We are sisters, but…” she shrugged in obvious embarrassment at her thinking ill of her sister.
“I attended school in Bath for three years and then taught there for two more and never once did I receive a letter from my sister. Is it possible for a person to grieve for someone she often despised?”
“It is,” he said, “though you are likely to have this same argument with yourself upon more than one occasion. As for me, though my mind, as well as those of my brothers, continually tells me I could not have prevented the attack on Lord Duncan this last March, I cannot forgive myself for not anticipating the obvious.”
“I only recently realized such was the reason you were searching the Lyon’s Den’s grounds.”
“Yes. God’s hand again. I was searching for a lost button, but the Lord meant me to be in a place to find you and the child,” he said softly.
“It all makes sense now.” She paused before adding, “You called me ‘sweetheart’ today.”
“I did,” he admitted, “and before you ask, I have never called another by the endearment, nor have I ever kissed another as I have kissed you.”
She quietly nodded her acceptance of his assurances.
“It is much for me to consider. However, before I do, I would like to spend time with the child and tell him stories of his mother. Even though he shan’t understand my words, he will hear love in my voice and know he may find protection and affection in me.
” She claimed the boy from Benjamin’s arms and planted a kiss on the child’s forehead.
“Promise me we shall continue this conversation soon,” she instructed Benjamin.
He bowed his head slightly to indicate his agreement. “I will write the necessary letters to see to Miss Cassandra’s remains and send them off this afternoon. I said I would have her removed to Kent, but if you wish her buried in London or…”
“Lord Betts would not permit her in the parish graveyard in Hampshire,” she said.
“London?” he asked again. “I imagine the local parish would permit her.”
“Kent,” she said, though her eyes did not meet his. “Cassandra knew nothing but misery in London. I would like her where country folks know respect for a girl who made a terrible mistake. Perhaps in the parish’s churchyard. I would like to consider her there.”
Benjamin was not confident Miss Whitchurch’s decision meant she would accept his hand when he extended it, but his heart was full of hope when he left her and the child together.
That was not completely true: He believed she would marry him, but, more to the truth, he wanted her affection, and he could not yet know whether her heart could be won by him.
He thought he should write to her parents, but he would wait until he spoke to the lady again to learn her thoughts on the matter.
“Perhaps I will simply draft the letter to her father,” he murmured.
“Miss Whitchurch should not be required to be the bearer of ill news.”