Chapter 28
A woman with a dead child in her arms was begging in the street yesterday and the Guard of the Mail told me he saw a man and three dead children lying by the roadside.
“Is Mama all right?” I asked Beth, as she finished buttoning up the back of the hastily thrown-on dress made for entertaining company. I braided my hair while she worked and quickly coiled it into a bun at the back of my head.
“Taken aback,” Beth said. “But she quickly rallied the staff, and the visitors are bundled before the fire in the parlor. She awaits ye there.”
I nodded and whirled on my heel. “Change out of those soaked clothes and warm yerself by a fire. I doubt ye’ll be needed.”
“Oh no, I must—”
“Ye must do as I tell ye. There’s no need to stand on ceremony when strangers turn the house upside down.”
Lady Grace would’ve turned them away at the door, so I was certain sending Beth away was well within the limits of propriety.
Beth nodded, and I hurried from the room, grabbing a shawl and a lamp on the way out the door.
My conversation with Cormac replayed in my mind as I descended each floor, and now, with time between his story and my own strange dreams, I wondered.
If what he said was true—and I was inclined to believe him, given I’d fully embraced the idea of Lady Catherine using sorcery to control the Cailleach—how could a stranger, someone not from this village, find his way to Browne House?
Lightning lit up the entranceway as I stepped onto the marbled floor of the foyer, and a hunched little lump by the door stopped me dead in my tracks.
My pulse ignited, and the rush of blood in my ears drowned out the heavy splash of rain outside the door.
“H-hello?” I whispered, and as the dark lump moved, I extended the lamp with a shaking hand to shed some light on it.
Two big blue eyes, and a shock of damp, curly blond hair, all wrapped up in a blanket. It wasn’t a lump at all, but a child.
“Oh!” I exclaimed, cautiously taking a step forward. “Hello there, darling.”
The child dropped the blanket, then pointed at a vase that sat upon the console table to the right of the entryway.
“Up. Burdy.”
A glance at the child’s clothes told me he was a little boy, though, he was breeched far too early. Most little boys wore smocks until at least five years old, but this little lad appeared much younger. Three, perhaps? Two? Only the richest of families breeched their boys so soon.
“Birdy?” I repeated, stepping closer, and noticed the blue birds in flight, brightening the porcelain white of the vase. “Yes, birdy! Do you like birdies?”
The little boy nodded and toddled over to me, before tugging on my skirt. “Up? Up?”
With a smile, I scooped up the child, and brought him level with the vase. “See? Look at the pretty birdies.”
He clapped his little hands together, then leaned forward in my arms, reaching and babbling, tugging at a long-forgotten ache in my chest. Would my own babe be this age now, had he lived?
Where had it come from, this heavy weight of trust, and love so strong that he’d rely on a stranger to meet his needs?
I inhaled, and the strong tang of sea salt assaulted my nostrils, reminding me that this poor child had undergone an ordeal.
“Are ye all right, lovedy?” I whispered against his damp curls. “Did ye go for a little swim by accident?”
The child nodded and turned in my arms. “Nanny?”
“Nanny?” I repeated, biting my lip. If the child was in search of his minder, and none but he and his father were saved from the wreck, I surely wasn’t going to be the one to explain. “I’m sure yer father is in the parlor with Lady Catherine,” I said. “Do ye want to find him?”
The child shook his head with a sullen pout, but I hoisted him in my arms, ensuring a solid grip before making my way toward the parlor.
Outside, thunder rumbled, and the babe snuggled into my chest.
“Hush now,” I soothed, nearing the parlor door. “The sky goes boom-boom, but yer safe inside, little darlin’.”
Turning my back to the door, I bumped it open with my backside and entered rear-first.
“I found this little lad in the hall, admiring your vase, Mama,” I announced.
“There you are, Diarmuid.”
I froze and glanced at the top of the child’s head. Diarmuid? Tears pricked my eyes, but I shook them away with a sigh. My own son’s name … I hoped the lad bore it well.
“Down ye go,” I whispered, gently bending to place him on his feet.
“Ah, my daughter, the Lady Wilhelmina,” Lady Catherine announced. I quickly straightened and shut the door before smoothing my dress.
Everything about the child—from finding him in the foyer, to his age, to the healthy weight of him—snuggled its way into my heart. But his name? ’Twas almost too much to bear, that this child shared the name I so desperately wished to give my own babe.
Righting myself, I turned and pasted a polite smile on my face.
The fire roared in the hearth, and I applauded whoever had lit it for doing so quickly and efficiently.
’Twas a hard thing to accomplish, to heat a full room on a moment’s notice.
Lady Catherine had risen to her feet, arm outstretched toward me.
It appeared she too was caught unawares tonight and had dressed hastily—evidenced by the simple bun worn at the back of her head, similar to my own.
“Apologies, Mama,” I announced, striding forward. “I came as soon as I was able.”
“No, Dada!” cried Diarmuid, as he approached his father. “Want Nanny!”
For the first time, I glanced at the back of the man’s head and noted a bandage wrapped around it. Poor man. What a dreadful ordeal. And to lose the child’s minder in the wreck … it would take some time for the child to adjust, and him as well.
But despite the child’s estrangement, the gentleman wrapped his arms around the child and pulled him into his embrace, as a great heaving sob racked his shoulders.
“I thank you, Your Ladyship, for your warm hospitality. Truly,” he said, voice hoarse, as the hair on my arms rose.
Something about his timbre tickled the recess of memory.
“Fuss and nonsense,” Lady Catherine said, waving away his thanks as she gestured for me to sit opposite him.
As the man turned his attention to little Diarmuid, who beat his small fists against his father’s chest, Lady Catherine winked at me, then nodded toward him, and I knew without asking what she intended.
I was meant to practice being Wilhelmina before this man. To speak as if I were her and to act like the heiress of this house, the widow of an earl.
“Tea, dear?” Lady Catherine offered, and I took the cup she held.
“Quite. Thank you, Mama,” I said, careful to adopt the upper-class nasal clip expected of me in this moment.
Opposite, father and son held each other—Diarmuid, tired of fighting against what must have been a strange burst of affection from his aristocratic father, now placated his father’s wish, while his father buried his injured head in the child’s shoulder, clinging with the desperation of one who’d almost lost his own life.
I stiffened then, eyes widening as a thought struck me.
“Sir, forgive me. But the child mentioned his nanny. Was the child’s mother also on board—?”
The gentleman didn’t look up, but held his son tighter. “L-long d-dead in childbed, I-I’m a-afraid. M-my s-son has been r-raised in Dublin, b-but I f-fetched him, th-thinking to i-introduce him to his g-grandfather. I had b-business in G-galway.”
“Oh. I’m so very sorry for your loss.” My cheeks pinked, and I glanced at Lady Catherine, who’d chosen to perch on the Chippendale, next to our guests. She pursed her lips, but nodded. It was all right. I hadn’t completely made a fool of myself.
Suddenly, the gentleman shook himself and lifted his head in Lady Catherine’s direction.
I winced as I realized the man’s bandage wrapped not only around his head, but also his eyes. What a terrible accident.
“Lady Wilhelmina, did you say, My Lady?” he asked, as if waking from a stupor.
“Yes. My daughter,” said Lady Catherine gesturing toward me, before catching herself. “She’s seated immediately opposite.”
The poor man must have been shaken to his core, but he gently moved little Diarmuid from his lap and rose on unsteady legs.
Bedraggled was one word to describe his appearance, I supposed. Though it was clear from the fine buckles on his leather shoes that he was certainly a man of some note.
He bowed deeply, and the sandy curls on his head flopped forward.
I clenched the arm of the chair as those curls stared back at me. So similar. So very—
“Ch-charmed, Lady W-wilhelmina,” he said, before clearing his throat, ridding himself of hoarseness and steadying his voice. “I sincerely apologize for the intrusion on this terrible night. Allow me to introduce myself.”
My heart stopped beating as the lull of his voice washed over me, and I jerked out of my chair without thought, stepping around it, to place more distance between us.
I glanced at Lady Catherine, wild-eyed, as I fought against the vice that squeezed all air from my lungs.
“I am Theodore Moore-Vandeleur, Esquire,” he announced.
And my world went dark.