Chapter 11
Chapter
Eleven
Thick curtains draped the windows in the sitting room at Hope House, blocking any natural sunlight.
To protect the women from outsiders peering in, Elyse and Cassie had hung them in all the windows facing the street.
It made visibility a challenge sometimes, especially when Sister Nan arrived from the church in Shadwell each week to give lessons in anything from lacemaking to darning to how to properly care for infants.
Some of the women, like Caroline Rawling who already had children, didn’t need many lessons, but it did help her to stay busy. Others learned a great deal.
Cassie’s contribution was tutoring in letters and numbers.
Most of the women didn’t know how to read, or did not read well, so if someone expressed an interest, Cassie helped.
She’d brought some of the primers that had been boxed away in Violet House’s attics from when she was younger but had been careful to go through each to be sure there were no scribbles of names or anything that could reveal her identity.
It was a precarious situation; if anyone in society learned of her work, she’d be ridiculed and ruined.
If the women here found out she was a lady, they wouldn’t trust her or feel comfortable around her.
It was just the way of things. Elyse had advised her on that in the beginning, as gently as possible.
She’d been right. Cassie’s privilege far outweighed that of these women, and they would feel it keenly.
Hope House needed to be a place of refuge that they could trust. A place where they could be on equal footing.
Two afternoons following the Tennenbright ball, it felt more like a refuge than ever for Cassie.
She’d arrived earlier than usual for the second morning in a row, in time to greet Elyse as she was returning from a birth in Stepney.
It had been an all-night affair, and when Elyse came into the kitchen with dark circles under her eyes and a grimace, Cassie had quickly brought her a cup of tea.
“Was it a bad outcome?” she’d chanced asking after her friend had sipped the strong brew. At her solemn nod, Cassie reached for her arm.
“I’m sorry.” There was nothing else to be said that would make a difference. “I’ll go stoke the stove in your room while you have your tea. You need some rest.”
It was a small gesture of care, and though it didn’t feel like enough, it was all Cassie could do.
When noon arrived, ushered in by Sister Nan’s pert knock upon the back door, she had successfully avoided thinking of the ball, Lord Thornton, and their near kiss in his clinic by going through ledgers and compiling a list for the market stalls to give to Sister Agatha.
The moment her mind veered toward a memory of Grant’s hand on her hip, or his thumb tugging her bottom lip as he stared covetously at it, or the unwelcome thunder bolt though her body when he’d stalked across the ballroom to ask her to dance, Cassie simply found something else to do.
So, Sister Nan’s arrival was most welcome.
The older nun sat at the head of the sitting room with her knitting needles, showing Dorie and another young woman, Miranda, how to place the fragile stitches of fine cotton silk she’d brought for tatting lessons.
Making lace could be a profitable endeavor for them after they returned home, or started fresh, away from their families.
Caroline and Cassie sat a corner table, the primer open and a sheet of writing paper next to it.
“That’s excellent,” Cassie said as the older woman completed copying one of the sentences in the primer. “Really, you’ve a smooth hand for penmanship.”
Caroline sat back to view her work. Then placed a hand on the shelf of her round stomach. She winced.
“Is something happening?” Cassie asked. But she shook her head.
“No, just regular quickening.”
Cassie recalled the sensation with startling ease.
What had been the light fluttering of butterfly wings in the beginning, turned into restless and sometimes painful nudging of elbows, feet, and knees as space became limited.
Every movement had been a reassurance that all was well, and yet also a reminder that it was all Cassie would be given of her child.
Those jabs had been a wonder to place her hand over and feel.
The yearning to hold her child, to see its face, had been perilously strong, too.
But always, always accompanied by the knowledge that she would give her child away to someone else.
Cassie placed her hand on Caroline’s arm. She, too, faced the same moment. It came closer with every passing day. Caroline sniffed and patted Cassie’s hand.
“It’s all right there, luv,” she said. “Sister Nan says she’s found a nice couple who can’t have none for themselves. They’ve got a house in Islington. Even has a small yard for the tot.”
Thinking of what was best for the child was the only way she would get through. Cassie knew that firsthand.
Sister Nan stood from her chair then, leaving Dorie and Miranda to practice their stitches. Dorie was still weak from her bout of illness, but at least today, she’d left her room.
“Did the woman I sent ‘round ever make her way here?” Nan asked as she took the other chair at the table.
“When was this?” Cassie inquired.
“Tuesday last week.”
Cassie shook her head. “No one new since Dorie.” Isabel, Miranda, and Caroline had all been there for longer.
The nun frowned and rubbed her chin. “I was afraid of that. The lady was strange. She wasn’t showing just yet, but she also didn’t look young enough for it. Mind you, it wouldn’t be the first time a woman past her prime found herself increasing quite by accident.”
“What else about her was strange?”
“There was something about her manner. Can’t describe it. After I told her how to find Hope House, I followed her. Saw her meet a man down the street. He’d been waiting for her, it looked like. They spoke, then they went their separate ways.”
The small hairs along Cassie’s arms lifted. Next to her, Caroline made a soft murmur of concern.
“Do you think the woman could have been lying?” Caroline asked. “Trying to find the location of the clinic for this man?”
It had been Wednesday, the day after Sister Nan’s account, when the man in the alleyway had come upon Cassie, demanding to be taken to Isabel.
“I fear you’re correct,” Cassie said with an ill sweep of foreboding. “Sister Nan, I know you aim to keep every young woman’s confidence but were you the one to send Isa—” She caught herself, recalling Isabel had come here as Lila. “Lila. Did you send Lila here? Three weeks ago?”
Isabel had been so guarded she hadn’t mentioned who had sent her to Hope House.
At Sister Nan’s nod, Cassie’s stomach sank. “She was such a quiet thing. Frightened, I think.” She looked around the room. “Where is Lila this week?”
Cassie should have thought to ask Nan sooner. She sat forward, fully alert. “Did she say anything about herself? Anything about her family? Or the father?”
“Bits and pieces. Sad tale. No family. Just an aunt after her parents perished in a fire a handful of years back. She was reared well, that one. I’d wager gentry at the least.” Sister Nan nodded as if impressed.
“As for the father of the babe, she stayed mum about him. Caught herself once when she started to say his name though.”
“Can you recall what she started to say?”
“Young,” Nan answered without hesitation. “Mr. Young.”
Cassie sat back in her chair. Mr. Young. And maybe an upper-class gentleman. Or even a peer.
“There have to be scores of Youngs in London,” Caroline said.
“Where is Lila?” the sister asked again.
When Cassie informed her of what had occurred, and that her name was in truth Isabel, her lips went slack.
“This is all my doing,” she said. “I shouldn’t’ve said a word to that woman. I knew she was shifty!”
“It isn’t your doing at all,” Cassie assured her. “From what Isabel said, this Mr. Young is a dangerous man. Can you describe him at all?”
Sister Nan closed her eyes and thought deeply. “Cut a fine figure. Top hat. Black greatcoat. A moustache. Brown hair, maybe. He looked like a toff.”
It wasn’t much to go on, but Cassie thanked her. It was at least more than they’d known earlier. And now, it made sense how Mr. Young had come to find Hope House. It felt much like a weasel having been caught circling the hen house.
“Is the girl safe?” Sister Nan asked.
“Yes,” Cassie answered, though she stopped short of saying where she’d been taken. The fewer people who knew, the safer Isabel would be.
Shortly before one o’clock, she took her leave from Crispin Street.
She was expected by Jane Riverton and Marianna Dutton for a shopping stroll along Bond Street, something she had no interest in but also could not avoid.
The last two days, a small mountain of notes and calling cards had piled onto a tray in the foyer.
Callers, including the incurably inquisitive Lady Dutton, had come by, and many more had sent invitations to tea while Cassie had hid in her room.
All because of her three dances with Lord Grant Thornton at the Tennenbright ball.
Jane’s invitation was the only one she’d responded to.
She would have rather avoided all social interaction, but it would be noted upon, and the last thing she wanted was more interest directed her way.
Cassie arrived on the busy stretch of Bond Street near Lindquist’s as Jane had instructed, the command as terse in her note as it would have been in person.
The fashionable dressmaker was Jane’s favorite, and she was likely ordering a whole new collection for the spring.
Cassie would order something too, have it put on the duke’s account, and then perhaps after a visit to another shop, she could make her excuses and leave.