Fortunately, she didn’t have long to dwell on the matter, for Miss Montgomery chose that moment to reappear through the kitchen doors. Her hands were once again occupied, but not with the cumbersome cloth bags she had carried earlier. Now she held a young child against her hip. She sat down at a small table positioned in the hallway between the kitchens and the main dining area, a contented smile on her lips as she proceeded to bounce the little girl on her knee.
“Her daughter?” Morgan asked after a moment.
“It would appear so.”
“How old, do you suppose?”
Obviously he was performing the same arithmetic that was running through her mind. She sized the little girl up and replied, “Perhaps a year and a half, give or take a month or so.”
“Yes. That was my estimate as well.”
Which would have made Miss Montgomery approximately three months with child when the fire occurred. So there it was. They stood together in deflated silence, mulling over this newest bit of information. That explained the distraught, frightened stage Julia had found the woman in two years ago. She had taken a lover and had been carrying his child. Her nerves had been excitable because of her own private condition — a condition that had nothing whatsoever to do with Lazarus or Lord Webster’s fire.
Again, Morgan’s thoughts were clearly running along the same lines, for he said, “Very good. We came all this way to discover that a young parlormaid left London to hide an illegitimate-child. Shocking. I do hope you’ll make room for this unprecedented bit of news in your next column.”
His tone of dry amusement immediately served to set Julia’s nerves on edge.
She took a sip of her tea, and then set the cup down with deliberate care. “I must go and speak with her.”
Startled surprise showed on Morgan’s face. “What do you intend to say?” he demanded. “‘Pardon me, but is your daughter a bastard? Furthermore, is that the reason you left London two years ago, or was it due to some nefarious connection to the fire that occurred on your employer’s property?’”
Julia gave a cool shrug. “All we have at this point are conjectures and assumptions. Miss Montgomery is the only person who can tell us whether those assumptions are correct.”
She turned away before he could offer an argument and headed in the direction of the kitchens. But as she moved through the crowded room, she wondered what on earth she would say to the woman. Direct confrontation had never been her style. Nearly every word that went into her column had been obtained through friendly gossip or casual eavesdropping. But Morgan’s words had goaded her into action. Perhaps her instincts about Miss Montgomery had been entirely misguided, perhaps not. She wasn’t leaving until she knew for certain.
All too soon she found herself standing before Sarah Montgomery’s table. The woman was younger than Julia remembered, perhaps as young as eighteen or nineteen. Two pair of wide blue eyes stared up at her with open curiosity as she paused before them. The resemblance between mother and daughter was even more striking up close.
“Can I help you?” Sarah asked with a puzzled smile.
“I hope so, Miss Montgomery.” She hesitated a moment, still searching for words, then continued in a voice she hoped sounded softly reassuring. “I’d like to speak to you about Lord Webster’s fire.”
Sarah Montgomery’s smile abruptly faded. “I see.” For a long moment the young woman didn’t speak, nor did she move. Then she bent her head and kissed her daughter softly on the cheek. “You’ll be a good little girl for Mrs. Lowry until Mama can come and get you, won’t you?”
The little girl bobbed her head up and down.
“Run along then, sweetums. Mama’ll be back soon.” The little girl threw her chubby arms around her mother’s neck and gave her a quick hug, then climbed off her lap and tottered away toward the kitchen.
“You have a beautiful daughter,” Julia said.
Sarah nodded flatly, making it clear her mind was no longer on her daughter. Instead her gaze moved over Julia in open appraisal, taking in her face and attire. Apparently somewhat comfortable with what she saw, she gestured to a chair across from her. “Please.”
“Thank you.” Julia sat.
The younger woman studied her curiously. “I don’t think I know you.”
“My name is Miss Prentisse,” Julia replied, automatically using her maiden name. “You and I met once before, very briefly, after the fire.”
“I don’t remember.”
“I didn’t think you would. That was a very difficult time.”
“Yes.”
Heavy silence fell between them. Forcing a deliberately cheerful tone, Julia said, “This is rather awkward, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Sarah matched her fleeting smile with one of her own. She fiddled with her hands for a long moment, then looked up and said, “I always knew that someday someone would want to talk to me about that fire. I didn’t think it would be someone like you. I was afraid it would be someone coming to arrest me for… some of the things I said about that night.”
Resisting the urge to immediately pounce on the young woman’s words, Julia replied instead, “I’m not here to arrest you.”
Sarah’s gaze moved once again over Julia’s drab clothing. “No, I didn’t think so.”
“The truth is, Miss Montgomery, I wouldn’t be here if I was simply prying into your affairs. But there were so many people hurt in the fires, and I don’t mean to see it happen again. The problem is, I’m afraid it’s already started.”
“You don’t mean — has there been another fire?” Sarah looked aghast.
“No, not yet,” Julia rushed to reassure her. “But whoever started them may be active again soon.”
The younger woman studied her curiously. “How do you know that?”
Julia hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “My work occasionally brings me into contact with Mr. Chivers, Home Secretary of Scotland Yard.” Honest, she thought, yet sufficiently vague that the other woman might think she did his wash or scrubbed his floors. Bending the truth a bit, she continued, “Sometimes when you’re working in a great house, you hear things that you’re not meant to hear. Do you know what I mean?”
As eavesdropping and gossiping were pastimes as common among servants as drinking tea and pitching horseshoes, Sarah didn’t bother to deny it. She did, however, have the grace to blush slightly as she nodded her head.
Julia continued. “Last week I heard Mr. Chivers speaking with another gentleman. He said that letters have recently been circulated that appear to be coming from the man who set the original fires. Of course, it’s quite confounding. Everyone assumed that man died in Lord Webster’s fire.”
“I see.” The color abruptly drained from the younger woman’s face. Her gaze moved past Julia to the spot just inside the kitchens where her daughter sat playing with a wooden toy.
As Julia studied the small child, a thought suddenly occurred to her, one she hadn’t explored until just that moment. Where was the baby’s father? Leaning across the table, she said softly, “I’m going to be blunt, Miss Montgomery, because I can think of no other way to say what needs to be said. I hope you’ll forgive me.”
“This is about Jack, isn’t it?”
Julia carefully controlled her reaction. “Jack?”
Tears welled in Sarah’s eyes as an expression of stubborn denial showed on her face. “Jack never set that fire,” she declared fiercely. “He never hurt anybody. He was as kind as they come, and brave too. He went back into the flames to save old Mr. Potter, that’s what happened. But… he never came out.”
“Was Jack the man they found in the ashes? The man everyone had assumed had set the fires?”
Sarah took a deep breath, then nodded tightly.
“I’m sorry.”
Heavy silence fell between them once again as Sarah fidgeted with her fingers. At last she took a deep breath and said, “Jack and I were going to get married right away, but when we found out about the baby, we deci
ded to wait a bit so I could keep working.” She sent Julia a faltering smile and continued. “You know how it is. Make a little extra money so we’d get off to a better start.” She paused again, then let out a shuddering sigh. “He was visiting me the night of the fire.”
“I see.”
“I didn’t mean to lie about it, but I was so scared. If I had let on that I was in a family way and that Jack had been in my room that night, Lord Webster would have turned me out without a reference. Then what would I have done? What would have happened to my little Margaret? How would I have taken care of her?” She shook her head, studying the tabletop. “It seemed like the best thing for me to do was just leave things alone. My sister in Sussex helped me out for a while, but I had to find work again. There wasn’t anything else I could do.”
“If I were in your position, I might have done the same thing.”
Sarah lifted her gaze to Julia’s once again. An expression of pensive weariness shadowed her eyes, making her appear much older than her years. “Sometimes I wonder about it,” she said softly. “Jack’s out there lying in a pauper’s grave without so much as a stone to mark his name. And I keep waiting for another fire. Sometimes I wake up trembling in the dead of night, afraid I hear those fire bells ringing. I’m afraid that whoever really started those fires might just decide that he wants to start them again. Maybe if somebody knew that Jack wasn’t their man, they might have kept looking. They might have found who killed him.”
Julia let out a soft sigh. “We can’t change what’s past, Miss Montgomery. But there is something you can do now.”
Sarah studied her warily. “What?”
“Will you allow me to tell Mr. Chivers what you’ve just told me?”
“Tell Mr. —” Sarah looked appalled. “I can’t do that. If Lady Escher finds out, she’ll dismiss me for certain.”
“Mr. Chivers is a very discreet man; very kind as well. He won’t spread word of any of this to your employer; I can assure you of that.”
The younger woman looked away, her expression troubled. Minutes passed. Then her gaze fixed on her daughter once again. Very softly she said, “I heard that in that first fire four children were burned to death. One of them a little girl not much older than my Margaret. Another just a newborn babe.”
The fire that had occurred on Morgan’s property. “Yes,” Julia said.
“What if it happens again? What if more babies burn to death and I don’t do anything to help stop it?”
Knowing when to keep silent was as important a skill as knowing when to speak — in some cases far more so. As there was no reply that could possibly answer the depth of those questions, Julia held her tongue, waiting for Sarah to come to her own conclusions. Soon an expression of firm resolve showed on the young woman’s face. She turned and quietly said, “Tell him. Tell Mr. Chivers what I said. His name was Jack Wilcox. He worked as a smith at a forge down near Burn’s Alley. Tell Mr. Chivers I’m sorry for not talking about it earlier. If he needs to find me, I come here every day at this time to see my Margaret.”
Julia nodded. “Thank you, Miss Montgomery. I’ll let him know.”
Sarah smiled the first genuine smile Julia had seen since she sat down. “I’m glad,” she said. “I’m glad it’s finally out. Jack was a good man. He never set those fires. He deserves a proper stone.”
Julia thanked her again, then stood and left, making her way through the crowded room to the front entrance. As she stepped outside, she found herself temporarily blinded by the sudden glare of brilliant sunlight. The heat of the day was even more intense than it had been earlier. Too troubled by the conversation she had just finished with Sarah Montgomery to stand idly by and wait for Morgan, she strode purposefully down Chanhurst Lane, retracing the path they had taken earlier that morning. Three blocks later he fell in step beside her.
“Any luck?” he asked.
“Some. You were right about her reason for leaving London; it was because of the child she carried.”
“So her nervousness at the time had nothing to do with Lord Webster’s fire.”
“Not entirely. Her lover was with her that night. It was his body that was found among the ashes. Miss Montgomery was too frightened to admit it at the time. Given the precariousness of her position, I don’t entirely blame her.”
He studied her in surprise. “She told you that much?”
Julia shrugged. “Apparently the lie has been weighing heavily upon her. She seemed almost relieved to be able to finally unburden herself. She’s been living in fear for two years now, afraid the arsonist would strike again unless she did something to stop him.”
Morgan nodded, an expression of dark contemplation on his face. “He’s alive, then.”
“Yes. I believe that should finally lay to rest the question of whether the letters I’ve been receiving are genuine. Lazarus is out there somewhere.”
They walked together a few more blocks in silence, both occupied with their own thoughts. After a few minutes Julia felt Morgan’s gaze on her. A quick glance in his direction confirmed that he was indeed watching her, studying her face with a look of somber curiosity.
“Yes?” she said, somewhat irritated at his scrutiny.
“You look upset. I would have thought you would be thrilled to be proven correct about Miss Montgomery’s deceit.”
“On the contrary,” she corrected, “I found her circumstances most distressing. I can’t imagine what it must have been like to be in her place — a young woman barely past childhood with a baby of her own on the way; her fiancé dead and her employment ended. She was terrified she would bring further ruin on herself if she spoke out and identified the man found in the ashes, terrified of what might happen if she didn’t.” Julia let out a sigh and shook her head. “She didn’t deserve to be put in that predicament.”
“No, she didn’t. But I don’t know that that justifies her silence. Two years were wasted — time that could have been spent hunting Lazarus.”
“No harm was done, was it? Lazarus himself was kind enough to announce his resurrection; Miss Montgomery merely confirms it.”
He made no direct reply, just a thoughtful murmur that might have been interpreted to mean anything.
They came to a busy corner and paused as a farmer’s dray rumbled by. Julia, who had been walking mechanically without taking any particular note of their direction, glanced around to gain her bearings. Down an alleyway to her left were Duck the Stairs and the Three O’Clock Inn, both popular taverns for local servants. Nicely timed.
“Well,” she said, sending Morgan a businesslike smile, “I believe that concludes our venture. If you continue north, you’ll run into Stafford Street. You should be able to hire a hackney there without too much difficulty.”
Morgan arched one dark brow and regarded her coolly. “Exactly where will you be while I’m running into Stafford Street?”
“As I explained earlier, I’m here to research my column. That will take me at least an hour, perhaps more. There’s no need for you to wait, however. In fact, I would prefer that you didn’t.”
“Nevertheless, I insist.”
“You’ll only be bored.”
“I’ll live.”
“Maybe you will,” said a gruff male voice from just over Julia’s left shoulder, “but I’m not so sure about the lady.”
She felt a strong arm lock around her waist before she could react — before she could even consider what the appropriate reaction might be. Then the tip of a blade bit into her ribs.
Three men seemed to materialize out of nowhere, crowding in tightly around her. Although she couldn’t see the man who held her, she could feel his brute strength as he pressed himself against her. Judging from the stench emanating from his body, bathing was not a ritual to which he had accustomed himself. His breath reeked of stale gin. The profuse sweat dripping from his skin served to plaster his thin clothing against hers, enabling her to feel every detail of his thickly muscled anatomy.
Swa
llowing her disgust, she quickly surveyed his partners. They were lean, hardened men dressed in rough, tattered clothing. Nothing about them distinguished them from any other man found in London’s East End — except perhaps their eyes. They had the cruel, hollow-eyed look of dogs that had been bred to kill for sport.
“I’ll take that purse you’re carrying, sweep,” said the man to her right. “Hand it over nice and slow.”
Her immediate reaction was not fear but outright disbelief. Preposterous. A robbery? On a busy street corner in the middle of the day? She had heard of such outlandish things happening, of course, but always to other people. Never had she dreamed that it might happen to her.
The man behind her shifted, inching the blade slightly deeper against her ribs. She let out an instinctive gasp as her pulse began to race. The fact that she had been correct in warning Morgan to be less conspicuous with his money was of no consolation now.
Her eyes darted to her surroundings. Nothing. The thieves had timed their action well. Granted, it wasn’t as crowded as it had been earlier, but there were still people milling in the streets and going about the business of their day. Unfortunately, the passersby continued to glide past them, evidently oblivious to what was occurring in their midst.
Her gaze fastened on an elderly man pushing a rickety cart that was piled with kindling. If she screamed, would he come to their aid? Although he might not provide much actual help, perhaps his presence would discourage the thieves from pursuing their audacious act. She had to try, she thought, opening her mouth to call out for help. Before she did so, however, her gaze caught Morgan’s. As though reading her thoughts, he gave a slight shake of his head.
She instinctively obeyed his silent command. Taking a deep breath, she scanned his face for some sign of what she should do. But as usual her husband’s expression was completely composed. He looked neither alarmed nor frightened. Merely alert, as though he were watching an event unfold that temporarily held his interest.
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