“Certainly. I’ll send some up. And I’ll make him some of my special soup. Takes a few hours to simmer, so I’ll get it started and he can have some this afternoon.”
Chloe thanked her and set down her cup. Giles was reluctant to leave, as he had developed a fascination with the copper pots and pans. Chloe picked him up.
“You had better be careful, my friend,” she murmured to him as she climbed the stairs. “Or I might start keeping you on a leash.”
He looked into her face, and she paused. It was almost as if he understood her.
Chapter 32
After church, the family returned for lunch. Chloe examined the faces of Alexander, Dora and Ian. She tried to imagine the solemn little boy Mrs. Block had described who would sit and talk with her in the kitchen. She tried to picture Dora in braids, admiring a purple ribbon tied around her bandaged finger. Chloe pondered for a moment the mischievous Alexander, who had gone from a mischievous miscreant to what? But those children were gone, and in their places were these people. Ian, sitting grim-faced in the corner, avoiding looking at his brother. Alexander was a solid presence beside Beatrice, but even Chloe could feel the distance between them. Dora chatted with Robert, who listened with a weary patience as she went on about the places she wanted to visit once she was married.
“You could come visit us,” she said. “Maybe stay with us for a few months.”
Robert nodded, though at a glance from his father, the hopeful look on his face faded.
“Mrs. Sullivan. I am sorry that your husband is doing poorly today,” said Beatrice.
“Yes. He has been in bed most of the day. Mrs. Block said she has a special soup that she makes that will make him feel better.”
“Her soup has medicinal herbs in it,” said Robert. “Though it won’t cure him, it will ease his symptoms a little. Settle his stomach too.”
Chloe thought of the envelope of herbs that Maggie had given her. She probably should toss them out. She trusted Mrs. Block more than the madwoman who spoke to bees.
The butler came into the room then bent toward Ian and whispered a message in his ear. In an instant, Ian leaped up, tossed his napkin across his full plate and rushed from the room. The door banged shut behind him.
“What was that about?” William demanded of the butler.
“If you would, sir?” The butler motioned to the hallway, his expression neutral. William followed him out of sight, but returned a minute later, his expression dark. No one dared to speak to him the rest of the meal.
At supper, a servant ladled onion soup from a white porcelain tureen and placed the steaming bowl in front of Chloe. No sooner had she blown on the first spoonful than a second servant ran past the open dining room door. The pounding of his feet ceased abruptly as another servant barked out an order, sending him running back from whence he came.
A door slammed in the front of the house, and muffled voices exchanged pitched tones. Suddenly, a high-pitched wail sounded loud and shrill, drowning out everything else. It stopped and started again like a bugle call, this time louder than before.
Chloe turned back to the table to see her surprise mirrored in the expressions of the rest of the family, save Alexander’s. He was bent over his soup. He lifted his spoon and then returned it to the bowl. Beatrice stared blankly, a look on her face that vaguely repelled Chloe.
Chloe identified Mrs. Block’s voice amidst the cacophony. The woman barked out an order and the chatter eventually faded out. Blessedly, the shrill crying tapered off too, and Chloe let her fists uncurl in relief. For a heartbeat, no one at the table moved or took a bite. Then William rose, breaking the spell, and with a muttered apology, headed for the door. He stopped short as Ian appeared in the doorway, his hair a rumpled mess and his face haggard. Aside from seeing him argue with his brother, Chloe had never seen the man in such a state. Robert and Dora gasped, confirming that they too were shocked at his appearance.
Ian gripped the doorframe. He looked at the people around the table before addressing his father.
“I have an introduction to make,” he said. “I have put it off for too long.”
“Enough of this!” Alexander slammed his palm on the table and shot up from his seat. “This cannot stand. It is unconscionable.”
“What is unconscionable?” said his father, but Chloe saw a grim satisfaction in his expression as he looked at Alexander. William’s position afforded him a view into the hallway, past Ian, but if he was shocked or surprised, he did not show it.
Alexander rubbed his neck, agitated. “Father, this is madness. We cannot do this,” he said.
“It is already done,” said Ian. He stepped into the room and a little girl in a worn brown dress followed him in, reaching to thread her small hand into his. “This is my daughter.”
The girl was about five or six years old. Her hair was long and dark and she had the same straight, long nose as her father. Her eyes, a vibrant grass green, must be a gift from her mother. Though the color shown unnaturally bright, set off by the tear-stained, swollen red skin around them. Her right hand clenched about the worn handle of a yellow flowered carpet bag, though it appeared nearly empty, its sides curving inward. Her simple dress looked as if it had been taken in and let out too many times.
After a shocked pause, the room erupted; the high-pitched tones of Mrs. Malone and Dora vying for most shocked. Robert watched the little girl with an expression of concern, as the other adults gesticulated and shouted. Amid the chaos, he slowly got up from his chair, knelt before the girl and said something quietly. She pulled back shyly and pressed her face into Ian’s hip.
Only Beatrice was still. She watched Ian with an expression of awe and confusion. Her expression changed to one of careful evaluation when she looked at the girl. Surely she must see the family resemblance, Chloe thought. She probably was trying to ascertain who the girl’s mother might be.
In the midst of the melee, Alexander grabbed Ian’s shoulder and spun him around, but Dora pushed between her brothers, facing Alexander. He shouted at her, and she pointed a finger into his face, not backing down an inch. Chloe could not hear what she said, but Alexander took a step back from her.
“Enough!” bellowed William. He gradually drew the family back to the table, and everyone took their seats except for Ian and the girl. A servant set two bowls of soup down at two empty places.
“You can sit here,” said Robert to the girl, patting the chair beside him. But the girl looked up at her father, uncertainly, her lower lip trembling. Her head dropped, her hair falling in a dark cascade to obscure her face, and her shoulder began to shake. Ian bent down and picked her up, adjusting her weight expertly, as if by old habit. The girl buried her face in his neck, her body limp and exhausted.
“I will take her to bed and see that she eats,” said Mrs. Block from the doorway.
The girl clutched Ian all the harder. He murmured something into her ear and she raised her head and looked him straight in the face. She released her grip on his neck long enough for him to transfer her to Mrs. Block’s arms. The pair disappeared down the hall.
“Outside,” hissed Alexander. “Now.”
“No, brother. I haven’t eaten a bite since midday and I’m famished. I’d like to join you all for supper if you will allow me.” Ian seated himself and scooted in his chair. He took up his spoon.
Alexander, face red, looked as if he might drag Ian outside by force.
“Her name is Josephine,” said Ian evenly. “Not that any of you asked or showed any sort of civilized welcome to her. She is six years old and her mother died this afternoon.”
Voices rose in protest and shock once more, and William slammed his fist on the table so hard that the dishes clinked and the wine in his crystal glass sloshed dangerously.
“I will speak with both of you after we eat,” said William to Alexander and Ian in a tone that brooked no argument. Ian was almost too calm and even seemed pleased as he nodded his assent.
The rest of
the meal was eaten in silence. Beatrice pushed the food around her plate and sipped her water. She glanced at her husband and Ian now and then, but Chloe could not tell what she was thinking.
Chapter 33
“You’re cooler. The fever broke,” said Chloe, laying her hand on Ambrose’s forehead.
“Indeed. I was thinking of taking the perilous journey to that chair.”
She offered her arm, but he waved it away. He got up and seated himself in the chair that had become his favorite.
“I dare say you will not be meeting with Mr. Baxter tonight?” she asked.
“No. I already had Mr. Frick send word that I would have to meet him in another day or two.”
“Good. You shouldn’t be outside anyway. The cold air is not good for you.”
“I seem to recall saying that you shouldn’t go out at night either,” he said with a wicked look.
“Only that I couldn’t go out alone. And as you can see, the cold air and evil vapors of the moor had no effect upon my health.”
“I am glad to hear it.”
Once she was sure he was well enough to take a shock, she told him about Josephine’s appearance at supper.
“That was most likely why Dora was anxious about you talking with Mr. Baxter alone,” she said. “He probably doesn’t know about the girl and she was afraid he might break off the engagement after such a scandal emerged.”
Ambrose nodded. “Something tells me that Mr. Baxter would not blame Dora if her brother behaved in an undignified manner.”
“I wouldn’t have thought it of Ian,” she shook her head. “Alexander seemed like the one who would do that.”
“You only say that because you heard it from others. A few days ago, you would not have thought it of Alexander.”
“I suppose not.” She got up and rang for a servant. When a maid appeared, she asked if Mrs. Block had supper for Ambrose.
A few minutes later, the young maid who had accompanied Mrs. Block to the stone circle appeared with a covered bowl, bread, a teapot and cup. Chloe lifted the cover off the soup bowl.
“There’s all sorts of healthful things in there,” said the maid. “Carrots, mushrooms and leeks, beef broth for strength, spinach and garlic for the blood and potatoes for energy. Also beets, but I forget what they’re for.”
Chloe thought about the medicinal herbs that Robert said would be included, but did not ask.
“It sounds wonderful. I believe I actually have an appetite now,” said Ambrose.
“My aunt says to make sure he eats the whole bowl,” said the maid to Chloe. “The bread too, if he can manage it. And he should try to drink a cup of tea every hour until bedtime.”
The girl turned to leave, but Chloe called her back. “How is the little girl, Josephine?”
“Oh, she’s eating down in the kitchen. She’ll be all right. She’s had such a rough time of it with her mother and all. Very sad. We’re all seeing to her though. And Ian came after supper to sit with her.”
“Do you think she’ll be staying?”
The girl blinked in surprise. For a family member to ask her opinion was unusual. “I suppose so. We made up a room for her just down the hall.” She bobbed a curtsey and left.
As Giles curled up on the windowsill, Chloe sat with Ambrose the rest of the evening, ensuring he finished his soup and drank his tea as instructed.
That night, as she pulled on her nightgown, she thought she heard a sound in the hallway. She listened, and it came again, a soft sniffling sound. She pulled open the doorway slowly, so as not to startle the person she thought was there. Josephine was in the hallway, but she jumped back and turned to run when she saw Chloe.
“No, wait. It’s me.”
Of course the child wouldn’t know who she was. She was just another face amid a sea of arguing strangers in this house. But the girl turned back and looked at her, evaluating. She looked tiny and too thin in her cotton nightgown. She smelled of soap and her hair hung in damp coils over her shoulders. Her feet were bare on the cold floorboards and her arms were wrapped around her middle.
“Are you cold?” Chloe said. Josephine paused and then nodded. “Did they make a fire up in your room?”
The girl shook her head.
“I have a fire in my room. Do you want to come in and warm up?”
Josephine glanced at the door behind her and took a step toward her. Chloe stepped aside and dragged two chairs near the fire. Josephine knelt down on the rug and put her hands out to absorb the heat. Chloe pulled a wool blanket off the bed and put it around the girl. Josephine’s eyes did not leave the fire.
“Who are you?” said Josephine. She sat back, pulled her knees up and wrapped the blanket around her body.
“I’m Chloe, I am married to your father’s uncle.”
Josephine drew her brows together in consideration and opened her mouth to say something, but then shut it and nodded. “And you live here too?”
“No, my husband and I are just visiting for a month. He’s in the next room but he’s not feeling well.”
“I hope God doesn’t take him. He takes people sometimes when they’re sick.”
“Oh no, I’m sure he’ll be fine.” She wanted to offer some comfort, but was not sure if she should bring up Josephine’s mother. But then, how could the girl not be thinking of her? The firelight played across her small face and she looked far away.
“Are you hungry?” Chloe asked.
“No, Mrs. Block gave me supper before my bath. Hot soup with carrots and potatoes and lots of things. Also bread with lots of butter and sugar sprinkled on top.” She turned to look around the room, taking in the furniture, the objects on the dressing table, the bed. She did not notice Giles on the windowsill, hidden by the curtain with darkness behind him. Maybe she should bring Giles over. Children liked animals.
“What did Ian say about me?” the girl asked.
“Not much. Your father told us that you were going to stay here, but that’s all.”
“My mum died. God took her this afternoon. So now I’m to live with my uncle. And my father. And that’s all there is to it.” She set her mouth in a manner that was far too old for her years.
She lowered her forehead to rest on her knees and took a long and shaky breath. Chloe knelt beside her and pushed her damp hair over one shoulder. She rubbed the girl’s back in slow circles. A minute later, Josephine launched herself into Chloe’s arms. She caught her balance in time to keep from falling over.
“I want my mummy back,” she whispered, her face hot and wet against Chloe’s neck.
“I’m sorry,” Chloe whispered into her damp hair. The child’s arms tightened around her neck as she took one sobbing breath after another.
“I hate God,” she whispered.
“I know.” Chloe held her, not knowing what to say. She rocked her and rubbed her back until her breathing slowed.
“I want to go to her,” she whispered, so faintly that Chloe wasn’t sure she had heard her.
“No, no you don’t.”
“I do!” she said, pulling her head back. Her eyes were wide and burned like green flames. “Then I wouldn’t be here with these dreadful people.”
“They’re not dreadful.” But that was a half-truth and they both knew it.
Josephine sighed heavily and laid her head back against Chloe’s shoulder. “If they’re so good, why weren’t they glad to see me?”
“They were just surprised, that’s all. They weren’t expecting you.”
“Ian never told them about me.”
“No, he didn’t.”
“They don’t want me.”
“They do, they just don’t know you yet. I bet in the morning they’ll be all smiles at breakfast. And if not, you come have breakfast with me. I’ll be glad to see you.”
“You will?”
“Without a doubt.”
She heaved a great sigh. “I’m tired. Can I sleep here with you?”
“I don’t know.” Chloe thought fo
r a moment. What if someone came to check on the girl in the night and wondered where she went?
“I’m scared in my room all alone. And it’s cold.”
Well, if anyone raised an alarm, she would hear it and bring the child out.
“Fine then, you can have the side of the bed nearest the fire.”
Josephine got up. Her mouth quirked into an exhausted half smile. As she pulled the back the blankets and crawled under them, Chloe realized where she had seen a smile like that before. It was Alexander’s.
Chapter 34
Josephine whimpered in her sleep and kicked Chloe with an icy foot. Chloe jolted awake. The fire had died, and the room was bitter cold. Chloe made sure that the blankets were tucked snugly around the sleeping girl. Her hair was dry now and lay across the pillow in dark wisps. It slid across the pillow as the child rolled over, pulling the blankets with her.
An odor, sharp and foul came from the girl. Vomit. Chloe lit the table lamp and looked at Josephine’s sleeping face. A small amount of vomit was crusted on the side of her mouth, but her breathing was regular and she seemed fine otherwise. Chloe touched her cheek with the back of her fingers. Her temperature was normal. She hated to wake her and bring her back to the world of a dead mother and chaotic family. She wiped off the girl’s mouth and watched her for awhile.
Josephine whimpered again and pulled her body into a ball. Poor girl. She must be having terrible dreams about her mother.
“Hurts,” she whimpered.
“I know. But your mother is with God now, and she will always be looking after you from heaven.”
“No, my stomach.” Her stomach gurgled and she moaned louder and then after awhile, she grew still. Chloe waited, listening in the dark. Josephine was breathing deep and slow. She must have fallen asleep.
When Chloe awoke, she found Josephine’s side of the bed empty. A cough from near her dressing table told her where the girl was. One of the gaslights was on very low. Josephine was crouched like a toad in front of the dresser, the washing basin in front of her as she coughed and spat into it. The sharp, sickly smell of stomach acid filled the room and Chloe’s stomach lurched in response. She flew to the door, yanking it open for fresh air and then turned up the gaslight. The washbasin was filled with vomit and Josephine was dry heaving and coughing, her small body shaking with the effort. She was crying silently as she heaved, her arms clutched around her middle. Her eyes were large and hollow.
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