Death of a Duchess

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Death of a Duchess Page 15

by Nellie H. Steele


  “Wonderful. I shall look most forward to sharing the afternoon with you.”

  Chapter 15

  When I retired for the evening, I laid awake in my bed. The last time I had been in Glasgow, I had laid awake as well. Worry for Tilly had consumed me then, as it did now. Worry over what, I did not understand. Perhaps anxiety crept over me at the prospect of Tilly’s predicament. Becoming an unwed mother set both mother and child at a severe disadvantage. What would become of Tilly? Of the child? Would the child become another unwanted orphan being cared for by a callous caregiver? No, Tilly would not desert her child, I affirmed in my mind. Though what if circumstances warranted no other choice? My mind whirled and nothing I did could quiet it.

  In an attempt to push the vexing thoughts from my mind, I considered my home. I recalled my tower room with its small library shelf. The comfortable chaise lounge, the cozy window seat, the small singing box I had left on my table there. All awaited my return. My mind turned to another awaiting me: Annie. I pondered over our last encounter. Why had she been hovering at the sitting room doors?

  I fell asleep in the wee hours of the morning and was awakened by Sinclair as she entered the room. “Apologies, Your Grace,” she said as I stifled a yawn and stretched. “I did not mean to wake you.”

  “No apology is required,” I assured her as she helped me with my dressing gown. “I confess I did not sleep well and slept later into the morning than I intended.”

  “Perhaps you should return to bed and rest,” Ella suggested.

  “No, I am quite well and prefer to pay my call as planned.”

  Ella nodded and helped me dress for the day. After breakfast, she set out on foot to visit her mother. I offered a carriage ride to her, though she assured me the walk on the bright spring day would be pleasant and not overwhelming.

  Later in the morning, I embarked on my own journey to Tilly’s brothel. As I navigated the streets, a knot grew in my stomach. I found my pace quickening with each step. Anxious to put my mind at ease, I dashed through the streets until I arrived in the less-than-desirable area of town. I approached Tilly’s street and hastened to her building. The dilapidated stone façade seemed more somber to me somehow.

  I hurried up the few crumbling stone stairs to the door and knocked. No one answered. I knocked again and waited, my foot tapping on the gray stone beneath me. Still nothing. Had the brothel closed, I wondered? I chuckled at the absurdity of that notion. Brothels did not often close.

  I stepped back, glancing into the windows, searching for any signs of life. Lamps burned inside, confirming the presence of people within the building. I stepped back up to the landing and pounded on the door.

  It appeared the third time was, in fact, the charm! The door opened a crack, and a face peered out. “What do you want?” she demanded.

  I was taken aback but proceeded with my request. “I am here to visit with Tilly Anderson,” I announced, struggling to see through the tiny crack in the door.

  “She ain’t here, go away,” the girl responded. She shut the door. I pounded against it again. “I said go away,” the girl repeated after opening the door a crack.

  I pushed against the door, shoving it open further. “No,” I insisted. “I demand to see Tilly.” My trepidation about Tilly grew with each passing moment.

  The girl seemed shocked at my determination. She fell back a few steps, and I pushed inside the building. She gaped around the room for a few moments as though uncertain how to proceed next.

  Another woman appeared at the top of the stairs. She sniffled, wiping at her face. She glanced at me, then at the girl.

  “What is this?” she asked.

  “This… lady,” the girl said, eyeing me, “pushed her way in here demanding to see Tilly.”

  The girl seemed to shudder at the statement. She swallowed hard, staring at me. “Yes,” I confirmed. “I would like to see Tilly Anderson. Now, please. If you give my name, she will know it. We are friends.”

  “Friends?” the redhead at the stair’s top squeaked.

  “Yes,” I repeated. “Friends.” The two women shared another glance. “What is going on here?” I demanded.

  “I think you’d better come at once, Miss… eh,” the woman paused.

  “Mrs. Fletcher,” I finished for her. “Lead the way.”

  I skirted the rude girl and ascended the steps. As I approached the other woman, I noted her blotchy skin and red nose. She had been crying. My stomach turned over, though I assured myself a crying prostitute was likely not uncommon.

  She led me up the remaining stairs and down the hall to a closed door. She glanced to me before opening it and proceeded inside. The distinct sound of sobbing filled the air as I rounded the bend into the room. Several women stood inside, a few crying, one wringing her hands.

  My brow crinkled as I witnessed the scene. I scanned the room, searching for the reason behind their sorrow. The women who had summoned me to the room touched the shoulder of another and whispered something into her ear. The girl who stood in front of a bed, glanced over her shoulder at me then backed away. Only then could I comprehend their upset.

  I gasped and tears filled my eyes as a sob shuddered through my body. On the bed lay Tilly’s body, lifeless. Pale as the sheet she lay on, her open eyes stared upward, though saw nothing. Her colorless cheeks were slack, and her jaw hung open. One woman held Tilly’s hand, sobbing over her, though it no longer mattered. She was gone.

  “Tilly!” I cried as tears rolled down my cheeks. “No!” I rushed to the bed, placing my palm on her cold cheek. I collapsed onto the bed next to her body as another sob escaped me. After a moment, I closed her eyes and pushed a lock of hair from her face. “What happened?” I whispered.

  No response came. I glanced around at the others, waiting for an answer. The woman who brought me to Tilly spoke. “She…” The woman paused, steadying herself as another wrapped an arm around her shoulder. After a sniffle, she proceeded again. “She had her baby this morning. But then she started bleeding. Lots of blood. And it didn’t stop. Just kept coming.” The woman choked on the words, sobbing with each sentence.

  “Aye,” a blonde woman added. “We tried to help her, even pooled some money to call for a doctor, but…” Her voice trailed off.

  “She died before he got here,” the rude girl who had followed us upstairs finished.

  I glanced back to Tilly’s exanimate form. Only now did I notice the faint traces of blood on the sheet that covered her body. Poor Tilly. Always so full of life, so exuberant, now cold and quiet. Another tear rolled down my cheek.

  My thoughts were frazzled but one constant centered itself in my mind. I stood and faced the other women. “What of the child?” I questioned.

  They gaped at each other, none certain how to answer. “Is it also…” My voice faded away, unable to finish the sentence.

  “No,” the blonde spoke up. “She delivered a healthy baby boy before…”

  “Where is he? May I see him?”

  The blonde nodded to the rude girl who disappeared into the hallway. She returned in moments carrying a small, swaddled figure. The tiny newborn mewled in her arms as he slept.

  The girl handed him to me, and I stared down at his tiny face. He was wrapped in a stained white sheet. His coverings contrary to the child himself. Porcelain skin and pink cheeks like his mother’s, I noted. And their mouths, identical. I wondered if he possessed her sparkling blue eyes. The only difference was the crown of dark hair on his head, the antithesis of Tilly’s flaxen tresses.

  He fussed, huffing and whimpering. “Shh,” I offered. “There, there.” I jostled him a bit to soothe him back to sleep. “Has the father been informed?” I asked, my eyes remaining on the child.

  I glanced up sharply when I received no response. The redhead shook her head, sighing.

  “There is no father,” offered the blonde. My brow furrowed at her statement.

  The redhead clarified it. “She don’t mean that literal. But w
e don’t have no idea who he is. With our… profession… it’s impossible to tell.”

  “Tilly seemed to know,” I argued. “Did she not confide in any of you his identity? She seemed to believe he wanted the child.”

  A chuckle emanated from the rude girl. It turned into an uncontrollable laugh. Several of the women hushed her, but she continued to snicker. My brow furrowed further, and a frown crossed my lips. “That’d be Tilly, all right,” she answered, calming herself after noting my expression. “She always insisted someone would be back for her.” The girl rolled her eyes and met my gaze. “There weren’t no father, no marriage proposal, no man wanting that baby. She dreamed it all up. Told herself that bedtime story to get through it, she did. There weren’t no truth to it.”

  I glanced around the room and was met by a few nods. Rude as she may be, the girl was correct and most of the others acknowledged and confirmed her take on the unfortunate situation.

  I looked down at the child in my arms. It was as I suspected. Tilly’s dreams of marriage and family were only that: dreams. Poor child, I contemplated. What would become of him? Questions swirled in my mind as I struggled to process the events.

  I gathered my thoughts before speaking again. I glanced up at the women. “What…” My voice trailed off. I stared into the room’s corner. A blue-eyed, pink-cheeked, flaxen haired woman stared back. Tilly. My heart broke for her. It took all my strength not to weep again in that moment.

  She approached me, glancing down at the child in my arms. She placed her hand on his head, her thumb stroking his tiny forehead. Tilly glanced up at me, tears filling her eyes. I offered her a sympathetic look.

  “Please, Lenora,” she said, sobs filling her voice. “Take him.”

  My expression changed to one of bewilderment. I glanced to the baby then back to Tilly. “Please, Lenora,” she repeated. “Take him. Minnie is correct. He has no father. They cannot and will not care for him here. He will be left on the stairs of the nearest orphanage. He will grow up a street urchin. Please, I beg of you to take him.”

  My mind whirled. I could not take this child. I swallowed hard as I considered my next move. Tilly’s assessment was correct. The child would be dumped at the nearest location. A terrible fate for a baby. I knew all too well the life he would lead. Yet, what could I do? Perhaps I could see to an appropriate adoption. Something better than an orphanage could arrange. Yes, perhaps…

  My musings were broken by a touch on my arm. The redhead approached, gently pulling me back to reality. “Are you all right, Mrs. Fletcher?” she said softly.

  Before I could answer the door burst open again. A rotund woman with a heavily painted face and a sour countenance stormed in. “All right, girls, enough is enough! Dry your eyes and put on a stiff upper lip,” she announced. She swatted at one of the girls’ bottoms. “We’ve got a mess to clean up before business starts in a few hours. Come on, come on! Much to do, we’ve…” Her voice trailed off as her gaze fell on me.

  “And who are you?” she inquired.

  “Mrs. Flet…” the redhead began, but I interrupted her.

  “Lenora Fletcher. Duchess of Blackmoore.”

  I received several odd glances and a few gasps after announcing my position. “Duchess, is it?” the woman inquired. “If you are seeking your husband, he ain’t here. We’re closed. Or if you are looking to make trouble with one of my girls over the services she provided him, I will have to insist you leave. I don’t permit nobody to harass my girls over the pleasures her husband has received.”

  “No,” I explained with a shake of my head. “I am not seeking my husband nor to quarrel with anyone over any… services. I came to visit my friend, Tilly.” I nodded to the body. “Though it appears I am too late.”

  “Oh,” the woman said, her countenance softening a tad. She eyed me holding the child, then raised her eyebrows. “Will you be claiming the child then? As her closest next of kin?”

  “I…”

  “No! We don’t know her from Eve,” another woman objected. “We cannot just give Tilly’s child to her!”

  The plump woman raised her eyebrows further, setting her hands on her hips and staring at the girl. “This is a place of business!” she roared. “Not a nursery! We cannot raise a child here! Do you plan on tending to the infant with one hand while you hike your skirt with the other? If she don’t take the child, it goes on the doorstep of the nearest orphanage.”

  I fluttered my eyelashes, focusing my attention on the child rather than the vulgar discussion.

  The woman lowered her eyes, objecting no further. The madam turned her gaze to me. “Well?” she demanded. “If you are taking the child, let’s get on with it. We have a business to run.”

  Tilly still stood in front of me. Her fingers stroking her baby’s cheek. I glanced to her, then to the child. I met the madam’s gaze. “Yes,” I answered. “I am taking the child.”

  “Well, get on with it then. You can take the sheet if you ain’t got another covering to wrap him in. And you girls get this mess cleaned up. No one wants a dead body staring at them while seeking the pleasures of a woman.” The woman turned on her heel and removed herself from our company, slamming the door shut behind her.

  “All right, girls, you heard Madame Blanche, the time for grieving is over,” the blonde said, taking charge of the room.

  The redhead busied herself at one of the dressers, searching the top drawer. After a moment, she pulled a light blue scarf from it. She approached me and offered it to me. “Here,” she said. “This was Tilly’s. She loved it, said the color was the most beautiful she’d ever seen. Take it to wrap the baby in.”

  I smiled at her, setting the child on the bed next to his deceased mother and using the scarf to secure the soiled sheet around him. Before I retrieved him, I dug in my purse and produced a few coins. “Please see that Tilly is buried properly,” I requested of the redheaded woman. “I would do it myself, but I shall only be in town one more night.”

  She took the coins and nodded. I gathered the sleeping newborn into my arms. “Please make sure he is looked after well,” the redhead pleaded, tears filling her eyes.

  “I will. I shall write when he is settled to inform you of his whereabouts.” I glanced across the room. Tilly now stood in the corner near the door. I approached her, but before I reached her, the rude girl stepped between us.

  I braced myself for another bout of rude behavior. The girl reached to the child, caressing his cheek. A tear rolled down her cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “Tilly stashed away a few nappies for him beforehand. Here.” She handed me a small package, wrapped in a sheet.

  “Thank you,” I answered softly.

  “Goodbye, little one,” she replied, her gaze focused on the child.

  I offered her a tender smile before I continued toward the door and Tilly. Tilly’s eyes brimmed with tears, but she smiled at me. I nodded to acknowledge her emotions. She disappeared behind the door as the blonde swung it open for me.

  I passed through and descended the stairs and crossed the foyer, stepping into the street. Only then did I take a moment to myself. I leaned against the doorjamb as I collected the thoughts whirling through my mind.

  The tiny babe in my arms gave a soft grunt, wiggling and flailing his arms before settling back to sleep. I was no stranger to childcare, having tended several babies during my time at St. Mary’s. However, my concern stemmed not from caring for the babe, but rather from explaining his presence. Still, the deed had been done. I had accepted the responsibility of placing the child. I would do my best to explain the situation to Robert and hope he could accept the temporary disruption to our lives. With any luck, I mused, Mr. Langford could place the child tonight.

  I convinced myself all would turn out well as I descended the stairs leading to the brothel. I glanced up to the sunny sky, glad for a bright, warm spring day. I worried the child may catch a chill had the weather been damp.

  As I began down the street, a clock tower
chimed. Already half-past one, I realized. With a sigh, I hurried through the streets. Even at this frenzied pace, I would be late to meet Robert. The entire somber business at the brothel had taken longer than I’d expected. I used the time to practice what I might say to my husband. Explaining the sudden presence of a newborn may prove complex.

  Our hotel came into sight and I hastened toward it. I rounded the corner, spotting Robert checking his pocket watch as he stood near the gates to the park. A sigh escaped my lips and my heart thudded in my chest as I crossed the street to the park.

  As I approached him, he caught sight of me. His eyes widened and his brow furrowed in confusion. “I apologize,” I puffed, winded from my hasty excursion through Glasgow’s streets. “I was unexpectedly detained.”

  His eyebrows raised as he continued to stare at the babe in my arms. “Clearly.”

  “I can explain,” I added.

  “I hope so,” Robert exclaimed, “as this is a most unexpected turn of events!”

  The baby mewled, fussing as he wiggled in my arms. “May we walk as I explain?” I requested. “It may calm the child.”

  Robert motioned for me to proceed him into the park and I followed the path, taking a leisurely pace. Robert remained silent as we strode along. I waited a few moments before proceeding, unsure where to begin. “I am not certain where to begin,” I confessed. “Though I shall try to make sense of this. Please know that I am most regretful of the inconvenience and beg your understanding in the matter.” My words came in a breathless, clipped manner as I fretfully attempted to gain Robert’s compassion. If I’d had use of my hands, I am certain I would have wrung them, though they remained clutching the child to my bosom.

  Robert waved his hand at me. “Calm yourself, Lenora. I am not angry, only curious. Tell me what’s happened.”

  Robert’s understanding astounded me. I hoped his calm, measured manner persisted throughout my wild tale. I nodded, taking a breath before relaying the story. “It is Tilly,” I said. “Oh, I am afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you. You see, Tilly… she left the orphanage to strike out on her own. It did not turn out at all as she expected. And… she fell into a rather bad way. I had hoped to liberate her from her circumstances by taking her on as my ladies’ maid. But when I called on her to make the offer, I found her… unable to accept. She found herself in the family way. Only…” I struggled to make clear the more disgraceful details.

 

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