Death of a Duchess

by Nellie H. Steele

  Footsteps sounded on the stairs, continuing down the hall toward our bedroom. Headmistress Williamson appeared in the doorway. She glanced in at us, her face set into its usual frown. “Lenora,” she snapped. “Clean up the child and prepare her to be seen by prospective parents. Bring her down as soon as you have finished. Do not delay.”

  “Yes, headmistress,” I responded, a lump forming in my throat. Headmistress Williamson spun on a heel and disappeared from my sight.

  “Perhaps they will reject her,” Tilly offered.

  I clung to Tilly’s optimism with every fiber of my being, though a piece of my mind warned me to prepare for the inevitable. Babies were not often rejected by prospective parents. It was a marvel the child had gone this long without being claimed.

  I closed the book and made sure Bessie was presentable. I fixed her dress, ensured her face was clean, and that she did not need her nappy changed. Satisfied, I carried her downstairs with Tilly following me.

  A man and woman stood with Headmistress Williamson in the foyer. I slowed as I reached the bottom of the stairs.

  “Ah, here is the child now,” Headmistress Williams announced. She pulled the baby from my arms, offering her to the woman. “As you can see, the child is quite healthy. She sleeps through the night without trouble. She is a pleasant little darling, very alert yet never demanding or fussy.”

  I held back rolling my eyes. Headmistress Williamson rarely bothered herself with the child’s care. She gave the same speech with every child, having no idea of any of their temperaments.

  The woman accepted Bessie from her. “Oh, Charles,” she breathed, turning to the man, “isn’t she beautiful?”

  “Mmm,” the man murmured. “And she has no known diseases?” he asked Headmistress Williamson.

  “None at all!” Headmistress Williamson assured him. “Healthy as can be!”

  The woman rubbed her cheek. “Hello there, darling. Would you like to come home with us?” she asked Bessie.

  “And the agreed upon sum for her adoption is set? No reduction in cost despite her age?”

  “I am sure, Mr. Bedford, we can work out a sum agreeable to both of us.”

  My stomach turned. I held Bessie’s blanket in my hands, her only possession. I clung to it, wringing it in frustration. Tilly would be proved incorrect. The couple planned to take the child.

  “Do not dicker, dear,” the woman whispered.

  The man glanced to his wife holding Bessie. He nodded. “All right. We shall take the child, Headmistress.” He passed her an envelope. “Please count it if you wish.”

  “I am sure there is no need for that!” Headmistress Williamson answered, shoving the envelope into her pocket. “Lenora, fetch anything that belongs with the child.”

  I stepped forward with the blanket, choking back my tears. “She sleeps with this,” I choked out. “And she is fond of being rocked before bed.”

  The woman accepted the blanket. “Thank you,” she offered. I stepped back and Tilly put her hand on my shoulder. “Oh, Charles, perhaps we should inquire after a nanny.”

  My heart lifted. They were in need of a nanny. I cared for the child for the first six months of her life. I knew her schedule, all her likes and dislikes, I knew the child inside and out. Perhaps we would not be separated. I could fit into the role of nanny!

  “Yes,” Charles agreed with Mrs. Bedford. “Yes, perhaps one of your girls would be suitable, Headmistress.”

  The woman nodded at me as Headmistress Williamson responded. “Oh, why yes! Yes, of course we can assist with that. St. Mary’s turns out some of the best girls for service! I have the perfect girl in mind!” She stepped to the stairway, calling up. “Bertha! Bertha? Come down at once to my office!”

  “Mr. and Mrs. Bedford, why don’t we step this way into my office where we can discuss the matter further?”

  “Oh,” Mrs. Bedford said, hesitating. “What about her?” She nodded toward me. “She seems to know the child.”

  Headmistress Williamson glared at me for a moment before plastering a smile on her face and returning her gaze to Mrs. Bedford. “Please step this way and we can discuss it. I assure you Bertha will be a lovely addition to your home.” She wrapped her arm around Mrs. Bedford’s waist, leading her to the office. As they crossed the foyer, I heard her add, “Between us, Mrs. Bedford, I cannot recommend Lenora. Oh, she seems kind enough, but she is a troubled girl.” They disappeared into the office as Bertha descended the stairs.

  I swallowed hard as tears stung my eyes. I bit my lower lip and fled up the stairs to the bedroom. I flung myself across the bed as sobs wracked my body.

  “She is a witch. Do not waste your tears,” Tilly said, following me and closing the door behind her. She climbed onto the bed, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

  “I do not shed them over Headmistress Williamson,” I said between sobs.

  Tilly rubbed my back. “Do not cry, Lenora.”

  I continued to weep. “They have taken Bessie.”

  “They seem like a lovely couple.”

  “Yes, I recognize that,” I responded. “And I hate myself for hating them but…”

  “But you shall miss her,” Tilly finished for me.

  “Yes,” I cried.

  “One day, Lenora, we shall have all the happiness the world can offer. You must believe that.”

  I wiped at my face, sniffling. “There is no happiness in this world for me,” I lamented.

  “Lenora Hastings!” Tilly scolded. “Stop that talk this instant! I shall hear no more of it! We shall find happiness! Both of us. Even if you do not believe it, cling to the idea in moments like these. Together, we shall get through it!” She squeezed me tight. The warm hug eased my raw emotions. When I no longer sobbed, Tilly released me.

  “You must finish your composition,” I murmured.

  Tilly responded by rising from the bed and grabbing her composition from the writing desk. She tore it in two and threw it in the trash bin.

  “Tilly! What an impetuous thing to do!” I scolded.

  Tilly grinned at me. “As long as it has stopped your mind from dwelling on your sorrows, I do not care.”

  “But now you shall need to rewrite it all!”

  “It matters not. It was rubbish anyway. I can rewrite it if you promise to help me! But first, let us spend the afternoon playing a game.” Tilly pulled a stack of cards from under one of the beds. “Rummy?”

  I smiled as I recalled her devilish grin as she waved the cards at me. Sorrow grew in my heart over her loss, and I cursed myself for not coming to her aid sooner, for not insisting she leave the brothel earlier. I regretted not paying attention to my foreboding sense, vowing not to ignore such feelings in the future. Tilly, a true friend, was gone because of my disregard for my own instincts.

  The baby yawned and stretched in Ella’s arms. My mind snapped back to the present and to more pressing matters. His little mouth opened and closed before he began to whimper. “There, there, little one,” Ella cooed.

  “I should check the time. He may be hungry.” I climbed from the bed and glanced at the clock in the sitting room. “It is later than I realized. I should feed him and dress for dinner. I imagine Robert will return at any moment.”

  I fetched the bottle of milk and spoon from the sitting room and relieved Ella of the baby. “That is quite an amazing trick,” she murmured as I spoon fed the child.

  “I’ve had a bit of practice at it,” I informed her.

  After the child was fed, I swaddled him in a blanket and settled him in a dresser drawer, a trick I learned at the orphanage. Ella busied herself laying out my clothes as I nestled him in to sleep. I dressed for dinner and awaited Robert’s return in the sitting room. Ella and I sat near the fireplace reading.

  Minutes turned to hours. After a time, I stared at the clock, wondering if the time may be correct. Robert’s tasks seemed to take far longer than I had anticipated. I attempted to return to my reading but found my mind unable to focu
s. I stood from my chair and paced the room.

  “Is everything all right, Your Grace?” Ella inquired.

  “Yes,” I assured her. “Only becoming fretful about Duke Blackmoore’s return. The hour is growing late. I expected him earlier than this.”

  “Perhaps he has run into difficulty with the arrangements.”

  “Yes, perhaps,” I agreed. I continued my incessant pacing as my mind whirled. Robert had planned to go to the brothel. Perhaps he had met with trouble there. The part of town where the brothel was situated was less than desirable. My mind concocted all sorts of scenarios.

  I checked on the baby who still slept peacefully in my bedroom. I returned to the sitting room, plopping into the chair across from Ella. I found myself unable to stay there, though, and within moments, I resumed my pacing of the floor.

  After another thirty minutes, the door to our suite popped open. “Robert!” I exclaimed as he entered the room. “Thank goodness!”

  Noting my flustered tone, Robert asked, “Is everything all right with the child?”

  “Yes,” I assured him. “However, the late hour concerned me. I feared something may have happened to you!”

  Robert smiled at me and kissed my forehead. “No, I am quite all right, dear,” he informed me. “Though I apologize for keeping you waiting for your supper.”

  “Did the arrangements give you trouble?”

  “Not at all! I have arranged for her burial tomorrow afternoon. With no family, I saw no reason to delay it. She will be laid to rest at St. Agnes.”

  My brow furrowed. While I was pleased to know the arrangements had been completed with no trouble, I pondered why Robert had been delayed. Before I could inquire about it, a knock sounded at the door. Robert crossed to the door and opened it.

  Three men entered, carrying a variety of things. “This,” he said, pointing a finger in the air, his eyebrows raised and a grin on his face, “is what delayed me.”

  “What is all this?” I questioned.

  “A few items for the baby,” Robert answered. He grabbed a cylindrical item from one of the men’s arms. He studied it, his lips pursuing as he stared at the object. “Formula! I am told this is the preferred alternative for a child in the absence of a wet nurse. We shall try it until a wet nurse and nanny can be engaged.”

  “And the rest?” I queried as the men set down the remaining items and departed. I stared at a small wooden horse. Brown in color with a black mane and tail, it sat on rockers. A little saddle sat on its back and leather reins flowed from its face to its back.

  “Ah,” Robert said, approaching the wooden animal and setting it to rock. “A rocking horse! All the rage these days for children, I am told.”

  “A rocking horse?” I repeated, my voice questioning.

  “Yes. A splendid surrogate for his nursery until he has his own horse, wouldn’t you say? Though I do not imagine it will be long before I am buying the laddie his first pony!” Robert grinned from ear to ear. He picked up something else. I had never seen anything like it before. “And this is a zoetrope!” He spun a wheel underneath a cylindrical drum. “See, it makes the animal appear to be moving!” He continued on. “And this object is a magic lantern! You insert a slide here and it projects an image onto the wall! Most useful for his education!” My jaw hung open. I glanced wide-eyed to Robert. “Is something the matter, Lenora?”

  “No,” I answered, finally finding my voice. “I imagine he will find these items most entertaining as he grows.”

  “Yes, it is my sincere hope! I shall have them sent ahead of us with Mr. Langford tomorrow. Henry will return to the castle ahead of us to prepare the staff for the laddie’s arrival. Buchanan will desire notice to prepare the nursery.” Robert glanced around the room. Ella had wandered over to peruse the new items for the child. “Where is the little chap?”

  “Asleep,” I informed him, motioning to my bedroom.

  “Do you mind if I take a peek at him before supper?” Robert questioned. “If you are too hungry, I shall wait.”

  “Not at all,” I responded. Robert followed me into the bedroom and to the child’s makeshift crib.

  “A drawer?” he questioned. “Clever, Lenora. Did you give Henry a name?”

  “Yes,” I responded. “I hope you shall be pleased with it.”

  “I am certain I will be. What is it?” Robert asked, still cooing over the baby.

  “Samuel,” I stated.

  Robert glanced to me. “Samuel?” A smile spread across his face. “My father’s name.”

  “Yes,” I answered, returning his expression. “I hoped it would please you.”

  “It does,” he assured me. “Oh, we must also consider his christening. Shall we discuss it over our supper?” He offered his arm to escort me to dine.

  “Yes,” I agreed, accepting it. “Though I shall leave the details of godparents to you, Robert. I have no family or even acquaintances who may serve.”

  “Hmm,” Robert answered as we navigated to the dining room. “I considered Lord and Lady Sinderby. A lovely couple.”

  “Whatever you suggest, dear,” I agreed. “Though…”

  “Yes?” Robert prompted.

  “Would it be prudent to involve your brother?”

  “Edwin?” Robert scoffed. “Lenora, with his behavior toward you, he is the last person I expected you to consider.”

  I shrugged. “I only considered him because I regarded it as an olive branch. Perhaps one from which to rebuild your relationship.”

  Robert frowned. “He is a drunkard and a troublemaker. Given his behavior of late, the olive branch should be offered from him to me, not the other way ‘round!”

  I nodded. “You are correct,” I answered. “I shall not press the matter. Lord and Lady Sinderby are most suitable from my perspective. We shall ask them.”

  Robert glanced to me for a moment. “Quite right, yes,” he answered. “I shall write to Lord Sinderby upon our return to Blackmoore.”

  Chapter 17

  The following day brought bright spring sunshine to Glasgow. Mr. Langford set off early, his carriage laden with the items Robert purchased for Samuel. After lunch, we set off for St. Agnes church, where Robert arranged for Tilly to be laid to rest.

  A mix of emotions, I focused myself on tending to Samuel as a distraction. The day warmed enough by afternoon to take the child, so I laid Tilly’s blue scarf on his chest and swaddled him in a new blanket and took him. It proved to settle my nerves for the majority of the journey and even some of the service. Three of the girls from the brothel attended the simple service. I recognized the redhead who had given me Tilly’s scarf, the vocal blonde and rude girl.

  They stood apart from us during the service. I smiled at them whenever they glanced to me, though for most of the ceremony, they kept their heads bowed. After the service began, Sir Richard Prescott approached, standing at a distance.

  I stared into the rectangular hole dug into the ground. The wooden box inside appeared so forlorn, so final. Its plain brown façade a direct contrast to the bright colors of spring. It served as another reminder of the finality of life. I fought to keep hold of my emotions during the funeral, though they got the better of me when we said our final goodbyes.

  A sob escaped me, and tears rolled down my cheeks. Ella quickly swept Samuel into her arms to allow me a moment to grieve. Robert steadied me and I wept as sorrow swept through me.

  After a moment, I regained my composure. I squeezed Robert’s hand and wiped away my tears. Ella placed Samuel in my arms, and I focused all my energy on fussing with his swaddling.

  As the funeral concluded, Sir Richard Prescott approached. He shook Robert’s hand before turning to me. “My deepest condolences, Duchess Blackmoore.”

  “Thank you,” I replied, surprised by Sir Richard’s compassion in the matter.

  “I was surprised to learn of your friendship,” he continued. “Always a surprise from you, duchess.” He raised his eyebrow at me, a wanton expression on his
face. I had misjudged him. He offered no compassion. His curiosity drove him to seek out Tilly’s funeral.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, Sir Richard,” Robert chimed in. “My wife needs some time to grieve.”

  “Of course,” Sir Richard answered. “Good day and again, my sympathies.” Sir Richard strolled away, glancing back one last time with a lecherous wink. I stopped myself from shuddering.

  Tilly’s workmates approached me. “I shall wait for you at the carriage unless you require my assistance, Lenora,” Robert excused himself.

  I nodded to him in response.

  “Might we take one last peek at the babe?” the redhead inquired.

  “Of course,” I answered, smiling away my grief and focusing on something pleasant.

  “He’s got a new blanket,” rude girl responded. “Big and fancy.”

  “Yes,” I answered. “Duke Blackmoore and I made the decision to adopt the child ourselves. He purchased a variety of items for the baby yesterday. I have kept the scarf you gave me with him though,” I explained, pulling the blanket open to show them.

  The redhead wiped a tear from her cheek. “Tilly’d be so happy he’s being provided for.” Another tear fell to her cheek. She reached to Samuel’s cheek and rubbed it.

  “What will you name him?” the blonde inquired.

  “Samuel,” I replied. “Duke Blackmoore’s father’s name.”

  “It’s a good strong name,” the redhead said with a sniffle. After a breath, she opened the ragged purse hanging from her wrist and withdrew a few coins. “Seeing as your husband took care of all the expenses, we no longer need this.”

  “Keep it,” I blurted. I pushed her fingers closed and squeezed her hand.

  “I couldn’t…” she began.

  I interrupted her. “You can and you will.”

  She smiled in response, dropping the coins back into her purse.

  The rude girl suggested, “You will. To make up for our lost wages. We better be getting back. Madame Blanche is already sore at us for coming.”