Prayers for the Dying

by Tracy L. Ward

  A moment of silence passed between them. Nothing in the house stirred, not even the family members and visitor in the next room.

  “What did Inspector Simms say?” Margaret said at last.

  “He said very little, actually,” Ainsley said, rounding their father’s desk. “I told them all I knew but even I’m not sure there is a connection now.” Ainsley fell back into the leather chair and raised his hands to his face. Exhausted, he wasn’t entirely sure he’d be able to stay awake for much longer.

  “You are short on sleep,” Margaret said. “You should rest. I’ll tell Blair you are feeling under the weather this evening.”

  Ainsley found himself smiling. “Look at you, learning to deceive like a right proper mistress.”

  Margaret raised an eyebrow. “Between Mother and Aunt Louisa my tutelage has been quite remarkable.”

  Ainsley’s eyes shot open and he sat up in the chair.

  “What is it?” Margaret asked, startled.

  “Tutelage.” Ainsley stood and rushed for the door.

  “Peter, where are you going?”

  “The Limehouse Foundling Home.”

  The building stood three storeys high, institutional in its lack of adornments or architectural embellishments. Given the late hour, the place looked devoid of life, but Ainsley knew better than to assume nothing occurred behind the stone bricks and iron-gated windows. The sheer number of orphans housed and cared for by the headmistress, Mrs. Holliwell, ensured any number of misadventures at any given time.

  Mrs. Holliwell had been a friend of his late mother, who had become a patron to the charity early on. This foundling home had also been the very place where Julia had been raised. Ainsley and Margaret did not know as much when Julia was first hired on but he had no doubt his father factored in her parentage and background before allowing her to enter the Marshall Home. That was one inconsistency that remained unanswered even after the many months that had passed. Always discerning, even shrewd, Lord Marshall had never missed a chance to turn his nose up at his wife’s involvement with the street urchins of the east side. It remained unclear why an exception had been made in Julia’s case, who remained the one and only orphan Lord Marshall ever hired.

  Ainsley’s knock at the heavy, wooden doors echoed back to him and then moments later the door swung in. Mrs. Holliwell squinted as she peered around the door. She raised a small lantern that she held in her hand and smiled instantly.

  “Mr. Marshall!” She opened the door wider and ushered him in. “Come, come,” she waved. “I had hoped you and Margaret would come for a visit soon.”

  With the door to the street closed behind them, Mrs. Holliwell smiled warmly. “My, you are looking well,” she said.

  Ainsley laughed. “Merely a trick of the light,” he said, nodding to her lantern.

  She waved off his humility and gestured for him to follow her. They walked down a long hallway and then turned toward the common rooms. The halls above them remained silent save for a weak cough or the squeak of one of the metal beds.

  Another adult, complete with dirtied apron and tight-fitted bun, approached them from the other end of the hall.

  “The boys have settled, ma’am,” she said, shoving her hands into the pockets of her pinafore. “Jack is still crying, but he’s not disturbing the others.”

  Mrs. Holliwell gave an uneasy glance to Ainsley before nodding toward her staff member. “Thank you, Kate. Make sure the kitchen is tidy for the morning.”

  The woman gave a nod and then left, retracing her steps down the corridor.

  “We were forced to give one of our younger boys the strap,” Mrs. Holliwell said as she entered the open door beside them. “A lash for each year of the boy’s age.”

  Once inside Ainsley noticed she had led him to her office, where a second lamp sat aglow and radiating a warm luminance into the room.

  Ainsley hesitated. “How many would that be then?”

  “Five, or so we believe.”

  Ainsley tried not to physically react at the thought of such punishment. He himself was no stranger to the penalty. His father had been rather fond of the strap whereas their governess preferred the switch, the directive most likely coming directly from his father.

  “Please, Mr. Marshall, take a seat.” Mrs. Holliwell nodded to the upholstered chair that sat opposite her desk. “I was just planning meals for the next month,” she explained as Ainsley took his seat where directed. Taking her seat she placed her pencil into the page of her ledger where she wrote and closed the book. “I think you should know I have not seen my son for some time,” she said with a pained smile. “He does not bother me any longer and no longer comes to see the children.”

  Her use of the word ‘see’ caused Ainsley to internally cringe. The man she spoke of, her son, had been taking too many liberties with the children, the girls especially. Once Ainsley had become aware of this he took extreme measures to ensure Mr. Holliwell never thought to even look at a child, let alone lay a hand on one. Ainsley had told some of the older children to send word if Mr. Holliwell returned. Their silence allowed him to believe the orphans were safe, and now Mrs. Holliwell’s words confirmed it.

  “You know as well as I that it is for the better that he refrains from contact,” Ainsley reminded her gently.

  Mrs. Holliwell nodded and raised a wrinkled hand to her cheek, as if recalling the number of bruises it had received at the hand of her son over her lifetime. “Yes, I do, indeed.”

  Ainsley drew in a quick breath to steady himself and then leaned into the edge of his seat. “That is not why I am here,” he said. “You know a woman who has come to work for my family.”

  “Julia, yes,” Mrs. Holliwell volunteered quickly. “Is she all right?”

  “The last I spoke with her she was entirely all right. Healthy, content, happy even,” Ainsley said. As he spoke he could picture the smile she gave him from the other side of his bed. Many times they had talked for hours into the night, both happy to exchange sleep for those precious hours of solitude.

  “Something’s happened,” Mrs. Holliwell said suddenly, breaking his reverie.

  “Yes.” Ainsley rubbed a hand over his face. Tears stung at his eyes, but he willed them away. Mrs. Holliwell could not know the extent of their relationship. As far as she could know he was an anxious employer merely concerned for her safety. “She was sent on some errands for our housekeeper, but never returned home. That was two days ago.”

  He decided not to tell her about the other maids found with their throats slit. Such details would only further distress Mrs. Holliwell, whom he knew Julia regarded as her mother.

  “I believed she was happy working at Marshall House—”

  “Oh, she was!” Mrs. Holliwell cut in quickly. “She was exceedingly happy.”

  The look on Ainsley face must have betrayed his surprise because when Mrs. Holliwell looked to him she smiled.

  “She begged me not to say anything to you or Margaret, but she would come have tea with me every Sunday afternoon.” A grimace spread over Mrs. Holliwell’s face as she pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve at her wrist. “She told me very little, mind you, very little about the workings of the house and such, but she said that she considered Margaret a dear friend.”

  Ainsley smiled awkwardly, wondering if she ever spoke of him and knew she would not. Their relationship was far too illicit.

  “She spoke of you as well.”

  His heart rose, wondering what she may have said.

  “She said you were faring quite well at the hospital and that she was ever so proud to work for a righteous and amiable man.”

  “Amiable?” Ainsley wasn’t sure what he had expected her to say. He imagined her limitations mirrored his. As much as he’d like to claim her publically as his own, his position and status prevented him. Such a declaration meant scandal and while he cared little of his own reputation he knew he could never do such a thing to Julia, whose position relied on her good name.


  “Why would she leave?” Ainsley asked.

  Mrs. Holliwell shook her head. “I don’t know. Marshall House has provided a stability she had never known before. It seems inconceivable that she would simply give it up. Was there no note, no indication where she might have gone? Perhaps one of the other maids—”

  “There was no such note and all the maids have sworn they know nothing.”

  “Oh my.” Mrs. Holliwell rubbed her nose with her handkerchief and sniffled. “I’ve been so afraid something might happen.”

  Ainsley watched as the foundling home matron licked her dry and cracked lips, tears pooling on her lower lids. “Why do you say that?” he asked.

  Mrs. Holliwell looked up but did not speak.

  “What are you afraid will happen?” he pressed.

  From her position across the tiny and dimly light room, Mrs. Holliwell shifted slightly, as if turning away, but then shifted back toward him. She opened her mouth to speak twice, but stopped herself before finally choosing her words. “Julia came to me as a young girl on the cusp of womanhood. She had already seen so much it broke my heart that she had not been brought to us sooner.”

  “Her parents had passed away?”

  “Her mother, yes, but at this time her father still held a spell over them.”

  “Them?”

  “Why yes, her brother and her.” Mrs. Holliwell wiped her nose. “They never wished to stay here. They kept running away, running back to him. But he could not care for them and she always ended up back on our doorstep begging for food. Often Robert wouldn’t be too far behind. Some of my volunteers said I should stop allowing them back, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Julia was so bright and keen to learn, the complete opposite of her brother, who never did learn to read.”

  “She must have been here enough for you to consider her a daughter,” Ainsley suggested.

  “Two years after the first time they were brought here their father died in a knife fight. They were with him at the time, but neither of them ever told me what happened and I thought it best not to pry. Neither one ran away after that.” Mrs. Holliwell smiled. “Julia applied herself to her studies and found a position in the service not too long after her fourteenth birthday.”

  “What happened to her brother?” Ainsley asked.

  “Against my advice he became involved in some illegal betting scheme, boxing or some such nonsense. He was a good fighter, strong despite his small size, but I had a feeling he’d get himself into trouble one day. He was good for little else given his disdain for books. I had already let him stay here longer than usual, on account of Julia and he being so close.”

  “Do you know where Robert lives?” Ainsley asked, inching to the very edge of his seat.

  “It’s been nearly ten years,” Mrs. Holliwell confessed. “I couldn’t even tell you if he lives.”

  “But if Julia was close to him she would have said something, yes?” No reply came. “Do you know who he was working for? Maybe Julia mentioned a visit with him.”

  Mrs. Holliwell shook her head and covered her face with her hand. “I wish I could help,” she sobbed.

  “There must be something,” he pressed. “I fear she may be in trouble.” Ainsley leaned into the space that separated them and handed her his own, clean handkerchief from his inside pocket. “Mrs. Holliwell, please.”

  Apprehension marred her features as she accepted Ainsley’s handkerchief. She looked away as more tears filled her eyes. Ainsley reached over and placed his hand over hers, which lay on her skirt.

  “I have to find her.”

  She closed her eyes and winced against the pain it caused her. “How I have wished Julia would break free of that man,” she said. “Getting her a position in Belgravia was the best I could do. I thought she would be safe there.” She eyed him as she dabbed her cheeks with the soft cloth.

  “Safe from her brother?”

  “No, not Robert.” Mrs. Holliwell looked at Ainsley squarely then, her mouth shaping into a frown before she spoke again. “Thaddeus.”

  “He recruited Robert in the illegal fighting?”

  Mrs. Holliwell nodded. “He is a terrible man. Vindictive and volatile.”

  “She had a relationship with him?” Ainsley asked, aware how uncomfortable the subject made him feel.

  “Yes. I believe he made her feel protected in some way, a way in which her father and brother had failed.” She sniffled then and took a breath to steady herself. “You have to understand life in these neighbourhoods for young women like Julia. Society grants them no power over their lives and these men offer them something they could not have otherwise.” Mrs. Holliwell paused, her gaze fixated on something on the floor. “She would not tell me what he did but I saw the bruises, as you saw on me. We both fell victim to the men in our lives. I could not help her any more than I could help myself.”

  Ainsley stood suddenly, the anxiousness he felt for Julia’s safety nipping at his heels. He flexed his hands into fists at his side and took a deep breath as he paced. “Where can I find him?”

  “I don’t know. I know very little. Julia told me nothing. She did not want to place me in jeopardy.”

  Ainsley went for the door. Mrs. Holliwell trailed him down the hall and back to the front door.

  “These are not men you trifle with, Mr. Marshall,” she called as she scurried along behind him.

  Ainsley turned just short of the door that led outside, softening his tone somewhat but still clearly agitated at the thought of Julia in harm’s way. “Do you have an address?”

  “No. I have told you what I know.”

  Ainsley nodded absentmindedly. “Thank you for speaking with me, Mrs. Holliwell,” he said, replacing his hat and buttoning up his overcoat. He was out the door and down the steps when Mrs. Holliwell called out. “You will let me know when you find her, yes? You will let me know she is safe.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Ainsley answered as he tipped his hat and went on into the night.

  Chapter 10

  When Margaret re-entered the parlour, Aunt Louisa, Nathaniel, and Blair were speaking in hushed tones that ended abruptly when her footfalls sounded the creaks in the floor. Blair and Nathaniel jumped to their feet as Margaret entered.

  Aunt Louisa raised her chin and looked beyond Margaret to the hall before speaking. “Where’s Peter?”

  Margaret gave a halfhearted smile. She hated how circumstances demanded she make excuses for her brother. However, she knew he would never rest until Julia was found and that gave her some comfort. “He was called away,” she said, taking her seat next to Aunt Louisa.

  Blair held up his coattails as he settled back into his chair. “He’s quite a busy man, your brother,” he said. “It’s a shame to always seem to miss him.”

  Aunt Louisa waved her hand and clicked her tongue. “You’ll never pin Peter down,” she said, with a slight laugh. “I have learned as much since our return to England.”

  “He’s quite self-interested, if you ask me,” Nathaniel injected, as he finished off the last of his alcohol.

  Margaret gave him a disapproving look, but was unable to think of a quick retort.

  “I only wished that I could, perhaps, get to know him better,” Blair explained, keeping his eyes trained on Margaret. “It’s my greatest wish that he should approve of me.”

  It was then that she noticed everyone in the room was peering at her, as if they expected her to offer words of approval to encourage his interest. Margaret had no desire to give such an impression. Jonas had only been gone a short time and even though she knew she had hurt him greatly she held to the hope that one day they’d be reunited.

  When Margaret said nothing Aunt Louisa cleared her throat. “A lovely gesture, isn’t it, Margaret?” she coaxed.

  Forced to nod in agreement, Margaret offered a closed-mouth smile.

  A quarter of an hour later and the four of them were saying farewell at the parlour door. Before his departure, Blair pulled Margaret’s hand to hi
s lips and graced the top of her fingers. “Shall we take a stroll in Hyde Park tomorrow?” he asked, while he held on to her hand.

  Before Margaret could answer Aunt Louisa was at her side. “Sounds lovely.” The high tone and light air she took while in Blair’s presence was enough for Margaret to question who was courting who.

  With great relief he was gone and Margaret found it much easier to breathe. Nathaniel followed Blair to the front door.

  “Goodness, child,” Aunt Louisa said, suddenly abandoning the charade. “You’d think you’d be a little more…encouraging.” She retraced her steps back into the parlour to grab her reading spectacles, which she had left on one of the side tables.

  “I do not understand your meaning.”

  “I doubt that, my dear.” Aunt Louisa slipped her glasses onto her nose and then plucked a stack of small cards from the table. “You are as smart as a whip. No one is fooled by your pretty face.” She smiled over the card she read. “You know very well that Blair is here to court you. His entire family mourns in the country, yet he remains in London. You heard him yourself. He intends to call each day, I imagine, until he has won you over.”

  “I wish he wouldn’t bother,” Margaret said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I cannot be won over.”

  Aunt Louisa regarded her for a moment before pulling off her spectacles and stepping forward. “If this is about that Dr. Davies, I’m sorry to say it, but you are wasting your time.” Aunt Louisa grimaced as her gaze trailed about the room. “It would be foolish to believe you have all the time in the world to wait for a man to make up his mind. The reality is you don’t. Beauty fades, hope dies, and potential beaus get snatched up one by one. You could spend a lifetime waiting for that one love to love you back.”

  “Aunt Louisa—”