by Marie Silk
Clara was bewildered that Fiona seemed to expect punishment at all, but she continued anyway. “I don’t wish for you to leave altogether, Fiona,” she said quietly. “I hope that you’ll stay on as a housemaid.”
Fiona looked up at her. “You are gracious to me, Miss Clara.”
“In the meantime, I’m going to ask Nora to take over as housekeeper…”
Fiona felt sick to her stomach, but nodded anyway. She bowed her head and left the room, wiping the tears from her eyes as she descended the servants’ stairs. When she got to her room, she saw that Nora was in there sitting on the bed. “What are you doing in here?”
Nora snickered. “I’m just looking at my new room. Now Fiona, I am going into town to get a suitable dress for my new position. It will give you enough time to take your things out of here and get settled into the room that used to be mine. You can move my things in when you’re through moving out. There’s a housemaid uniform waiting for you in the laundry room.”
“Alright,” Fiona said as calmly as she could. “I will get everything moved while you are gone.”
“See that you do,” Nora said smugly before she pulled on her coat and left the house.
Chapter 7
Mary strained to hold back tears from the situation unfolding before her, but it was no use. She cast a panicked glance toward David, the brother of the woman who Mary was attending. “Can I do something to help her, Mrs. Hamilton?” he asked.
“Just keep holding the baby…and keep praying,” she whispered, her voice shaking. David nodded solemnly.
Mary turned to the woman who had just delivered. “I am going to put in more stitches,” she told her.
The woman gazed fixedly past Mary. “It’ll be alright, Mrs. Hamilton. My husband is here. He’ll take me to Heaven.”
Mary felt the hair on her neck stand up. She knew that the woman’s husband died in the War, and the presence Mary felt over her shoulder just then gave her goosebumps all over. Her heart raced when she observed the woman’s bleeding become worse, despite all of Mary’s efforts. “Stay with us, Mildred,” she pleaded. David paced the room beside her. Mary’s hands shook as she tried to thread the needle again.
David then spoke up mournfully. “I don’t think you’ll need to do that anymore, Mrs. Hamilton.”
When Mary looked up, she saw that Mildred lay there with eyes still open, but there was no life behind them. She checked for a heartbeat or any sign of life. “I am sorry,” she finally said to David, bowing her head.
“You did what you could,” he responded, taking the baby with him to the sitting area.
Mary trembled as she cleaned the room and packed her kit. She laid a quilt over Mildred and gently closed her eyelids.
“I’m terribly sorry, David,” she said again when she saw him in the sitting area of the house.
David looked sorrowfully at the baby in his arms. “Mrs. Hamilton, I can’t take care of this little one. I just signed on with the railroad and they expect me to start tomorrow. I s’pose I’ll send word for the undertaker first thing in the morning.”
Mary nodded sadly. “Is there a friend or relative who could take the child?”
David shook his head. “I’m ‘fraid not.”
Mary seated herself in a chair while she tried to think. “I could take the baby to the parish in Yorktown, if you permit me. The minister will find a home for him.”
David held the baby out to Mary. “Thank you, Mrs. Hamilton. I think I ought to get to sleep before I start work tomorrow.” He wiped a tear from his eye and left Mary in the sitting area.
Mary looked helplessly at the baby in her arms. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. “We’ll find you a home as soon a possible.” She bundled the baby warmly and took him out through the cold night air to her car, where she set up a bed for the baby to lie in. Mary drove to the parish in Yorktown, hoping that the minister’s family might still be awake. She was encouraged to see that a light was showing through the windows.
She parked the car in the driveway and walked up to the door with the baby in her arms. She raised her hand to knock but stopped herself when she noticed the red ribbon hanging from the door. “Oh no,” she whispered. Mary returned to the car with the baby and set up a place for him again. She cried over the steering wheel while she tried to think of another plan. As she was driving away, she remembered a stop she could make on her way home to Davenport House.
Father Salvestro was awake when the knock came at his door. He opened it to see Mary holding the baby. “Do you need help, Miss?”
“Good evening, Sir—um—Father—” she said awkwardly. “I—this little one is an orphan and I don’t know what to do with him.”
He smiled kindly and took the baby in his arms. He noticed that Mary was pale and trembling as she stood in the doorway. “Come in, Miss. When did you last eat?”
Mary felt her knees going weak as the priest helped her to the sofa. “I am sorry to bother you at this time of night,” she was saying.
“It’s no trouble,” he replied, setting the kettle on the stove to boil. “You just rest a moment before you return on your way.”
“Thank you,” she said. She held her head in her hands and began to sob. The priest found a basket to lay the baby in and brought Mary a tray of tea and bread. “Have we met before, Miss?”
Mary nodded as she dried her face. “It was only once before. Abigail is my sister-in-law. You came to our house once.”
“Ah yes,” the priest remembered kindly. “Then you are my neighbor in the grand house.”
“My name is Mary Hamilton. My husband runs the clinic in Yorktown.”
“I’ve heard great things about the both of you, Mrs. Hamilton. You are the county midwife.”
Mary nodded again. “I attended the birth of this child’s mother. The mother has now passed on. I don’t know what I did wrong. I did everything just as I usually do, but…” Tears were falling down her face again.
“It may have been her time,” he replied gently.
“I first took the child to the parish in town, but the family is suffering from influenza. I hoped that you might know of someone who could care for the baby.”
“We have nurses at the convent,” he replied. “The child will be well looked after.”
Mary breathed in relief. She drank the tea and ate the bread gratefully. “Thank you, Father. I should be getting home now.” She reached into her purse and handed him several coins. “This is for your train fare to the convent…and for the child’s wellbeing.”
The priest nodded humbly, accepting the coins and showing Mary to the door. “Bless you, Mrs. Hamilton. Goodnight.”
The next morning at Davenport House, Abigail visited Clara’s bedroom at breakfast time. “How are you feeling today, Clara?”
“Awful,” she answered. “I still can’t believe any of this is happening. I can’t imagine who could have done such a thing to Lawrence, but the police say they are looking into it.”
Fiona walked into the room just then with Clara’s breakfast tray. “Breakfast for you, Mrs. Collins,” she said quietly. She did not look Abigail in the eye and left quickly after she set the tray on the table.
Abigail looked at Clara in confusion. “I wonder why Fiona is wearing a maid’s uniform today.”
“Oh—um—I suppose I forgot to tell you,” Clara stammered. “Fiona is working as a maid again. I am trying out Nora as our housekeeper.”
Abigail was shocked, but she could tell that Clara did not want to speak further about it. Abigail changed the subject. “I saw Mary’s car in the driveway this morning. She must have returned from the birth late last night.”
“She really is working herself too hard,” Clara remarked. “I worry for the baby if she keeps up this pace.”
“I worry too,” sighed Abigail. “But I just realized that she hasn’t been home since the night of the ball. I will go and explain to her that the house is now in mourning for Lawrence.”
Clara stared
blankly in front of her and did not respond. Abigail brought the breakfast tray to the bed for her. “Have some breakfast so you may keep your strength,” Abigail said, kissing Clara on the cheek.
“Thank you, dear. Don’t worry about me for now. You should check on Mary and make sure she eats her breakfast this morning.”
Abigail knocked softly on Mary’s bedroom door, which was ajar. “Come in,” Mary answered weakly.
She walked into the dark room and asked, “Should I open the curtains?”
“No. I am very tired.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Abigail replied. “I don’t wish to bother you, Mary, but there is something that you should know. Something dreadful happened while you were gone.”
Mary sat up in alarm. “Is it William? I’ve been so worried for him lately, and I cannot reach him at the clinic!”
“No, it is not about William,” Abigail said quickly. Mary lay back down and Abigail continued. “It is about Lawrence. He has passed away.”
Mary turned on the lamp on the nightstand, her mouth hanging open in astonishment. “What happened? Oh no, Clara must be devastated at being widowed so young.”
“It is worse than that, Mary,” she replied, cringing. “The police think someone may have killed him here on the estate.”
“My word!” Mary cried in a whisper. “Who do they think has done it?”
Abigail looked at her helplessly. “The police are investigating, and have already questioned the servants. Today they may return to question us as well. But they have not said whether they suspect anyone.”
“I can’t believe this,” Mary said. “Was it the night of the ball?”
“It was. But Lawrence was never at the ball, which I am told ended badly.”
“I only hope that Clara will recover,” Mary sighed. “It must be terrible for her to be questioned at a time like this.”
Abigail looked at her carefully. “Mary, you have been crying. What’s wrong?”
Mary looked away from her as tears filled her eyes again. “I—I am very tired—and I worry for William.”
Fiona walked in with a breakfast tray just then and quickly set it on the tea table before she left. Mary turned to Abigail. “Was that Fiona? Why is she dressed like that?”
Abigail sighed heavily. “Apparently, Clara has given Nora the position of housekeeper. Fiona is now just a maid.”
“Why on earth would Clara switch them? I can’t imagine Fiona doing anything to deserve such treatment.”
“I don’t understand it either. Things have been tense and strange in the house since Lawrence was found.”
The sound of a crying baby interrupted them both as Ethan peered into the doorway, holding the little one in his arms. “I’m sorry, ladies,” he apologized. “He must be ready to eat.”
“I’ll be in my room in just a moment,” Abigail told him. Ethan left the doorway and Abigail brought the breakfast tray to Mary’s bed. “I’m more concerned that you’re the one not getting enough to eat. You are working too hard, especially in your condition.”
“I have to,” Mary replied wearily. “There is no one else to do it! Anyway, I am too tired to eat. I only want to sleep.”
“Alright, Mary,” she said with a frown. “I’ll leave the tray here for when you change your mind.” Mary nodded and pulled the quilt up around her, settling in for sleep.
Later that morning when Abigail had finished nursing the baby, she went to the library to telephone the clinic. “Good morning,” she said to the nurse who answered. “My name is Abigail Smith and I wish to speak with Dr. Hamilton.”
The nurse was hesitant. “I’m sorry, Miss Smith. Dr. Hamilton is not available at this time. You might try back in a week or so.”
“A week or so?” Abigail questioned. “Oh, I should have mentioned that I am not calling as a patient, but on behalf of Dr. Hamilton’s wife, Mary Hamilton.”
The nurse was quiet for a moment. “Perhaps I can take a message for Dr. Hamilton.”
“Yes, please tell William that it is urgent he call the house as soon as possible,” Abigail told her.
“I will relay the message, Miss Smith. Goodbye.”
Downstairs in the servants’ quarters, Nora sent Fiona to help the cook in the kitchen. Mrs. Malone eyed Fiona curiously. “What’s going on? Why are you lettin’ Nora pretend to be housekeeper?”
Fiona looked down at the butcher block table as she cleared away the potato peels. “Nora is not pretending. Miss Clara has decided that she should be housekeeper from now on.”
Mrs. Malone was skeptical. “It doesn’t make a lick of sense. Nothing around this house makes any sense. Nora struts around here all high and mighty, but it doesn’t mean she is fit for the job. And why would you tolerate being a maid here again, anyway? You could be housekeeper at another grand house, surely.”
Fiona was hesitant. “I don’t know that Miss Clara will give me a good reference for it. I’m being disciplined.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Malone mumbled. “Still…it doesn’t seem right…”
Nora entered the kitchen just then, looking irritated. “If you two put as much effort into your work as you did discussing matters that are not your concern, the luncheon would be ready by now.” Mrs. Malone laughed defiantly and Nora glared at her. “Perhaps you don’t need the help after all, Mrs. Malone. Fiona, you can clean the washrooms of the upstairs bedrooms.”
“I already did this morning,” Fiona said quietly.
“Then do it again!” Nora demanded before she turned on her heel to leave the kitchen.
Fiona looked helplessly at Mrs. Malone, who was shaking her head in annoyance. “She won’t be housekeeper for long acting like that.” Fiona did not reply, but gathered the cleaning supplies and headed up the servants’ stairs.
At the Valentis’ farmhouse, Serena was heading to the kitchen after putting Donnie and Gabriella down for their afternoon nap. She noticed that Phillip was just closing the front door after speaking to someone. “Who was at the door?” she asked.
Phillip went to the sitting area and lowered himself onto the sofa. “The police were asking if we saw anyone suspicious wandering around that night.”
Serena looked at Phillip expectantly. “Well? What did you tell them?”
He shrugged. “I said we had already gone to sleep by then and didn’t see anything.”
Serena’s eyes were wide with fright. “You didn’t tell the police about Lawrence being Angelina’s father did you?”
“Of course I didn’t tell them. The last thing we need is them thinking you are connected to this whole mess. Have you heard back from that investigator?”
“No,” she mumbled, looking away from him.
Phillip lowered his voice. “Look, I know what I said that night when you told me about Lawrence—but it wasn’t me who did this to him. You believe me, don’t you?”
“I believe you, brother,” she said, but she would not look him in the eye.
“You’ve been acting like you don’t trust me anymore. I wouldn’t lie about something like this.”
“Why won’t you tell me what happened with you and Abigail?” she questioned him.
Phillip groaned. “I think everyone is just trying to forget the whole thing, and I suppose I should too.”
“Donnie told me that Abigail used to be his mother, and that he wishes she could live here again. I told Donnie that he must be mistaken, and explained that she only stayed here to care for them while I was away. But Gabriella confirmed that Abigail was indeed their mother.”
Phillip was reluctant to answer and his throat tightened in pain. “Abigail lived with us for a short time. It was before she learned that her husband was coming home. She had a death note about him from the war office long before that, and we all believed she was a widow. She came here to be the children’s mother…and to be my wife. She left us the moment she heard her husband was still alive.”
Serena was quiet as the words sunk in. “And the baby? You believe him to be yo
urs?”
Phillip stared blankly at the fireplace. “The baby can never be mine. The truth is, I wouldn’t be here at all if it weren’t for Ethan Smith. We were close like brothers during the War…I asked him to be a father to my children if I didn’t make it back. So you see, I won’t claim his only son. No, I’ll just count my blessings that I’m still here and have Gabriella and Donnie. It’s not going to do good for anyone to think beyond that.”
Serena felt pained to look upon his anguished face. She rose from her seat to leave the room, but first spoke to him solemnly, “I’m sorry for the loss you have endured over the years, brother. You are a true and honest man and surely deserve better. Forgive me for not understanding...I won’t ask you to speak of it again.” She quietly went to her room while Phillip remained where he was, watching the flames in the fireplace.
Later that evening at Davenport House, Nora was announcing to Abigail that she had a telephone call. Abigail hurried to the library to answer it. “Hello?”
A hoarse voice spoke from the other end. “Abigail, is Mary alright?”
“Mary is—alright—” she stammered. “Am I speaking with William?”
“Yes, it’s me,” he answered.
“Oh. You don’t sound like yourself.”
“The nurse said that you called urgently about Mary…”
“Oh, yes I do need to speak with you. Mary is terribly overworked, you see. She is not taking care of herself. She seems depressed and I can’t persuade her to eat. I wondered if you or someone from the Red Cross could assist with the births so that Mary can have the rest she needs.”
William was quiet for so long that Abigail worried the connection had been lost. He finally spoke. “I don’t want Mary to know this, but I’ve been ill these past weeks. I’m in quarantine now.”
Abigail felt her heart sink. “Oh, William!” she replied sorrowfully.
“I’ve done all I can think of to fight it, but the fever is constant. I don’t want to burden Mary with the thought of me being ill at a time like this.”
“Of course,” Abigail whispered.
“I’ll do what I can to find her help with the births,” he continued. “But Abigail, promise me you will care for Mary and make her eat!”
