The Suspect's Daughter: Regency Romance (Rogue Hearts Book 4) (7 page)

Jocelyn searched through possible solutions to help the family locked in poverty and despair. Bringing them a basket of food—even if she did it daily—would do little to relieve them of their current circumstances and would only help them temporarily. Jocelyn nibbled as little as possible, encouraging the others to eat their fill, and tried to make conversation.

“Have you lived all your life in London?” Jocelyn ventured to ask Katie.

“Yes, miss. Never left. But I always wanted to see the country.”

That was easily remedied. She could speak to Owens about putting Katie on the servants crew who followed her family from their country estate to their city home each Season. Since many servants preferred not to travel with the families they served, adding Katie to those who traveled should be easy. She made a note to ask Katie about that later to be sure she really wanted to do so.

Lucy sat up and hugged her knees. “I saw the country once. Me John took me ou’ there once t’ meet ’is grandfather. ’e was a gamekeeper on a fine estate, ’e was. I never saw so many green growin’ things in all my livin’ life.” Her eyes took on a faraway wistfulness that transformed her face into one approaching beauty. “’e was a good man, ’e was. Jes’ tryin’ t’ feed the li’l ’uns.” She buried her face in her hands as her shoulders shook in silent sobs.

Katie hugged little Mary and said nothing.

Jocelyn looked from Katie to Lucy’s lowered head as tension fell heavily in the air. Almost afraid to know, she asked gently, “What happened to him, Lucy?”

“They ’anged ’im, they did. ’anged! Like a common criminal. John was a good man, ’e was. Looking for ’onest labor.” The rest of her words garbled and disintegrated into sobs.

Katie spoke as if from a great distance away. “He was accused of stealing.” With a laden sigh, she kissed the top of Mary’s head and replaced her on the stool. Quietly, Katie pulled clothes from the lines and folded them neatly.

No wonder Katie was so concerned about her sister, a widow with small children, having suffered such tragedy. Jocelyn bowed her head as her heart ached. The seed of an idea formed in her head of how to help the family, but it was so underdeveloped that she would have to give it further thought before she gave voice to it.

Little Mary slid off the stool, crawled in bed next to her mother, and sucked on her thumb.

The door burst open and the boy she’d sent to the apothecary returned. “They didn’t ’ave fenugreek, but ’e said fennel and red raspberry leaves would work jes’ as well.” He held out a carefully wrapped paper tied with string.

“He’s right.” Jocelyn inspected the fennel seeds and raspberry leaves. “You did very well, thank you.”

He solemnly held out the change from the purchases. Jocelyn took his offering, but in their place, she pressed half a crown. He let out a strangled gasp.

“Oi, miss,” he breathed. “Do ya mean it?”

“Yes, I do. I’m very pleased with your speed and your honesty. You’re a bright boy.”

His eyes shone in mingled disbelief and pleasure, cradling the coin as if she’d given him a priceless gift.

Jocelyn turned her mind to helping restore Lucy’s milk supply. “I need to make some tea. Where is the…?” She’d been about to stay stove but stopped herself. This family couldn’t possibly own such a fine commodity. “Fireplace?”

Katie shook her head. “Nothing that fancy here, miss.”

“How can I heat water to make tea?”

Katie frowned. “We don’t drink tea.”

No, of course not. When they didn’t have the means to provide bread for the children, how could they possibly hope to afford something as expensive as tea?

Flora spoke up, “The Smiths down the way ’ave a ’earth.”

Katie shook her head. “A hearth, yes, but they wouldn’t be able to spare the coal, and we have none to give them to burn for our fire.”

As Jocelyn opened her mouth to offer to buy coal, Flora shrugged. “I’ll go mudlarking an’ see if I kin find some on th’ banks.”

“Wet coal won’t burn,” Jocelyn protested, aghast at the idea of a child scavenging the filthy Thames for coal.

“No, it won’t,” Katie said, “but maybe we can trade it to someone for some dry coal.”

Flora let out a contented sigh, rubbed her tummy, and heaved herself out of her seat as if she were an aged woman. “Me tummy feels good.” She offered Jocelyn a shy smile. “I’ll get th’ coal.”

Katie stood and picked up two bundles of clothing. “I’ll go with you, and make these deliveries. Excuse me, miss?”

“Of course,” Jocelyn said.

Katie and Flora left together. Jocelyn turned back to little Mary who lay next to her mother blinking as if she could hardly keep her eyes open. Lucy sat stroking her child’s hair and munching on bread and cheese. All that remained of the apple was the core.

Jocelyn smiled at the sight. With proper nourishment, and the right herbs in time, Lucy might produce milk for her baby. If not, Jocelyn would see about hiring a wet nurse.

The girl who’d nursed the baby stood and handed him to his mother. A calmer Lucy took him and rubbed his fuzzy head. The baby nuzzled against her, his mouth making little sucking motions in sleep.

Jocelyn turned to the temporary wet nurse and pressed all the rest of her coins into her hand, leaving nothing with which to pay for her return trip home. If the driver would agree to wait outside her house, she could go inside, get some more money, and pay him then. Or she could walk.

As the young woman gaped at the bounty in her hands, Jocelyn asked, “Will you come back again in a few hours?”

The girl agreed. When she left, Jocelyn crouched next to Lucy’s bed. “Go ahead and let him suckle you even if he isn’t truly hungry. It might help your milk return.”

“As you wish.” Her tone resigned, Lucy did as Jocelyn directed.

There was much to do here. Jocelyn rolled up her sleeves and cleaned the room within an inch of its life.

Katie returned and stood open mouthed. “Oi, miss. You’ve been busy.”

Jocelyn smiled, tired but content. “I don’t hire you to clean the parlor because I’m helpless.”

Katie smiled with the kind of indulgence one might give a defiant child. “No, miss. Here.” She held out a battered tin cup filled with steaming water.

Jocelyn crumbled in the herbs to make a strong tea. A few minutes later, she handed it to Lucy and made sure she drank it, as well as made arrangements to ensure that Lucy would have several cups a day.

Aware of the passage of time, and satisfied she’d done all she could for now, Jocelyn took up her hat and pelisse. “I should return home. Papa and I have an appointment.”

“Yes, miss.” Katie also donned a bonnet and a pelisse, a style of at least five years ago but of high quality.

Jocelyn knelt by Lucy. “I’m so happy to have met you, Lucy. Thank you for allowing me to visit.”

Lucy made a strangled noise. “Don’t know why ye bothered, but fer what it’s worth, I thank ye.”

“You are most welcome. I’ll visit again soon. Keep drinking that tea and plenty of water, and suckle the baby even if you get nothing out—your milk should return.”

As they wound through the alleys, Jocelyn said, “Katie, I want you to make sure Lucy drinks the tea, and if her milk doesn’t return, tell me so we can hire a wet nurse for her baby.”

Katie bowed her head. “Yes, miss.”

Jocelyn turned over the problem of Lucy and her children. How could she help them best? Her stomach hadn’t stopped tying itself into knots at their desperate poverty. Besides, Katie surely deserved a little help with her family after all her faithful years of service, as her mother had served for years before her. No human should have to endure those atrocious living conditions.

An idea struck her. “When my father and I return to our country home, do you think your sister would come with us?”

Katie’s step faltered. “To the country, miss?”

“Yes. She seemed to like the country, and I could find her a position doing laundry or whatever she can do.”

Katie’s mouth pulled to one side as she considered. “The servants’ quarters probably don’t have room for children.”

“She could live in a cottage near the manor house where her children would have plenty of fresh air and not have to go mudlarking or live in a single room with no heat.” Jocelyn’s voice rose in both pitch and volume as frustration wove into her words. “I realize there are hundreds like her, and I can’t possibly help them all, but I mean to help her if I can.”

Katie’s mouth flattened and she swallowed. She blinked several times to hold back tears shining in her eyes. “I’d be ever so grateful to you, Miss. Lucy and her wee ones are all I have left in the world.”

Jocelyn touched her arm. “We leave in two weeks’ time for the house party. With your help, I’d like to have her move with us to our country house. She can live there all year. And you’ll come with us to see that she and the little ones get properly settled.”

“Yes, miss. Thank you.” Katie smiled. “See the country…” her voice trailed off and a dreamy expression overcame her.

“If it pleases you, you can travel back and forth with us so you can see her rather than remaining on the London house staff. We spend most of the time in the country when Parliament is not in session. Of course, if my father gets appointed to prime minister, we’ll live in London more, but we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

They turned onto the nearest street and found the cab. Standing next to the horse, the driver waited, rubbing the animal’s neck. He had come, just as he’d promised. Smiling, Jocelyn pressed her hand over her heart. There were so many good people in the world, despite what others may say.

The jarvey’s face relaxed at their approach. “I was just about to send someone in after you two.”

“I apologize for keeping you waiting.”

“No trouble a’tall, miss. I were jus’ concerned for your safety, is all.”

The jarvey’s gaze passed carefully over Katie, a faint grin tugging at his mouth. As the maid caught his open appreciation, she immediately cast her gaze downward and fluttered her hands. Any man would have to be blind not to admire a pretty girl like Katie. If only men would look at Jocelyn like that.

Then she remembered her monetary situation and addressed the driver. “Sir, I fear I’ve no money for the return trip, but if you’ll be so kind as to wait after you deliver us home, I’ll pay you then.”

“Sure, miss.”

The jarvey helped them both into the carriage, and at Jocelyn’s direction, turned the hansom around and headed for Mayfair. Outside the carriage window, a shadowy figure slipped along the road, but when Jocelyn peered more closely, it vanished.

Perhaps she’d imagined it due to some lingering effects of her fright in her father’s study. Last night’s intruder had been all too real. Was it possible the man in the study and the figure she thought she saw were the same? The burglar who threatened her couldn’t possibly know whether she’d revealed his presence, so his threat must have been made simply to frighten her into silence.

Well, she was not easily frightened. If the ball hadn’t lasted until the wee hours of the morning, she would have told her father about the incident. Then, by the time Jocelyn had arisen, Papa was already gone. She’d tell her father everything this afternoon on the way to Lady Everett’s house. And then she’d turn her mind to charming Lady Everett for her father’s sake. His happiness was her joy.

Wearing the clothes of a gentleman of fashion and wishing he were in his usual attire, Grant sauntered casually along the walkway outside the Palace of Westminster. The rain stopped, but clouds hung low in a somber sky in a reminder that moisture could fall again at any moment. Blocked by the enormous building, the unique scent of the Thames failed to reach Grant, but the usual smells of the city remained, held in by the oppressive sky. He glanced at Jackson, one of Bow Street’s best Runners, dressed as a shopkeeper, who walked across the street with his head down as if he were really going somewhere.

Members of Parliament vacated Westminster in small groups, some walking together, others waiting for their coaches. Mr. Fairley exited in the company of a familiar-looking lord, their postures relaxed. Grant held back, pretending he admired the impressive, seven hundred-year-old building that housed Parliament, and hadn’t noticed the men.

The lord said something Grant didn’t catch, and Fairley clapped him on the back. “Well said, St. Cyr.”

To Grant’s left, a non-descript middle-aged man wearing the suit of a clerk strolled along the opposite side of the street. A few carriages passed and a dog trotted by, but the clerk made little progress. Moments later, the clerk crossed the street, eyed Fairley and St. Cyr, and then rammed Fairley.

As Fairley staggered back, the man steadied him with both hands in a classic pickpocket move. Grant’s senses sharpened. So quickly that Grant almost missed it, the man slipped a scrap of something white into Fairley’s pocket. He repeated the action into St. Cyr’s. Odd. Thieves didn’t usually pick pockets in reverse.

“Sorry.” The strange thief put his hands in his pockets and strode off.

Intrigued, Grant drew nearer.

“Clumsy fool almost ran me down,” Fairley muttered.

“Odd, that,” St. Cyr said. “Well, good evening, Fairley.” He strode off toward a fancy coach with a coat of arms on the door.

As Fairley headed toward his own coach, Grant called out, “Mr. Fairley. Good evening, sir.”

Fairley turned. “Ah, Mr. Amesbury.”

Grant caught up and strolled with him. “I enjoyed your party Saturday evening. I don’t, as a rule, socialize much, but you and your daughter made me welcome.”

“Our pleasure. My Jocelyn sure outdid herself. Planned the whole evening. Her mother would have been proud.”

Grant managed a polite smile. “You must be proud, as well.”

Fairley grinned. “Indeed I am.” He stopped in front of his coach and glanced at Grant curiously as if to ask why Grant had hailed him.

Before the footman reached them, Grant waved him off, grabbed the handle of the door, and opened it. “Here, sir, allow me.” He steadied Fairley as he climbed up. As Fairley’s back was turned, Grant slipped the note out of Fairley’s pocket.