“Oh, but you’ve done so much already,” Mrs. Dews exclaimed. “I don’t wish you to go to the expense on my account.”
“It’s for the children,” St. John reminded her gently. “I’d feel quite the lackwit if I didn’t contribute to our little plan. Please, don’t mention it.”
“In that case…” She smiled shyly at him, her eyes so alive.
How Caire could’ve let this woman slip through his hands was beyond him. He turned quickly, pretending to study the china clock on his mantelpiece. “If that is all today?”
“Oh! Oh, of course,” she said from behind him, sounding a little hurt. “I don’t mean to take up your time, Mr. St. John. You have been of such great help to me and our home.”
He clenched his jaw to prevent himself from stuttering apologies. Instead he bowed a bit stiffly. “Good day, Mrs. Dews.”
She left then, after a graceful curtsy, and only the maid shot him a curious look over her shoulder. He waited until the door to his library shut before walking to the window that overlooked the street below. He watched as she crossed the street, her stride light and graceful, one hand on her bonnet, for it was a windy day. The maid walked by her side instead of behind, and they seemed to be conversing. Her black-clad figure grew small, and in another moment she’d disappeared into the London crowd.
St. John let the curtain fall from his fingers.
He looked about his library, but despite the books and news sheets and clutter, it seemed barren and lonely after her visit. He left the room and mounted the stairs, climbing two floors up. He didn’t visit Clara often at this hour; she usually slept in after what was invariably a restless night. But today he found himself unable to keep away. In the back of his mind, he knew that there would come a day—perhaps soon—when he would no longer be able to climb the stairs and see her.
St. John tapped at her door and then cracked it open. The old maid who was Clara’s constant companion looked up from her chair by the bed, then rose and crossed to tend the fire.
He approached the bed and looked down. Clara must’ve just had her hair washed, for it was spread, a bright banner, over her white pillow. The locks were a deep brown with bits of red in them, now streaked with strands of gray. He found himself stroking her hair. She’d once told him it was her best feature, and he’d been amazed that ladies categorized their person thusly. Amazed and fondly amused.
“Godric,” she whispered.
He looked down and saw her brown eyes watching him. Once they had been as beautiful as Mrs. Dews’s. Now they were always pain-filled.
He bent and brushed a careful kiss across her wide forehead. “Clara.”
She smiled, her pale lips curving just slightly. “To what do I owe this visit?”
He whispered in her ear, “A deep and abiding longing to see the most beautiful woman in the world.”
She laughed, as he’d intended, but then the gentle sound turned to a hacking cough that shook her frame. The nurse hurried over.
St. John stepped back, watching with painful patience as Clara’s spasm gradually subsided. When it was over, sweat had dampened her hair and her face was more pale than her pillow, but she looked at him and smiled.
He swallowed past the constriction in his throat. “I’m sorry to disturb you. I merely wanted you to know that I love you.”
She held a shaking hand out to him.
He took it and watched as she mouthed, “I know.”
St. John made himself smile before turning and leaving his wife’s bedroom.
IT WAS LATE afternoon nearly a week later when Temperance knocked on Polly’s door. Now that Winter was recovered, she and Mary Whitsun had been running errands in preparation for the home’s viewing, but it was important that she stop by Polly’s rooms today.
Polly answered the door with a sleeping Mary Hope in her arms and a shawl thrown over her shoulder. “Come in, Mrs. Dews, Mary Whitsun. It’s that glad I am to see you.”
“Is Mary Hope any better?” Temperance whispered the question as she stepped into the crowded little room. A glance showed her Polly’s own babies sleeping together on the bed. Mary Whitsun tiptoed over to replace the blanket one of the children had kicked off.
“Aye, she is.” The wet nurse beamed as she looked down at the baby. “The fever’s left and she’s sucking strong. I think she might just live, ma’am.”
“Oh, thank God.” Temperance closed her eyes in relief. The babies died so often. It was a welcome surprise to find one who struggled through fever so young.
Not that Mary Hope was entirely out of the woods yet. “And your own babies?”
“They never got the fever, thank the Lord,” Polly replied. “Healthy as young puppies, they are.”
“Thank you, Polly.” Temperance made a mental note to reward the wet nurse.
“Will you hold her?” Polly asked. “She’s just now fallen to sleep, and I haven’t had a moment to put myself to rights.”
She held out the babe, and Temperance remembered Lazarus’s words—that he’d seen her refuse to touch the baby. She hesitated only a second before taking the warm little bundle into her arms. Mary Whitsun peered over her arm, and they both looked down with wonder at the tiny delicate fingers that splayed against one pink cheek. Temperance’s eyes stung with tears.
“Are you all right, ma’am?” Polly asked with concern as she tucked her shawl into her bodice.
“Yes,” Temperance murmured as she wiped her cheek against her shoulder. “It’s just that it was so close.”
“That it was,” the wet nurse said comfortably, taking back the baby.
“There’s no use not loving them, is there?” Temperance whispered. She glanced at Mary Whitsun, who was still enthralled by the baby’s tiny face.
“Aye, I’m afraid ’tis silly to even bother,” Polly replied. “One look in their wee faces and we’re all lost, aren’t we?”
“Yes, indeed.”
Temperance bid Polly good night and closed the door to her room gently behind her. When she looked up, she saw Mary Whitsun watching her.
“Will the baby live, ma’am?”
Temperance smiled. “I think so, Mary.”
“I’m very glad,” Mary said somberly.
They clattered down the rickety stairs and out the front door of Polly’s rooming house. Temperance glanced uneasily at the sky. The sun was beginning to set. “We need to hurry home before dark.”