The stairs to the little tenement in Charing Cross, which Elizabeth had rented for her and Sarah with the last coins to her name, smelled of overcooked cabbage and spilled gin—along with other unmentionable odors.
She climbed up the four flights, feet crying out for relief, her head heavy and her eyes still stinging with the tears that hadn’t ceased since she’d seen Terrence the day before. Her fingers were clutched by her young daughter, who’d spent the day helping the building owner and his wife maintain the building. It wasn’t at all what a five-year-old child should be doing, but it was necessary to get by. And little Sarah wouldn’t have been the first child to do it, either. There was a gaggle of them.
The thing that scared Elizabeth the most was that Mrs. Crum had started to hint that Sarah was becoming old enough to start working with the other chimney sweeps. If her child were forced to work in the cramped, soot-laden chimneys, it would condemn her to an early death. Perhaps it was time she thought about moving back to Scotland. Not that life there would be any better. Her parents barely had enough to eat when she’d left them years ago—Elizabeth didn’t even know if they were still alive.
“Mummy, I’m hungry,” Sarah murmured, her voice tired as she wiped her nose on her sleeve.
“I’ll fix ye supper, then we both need to go to bed.”
Sarah nodded, stifling a too large yawn. Since when did her daughter agree to go to bed early? The poor girl had probably been worked to the point of exhaustion.
“I’ll tell ye a story, too, if ye eat all your supper.”
“Yes, please do, Mummy.” A little spark of light came into her sweet eyes then.
“How was your visit with Mr. and Mrs. Crum today?”
Sarah shrugged, about all the answer she usually got, unless her daughter had been asked to do something different—like the chimneys. So the shrug today was a good sign.
They reached the door, and just as Elizabeth inserted the key, someone spoke from behind her in a deep voice. “Mrs. Markum.”
Elizabeth jumped, dropping her key, and Sarah cried out in surprise. Terrence’s valet, James, lurked in the shadowy corner several feet from her doorway. No wonder she hadn’t seen him.
“What do ye want?” she asked, holding tighter to Sarah, who sank closer to her mother’s hip, folding her body in the safety of Elizabeth’s skirts.
“Lord Shaftesbury sent me out to find Mr. Markum. My findings led me here to you. Would you kindly let me speak with him?” James’s words were soft, even polite, but the way his eyes were dark and narrowed showed her he meant business. This was not a social call.
A shiver of fear ran down her spine. Was Terrence here? Had she missed his carriage outside the building? She would have seen that—she was certain. James was here on his own, or at least she could hope he was.
“I’m afraid ye willna find him here,” she said, her spine stiffening.
“And where might Mr. Markum be?” James rolled his feet, his body bobbing like a pigeon on the flat of the ocean.
“Mummy?” Sarah questioned, sounding scared.
“’Tis all right, deary,” Elizabeth said, smoothing her daughter’s hair from her eyes. She returned her attention to James. “He resides in Kensal Green on Harlow Road, but he’s no’ accepting visitors.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” James tipped his hat. “Good day to you, Madam.”
“Best of luck,” Elizabeth called after him, trying to keep the sarcasm from her voice. She turned towards her door, opening it and shuffling Sarah inside the small room they called home.
They had a straw mattress on the floor that they shared, a chamber pot and pitcher for more private matters, and a hearth that she used for cooking and keeping them warm—which didn’t always work in the harshest winter months. But at least they were lucky not to share their small room with another family.
“Mummy, why didn’t you tell the man Papa is with the angels?” Sarah’s voice was filled with innocent confusion.
Elizabeth cringed. “He’ll find out for himself soon enough, love.” Kensel Green was a borough of London, but it also housed the public cemetery: Linden’s permanent address. “Come now, let us get some supper.”
And forget about Terrence. And Linden.
The opened window did little to stifle the room's heat, nor air the smell of rotting floorboards and mildew that permeated the whole tenement building. The scents of the city wafted through the cracked window, mingling and creating air that was almost impossible to breathe.
In the dark, laying on their thin straw mattress, Elizabeth flopped her arm over her eyes, willing sleep to come to her. Curled up beside her in the shabby bed was a sleeping Sarah, her exhales coming out in soft puffs.
A slight tapping started. Tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. At first, Elizabeth ignored the noise, believing it to be outside—a bird or a loose cord hitting something with the wind propelling it to do so—but the more forceful it became, the more she realized it wasn’t random.
She sat up and stared around the pitch-black room. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. Someone was knocking at her door—lightly, but incessantly. It wasn’t that late yet, but it was certainly past visiting hours. She hoped it wasn’t Mr. or Mrs. Crum telling her Sarah could no longer stay with them during the day unless she were willing to climb chimneys. They’d been her caretakers for nearly all of her short life since Elizabeth had needed to work. She’d only been able to obtain the position with Lord Ainsley because she didn’t have to worry about Sarah, and he didn’t want his housekeeper to live in the home. None of his female servants did, and as for the males—well, Lord Ainsley had a propensity towards that gender. Elizabeth wasn’t one to judge. It was just as well for her because they likely wouldn’t have let her daughter stay with her anyway.
Panic made her tremble and sweat. As nimbly as she could, so as not to wake Sarah, Elizabeth climbed from the mattress and tugged on her robe. The worn floor creaked beneath her feet. If the Crums couldn’t work with Sarah, then Elizabeth would have to find employment elsewhere, somewhere they’d allow her to bring her daughter. They had a couple of weeks left until the rent was due again, and without another job, they’d be on the streets. And a workhouse was out of the question. She might as well sentence them both to death.
Again. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap.
Then the door rattled as someone knocked hard instead of tapping. She hurried forward, looking back at Sarah to make certain she hadn’t stirred.
“Shh,” Elizabeth hissed, not sure if the person on the other side would even hear her. She cracked the door enough to see that it wasn’t Mr. and Mrs. Crum, but James again.
Promptly, she slammed the door shut and locked it. “Go away,” she said in a sharp whisper. “Ye’ll wake the girl.”
“I wanted to thank you for pointing me in the right direction,” James said, his voice coming muffled through the door.
“I did.” That wasn’t a lie.
“Indeed.” There was a thunk, as though James dropped something, and then silence.
Curiosity ate away at Elizabeth’s insides. Was he still there? She hadn’t heard his footsteps as he walked away. Though the man had been trained to be discreet, so he might have left. But why come back and bother her to say he’d found out that Linden was dead? What did he want?
With her ear pressed to the wood, she listened. No sound came from the other side of the door. After waiting for several nail-biting moments, Elizabeth eased open the door. James was gone, and on the floor was a brown-paper package.
Looking down the hall and into the shadowy corners to make sure she wasn’t being watched, she stooped to pick it up. Elizabeth shut the door behind her, and then rushed over to the rickety table and the two unsteady chairs to light the single, nearly gone candle. There were no oil lanterns in her tiny room; she couldn’t afford one.
Elizabeth stared for a long moment at the paper. The package was held together with loosely tied twine. Whatever was inside felt like it would change her. She was scared. Why had James left it for her? Was it a threat? Money? Goosebumps stole over her flesh, and anxiety built a heated fire in her belly.
She glanced over at Sarah, sleeping like an angel, and wanted with every ounce of her being that she could give her daughter the life she deserved. Wishful thinking.
Using her thumb and index finger, Elizabeth picked at the twine until it came undone. Then she unfolded the paper, smoothing it flat and revealing in its center, her red hat, a stack of crisp bills and an envelope with her name scrawled on it in long, elegant strokes—handwriting she did not recognize.
She opened the envelope and pulled out the letter with an “S” inked in a voluminous scroll at the top.
My dear Elizabeth,
This was Terrence’s writing. She stroked her fingers over it, never having seen it before.
First, I want to offer my condolences to you on the death of Linden. I had no idea he’d passed away. The last I saw of him, he was taking a significant payment to one of our suppliers. I never saw him again. I mistakenly assumed he’d run off with my money. However James’s investigations seem to lead to another conclusion.
Elizabeth let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes from the rest of the letter for a moment. Indeed. Linden had been attacked on his way to the drop. He’d been manning a carriage with the hefty coin chest without another man to help him.
Linden had been left to die in the middle of the road.
It was only because someone was kind enough to come and find Elizabeth at the baker’s shop where she’d been working that she knew he’d been hurt. Linden confessed to her then that he’d been on an errand for Terrence. He kept muttering Terrence’s name, and when she asked who was responsible, he’d said Terrence.
How could Terrence deny any knowledge of this? How could he deny that he’d sent Linden out alone, without protection, carrying a king’s ransom? Terrence might as well have been the man to rob him—and maybe he was. After all, Linden said that Terrence was to blame.
Elizabeth picked up the red hat and threw it across the room, the soft fabric barely making a sound as it drifted peacefully to the floor.
She wanted to burn the bills one by one beneath the candle’s flame, but she knew that was out of the question. The money would, without doubt, help her and Sarah to live comfortably for another year. But why had he sent it to her?
I understand that Linden’s untimely death left you without a penny to your name and with a child to take care of. I want to assure you that I’ve hired men to investigate the robbery that resulted in your husband’s death.
I’ve included in this package enough money to help you get by for a time. When it runs out, do not hesitate to contact me. I want you to know that I loved you, Elizabeth, whatever the circumstances were that led you to me. I still do. I’d have you back if you’d allow it. Even your little child—an extension of you. I would not have cast you out if you’d only been honest and told me what had happened. As much as I want to forget you, to be angry at you for lying to me, to never forgive you for leaving me and disappearing, I can’t. You’re a part of me. I’ve felt empty without you.
You’re still my wife—if you want to be.
With all my love,
Terrence
Oh, dear God. Still his wife…how true those words were, even though she’d made him believe otherwise. He wanted her back. He was willing to take in Sarah too. Was the man mad?
What would society think of the great Earl of Shaftesbury now? Married to street trash and raising her dead husband’s child…
Elizabeth frowned down at the letter, glowing orange in the candlelight. Terrence had never cared about the upper crust and what they thought. He lived for doing what felt right in his heart. It was the reason he built his luxury ships—the reason behind hiring Linden to run his errands and supervise his employees. The reason why he’d stopped his horse, climbed down and taken Elizabeth by the hand, never looking back. It was one of the many reasons she’d fallen in love with him.
Finding him in Hyde Park had been on purpose. She wanted to rail at him over the death of her husband, but she’d lost her nerve. And then she’d fallen in love. She couldn’t in her mind put the two very different versions of Terrence that she had together.
Caught in the whirlwind, she’d plummeted. Lost in the lie, consumed by love.
Her heart told her to scoop up little Sarah and run towards Shaftesbury Avenue. But her head told her to take the money and run in the opposite direction—toward hope for a better life for Sarah in Scotland.
She’d followed her head before and ended up miserable for the last two years. Maybe this time, she should go with her heart and hear what Terrence had to say. Make him explain why Linden might think Terrence was to blame for him being jumped by a crew of ruffians.
The morning seemed too far away.
But though she was out of the East End, Charing Cross was still dangerous at night, and she wouldn’t risk the safety of her child. Speaking with Terrence would have to wait till morning.