Lewis dozed for an hour or two before dawn, disturbed over and over again by the images he had drawn—and the ones he had not.
He feigned sleep when the char girl crept in to rebuild the fire, but battled his way out of the crumpled bedclothes as soon as the door clicked shut behind her. Dim light filtered in when he opened the window curtains; he shivered in the frigid air trapped behind them.
The maid had brought water—not warm enough, but better than the gelid stuff from last night. He wanted to pull on his boots and coat and be gone, but he could not knock at the vicarage door looking like a beggar. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair a mess, his shirt wrinkled as though it had been slept in. Fair enough, because it had. Wherever he might end this day, he could at least begin it with the appearance of a gentleman. In any case, it was impossibly early. Plenty of time to shave, wash, and dress properly.
Lewis needn’t have worried he would catch the Redferns abed. As he walked up through the frozen garden the kitchen door opened, spilling Kate and Barbara out into the cold. They ran toward him in their stocking feet, teetering along the narrow line of bricks that edged the gravel walkways.
“You came! You came!”
Lewis dredged up a smile, though it was perfunctory. As they turned to escort him to the house, Kate took his hand to help her balance. Barbara trundled ahead of them singing some ditty, her progress punctuated by an ouch each time she missed the bricks. She reached the door first and held it wide to usher him inside.
He’d forgotten to prepare himself for the noise. Toby’s open mouth spewed a continuous yell, accompanied by his spoon banging on his tray as he waited for breakfast. Beneath that, the voices and kitchen clatter formed an unremitting wall of sound.
The vicar was missing, but Mrs. Redfern stood at the hearth on the other side of the room. She was his port in this storm, his guide to some quiet location where he could make himself heard, where he would be able to think. At least, so he hoped. So far today, his brain seemed incapable of any such thing.
Mrs. Redfern met his gaze. Her mouth moved but he could not single out her voice. Her friendly smile faded as he moved toward her, a pucker of worry appearing between her brows.
“Oh dear,” she said, resting one hand on his arm. “That expression does not bode well.” She meted out instructions around the room, then took his elbow and led him into the hall. “You’ll be wanting my husband. Please, take a seat in the office. I’ll fetch him.”
“If you have time,” Lewis said as she headed for the staircase, “I could use your advice as well. But I know you’re busy.”
“Nonsense.”
Shivering, he paced the familiar room while he waited for them. The day maid brought in a tray with coffeepot and cups and took a poker to the coals in the fireplace. Lewis nodded his thanks but said nothing.
The door opened. Mr. Redfern came forward and put out his hand. Lewis grasped it as a lifeline.
“I apologize for disturbing your breakfast. I… It couldn’t wait.”
Mrs. Redfern gestured to his usual chair and he sat. But they’d hardly seated themselves before he was up again and pacing.
He’d spent the entire ride into town pondering what to tell them and what to avoid, but had come to no conclusions. The pieces skittered to and fro, round and round, never holding still long enough to be sorted.
Redfern broke the silence. “Is Mr. Wedbury worse than you feared?”
Lewis shook his head. “No. That is, yes. It’s a hideous situation. But that’s not why I’m here. Jack brought some news that’s knocked me sideways.”
“I can see it has.”
Lewis made himself stand still. “In Leeds the other day, on their way home, they met a young woman we knew in London, making her come-out along with Miss Wedbury. A lovely girl but from a difficult family situation, and shy. She didn’t take.”
He resumed pacing, the same six steps again and again. “The particulars don’t matter. Cassie befriended her and they visited back and forth. Lady Wedbury chaperoned her at a number of functions. I… We saw quite a lot of each other. I thought…” He felt a flush creeping up his neck. No, I’m not going to tell them what I thought. “But then she went home to Bristol, without a word to anyone.”
He stopped again and risked a glance at his audience. They watched him impassively.
Mrs. Redfern swallowed some coffee. “Bristol? You said she was in Leeds.”
Lewis nodded. “I thought Jack must be mistaken, but Sir John confirms it was she. She and Cassie had some correspondence over the summer. I read it, so I knew she had gone to visit relatives somewhere, but never imagined she was here in Yorkshire.”
Mrs. Redfern gazed up at him quizzically. “What is it that’s upset you?”
Lewis turned his back on them. “She’s with child.”
Silence. Then the vicar said, “Dear me.”
Lewis whirled around and took three hasty steps toward Mrs. Redfern. He could have reached out and touched her chair. His eyes burned. “I need to know when, ma’am. Jack said she’s— He thought she must be near her time. I know nothing about pregnancy, but you, ma’am, you must know. If the child were born today, when did she…when did it…”
Katherine Redfern gazed up at him, a deep crease between her brows. “I can’t possibly know that, based upon what you’ve told me.” She paused a moment, watching as her fingers moved in calculation. “In theory, perhaps the first week in March. But tell me, does Jack Wedbury know any more about pregnancy than you do? It’s easy to be fooled by appearances. Some babies are larger than others, some women gain more weight than others, some babies are born early or late.” Her voice sounded hard.
Her husband’s, by contrast, was the same as always. “Let us say, then, the first of March is the earliest likely date. I don’t suppose that helps you much.”
It didn’t, except to rule out any date before Anna arrived in London. Lewis returned to the window, his hands twisting together behind him. A knuckle cracked.
Mrs. Redfern set her cup down with a clink. “Mr. Aubrey, clearly you feel responsible. Are you?”
“Katherine—”
Lewis twisted back and stared Mrs. Redfern in the eye. “I assure you, ma’am, it is not my child. Though my father would be disappointed to know that.”
“Your father knows of it?” the vicar asked.
“Jack threw his thunderbolt in the middle of dinner last night. I was unable to hide my horror, and Father leaped to the same conclusion you did, ma’am. He all but applauded, pleased to think I had finally proved my manhood.” Words poured out of him then, the whole nauseating exchange in the hall, his disgust and murderous rage afterward.
He sank into his chair, exhausted. His eyes felt gritty, as though Gideon had thrown sand in his face as he used to do. He closed them and slumped into the upholstery.
The vicar had risen at some point during his diatribe, and now squeezed Lewis’s shoulder. “Have you had anything to eat, lad?”
Lewis waved that away. Such an irrelevancy. He heard a swish of skirts and the click of the latch as Mrs. Redfern left the room.
“I know you don’t want it, but a bit of breakfast will do you good. It feeds the mind as well as the body, you know.”
The comforting hand left his shoulder and another silence fell.
The vicar cleared his throat. “I hardly know where to begin.”
Lewis rubbed his eyes and opened them. “Might as well tell me I’m the crazy one, not Jack. My head feels like a metal box full of hornets.”
“Your father’s reaction is unnerving.”
“Ha! That’s a kind word for it. But he doesn’t matter. He’s merely a diversion from the main event.”
Redfern nodded. “The girl.”
Mrs. Redfern returned with a fresh pot of coffee, followed by the maid bearing a large tray. The vicar hurried to clear a space on the desk.
A little voice piped up in the hallway, plaintive. “Not yet, Barbara,” Mrs. Redfern replied. “See if Kate can help you.”
Lewis pulled himself out of his rude sprawl to an upright position better suited to a lady’s presence. He could at least act like a civilized human being.
There was a plate for each of them, eggs and sausage and good Yorkshire oatcakes. Not that he could taste them, but he ate anyway out of courtesy, and because Redfern was right. He needed sustenance, even though it sat like a rock in his gut. The coffee scalded as it went down.
While they ate, his hosts talked of household and parish matters. Their voices were comforting; Lewis paid no attention to the words. When they finished, Mrs. Redfern removed their dishes to the tray and returned to her chair.
“That’s better. There’s a bit of color in your cheeks again.” She leaned forward and laid a hand on his forearm. “I can see that you care deeply about this young woman. What will you do, dear?”
As he gazed into her troubled face, a particle of determination pierced the aimless buzzing frenzy. “I must know the truth, ma’am. Because I’m certain—almost certain—the child is my brother’s.” Lewis owed no loyalty to Gideon, nor to his father. But to his own niece or nephew, he owed whatever he could give.
And Anna? What did he owe to Anna? She’d given her favors to his brother while Lewis got nothing but a bruised heart and a troubled mind. Still…
The vicar stood and took a turn about the room, coming to rest against the edge of his desk. His wife pressed her fingers against her lips. Lewis thought they trembled.
Redfern cleared his throat. “Does he know, do you think?”
“I doubt it. And without knowing how she feels about it, I can’t approach him.” He itched to be moving again, but forced himself to stay in his seat. “But how do I find her? And if I do, what do I say? Sir John says she nearly fainted when they met. Will it only cause her more anguish to be found?”
Mrs. Redfern clasped her hands in her lap. “How does she feel about you, do you know? Does she paint you with the same brush as your brother?”
Lewis shook his head. “No. She trusts me, I think. At least, she did.”
“What about her family?” said the vicar. “They sent her away for her confinement, but most families do in such a circumstance. It doesn’t mean she’s been cast out.”
A few well-chosen words served to describe Mrs. Spain. “Anna’s father was not in London. I received the impression of a moralist, strict and distant. There’s a brother too, much older than she. Not much love lost amongst any of them.” Restlessness took hold, pushing Lewis out of his chair again. “How can I stand not knowing? If she’s alone in this…” He peered into the vicar’s face, searching for an answer. “Am I justified in intruding?”
“It’s a difficult—”
“You must try, Mr. Aubrey.” Mrs. Redfern rose and took Lewis’s hand between hers, her eyes imploring. “It may be painful for her, and for you as well. But if she needs help, and you can provide it, then you must. Paul tells the Corinthians, ‘Though I have the gift of prophecy, and understand all mysteries, and all knowledge; and though I have all faith, so that I could remove mountains, and have not charity, I am nothing.’”
Redfern frowned. “There is, or used to be, an asylum for young women in such circumstances, in Boar Lane I believe. It’s doubtful she’s using her own name, though, and they’ll hardly let you in to inspect all the residents. The workhouse is a possibility, but I think it unlikely.” He thought for a moment, rubbing his thumb back and forth across his chin. “I doubt she’s registered with the Leeds parish, but it’s a safe place to start. Ask for Mr. Fawcett—he’s the vicar at St. Peter’s. Tell him I sent you.”
A cry of rage sounded from somewhere in the house, followed by laughter and running feet on the stairs, the slam of a door. Mrs. Redfern rolled her eyes. “I’d best return to the fray. When do you leave, Mr. Aubrey?”
“As soon as I get some clothes packed.” The decision made, Lewis twitched all over with the need to be on his way.
She held his hand while she said her goodbyes. “Godspeed, then. Do find her. If the situation is dire, send word. We can find a safe place for her.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Standing on her toes, she gave him a peck on the cheek. “Take care.” She opened the door and the dull hubbub of noise became a bombardment. “If you go out the front, you can avoid whatever ruckus is going on in the kitchen.”
Redfern accompanied Lewis to the hall with words of encouragement. But as soon as he was out the door he forgot everything the vicar had said.
Too much time wasted. He flew down the steps and rounded the corner. His greatcoat blew open like a cape as he strode down the side road to the stable entrance. It would be a cold ride, but for good or ill, at least he would be moving. Away from the constraints he’d allowed to bind him all his life, toward something his own heart demanded of him. Whatever the outcome might be.