Anne Herries - A Regency Lord's Command - The Disappearing Duchess / The Mysterious Lord Marlowe

‘What will you do if you find her?’

‘I am not certain—but I must know she is well and happy. Can you not see that I should never rest easy if I simply left her to her fate?’

‘I do not…’ Mrs Seymour’s eyes dropped in shame.

In the end she’d given her daughter all the details she had. Lucinda had left the house that same day.

It had taken her two weeks of travelling, often on foot, to find the workhouse and another week before she could persuade the woman in charge to tell her the names of the couple who had taken her daughter.

‘You understand that I told you nothing,’ she said and looked at the silver locket and ruby brooch lying in her hand. ‘Your father told us to have the brat adopted and Mrs Jackson had none of her own then.’

‘She has other children now?’

‘Aye, they come like that. She has four of them under the age of four and more than she can manage. She’ll likely be glad to get rid of Susan.’

‘You called my daughter Susan?’ The woman nodded. ‘Thank you, madam. Now will you kindly tell me where to find my daughter?’

‘You’ll find the family at the sign of the Cock’s Spur.’

‘Mrs Jackson and her husband run a hostelry?’

‘Aye, you might call it that, though some round here would have other words—’tis a den of thieves if you ask me.’

‘Thank you for the information. I hope you have told me the truth. If not, I shall return—and then you will be very sorry for lying to me. My husband is a powerful man and he will punish you.’

‘You don’t look like the wife of a powerful man.’ The warden sniffed.

‘What I choose to wear is my business,’ Lucinda said proudly.

She had walked away, her heart beating frantically.

It had not taken long to discover the inn of which the warden had told her. She had ventured inside, hoping to find a reasonable woman with whom she might bargain for the return of her daughter. However, she had soon discovered the innkeeper’s wife to be a filthy slut who harangued her husband and her customers and screamed abuse at any provocation. She’d eyed Lucinda suspiciously and demanded to know what she wanted.

‘If you’re after summat, yer’ll get naught here,’ she said. ‘If yer want to service men, you’ll do it elsewhere. I run a clean house here and don’t harbour doxies.’

‘I was looking for a child. She was adopted from the workhouse five years ago.’

‘What do yer want her fer?’

‘She is my daughter and I want her back.’

‘Yer do, do yer?’ The woman glared at her. ‘I’ll sell her fer five hundred guineas if yer like.’

‘I have only a silver trinket box and a diamond brooch that was my godmother’s,’ Lucinda said. ‘The child is my daughter. She was stolen from me at birth and I have just discovered that you have her. For pity’s sake, let me take her. I will give you all I have.’

‘Clear orf. The girl will fetch good money in a year or two. I’ve had offers for her already and they were more than you’re offering. I know your sort. Yer think I’m green behind the ears. Men will pay a fortune for a wench like that—and I’ll sell her to the highest bidder when the time comes.’

‘No, you mustn’t. Please, you can’t,’ Lucinda cried in distress. She could not allow such a wicked thing to happen. ‘I’ll get money for you. She’s my daughter. I swear it on the Bible.’

‘The price just went up to one thousand guineas,’ the woman said, a gleam of avarice in her eyes. ‘You’ve got a week to find the money or she goes to the highest bidder.’

‘Let me see Susan, please.’

‘Yer can see ‘er—but no funny business. Try snatchin’ ‘er and I’ll call me husband and yer’ll be sorry.’

Lucinda promised she would not and waited while the woman went into what looked like a kitchen at the rear. Her nails curled into the palms of her hands as she reappeared, dragging a reluctant child into the taproom. Lucinda’s heart plummeted as she saw how dirty and thin the little girl was. She wanted to weep for pity, but knew that she must show no emotion. Kneeling in front of the child, she tipped her chin with one finger and her heart turned over. She had seen those eyes before—a curious greenish-blue; she saw them every day when she looked at herself in a mirror. The child was hers. The warden had not lied to her.

Resisting the urge to snatch her in her arms and run, Lucinda smiled at the little girl, reached into her pocket and took out a small cake she’d brought with her. She offered it to the child, who looked suspicious.

‘It is a cake for you,’ she said. ‘Listen to me, Susan. One day soon I am going to fetch you. I am going to take you to live with me.’

‘Not unless I get me thousand guineas you ain’t.’ The woman shoved the little girl. ‘Back to your work.’

‘Please be kind to her,’ she said as the child bit the cake, her eyes opening in wonder as she tasted its sweetness. ‘I shall be back within the week.’

It had cost Lucinda so much pain to leave her daughter here. Her heart wrenched with pity as the child glanced back at her before disappearing into the kitchen.

‘What work does she do?’

‘Anyfin’ I tell ‘er,’ the woman answered. ‘Yer’ve got one week—and then she’s gone.’

‘I shall be back,’ Lucinda said and left before she wept.

She’d known even then that her trinkets would not fetch one-tenth of the woman’s demands for the child. Even had she sold the wedding gown she’d hidden, it would not have brought enough—though she believed it had cost many hundreds of guineas when Justin bought it for her.

Had she only brought her jewels with her she might have found the money easily enough. There was not enough time to return to Avonlea and fetch the jewels or even to ask Justin for a loan. Lucinda faced the facts. She could not raise such a huge sum and so she had only one choice. She must steal the child.

Susan had been stolen from her. She would steal her back.

First she had to make a plan. She had hired a cottage in the next village so that the innkeeper’s wife would not become suspicious. She bought other clothes and a wig to cover the flame red of her hair and she wore a torn and dirty shawl, rubbing dirt into her cheeks. In this way she had managed to visit the inn yard without being noticed by the landlady on two occasions. She had discovered that the child was given the chore of carrying out the slops first thing in the mornings, after the guests had gone down to break their fast.

And so today was the day. She locked up the cottage and left for the inn to claim her daughter as her own. At a quarter to the hour of nine she was in the yard watching, sheltering behind a wagon that had come to deliver hay for the stables. When she saw the child carrying her heavy pail down to the midden, she ran towards her.

‘Drop that and come with me,’ she instructed her. ‘I am going to take you away and look after you, my darling. That wicked woman will not punish you again.’

‘Will yer give me a cake?’ The child looked at her anxiously. ‘Yes, my dearest child. I will give you a cake every day. Come with me now and I shall take care of you.’

The child stood the pail down, offered her hand and together they ran. They hadn’t stopped running until they reached the crossroads and saw the mail coach heading towards them. Lucinda knew that it stopped briefly at the crossing and she ran to it as a gentleman got down, looking up at the coachman.

‘Please take me to the next big town.’

‘We do not stop again until we reach Watford, ma’am.’

‘That will be perfect,’ Lucinda said and placed the last of her money into his hands. ‘The child will sit on my lap.’