When It Rained at Hembry Castle Chapter 30

The Missing Child

I

t took Edward two months to find a starting point in the mystery of the missing child. Christmas passed, New Years 1872 passed, and Edward grew concerned about his ability to find Pamela’s family. Looking for a young mother and child in London was worse than trying to find a needle in a haystack. London had hundreds of haystacks and thousands of needles, and no one knew where to begin to find a mother and child down on their luck since there were so many sad souls scraping together some semblance of a life. Edward had started his search near Covent Garden, where Pamela’s family lived prior to Richard’s death, but the neighbors knew nothing about where Lucy and her child had gone. They cut and run, they did, in the middle of the night, a neighboring woman who smelled suspiciously of burning candles and whiskey told him. The landlord had come for the rent, threatened the young mother if she didn’t pay, and then they both was gone to who-knows-where. Edward was down but far from giving up. He enlisted Wellesley and Roberts, both of whom were willingly recruited when they realized an innocent child was involved. The three young men walked into the heart of London with a grainy photograph of Lucy Escott, knocking door to door, asking in public houses, stopping passers-by on the streets. If Pamela’s family was in London, Edward was determined to find them, for Daphne’s sake, and for the sake of the child.

At first, Edward was able to put Daphne off from accompanying him by going while he was in London on Observer business and Daphne was at Hembry helping her father. Then one day, as February neared, Edward stumbled onto a clue—a young mother who matched Lucy Escott’s description and her small child, a son, were spotted living in the slums of the Old Nichol Street Rookery in the East End. They stood out, the man in the pub said, because they were new to the area, the young mother kept to herself, and she didn’t seem to fit in with the others, like she had come down in the world and hardly knew what to do with herself. Edward said a silent prayer, hoping the twosome were indeed the missing Escotts (the man in the pub did slur his words, stumbled when he accompanied Edward to the door, and pocketed the change Edward handed him so greedily that how trustworthy a source he was remained to be seen). When Edward told Daphne what he had found, she and Pamela were on the next train to London despite his protests. Frederick wanted to go, as well, but Hembry business detained him, so he sent Daniel, the new footman, and Mr. Ellis with them.

Edward met them at Staton House the next day. Mr. Ellis had Rogers bring the carriage round front, though the butler insisted that Edward should drive them.

“I didn’t know I knew how to drive a carriage, Grandfather.”

“How hard can it be?” Mr. Ellis asked. “The horses do all the work.”

Though he wasn’t convinced, Edward relented. Rogers was not so easy. After a stern reminder that Lady Daphne was the Earl’s daughter and she wanted young Mr. Ellis to drive them that afternoon (Lady Daphne’s wish is law at Staton House, after all), Rogers left the reins of the stately gray carriage in Edward’s hands and stomped away. Edward understood his grandfather’s concern about Rogers—the driver had a tendency to gossip, as anyone who knew him could tell you—and he didn’t want word of their excursion, or the child, getting out.

“I hope I know what I’m doing,” Edward said as he turned the reins over in his hands. “More to the point, I hope the horses know what I’m doing.”

After a few false starts (the horses would walk three steps under Edward’s guidance, stop, look around as though enjoying the sights, whinny, walk another three steps, stop, and continue watching the goings-on at the park, whinny, walk three more steps and stop as though they had gone as far as they would that day) the horses decided they didn’t mind Edward at all and they trotted into the street and followed the traffic laws—at least the ones that appealed to them. On their journey they passed Buckingham Palace, Covent Garden, and the City of London before heading toward Bethnal Green and Shoreditch. The further east they drew, the more Daphne felt as though they had traveled to another land where everyone, young and old, poor and poorer, had to toil for scraps to eat and innocuous shelter to protect them from the whimsies of the weather. Edward was able to steer them as far as Spitalfields Market where the roads became too narrow to let the carriage pass. He parked near a pub and handed the reins to a raggedy-looking boy knee-high to the tallest horse who gushed over the shiny coin Daphne placed in his hand. Daphne, Daniel, and Pamela stayed close to Edward as they walked into the chaos. Edward took Daphne’s arm and held her so tightly she felt his grip pressing into her skin.

“I don’t like this, Daphne. You should have stayed at Staton House. This is no place for you.”

“I’m not afraid. I have you and Daniel here, so I’m well protected. I want to see Pamela’s sister’s baby.”

“We don’t even know for sure it’s my sister, my lady,” Pamela said. “We could have come all this way for nothing.”

Daphne allowed

Edward to lead them through the human maze. He kept his eyes on his destination, as though he knew where he were going. There were too many homes, if you wanted to call them that, pressed together with lines of laundry blowing in the wind. There were too many women in rags, hardly protection from the biting winter weather, with too many infants clutched to their chests. Looking at the misery around her, Daphne finally understood what Edward meant when he said that looking for Pamela’s family would be like searching for thousands of needles among hundreds of haystacks. She felt as though she had stepped into a Dickens novel, and she was saddened when she saw how true it all was, and what wretchedness poverty brought on. She thought of the quote from A Tale of Two Cities, “A multitude of people and yet solitude,” because everywhere around her the people seemed irrevocably alone.

The Old Nichol Street Rookery in the East End of London was one vast slum, a dark maze of rotting streets with every odor and filth, cluttered with disintegrating gray-black tenements with shattered windows. The bite of snow was in the air, and the windows were stopped with newspapers, rags, or whatever else was at hand. It was always night there since sunlight couldn’t, or wouldn’t, penetrate past the tenements. No grass grew. Cases of consumption were frequent, and everywhere around her Daphne heard coughing and wheezing. It was a struggle to breathe, for whatever oxygen the smoke-filled air offered. Mortality rates were the highest in the city, and many babies didn’t live to see their first birthday. Daphne clutched Pamela’s hand and pulled her close.

They continued through the shadowy labyrinth of crumbling tenements, and there were so many people, some talking amongst themselves, others leaning against the buildings, some sitting in the narrow, crooked streets, some huddled together on the stoops so they wouldn’t freeze inside the unheated buildings. Edward pressed forward, and Daphne took comfort in his lead. The noises of the slums were rumbling, the peddlers still calling to passers-by, the wives and mothers who needed to feed their hungry families still haggling over prices. Their children needed to eat, now, so they cajoled, begged, feigned indifference—whichever would enable them to bring home barely enough.

Drivers, either careless or brave, navigated their horse-drawn drays down the narrow lanes, avoiding the elfin boys in suspenders and slouch caps running in the streets, the horses’ iron-shod hooves clattering over the cobblestones. They passed tailor shops selling dressmakers’ trimmings and second-hand apparel shops with worn-out shoes and jackets hanging in the windows, looking as if they could slide off the hangers and walk away, still holding the shapes of their former owners, still able to speak with eloquence of the sad circumstance that brought a man to sell the clothes off his back. Finally, when they were so far inside the gloom Daphne thought they might never find light again, Edward led them to a tenement where a pitiful sounding baby brawled inside. The stench overwhelmed Daphne and she had to reach toward the wall to steady herself.

“Should I take you back to the carriage, my lady?” It was the first time Daniel had spoken that day, though he had been hovering protectively near by.

“Perhaps that would be best,” Edward said. “Daniel should take you both back to the carriage.”

“No, Edward. I want to see.”

“Very well then, my firecracker.” Edward removed a slip of paper from the pocket in his waistcoat and looked around. “This must be it.” He knocked on the door and they heard movement inside. The baby cried louder, but someone, a woman, hushed it. Edward kept knocking. When no one answered the door, he said, in a gentle voice, “Please, we mean you no harm. We know you’ve come to some difficult times and we wish to help.”

Silence. Then a young woman’s voice. “I don’t have it.”

“You don’t have what?” Edward asked.

“What you’ve come for.”

“I assure you, I haven’t come for anything except to speak to you. My name is Edward Ellis. I’m the fiancé of Lady Daphne Meriwether, daughter of the Earl of Staton, and I’m the grandson of Mr. and Mrs. Ellis, the butler and housekeeper at Hembry Castle. We’ve been searching for you for some time. I have your sister Pamela with me.”

Pamela leaned close to the door. “Lucy? Won’t you let me see you?”

Edward heard shuffling, as though furniture were moved aside. The door opened, and a young woman shabby in ragged clothing, her strawberry blond hair barely contained under her cap, her sea-green eyes swollen with tears, held out her arms to Pamela. The young woman was so overcome, and Pamela was so overcome, that the others stepped back and looked away, allowing them privacy for this reunion. Pamela shook her head at the state of her sister.

“Oh, Lucy. Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was so desperate, Pammy. I couldn’t ask you or the Ellises for any more money. You’ve done so much for me already, more than I could ever repay. I received some donations…”

“Donations?” Edward asked.

“Yes, sir. There were times when a messenger would come to my door with money for me. He said it was from a friend. I couldn’t guess who might have sent it, I thought it was you, Pammy, and I was so grateful I didn’t ask. But then the baby grew sick, and medicines cost so much. I asked Mr. Meriwether for help, but he was so angry. He said that if I contacted you, or the Ellises, or anyone in his lordship’s family he’d…” Lucy wept. “How could I burden you, any of you, any more than I had already?”

Pamela wiped away Lucy’s tears. “You’re no burden. You’re my sister.”

The baby began brawling and Daphne went into the ramshackle room where a corner had been partitioned off by a tattered bedsheet nailed to the ceiling. Behind the sheet was a two-year-old in rags. Daphne lifted the child from the cold floor and rocked him in her arms.

Lucy led the others inside. She listened as Daphne hummed a lullaby. “He’s so sick. The poor babe is so sick.”

“He’s beautiful,” Daphne said. “What is his name?”

“Josiah, my lady.”

Daphne clutched the scrawny fingers between hers. “He’s so cold. We need to bring him to Staton House. He needs to see Mr. Rallston, our doctor in London.”

Pamela brushed her sister’s strawberry blond curls from her eyes. “Lucy, did you hear? Lady Daphne is going to bring the baby to her very own doctor.”

“I couldn’t impose, my lady,” Lucy said.

“Your son is my cousin, so you can’t say no to me. You’ll both stay with us at Staton House.”

“But my lady…”

“You should be aware,” Edward said, “that Lady Daphne doesn’t take no for an answer.”

By the time

they arrived back at Staton House, Frederick was there. He had to know if Edward had indeed found Jerrold’s child, and as soon as Lucy and baby Josiah entered the room Frederick welcomed them with every kindness. Mr. Rallston was called for, and when the child’s ailment was proclaimed to be nothing more than a common cold that should begin healing now that Josiah was out of the damp, they rejoiced. Mr. Ellis poured red wine for everyone. Frederick raised his glass, and the others followed.

“To my brother Richard, who took it upon himself to care for Jerrold’s child. I have always known my brother Richard to be a decent man, a caring man, and now I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that it’s true. I only wish he were here to see this moment, when Josiah was finally allowed to meet his family. I know Richard would have cherished this, and I hope that somehow, some way he knows the good he has done that helped lead to this day.”

“To Uncle Richard,” Daphne said.

Edward and Daphne joined Frederick by the hearth. “Will you tell Grandma about baby Josiah?” Daphne asked.

“I thought about announcing it over dinner tomorrow night, but I fear that may give her a shock she’ll never recover from. What I will do, however, is inform your Uncle Jerrold. And, if I’m in a certain mood, your Aunt Hyacinth.”

“What do you think your brother will do?” Edward asked.

“I couldn’t say. But I want him to know that I know. I want him to know that I know that every time he made comments about Richard’s wanton way of life he was pointing out the very thing he suffered from himself.”

“He certainly has Lady Staton fooled,” said Edward.

“I know. And yet I’m afraid I won’t have the heart to dissuade her about her youngest son. So often we think we know someone, we know everything about them, every thought they’ve ever had, every decision they’ve ever made, but when it comes down to it we realize that we didn’t know the first thing about them. Edward, what was that quote from Dickens, about everyone being a mystery to everyone else?”

“A wonderful fact to reflect upon, that every human creature is constituted to be a profound secret and mystery to every other.”

“Yes,” Frederick said. “That’s it. The older I grow the more I realize I don’t know anyone else at all, at least not the way I thought I did.”

“Maybe a little mystery isn’t a bad thing,” said Daphne. “Maybe mystery is what keeps us curious about life.”

“Who said that?” Frederick asked.

“Edward did.” Daphne beamed at her fiancé.

Edward put his arm around Daphne’s waist and kissed the top of her gold curls. “I will always be curious about you, Daphne Meriwether.” He bowed. “Lady Daphne Meriwether.”

Frederick beamed at his daughter like the proud father he was.