The Address(2)

Walter, one of the porters, and Mabel, the floor’s chambermaid, appeared by Sara’s side, breathing heavily. They must have sprinted after her, knowing something was terribly wrong.

Sara put out her arms to stop Mabel and Walter from moving any farther into the room. “Shh. We don’t want to send her off balance.”

“Where’s her minder?” whispered Mabel. “Is anyone in the bedchamber?”

“I don’t know.” Sara took a step into the room, walking as if the floor might give out at any point. The plush rugs softened her footfall.

As she grew closer, she realized the child was singing to herself. A lullaby about being on a treetop.

The child turned her head and stared at Sara. Her rosy lips parted and her eyes grew round.

Sara held out one hand, palm up, and began humming the same tune softly. In response, the child laughed, but then, with the changeability of her age, her eyes suddenly filled with tears.

“Mama!” the girl demanded, then shook her head. Sara didn’t dare move any farther, and her muscles tensed with the effort of doing nothing, staying frozen. A breeze blew in and ruffled the girl’s curls, pushing her slightly off balance. If she fell backward, into the room, Sara might be able to reach her in time to break her fall.

But instead, the little girl overcorrected, and her hand began slipping off the window frame. Such tiny fingernails, tiny fingers.

Sara lunged forward. Her hand grazed the voluminous skirt of the child’s dress, and she gripped as much of the material as she could, yanking hard. The girl, shrieking, flew off the ledge, inside, to safety. They hit the ground together in an awkward tangle of limbs and petticoats, the girl practically sitting on Sara’s lap.

The girl twisted around and looked at Sara, blinking in astonishment. Sara was sure she’d cry out, but instead the girl resumed her babbling song while reaching up with one hand to stroke Sara’s chin.

“Well done, just in time,” said Walter as he and Mabel gathered on either side of her.

“Do you think she hurt herself?” asked Sara.

“No, not a whit. You broke the fall. Are you all right?” Mabel scooped up the child while Sara let Walter help her to her feet. She was straightening her skirts and rubbing her hip, which no doubt would sport a large bruise by tomorrow, when a tall, thin woman appeared in the doorway.

“What on earth is going on in here?” the woman demanded, clutching the hand of a little girl a few years older than the one held by Mabel.

The name popped into Sara’s head from the guest book: the Hon. Mrs. Theodore Camden. Traveling with three children, a husband, and a small coterie of servants. Mr. Birmingham had instructed Sara that all of the Camdens’ needs be anticipated, as the wife was the daughter of a baron.

Sara stepped forward. “The child was standing in the window and we brought her inside.”

“More like saved her life,” said Walter. “Mrs. Smythe here leaped in and dragged her back inside in just the nick of time.”

The child, as if realizing the heightened emotions of the grown-ups around her, began to wail. The woman dashed forward and scooped her out of Mabel’s arms, holding the girl close. When her cries subsided, Mrs. Camden looked up, as if seeing them all for the first time.

“I thank you for your assistance, but where is her nanny?”

As if on cue, a plain-looking girl stepped into the room.

“Ma’am?” she inquired, her face scrunched up in confusion.

“Miss Morgan, where have you been? Lula almost fell to her death due to your absence.”

“I’m sorry?” The girl gazed around at everyone in the room. “I popped out for only a minute, to drop off a postcard at the front desk. I thought Mr. Camden was here.” Her voice trailed off and she looked about, as if trying to summon him out of thin air.

“You were supposed to be here minding the children.”

The child buried her head in her mother’s shoulder, weeping again.

“Where is Luther?” Mrs. Camden rushed into the adjoining room and they all followed. Another child—a boy who seemed to be around the same age as Lula—lay on the enormous bed, fast asleep, his curls damp around his head.

Sara, standing beside Mrs. Camden, could practically feel the woman’s fear and relief emanating from her body, like aftershocks of an earthquake. The nanny took Lula from her arms and set about calming the girl down, avoiding her employer’s eyes.

How awful if something had happened. Two little children left alone with a wide-open window; the thought was unimaginable. Sara turned to Mrs. Camden. The woman’s profile was precise, her coloring fair other than thick black lashes that framed hazel eyes. Sara had encountered innumerable members of the peerage at the Langham, and they all shared a common way of moving in the world, a confidence that their every desire would be met. It was rare to see one in crisis.

She sensed Walter and Mabel hovering behind them and became protective of the woman’s dignity. “Is there anything else we can do, Mrs. Camden?” asked Sara.

“No, that is all.” The woman’s face softened. “Thank you for saving her.”

“Of course, ma’am.” Sara nodded to Walter and Mabel and led the way out of the room. Once the door was closed behind them, Sara exhaled with relief.

“That was a close call.” Walter rubbed his forehead with the back of his hand.